He left with Kaori while I paced. Within thirty minutes, Elliot reappeared. He looked tired. Dark circles had emerged beneath his eyes, and his skin was paler than usual. He closed the door with a quiet click and leaned against it.
“Where’d you go?”
I shook my head. “It’s not important. A small problem, that’s all. It’s dealt with. So, what did you uncover?”
Elliot swept a hand down his face, then rubbed his chin which was dark with two-day-old stubble. We’d both been on the go for pretty much forty-eight hours straight, and exhaustion was beginning to show. Not to mention it was one-thirty in the morning. I could survive on four hours’ sleep, and even I was feeling the strain.
He pushed off the door and crossed to the mini bar tucked in the corner of the room. Removing a bottle of water, he twisted off the cap, took aim at the trash can, hitting the target with a perfectly timed throw. He drank deeply, then reached down and removed a second bottle, tossing it my way. I caught it one-handed.
Elliot flopped onto the couch at the foot of the bed. I took a seat beside him.
“That bad, huh?”
He twisted his head. “Man’s an asshole, Ryker. Seriously, the dude needs to be taken outside and have his balls crushed in a vise. The way he treats the women here.” He palmed his neck then leaned back. “If what Kaori told me contains even a sliver of the truth, I want to kill him.”
I didn’t need Elliot to expand. No point in spilling sordid details. We’d encountered this before, although given his pallor, maybe not quite to this extent. There were eight clubs under the Poles Apart brand now. This would be the ninth. Each one I’d taken over had its problems, initially, but my team soon stamped out any issues. I had a clear business plan, and every one of my managers followed it to the letter. You knew exactly what you were getting when visiting a Poles Apart club. Finding a woman who’d do the things your wife or girlfriend would balk at wasn’t one of them. Watch the women dance, fantasize all you like, but don’t touch. Not if you want to keep your hand.
I finished up the bottle of water, then nudged Elliot. “Let’s go.”
We exited the room and headed back into the main area of the club. Despite the late hour, the place was still packed, the bar crammed. I spotted Tanaka sitting on a stool drinking scotch. He tapped his fingertips on the bar. His drink was refilled, but no payment changed hands. Given the state of the books, I wasn’t surprised. The former owner had been far too hands-off, and his employees—some of them at least—were taking advantage.
I cocked my head at Elliot and made my way over. Tanaka lifted his newly filled glass of liquor to his lips. I got there before he could take a drink, removing the glass from his hand.
“A word, please, Mr. Tanaka.” I bowed as was the Japanese custom. I was nothing if not polite. “Let’s go to your office, shall we.” Not a question, a demand.
“Who the hell are you?” he slurred. “No one orders me about in my own club.”
I smirked. “I think you’ll find it’s my club.”
Leaving that piece of information floating on the smoke-filled air, I strode away. He’d follow. I had zero doubt on that score.
I’d already checked out the schematics of the club and knew exactly where Tanaka’s office was. I opened the door and walked inside, settling myself at his desk—now my desk. He arrived a few seconds later, out of breath, his greasy short hair stuck to his forehead. Elliot arrived right behind him.
Tanaka repeated his question. “Who are you?”
“Sit down.” I jerked my chin at the chair opposite.
“You’re sitting in my chair,” Tanaka replied, his English perfect save for a slight accent. An educated man, but still a sleazeball.
I tsked. “It’s my chair. This is my club.” I jabbed my finger. “Sit.”
He paused, considering his options. And then he did as instructed. “Akiro Yoshida owns this club.”
Part of signing the deal had been an enforced secrecy clause. Yoshida had been prevented from telling anyone he was selling up, including his employees. Especially his employees. I insisted on it with all my business transactions.
I glanced at my watch. “Six hours and thirty-four minutes ago, Mr. Yoshida signed the contract selling this club to me.”
“That’s impossible,” Tanaka spluttered. “He would have told me.”
“I can assure you it’s far from impossible.” I fiddled with my cufflinks. “Feel free to call him if you’re so inclined, although I doubt he’ll thank you for ringing at this late hour.”
Tanaka’s eyes narrowed, but he made no move to call Yoshida.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to close the club early tonight, and then I want all the staff to gather in the bar. You’ve got ten minutes. I suggest you get on with it.”
“How do you expect me to do that?”
“You’ve got a tongue in your head. Use it.”
Elliot sniggered and opened the door. I stared flatly at the man sitting opposite until he finally rose from the chair, muttering under his breath on the way out.
Ten minutes later—to the second—Elliot and I returned to the main bar area. The final customers were being ushered up the stairs that led to the outside of the club. Tanaka had retaken the same stool at the end of the bar, except this time, sans scotch. Outwardly, he exuded nonchalance, but a slight tremor to his left pinky gave the game away.
A hush fell across the room. Elliot folded his tall frame into a chair. I remained standing.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Ryker Stone, and this is my business partner, Elliot Bancroft. Yesterday, I purchased this establishment, and now I want to let you all know what’s going to happen.” I cut my gaze to Tanaka. “Translate.”
He did, albeit reluctantly. I continued, pausing at regular intervals for him to translate into Japanese for those present who did not speak enough English to understand. A surprising majority seemed able to follow most of what I was saying, which pleased me. I insisted on the ability to speak English in all my businesses, regardless of location. English was the global language, and a lot of the men who frequented these types of establishments were traveling businessmen looking for a little fun. I didn’t want them to struggle with a language barrier—or use it as a way of pretending they didn’t understand the rules.
“So, next steps,” I said. “All establishments under the Poles Apart brand have a certain look. Therefore, I’ll be closing the club for a period of two weeks to allow the renovations to take place.”
A murmur broke out, growing in volume as people conversed in hushed whispers. I held up my hand.
“For those concerned about their salaries, let me allay your fears. You will be recompensed during the closure period based on your average earnings over the last six months. If you have worked here for less than six months, then your total tenure will be used in the calculation.” I allowed a slow smile to build as I turned my attention first to Tanaka, and then to the bartender I’d witnessed skimming. “As with all takeovers, there will always be job losses, but these will be kept to a minimum. While I can’t promise anyone will keep their job until my team and I have had time to properly assess all employees, at this juncture, I foresee only two.”