Constance (Constance #1)(34)
“Well, actually, I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“That’s funny, so do I.”
Con let that go and pressed on. “Are you still interested in me playing Glass House?”
Jasper had just gotten through telling her how much he wanted her to play his club, but now that they were negotiating, he scratched under his chin and squinted as if she were trying to sell green to grass. “I might could be interested in that. Can you get Stephie Martz too?”
“I think she lives out West now,” Con said. It was a lie; she had no idea where Stephie lived these days, but it wasn’t an option even if she did. The last thing she was going to do was drag anyone else into what needed doing.
“That’s too bad,” Jasper said. “Two would be better than one, you know? I could really put something together with that. But if it’s just you, I think I gotta pass.”
“Come on, Jasper. You’ve had a hard-on to get me to play Glass House again for as long as I’ve known you. Now I’m saying yes, and you’ve got cold feet?”
“Well, of course I want you to play,” Jasper said. “I’m a fan. But these kids here?” He waved a hand toward the waiting audience. “They don’t care the way I do.”
“So you’re not interested.”
“Hey, I didn’t say that. Maybe if I could see your set first. Do you have anything coming up anywhere?”
“You know I don’t,” Con said. “Look, all I need is to borrow a car for a week. I’ve got some personal business to take care of in Virginia. When I get back, I’ll track down Stephie and we’ll put together a set. I’ll even work for free.”
Jasper looked at her like she was crazy. “Borrow a car? Girl, you’re not putting the Beatles back together. What do I look like, Hertz? I’m not loaning you a car. But if you really need to make some money, I’ve got some friends you should talk to.”
“What friends?” she said warily.
“Why don’t we finish this conversation upstairs in my office where it’s quieter?”
Yeah, like she was falling for that one. “Forget it. I’m going.”
He put a hand on her arm to stop her. “You gotta understand how unique you are. There’s a lot of curiosity out there about clones.”
“What are you talking about?” Con said, shaking free.
“Just that there’s a lot of money to be made. Lot of men who would pay top dollar for the opportunity to . . .” He trailed off as if not saying it out loud would make it okay.
“Clone fucking,” Anzor rumbled, speaking for the first time. “The last taboo.”
Con shuddered. “Okay, we’re done here.”
She looked past Jasper for the fastest way out. Over his shoulder, she glimpsed a familiar, unmoving face. It disappeared momentarily as the crowd left its feet, but on the downbeat, the face reemerged like a jagged rock from the surf. The pockmark-faced man was here. He had one hand cupped over his ear, scanning the crowd for her. How the hell had he tracked her down? Con slid off the stool and pushed away from Jasper, who was imploring her to hear him out. Anzor stepped forward to block her way, but she went low and slipped around a group of women dancing to the music.
Con fought her way forward, swimming against the current of concertgoers. One good thing about being small was that sometimes it made crowds easier to navigate. She glanced back over her shoulder, expecting any moment to see Anzor looming up behind. The scary part was that, despite being in a crowd, she knew that no one would come to her defense. They’d assume security was removing an unruly patron and step back.
Up ahead, the exit sign flickered like a welcome lighthouse. She squeezed past another clump of people—and walked right into the waiting arms of one of Pockmark’s men. His hands dug into her shoulders painfully. She looked up at him, but his face was occluded by a corona of crimson lights from above the stages.
“Got her,” he said into his LFD, but the music drowned him out. He yelled it again but, again, got no response. Waving his hand over his head, he tried to steer Con ahead of him back toward the pockmark-faced man. She struggled wildly and stomped on his foot, but he was wearing thick military boots and didn’t even notice. As expected, the crowd cleared a path for them, not wanting to ruin their good time by getting involved.
Someone, or something, came from the right and smashed into her captor—Anzor, faster than anyone that large had any business moving. Con spun free and fell to the floor. The crowd rippled and parted, creating a void. A third man threw himself into the fray. Anzor was twice their size, but the two men were disciplined and worked in tandem, fanning out around him as he threw wild haymakers. From the floor, Con felt like one of the citizens in an old Godzilla movie watching haplessly as monsters wrecked the city.
The band hadn’t stopped playing. A strobe began to fire, which only added to the surreal scene. Con crawled for the stage door and the safety of the crowd, which ebbed and flowed as the fight lurched back and forth. One of Anzor’s hammer blows connected with one of the men, launching him briefly into orbit. He landed near Con, rolled nimbly to his feet, and saw her. He grabbed for her leg. She kicked out with her other leg, it connected, and she felt herself come free. She scrambled into the crowd and sprinted down the hallway to the stage door, where the same bouncer who’d let her in earlier blocked her way.