Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 122896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 614(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 614(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
When Finn hung back, he hoped he wouldn’t get kicked out before getting a chance to snoop around, since that was the whole damn reason he’d come to The Peach Pit in the first place. The whole reason he’d allowed himself to get molested and manhandled, and not in a way he normally preferred.
Since a room with two showers was located directly off the dressing room, he used an excuse about cleaning up before getting dressed and heading home. Luckily, no one seemed to pay him any mind.
Nick, the only one with the knowledge that Finn was undercover, gave him a chin lift and the warning, “The manager said the rear door will lock behind you. Just make sure you don’t forget anything or you’ll have to come back to get it tomorrow during regular business hours,” before he disappeared for the night.
That wasn’t a problem and, in reality, it was the perfect excuse for him to return to the club before next Monday night. That way he could get behind the scenes again, but when a full staff was working, as well as the regular dancers.
Now, about a half hour after entering the dressing room, he finally found himself completely alone. Even though exhaustion weighed on him, he still had a job to do. His real job.
Once again fully dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he began searching through every locker without a padlock. He found nothing other than what would be expected in any typical strip club dressing room.
He flipped chairs upside down to see if any drugs were taped underneath. He checked inside the toilet tanks in the attached restroom. He dug through every drawer in the mirrored vanities.
He found zero indication that any of the strippers were dealing meth. Obviously, if they were smart, they wouldn’t leave evidence behind. It was also possible it wasn’t the strippers dealing. Even though he hadn’t spotted one Deadly Demon in the club tonight, that didn’t mean they weren’t around during normal club hours and involved with the backdoor dealing. It could even be the manager. Or bartender.
It could be anyone.
But he couldn’t imagine anyone was dealing meth from a Demons owned business without the MC being aware or involved. Whether the confidential informant was right or not about the bikers dealing out of The Peach Pit, Finn also had no doubt the outlaw MC could use the club for money laundering.
It was the perfect business to clean dirty money. And lots of it. The male patrons always had cash on them to attract the dancers’ attention, just like the women had done tonight.
Would the MC have to wash all of their drug money? Most likely not, since some of it could be spent anywhere in smaller amounts. However, not all of it could be used for everyday spending depending on how much they were raking in when it came to their drug business.
By expanding into Pennsylvania and Ohio and setting up two additional chapters, along with buying businesses that regularly dealt with cash, were they setting themselves up to start dealing more than the single kilo they got in exchange for the use of their big rig?
That could very well be the case. They might not only be growing their territory but their cash flow.
It made a lot of fucking sense.
While tonight was a bust for him in regards to finding any evidence, the club was bigger than just the dressing room. It was also bigger than just the dancers. He really needed to find a way to get back inside when he wasn’t there to dance with the Peckers.
He needed to find a way to make a connection with someone on the inside. Maybe with one of the dancers, if possible. And not as a customer, either, since dancers only pretended to care about the men who tipped them, when in reality, they only flirted with them for one thing.
Cold hard cash.
Any man who believed a stripper was nice to him because she really liked spending time with him was a fucking fool. The same went for the women who jotted down their numbers on dollar bills that had the potential of ending up scattered over the country.
What he needed to do was witness a buy or make a buy of his own. But first he’d need to figure out who was doing the dealing. That might not be an easy feat.
He sighed as he zipped up his duffel. He was ready to call it a night and go home to take a long, hot shower, turn on the replay of Monday Night Football and drink a cold beer or two.
He definitely needed to get off his feet since dancing for an extended period of time in steel-toed boots wasn’t ideal. It actually had been torture.
At this point, his plan was to return tomorrow night to speak with the club’s manager about retrieving an item he “accidentally” left behind. He had balled up a pair of his cock-pocket bikini underwear and hid it at the bottom of the locker he’d been using.