We are heading into Brooklyn? Not back to our hotel on Times Square?
"Oh," Gino says, "I didn't mention?"
There's tension in the air now, and I wonder if I should be afraid. Gino seemed relaxed, even jovial at dinner, so I think everything is okay? But a little voice in the back of my mind is wondering if that was some sort of last meal before he kills us. Has Gino decided we know too much about his money laundering scheme.
But that can't be right. He's known Max for years. He's done business with Max's father for years. I'm letting my imagination run away with me, fueled by all that wine and the final glass of limoncello.
"You didn't mention what/" Max asks, his voice cool.
"I got this club I want your advice on. Seeing as how yours is doing so well in Miami. Thought we'd just stop by for while before I drop you off at your hotel."
I can feel my heart pounding while I try to gauge what exactly is going on here. I look out the window and catch a glimpse of the sign for the Brooklyn Bridge and then we are on it, headed out of Manhattan and over the East River.
"You could have mentioned something at dinner," Max comments, and Gino lifts his hands in a wide gesture.
"Like I said, I don't like to talk business when we are at the table enjoying a meal. It can interfere with the digestion."
Max nods, but looking up at his face from where I'm sitting beside him, I can see the line of tension in his jaw. Max is apparently not pleased with this turn of events.
"Is there a problem?" Gino asks, and there's a hardness in his voice I didn't hear before. I sense without even turning my head that Gabe is on alert. And that Gino's bodyguard or enforcer or whatever that scary guy is, is also watching to see what enfolds.
"We'd be happy to stop by and have a look," Max finally says.
I raise my head off where it was resting on Max's shoulder and give Gino a weak smile. "I'm not sure how much fun I'm going be at a club," I tell him. "All that wine at dinner has gone to my head."
Gino smiles back, once again the convivial host. "That's all right, sweetheart. I'll set you up at my VIP table while Max and I talk business. Vincento will make sure no one bothers you." He nods toward the man who was never introduced to me.
Vincento looks at me with his cold eyes, and I'm thinking Max wouldn't really leave me with him. Would he?
"Gabe can join them," Max says, and Gino nods his agreement.
"Absolutely."
"What seems to be the problem with the club?" Max asks.
"You tell me once you have a look around."
"There were issues with the books," Malcolm adds. He's been so quiet I almost forgot he was in the limo with us.
Joey D has also been quiet, but somehow you don't forget he's there.
"We eliminated the problem with the books," Gino says, with a casual finality that makes me think it was actually a person who was eliminated.
"True," Malcolm says, not at all phased by Gino's statement. "But even if you take the skimming into account and adjust the numbers, it's still not bringing in what it should.
Now I'm wondering if this club is actually a legitimate money-making business, not just another vehicle for Gino to launder drug money or funds from whatever other illegal activities his organization runs.
The club didn't look that impressive from the outside, but when we walk in it looks a lot like a typical club in Miami. There's a light-up dance floor, various levels of bottle service tables and VIP booths, a crowded dance floor with pulsing strobe light, and an elevated DJ platform/stage.
There's a lot going on. I can't quite figure out what the vibe is. Maybe that's the problem.
Not my problem to solve, though. The last thing I want to do is make suggestions and get pulled further into whatever the actual deal is between Max and men like Gino and Joey D. So I keep my mouth shut and let Gino lead me to his VIP booth, which, not surprisingly, has a great view of pretty much everything going on in the club.
I settle into the red leather banquette, and a young woman in a short, tight skirt and narrow high heels appears almost immediately with a chilled bottle of champagne and a tray of glasses.
She sets up for us quickly, giving the men a eyeful of her cleavage when she leans forward to pour the champagne, then, at a wave of Gino's hand, disappears. I get the feeling that despite the plastered-on smile, she was terrified.
"Looks like you sent a message, G," Tony D comments, and Gino shrugs.
"The ones who were in on it are scared shitless," Gino says, "and the ones who weren't are scared I'll think they were."
I look down at my champagne glass, and pretend not to hear the byplay between them. I have a pretty good idea what the message was, and I don't want to know anything about it. Right now I'm telling myself I don't care what Max says, after this weekend I'm never going to another meeting with Gino and Tony D again.
I don't know who frightens me more. Vincenzo, who you know with one look into those cold eyes would just as soon kill you as say hello. Or Gino, whose facade is one of graciousness and generosity, but who I suspect could sit down to dinner with you, speaking nostalgically about the Old Country, then order you killed the moment you got up from the table.
With Gino, you could easily forget to be on your guard. And that, I'm certain, would be a mistake.
* * *
As the evening wears on, it feels even more bizarre sitting here in Gino's VIP area with Gabe and Vincenzo. When Max, Gino and Malcolm left to go up to the club office, Bull went with them. I have no desire to try to make conversation with Vincenzo. It gives me the creeps every time the guy even looks at me. And I don't know what it would be safe to talk about with Gabe in front of Vincenzo.
So I'm pretty much reduced to watching people on the dance floor. It's an eclectic mix, and it strikes me again that there doesn't seem to be a specific target audience. I don't know if that's by design, or from lack of direction. There are groups of Gen X'ers, Millennials, and Gen Z, and they seem to be pretty equally divided.
The DJ is . . . I'm not sure exactly what the DJ is doing.
Apparently, in addition to having his hand in the till, whoever was running this place for Gino seems to have been just as bad at running a business as he was at concealing his own theft from his employer. Which would be fine - even intentional - if this was just a money laundering operation. But the impression I got from Gino is that he intended it to be something else.
When I watch a drug deal take place just a few yards from where we're sitting and no one in security steps up, I share a look with Gabe. I'm thinking, that's a good way to call the wrong kind of attention to this place.
Vincenzo is leaning back in his seat, legs extended and crossed at the ankles, eyes slitted so that a casual observer might think he's sleeping. But I'm sure he's taking in everything.
My champagne glass is pretty much untouched on the table, and neither Gabe nor Vincenzo have been drinking. I guess they're on duty, so to speak.
The last time the bottle girl came by I asked for water, so that's what I've been drinking in the hopes that the effects of the wine and the limoncello will wear off. It's working, but I realize it also made me really have to pee.
I turn to Gabe. "I need to use the rest room."
He raises and eyebrow at me, and I continue. "But Max told me to stay right here until he gets back."
I sense rather than see Vincenzo smirking at me.
"Do you always do what Max tells you?" he asks me, his tone just short of amusement.
I glance over, and meet his stare. "Yes," I say simply, and he gives a low chuckle, then goes back to studying the room for I don't know what.
Gabe gets up and gives me his hand. "I'll walk you over there." He sends a short text, presumably to Max, and we work our way around the dance floor to the alcove where a set restrooms is located.
"Be right back," I tell him and go in. Surprisingly the rest room is empty. I head directly into a stall and then, a moment later here the outer door open and shut and the clack of high heels on the tile floor. The water turns on for a moment then stops.
When I go out I'm surprised jot see no one there, then realize she must have gone into one the stalls, since I didn't hear the outer door again. I walk up to the sink, turn the cold water on and dampen a paper towel and press against my eyelids. I have the beginnings of a headache, which happens when I've had too much wine.
I breathe in suddenly and gasp when I feel something sharp pressing into my side. Someone is gripping my upper arm, standing right behind me. They lean in and I hear a woman's voice close to my ear.
"Come with me and don't make a sound or I'll cut you."