the hook. He said to Carmen, “Put your hands out.”
“I do the tying, papi.”
“Not today.”
Carmen looked at him, and then at Luis, who held the Beretta at his side. She looked back at Brodie. “No.”
He explained, “This will look better for you when Lupe or Carlo finds you.”
Carmen got that and brought her hands out in front of her. Brodie tied a secure knot around both her wrists. He said, “On the ground.”
She lay down on her back, and Brodie used the other piece of rope to tie her ankles. He looked down at her. “You’ve got five minutes left with your guy. Talk dirty to him.”
Carmen said something in Spanish that sounded colorful and not very nice as Brodie rolled her under the bed next to the john. The poor guy definitely wasn’t getting his money’s worth, but maybe they’d comp him a drink at the bar.
Brodie nodded to Luis, then picked up the AK and looked at the door. Well, he’d freed himself, rescued Luis, and gotten good Intel about the location of Kyle Mercer. All that was left to make this a perfect night was to get out of there alive.
CHAPTER 31
Brodie and Luis left Room 21 and turned right toward the steel door at the end of the corridor that would put them in the lounge—about fifteen feet from the side door that led out of the brothel.
Brodie handed Luis the other Beretta. “Keep them concealed but accessible.”
Luis stuck one of the Berettas in his belt, under his suit jacket, and the other in his pants pocket. Brodie had his Glock stuck in his waistband beneath his untucked shirt. Trying to exit with stealth was the best option, but he wasn’t willing to part with the AK-47. He checked that the selector was on full automatic, then held the rifle along his left side, keeping it out of view of most of the customers in the lounge. If the wrong person didn’t look up at the wrong time—maybe if all eyes were on the pole dancer, and if these guys’ brains were clouded by alcohol, and their dicks were doing their thinking—this could work.
They reached the steel door. Brodie said to Luis, “We will walk quickly, but not too quickly, to that side door exit. Don’t look at anyone, but be aware of your surroundings. If someone yells anything, pull your gun. We’re not talking our way out of this one.”
Luis nodded.
“Ready?”
“Sí.”
Brodie pushed open the door, and a blast of loud music and talking filled the quiet corridor. Brodie parted the curtain and walked into the dim, smoky lounge.
A different pole dancer was now onstage directly in front of them, surrounded by a small audience. Out of the corner of his eye Brodie could see some activity at the bar, but he turned toward the side door and headed directly for it. Luis followed.
Brodie was less than ten feet from the door when he heard someone shout over the music, “Hey! Where the fuck you going?”
It sounded like Carlo. Brodie quickly turned his head toward the bar. Carlo was standing with his back against the bar, a cigarette in his hand. He looked confused. A few customers were sitting on stools on either side of him, and they now turned to see what was bothering Carlo. The regime men were still at their table, smoking cigars and knocking back rum. They too looked over at Brodie and Luis.
The bouncer, Lupe, was standing near the front door and must have spotted the AK. He suddenly pulled his six-shooter from its holster.
Brodie pivoted toward Lupe and raised the AK, bracing the butt of the rifle against his left shoulder as he wrapped his fingers around the grip and squeezed the trigger. The rifle had a powerful recoil and pulsed against his body as he fired a line of bullets across the lounge at Lupe, raking him across his chest and putting a few rounds in the wall behind him as the man went down.
The pole dancer screamed, then jumped down from the stage and ran toward the back. Customers—most of whom were no strangers to gunfire—dived for cover beneath the tables, and a few guys at the bar jumped off their stools and dashed to the front door, or dived over the bar, while a few ran for the door that led to the baño.
Luis had drawn his Beretta as the four regime men drunkenly fumbled with their shoulder holsters. Luis, without hesitation, started squeezing off rounds, hitting