A queue of gaudily dressed people lined the pavement, and while two towering figures stood guard over the club’s large metal doors, those two were the harmless ones. Two slighter men beside the bouncers had control over who entered the club and who was turned away. One by one, they pushed waiting patrons against the wall and patted them down before allowing them inside. At least Clive has better intel this time, Jack thought, approaching the end of the queue. The pimp’s here. And as paranoid as reported. Arriving obviously armed would have ended the night early. Not that Jack ever went unarmed, of course. Anywhere. Though that wasn’t a fact he advertised. Next in the queue was a woman in a leather miniskirt and knee-high boots. She giggled and batted her lashes as she was told to lean on the wall. Hands roamed, and the giggle became an indignant squeak when fingers slipped under her skirt. “Watch your hands, mate!”
