Myron knew that there were probably a million FBI bugging devices in here. Herman Ache didn't care. Anybody who said something truly damaging in the tavern itself was beyond stupid and deserved to get nailed.
The real talk went on in the back rooms. Ache made sure they were swept for bugs every day.
Win drew a few curious glances when they entered. Prep was not exactly the 'in' style of Clancy's clientele. But no one stared too long. This was a bar where no one stared at anyone too long.
Is that your friend Aaron?' Win asked.
Aaron was at the back of the bar wearing his customary white suit. This time he wore a shirt, albeit one of those pectoral-displaying sleeveless muscle Ts. It was as if Aaron's wardrobe had entered some molecular transformer with issues of GQ and Pumping Iron. Aaron waved them to come forward with a hand the size of a manhole cover.
'Hello, Myron,' Aaron said. 'A genuine pleasure to see you again.'
Myron Bolitar, Mr Popularity. 'Aaron, I'd like you to meet Win Lockwood.'
Aaron angled the smile at Win. 'Pleasure, Win.' They shook hands with death stares, each sizing the other man up. Neither flinched.
'They're waiting in the back,' Aaron said. 'Come on.'
Aaron led them to a locked door with a one-way mirror. The door opened immediately. They entered. Two hoods stood stonefaced. In front of them was a long corridor. There was - and this was new - a metal detector, like at the airport.
Aaron shrugged, as if to say, A sign of the times. 'Hand over your weapons, if you'd be so kind. Then step through.'
Myron took out his thirty-eight, Win a brand-new forty-four. Last night's forty-four had no doubt been destroyed. They stepped through.
The metal detector did not ding, but the two hoods still searched with one of those gizmos that looked suspiciously like vibrators. Then they searched again, this time by hand.
'Very thorough,' Win said.
'Almost enjoyable,' Myron added. 'I thought he was going to ask me to turn my head and cough.'
'Hey, funny man,' one of the hoods groused, 'this way.'
The two hoods took over, escorting them down the corridor. Aaron stayed back and watched. Myron did not like that. The walls were white, the carpet office-orange. Lithographs of the French Riviera lined the walls. The front of Clancy's Tavern looked like a dive; the back like a dentist's office.
Two other men appeared at the other end of the corridor. They were both carrying guns.
Myron leaned forward toward Win's ear. 'Uh-oh.'
Win nodded.
The two men pointed their guns at Myron and Win. One barked, 'Hey, you, Goldilocks. Get over here.'
Win looked at Myron. 'Goldilocks?'
'I think he means you.'
'Oh. The blond hair. I get it now.'
'Yeah, Goldie, get your butt down here.'
'Later,' Win said. He moved down the corridor. The two hoods from the metal detector took out their guns. Four men, four guns. Lots of firepower.
Not taking any chances after last night.
'Hands on your head. Let's go.'
Win and Myron, separated by approximately ten feet, did as they were told. One of the hoods from the metal detector approached Myron.
Without warning, he punched the butt of his gun against Myron's kidney.
Myron dropped to his knees. Nausea swam through him. The man followed up with a kick to the ribs. Then another. Myron slid to the ground.
The other man joined in. He stomped on Myron's upper legs like they were small brushfires. One stomp landed on the already-sore kidney. Myron thought he was going to vomit.
In something of a haze Myron spotted Win. He had not moved, his face displaying something akin to non-interest. He had sized up the situation and made a quick determination: There was nothing he could do to help.
Worrying and fretting were worthless. Win was spending his time calmly studying the men. He didn't like to forget a face.
The kicks came in a nonstop flurry. Myron curled into a fetal position and tried to ride it out. The kicks hurt like hell, but they were too rushed to do serious damage. One landed near his eye. He'd have a shiner for sure.
Then a voice shouted, 'What the hell- Stop this moment!'
The kicks halted immediately.
'Get away from him!'
The men backed off. 'Sorry, Mr Ache.'
Myron rolled onto his back. With some effort he managed to sit up.
Herman Ache stood by an open door. 'Are you okay, Myron?'
Myron winced. 'Never better, Herman.'
'I can't tell you how sorry I am,' Herman Ache said. Then glaring at his men. 'But some people will be even sorrier.'
The men cowered away from the older man. Myron almost rolled his eyes. This was all an act. Herman Ache's men did not beat up men in Herman's corridor without permission. This had been a setup. Now Myron supposedly owed Herman, even before the negotiating started. Not to mention the fact that pain is a great fear-inducer, the perfect prenegotiation cocktail.
Aaron came down the hall. He helped Myron to his feet and sort of half shrugged as if to say Cheap move, but what can you do? 'Come,' Herman beckoned. 'Let's talk in my office.'
