First Girl Gone(60)
The yelling and smashing of glass could be heard from outside. Violent sounds, stark and striking against the quiet.
“Here we go,” Will said, breaking her concentration.
Somewhat reluctantly, Charlie shifted her focus from the building to see what he was excited about.
The police lights crested a hill in the distance, red and blue twirling over the snowy asphalt, lighting up the trees along the side of the road. No sirens, Charlie noted. Out here in the sticks, they probably didn’t need them too often.
Three state police cruisers knifed into the lot, bounding up the ramp onto the blacktop, front ends bouncing up and down, almost bottoming out. Their tires squealed as they veered around the rows of cars and skidded through that final sharp turn to angle themselves toward the front door.
The first car jerked to the left and then stopped abruptly. The others followed its lead, parking just shy of the front walk, one after another, each car diagonal to the building.
“They’re here now,” Charlie said into the phone, suddenly remembering the dispatcher on the other end.
“You’re confirming that police have arrived at the scene now, ma’am?”
“Yep. Thanks for your help.”
Charlie hung up and returned the phone to Will, the night air cold against her palm, which had gone clammy keeping the thing pressed to her ear. She rubbed her fingers into the heel of her hand a couple times, as though that might help dry the dampness. Then she turned back to watch the stunning conclusion of the night.
A total of just four Michigan state troopers climbed out of the three vehicles, all of them sporting military-style crew cuts. They convened for a moment, the tallest of the men gesturing toward the door, probably laying out some basic tactical approach. The others all bobbed their heads as he talked.
Part of Charlie wondered if they shouldn’t wait for more officers to arrive, but there was no reason to believe anyone inside was armed. It was just your standard barroom brawl. Between their guns and whatever other gadgets the state troopers had handy, the officers would likely gain control of the scene quickly and without incident.
Finally, the men drew their weapons, all of them aiming them at the ground, and charged the building, the tall guy in front. Even something about the way they moved seemed military now—a uniformly stiff jog that carried them over the cement. The lead officer wrenched the door open, and one by one they disappeared through the opening.
“Ready to watch the show?” Will said, cackling. He once again rested his butt on the front end of his car. “Can’t wait to see this parade of ogres hauled out in cuffs.”
Charlie thought he seemed a little too giddy about all of this—but then he didn’t know about the girls in the back room yet, or even about the ecstasy. To him, this was all a bit of vengeance for the vicious punch to the eye he’d taken from the bouncer.
She turned again to look at him, to really look. His eye was swelling, seeming to bulge and grow before her eyes. It already looked a shade darker, and she knew the appearance would deteriorate by tomorrow morning.
“Your eye looks terrible,” she said.
He smiled again, gesturing at the side of his face.
“This? Ah, but chicks think this kind of thing is cool, Charlie. They see a guy walk in with an eye swollen and purple like a ripe plum, and they’re all like, ‘Who’s this guy?’” He gave one of his characteristic shrugs. “Anyway, it’s only my eye. I have another one.”
Charlie chuckled a little at that.
“You should see the other guy, too,” Will said. “After the police beat the shit out of him, I mean. I’ve seen up close the damage they can do with those nightsticks, and I imagine they don’t care too much for the Muscle Beach types. It ain’t going to be pretty.”
His eyes went wide then, and Charlie followed his gaze back to the front doors of the club.
Word must have spread quickly about the police being on the scene, as a bunch of patrons spilled out through the doors now, a trickle and then a steady flow. A couple of opportunistic types had taken care to loot a few bottles of expensive booze during the riot, hugging them in their arms like precious treasure, but Charlie knew that they were really getting the cheapest of cheap swill dressed up in fancy bottles.
The stream of people kept coming, so many that Charlie began to wonder if the cops had opted to primarily clear the place out and only arrest the most egregious offenders. That didn’t bode well for the guy who’d smashed a Belvedere bottle over a bouncer’s head, but it was probably the most efficient way to end this mess—more like clearing out a keg party than anything.
Additional police vehicles arrived in the minutes that followed: three black Salem County sheriff cruisers, a dark blue Michigan state police truck which matched the first three cruisers on the scene, and a couple of smaller white cruisers belonging to the nearest police department in Port Blanc, a tiny rural town that probably barely even needed their own department, truth be told. Maybe the Red Velvet Lounge kept them busy, though.
Charlie spotted Zoe among the cluster of law enforcement officers and waved from across the parking lot, but Zoe was too focused on doing her job to notice.
By the time the last pair of officers entered the building, the trickle of foot traffic coming out had all but stopped, and the building had gone strangely still. The anticipation built. Charlie felt goosebumps plump along her forearms.