Whitewater (Rachel Hatch #6)(24)
Bald Bull released his folded-arm, tough-guy stance, opting for a looser, albeit less imposing, stance. Hatch watched as the bouncer's right hand curled into a ball. The loud-mouthed American wasn't paying attention, turned to his friends and laughed. The American crumpled a dollar bill and tossed it over his shoulder. The wadded cash bounced off the shiny bald head of the infuriated door man.
The tall American never saw it coming. Bald Bull's rage spilled over, and although outnumbered five to one, hurtled his bowling ball sized fist at the back of the man's turned head. The impact flattened him against one of his friends. A churning swirl of wildly swinging arms followed as another pocket of violence erupted inside the club.
Bald Bull stood his ground against the crew of angry tourists. Several of the nearby locals jumped into the fight as the four bouncers who'd been celebrating now forced their way back through the crowd toward the latest melee.
The rumble continued as the tide shifted dramatically in the favor of the raging Bald Bull when his numbers increased by the arrival of the other bouncers. Devastating blows were delivered by the professionals, pummeling the younger, less experienced Americans into the ground.
Only ten feet separated Hatch from the unguarded door to the VIP access door and the chaotic free-for-all taking place in front of it. Using the unexpected disturbance to her advantage, Hatch slipped the full beer from the mesh-wearing drunk's hand. The amber liquid splashed down onto the power strip below.
A loud popping followed by crackling. The sound of the electrical fire replaced the blaring techno music. Acrid smoke rose in front of the DJ platform as the fire rippled along the network of cords until it reached the wall. In a matter of seconds, the wall behind the turntable, the same one where the VIP access door was located, ignited.
Fire licked its way up the wall. The topless girl next to the teal haired disc jockey screamed. Her pitched screech sent those in earshot into a frenzy of movement. Hatch was momentarily swept up in a sea of panicked bodies. She swam against the flow, and after wedging her way through, found herself at the VIP access door.
Bald Bull delivered a final devasting blow to the already unconscious American. He was now busy fending off the panicked crowd who saw the VIP room as an escape from the inferno. Nobody noticed when she checked the knob. Locked. She saw a key attached to a lanyard on Bald Bulls right hipline.
The fire tripped the circuit breaker and power went out as the overhead sprinkler system activated. Hatch felt the relief of the cold water raining down on her as she used the darkness to close the gap with the bald headed security man.
Hatch swept Bald Bull's legs out from under him. A quick stomp to side of the downed man's shiny head ended the fight. She pulled the lanyard and unlocked the door.
In the ensuing chaos, Hatch slipped into the VIP area undetected.
Sixteen
Hatch clicked the door closed behind her and slipped the Glock into her left hand. She focused her vision ahead while keeping her right hand on the doorknob. The contact with the door served as an alarm system of sorts, should the hulking Bald Bull try to barge in on her little rescue mission.
Light spilled under a door at the end of a hall leading outside. Only one other door existed in the otherwise barren hallway. The longer she stood in the dark, the better her eyes adjusted to it. And in her renewed vision, Hatch was now able to make out the darkened glass tubes of the blacked-out neon sign's letters. VIP.
The door remained closed and for a brief second, Hatch's heart sank at the thought that she'd missed her opportunity to recover Angela from her abductors. She released her contact with the doorknob, trading a known threat for an unknown one, and made her way toward the VIP lounge. She was a foot from the door when it opened outward, shielding Hatch from the person opening it.
"Back in a minute." was what she understood from the guard stepping into the hallway in front of her. It was the same guard who'd escorted the girls in through the back door of the club.
He closed the door, keeping his back to Hatch. And just as the obnoxious tourist had never seen Bald Bull's wild haymaker coming, the armed man in front of her didn't see Hatch’s attack coming either. Although Hatch's attack wasn't an out-of-control limb wielding amateur hour as demonstrated by the bouncer. No, hers was a refined series of movements designed to incapacitate her opponent quickly and silently.
Hatch dispatched a violent three-move assault on the unsuspecting man, first stomping down on the back of his right knee and following with a debilitating brachial stun to the side of his neck with the butt of her Glock. Those two moves sent the medium sized guard into a heap. Her third and final move might've been overkill, but Hatch needed to ensure he'd be out long enough to carry out the next step. Snaking her arm under his chin, she cinched herself tight, restricting blood and oxygen for an eight count before releasing him back to the laminated flooring to resume his nap.
Hatch bound the man's wrists and ankles with plastic zip ties she found in his pocket, the same ones used to bind the girls she'd seen earlier. She gagged him and took the nickel-plated .45 from the man's waist and tucked it in hers. No spare magazines. Effectively pillaged in a matter of seconds, Hatch then dragged his unconscious body to the door leading back into the club and wedged him snug against it.
Satisfied her thug doorstop would hinder any attempts to enter the hallway, if only briefly, Hatch made her way back to the VIP access door. She checked the handle. Unlocked. She settled her breathing.