A minute later a stretch limo drove up and the driver got out, came around, and

opened the door. Ten people got out. They were all in their twenties and

thirties, split equally between men and women, dressed in casual clothes that

would break the bank of most people.

 

One of the men from the group came up to Rogers. He was tall, good-looking, with

thick, curly brown hair, and he wore a carefree, arrogant expression. “Name’s

Josh Quentin. My party’s on the VIP list.” Rogers looked down at his list and

said, “I’ll need to see ID from everyone.” “You’re new.” “First night.” “What’s

your name?” “Paul.” “Okay, Paul, fair enough. But from now on, remember us.

We’re regulars. And I don’t like to wait.” He slipped a hundred-dollar bill into

Rogers’s hand.

 

They all showed ID and Rogers checked the names off on the screen on his phone.

“Have a good time, Mr. Quentin.” Quentin turned to look at him and smiled. “I

always do.” He grabbed the gorgeous woman next to him, who returned the grope

with a smile and a flirty hip bump.

 

Some guys seem to have the Midas touch, thought Rogers. And I wouldn’t mind

bashing in the brains of every single one of the pricks.

 

He poked his head inside the door in time to see the group head up the stairs

and into a room.

 

Rogers had not gone up there when he was inside the bar. It had been roped off.