The 24th Letter

FORTY-SEVEN

The deejay shouted into the sound system, “You’re not in Kansas anymore people! It’s time to party like you’re in Oz!” The deejay stood behind an elevated platform spinning his body like an orchestra maestro conducting the last seconds leading into a crescendo.

O’Brien and Barbie walked past a waterfall lit with blue lights. They followed a winding yellow acrylic floor that disappeared around a huge artificial tree. From where O’Brien stood, he counted six bars. The light system sent a rainbow palette of colors over the entire cavernous club in a wave pattern. Stylized images of a lion, scarecrow, tin man, and dueling witches, dressed in black and white morphed behind a fifty-foot curved Plexiglas screen near the ceiling.

On the second level, O’Brien could see a dozen or more VIP rooms looking down on the dance floor. Silhouetted figures moved behind the smoky-colored glass resembling shadows on the blinds.

A fashion model moonlighting as a cocktail hostess walked by with a tray of drinks. O’Brien asked, “How do we get up there?” He pointed to the VIP rooms.

“See the hostess over there in the black dress.” The waitress pointed to a woman standing behind a lime green podium near a bubble glass elevator.

O’Brien and Barbie approached the podium, stepping on a tiger-striped woven rug near the base of the dais. The woman in the short black dress wore a wireless earpiece and gray microphone. O’Brien said, “We’d like a VIP suite.”

“The name, sir.”

“Conti.”

Barbie looked at O’Brien and smiled.

“Would you like to leave a credit card imprint to reserve it?” asked the hostess.

“It’s early. I bet you have a few available. Matter of fact, I’m tall enough to see one that is vacant up there.” O’Brien pointed to a dark suite.

“That’s reserved for one a.m.”

O’Brien slipped her a twenty and said, “We’ll be gone by then. In the meantime, we’ll enjoy some of your best champagne in that booth.”

The hostess smiled. She spoke into her microphone. “Sheila, we’ll be having guests coming up the lift. Please show them to the Opium Den.”

The glass elevator, shaped like a hot-air balloon, moved very slow, giving O’Brien time to canvas the club as the glass orb rose above the packed dance floor.

Beyond the lights, thought O’Brien, behind the facade of Oz, was the real wicked wizard. Somewhere one of the dark alcoves led to the spot where an evil wizard hid behind a curtain pulling human strings. Somewhere in the building was Jonathan Russo’s office. The key was to find it. But as O’Brien stepped from the elevator to the second floor, he saw a curtain being drawn in a VIP suite.

And now he had a better plan.