Chapter 6 — THURSDAY NIGHT — Volkov throws a party
The Smoke Stack was a tall and narrow club, designed to resemble the inside of a bloated factory tower. The building from the outside was made of darkly tinted glass, although even from a distance the gyrating silhouettes of dancers could be seen on every level of the club. It was the perfect location for one of Nikolay Volkov's parties.
"Cute effect," Roxie commented, pointing to the white smoke spilling off the roof of the club. "Dry ice, maybe?"
Palmer shrugged. He didn't know. He didn't care.
Despite the agreement he'd reached with Sandra Wilson, he couldn't help but feel the evening was a waste of time. He'd do everything she'd asked of him, but knew that the only serious way of getting any meaningful information on someone like Volkov was to get close to him. Really close to him.
Jennifer Finney might be a good cop for all he knew, but she didn't have the necessary experience to go undercover against the devious Russian. If anyone could it was Roxie, but that thought gave him the chills. He wasn't about to allow anything that stupid to happen.
He glanced at the two women as they walked side-by-side into the club. Each was beautiful, in her own right. He still hadn't become used to the way Roxie dressed, but put that down to the conservative element in him. Her pinstripe white sheath dress was both classical and sexy at the same time. He'd been so mesmerized by the plunging neckline that it had taken a while to fully appreciate how short it was.
Jenn's outfit was equally stunning. The champagne-coloured halter dress covered just enough of her full breasts to remain on the right side of decent. Even so, her tanned cleavage looked like it wanted to burst out of a plunging neckline that was held in check by a keyhole clasp. She could more than match any model there tonight.
The dimly lit club's interior was circular, and opened all the way up to the roof, save for the ringed platforms that marked each of the seven stories. Low-lying tables dotted the far side, each decorated with a hookah and a group of beautiful models. Everywhere else was filled with excited people dancing to the throbbing electronica.
The sweet smell of the hookah's flavoured tobacco assaulted Palmer's nostrils as soon as they were inside. His Vice Squad instincts quickly kicked in, his senses processing the smell quickly before dismissing it. There was possibly some hashish mixed in, but more likely than not they were clean. At least on this floor.
He'd reserve judgement until he'd explored the rest of the club.
"Okay, let's circulate," he said to his two female companions.
He should have felt the luckiest guy in the world to be chaperoning two such beautiful women. But the sense of foreboding that had been steadily growing on their journey to the club was hard to shake off.
*
Roxanne watched Jack head away across the room and then grinned at Jenn. He was the sexiest guy in the world when he went into full-investigative mode. They'd agreed to separate once they reached the club, see what information they could individually gather, and then meet up again later in the evening.
For a while, at least, she intended to remain at Jenn's side. She could sense how nervous her new friend was, although that wasn't the only reason. She was feeling nervous at the thought of bumping into Nikky Volkov here, especially after her 'initiation'. And he wasn't going to be happy when she told him she wasn't signing the contract.
Grabbing Jenn's hand, they headed towards the glass-capsule elevator that slowly crept up and down the wall of the cylindrical club. One of Volkov's security men was stationed in front of it, but he stepped aside as soon as he recognised Roxanne.
"Miss Lopez," he nodded in awe, immediately summoning the lift. "Good to see you again."
"And you, Gerry," she smiled, ignoring the way his gaze flickered across her body, and then covered Jenn Finney's too, just for good measure. "Is there any particular floor you'd recommend?"
"All different, all the same," he said with a shrug. "The bedrooms are at the back of the top floor."
"Thanks," Roxie smiled, and then pulled Jenn in with her when the lift doors opened.
"Bedrooms?" Jenn asked, her eyes wide. "Does that mean what I think it means?
"Sure does," Roxie replied, giving her a wry smile.
A shiver ran up her spine. Bedrooms were an essential part of nights like this, especially where there were rich and influential clients to be cultivated. She'd been in quite a few during her Dominic DeVere days. Had regularly been the centre of attention in some...
*
Jenn felt the nerves bounce around her body as the lift slowly carried her and Roxie up the side of the club. She told herself to feed off them, that they would make her stronger. They were the same nerves that had told her she couldn't pull off the role of a model when she'd first arrived in Dubai.
Yet she had. So maybe she could pull this off too?
She didn't want to head back to London without something for her efforts here. It was important to her and her future career that she proved her value. Besides, Sandra Wilson was relying on her.
She felt stupid for showing surprise over the bedrooms. Of course there were bedrooms. This was the world she'd stepped into, one was part of now. It felt like she was in a parallel universe, one that was inhabited and dominated by men like Nikolay Volkov.
And, until yesterday, by Tony Yamamura...
That thought sent a cold shiver through her core. Roxie must have felt her reaction, because she squeezed her hand reassuringly as they stepped out of the lift.
"Are you okay?" the redhead asked.
"Sure," Jenn said, with a slight nod of her head.
She'd been so preoccupied with her thoughts that she wasn't even aware of which floor they'd stopped on.
Hopefully, she would be able to make contact with Michelle at some stage this evening. She still felt like the Korean American model could be her key to getting the information she needed on Volkov and his activities. But there had to be others here tonight who could help her. She intended to seek them out.
"Come on, let's get ourselves a drink," Roxie suggested.
Jenn followed her, watched the sexy way the redhead's ass move in her tight dress, admiring the way the pinstripes followed the rich curves of her hips and thighs. She seemed to glide across the floor lazily with that model-learned stride, one foot in front of the other, slender hips swaying.
With Roxanne, everything seemed to come naturally. Would she ever feel as confident as that?
The music didn't seem quite as loud up in the bar area on the other side of the room—she could hear herself think—but the sweet smell rising off the hookahs was much different. Stronger.
Much more illegal?
This floor was completely different to the one they'd just left, although the decadent atmosphere was just as heavy. What had Gerry, the security guy said about each floor? "All different, all the same..."
This one was made up almost exclusively with gossamer curtained alcoves around the side and a small but very busy dance floor in the centre.
Once they had their drinks—Cosmos—they casually wandered around the fringes of the dance floor, deciding on their next steps. When they passed one of the alcoves on their right, Jenn felt Roxie stiffen.
The curtains were partly open and two models were taking turns doing what looked like two lines of cocaine off the table infront of them. The blonde model had just taken a hit and tossed her long, wavy hair back, pinching her nose as the powerful narcotic washed through her.
"Shit, that's good stuff," she commented to the other, before noticing the two women watching them. "Want some?"
Roxanne shook her head disapprovingly as she swung around on her heels.
"You've done it?" Jenn asked, those big brown eyes wide again.
"Once upon a time," the redhead reluctantly said. Drugs and modelling went hand-in-hand, after all. "Those days have been behind me ever since I met Jack."
She glanced towards the dance floor. It was full of attractive dancers flailing their bodies to the heavy music. Beautiful models had always known how to let their hair down. One of the women, a young blonde, was particularly noticeable as people created space around her. She was dancing with an Arab guy at least twice her age.
Her tight ringlets swayed on her shoulders as she flung her sexy body around to the hip-hop beat, while her partner's hands were all over the taut expanse of skin between her little silver cami top and her black mini-skirt. It was scandalously short and fluttered about her thighs with each confident sway of her sublime hips.
"That's Sarah Ellis," Roxie whispered conspiratorially, sipping at her cocktail. "She's a young up and coming model, anxious to please."
Just how anxious quickly became clear. When she pulled the man's head down to hers and whispered something into his ear, he nodded happily and then allowed Sarah to pull him off the dance floor.
"You were wondering about the bedrooms," Roxie murmured, with a wry smile. "I think they're about to see some early action.
*
Jack Palmer wandered across to one of the nooks by the smoky glass windows on the second floor. He'd spent time on each of the seven floors now, casually checking out who was there and listening in to the various conversations. The only common denominator was that the news of Tony Yamamura's death had spread rapidly. Not that his demise had stopped people from enjoying themselves. Even those who knew Yamamura still seemed to be in party mood.
Three beautiful women were talking next to the windows near him. The table beside them was littered with martini glasses filled with various coloured liquids. One of them—an attractive brunette who reminded him of Penelope Cruz—smiled brightly in his direction and waved him across.
"Jack, join us," she cheerily greeted him. "We all want to meet you."
When he got closer, the second model with her whispered something to the third woman. It drew a laugh. Palmer felt his cock tighten, pretty sure that her comment was sexual.
"I'm Isobel," the Penelope Cruz lookalike told him, offering both cheeks for a kiss.
Her slinky gold dress shimmered in the strobe lights and accentuated rather than hid her curves. It was practically impossible not to check out that healthy cleavage. When his eyes returned upwards, there was a cheeky smile on her face. And yet it was a smile that seemed more genuine than any other he'd received tonight. Did he know her?
"I'm a friend of Roxie's," she explained, stroking his forearm. "I've photographed her a few times. She's told me all about you."
Of course! This was the 'Izzy' that Roxie had mentioned. She'd also been the photographer at Jenn's Clinique shoot.
