Fleur Di Lis

Chapter Three

The Fleur Di Lis nightclub was situated in the bosom of the Upper East Side.  Its exterior was pretty nondescript; a plain redbrick building that looked like it could have been a warehouse at some point in its life.  The only giveaway to its true nature was the Fleur Di Lis emblem that was emblazoned on the face of the building.

Rik's impala pulled up outside the nightclub doors, behind a delivery van that was currently being relieved of its weight.

"This place doesn't look like much," Rik commented, his nose wrinkled in distaste.  "You sure you got the right address?"

"Of course."  I frowned.  "Did anyone ever tell you that it's not what's on the outside that counts?"

Rik gave me a dry look.  "Actually, you're the first person to ever tell me that."

I scoffed, opening the car door.  "Sure."

We made our way towards the entrance to the club, where we were stopped by a huge burly man of African-American origin; his face a permanent scowl and the ugly scar on his left cheek was enough to make anyone shrink away.  Hell, even Rik took a step back.  Me?  I stood where I was, angling my head up to meet the guy's scowl head-on.  Having had a Latino for a stepdad taught me that the bigger they were, the harder they fell. 

It was the only good thing that he taught me.

"Club's closed," the guy growled.

"That's okay," I flashed my badge, a sweet smile on my face.  "We're just here to talk."

The scowl deepened, the scar getting uglier.  "Especially for pigs."

I raised my eyebrows.  Being insulted was part of the job description for cops, especially when it came to people of, let's say, ethnic groups.  This guy clearly held a grudge against the authorities.  I stepped towards him, ignoring Rik's whispered warnings to stay away.

"Listen, big guy," I began, holding my hands up in surrender.  "We want no trouble, but you're quickly becoming a problem."

"And, you bring nothing but trouble," he snarled.  "So, do us all a favor and fuck off, scum."

I exhaled.  "That's not very nice, is it?"

I reached out, pinching the side of his neck so that he fell to the floor like a stone.

"Hey, did everyone see that?"  I called out, noticing the delivery guys had stopped in their tracks.  "The guy just passed out in front of me!  Damn."

I stepped over his huge frame and entered the club, a shell-shocked Rik hurrying after me.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at, Nicki?"  He hissed, grabbing my arm to hold me back as I marched down the corridor of black and gold.  "You can't just walk up to someone that doesn't like you and pressure-point them.  You're lucky this isn't the Bronx, otherwise you'd have a bullet in your chest long before you could speak."

"Will you relax, Donovan?"  I wrenched my arm away from his grip.  "Nobody saw anything; they're too busy offloading the damn truck.  Besides, the guy was an asshole, no doubt I did people a favor.  Now, are we gonna go and do our job or what?"

Before he could open his mouth, I continued marching down the corridor until we reached the cavernous club.  It was two stories high, with a glass mezzanine floor above our heads, which looked over the lush private booths and the DJ area.  On the left, a bar that stretched from one end of the club to the other, where an army of waitresses and bartenders began stocking the shelves for the busy night ahead of them.  One of them, a skinny chick with platinum hair cut and spiked up like a pixie's, was oddly familiar to me.  She wore black tight-fitting jeans, a matching halter-neck top and a pair of spiked heels.