Chapter 11: diStrip clubs arely my kind of pce, but they’ll always have a soft spot in my heart. About two years ago I’d goo the one near work for some corporate schmoozing and by the end of the night I’d picked up one of the strippers. She was this big-titted slut called di. That wasn’t a stage name or anything (and what kind of twisted parents heir kid ‘di’?) and I’ll be ho: I didly date her for the versation.
I say that, and you know what? It ain’t fair. di was cool, in her way. She was gritty in a way I really liked. She was genuine and real and she knew a thing or two about what life was really like and ho it could be, pared to the shallow whininess, the phoniness and bullshit of some of the bitches in my workpce.
di wasn’t one of those clever uy chicks stripping for tuition. She wasn’t doing it because it was emp, or to make some feminist point, or because she was some freaky exhibitionist. di didn’t have a heart of gold or a point to prove. She was a high-school dropout with a drug habit and a head full of issues. She had a killer body and an okay face, and figured out early what she was best at. Step-daddy beat her ooo often and so when she was sixteen she ran away to the big city. She sged enough cash together to get some quality work done on her boobs, and as long as the looks sted, she probably took as much satisfa from her job as David Saunders had from his.
She’d knowly what she wahat night and damn if she hadn’t been one of the nastiest, sexiest fucks I’ve ever had. I dropped a lot of cash on that date, and it was some of the best I’ve ever spent. Squeezed into a gy dress, she cut quite the inappropriate figure at that fancy restaurant I took her to, and damn how I loved the sdalous stares she drew. She slipped uhe table before the waiter even had time to take our drinks order. The way she deep-throated me as I struggled to order the Bordeaux, my fingers digging furrows into the tabletop as her head bobbing up and down my shaft, her moans and slurps going nearly unheard beh the gently falling strains of the restaurant piano pyer--God, that kind of shit you never fet.
I saw a lot of di over the years. I could always t oo be there when I needed—her, an ho fuck, truth to power, an authentic reminder of the shitbag I really was. And when things got bad for her, when the pimp turned nasty and the money just wasn’t enough—yeah, you fug well believe I was there when she needed me, too.
But that was a lifetime ago. Stepping into a strip club these days, ma would be throwing me up on stage before they offered me a seat and a beer. Those memories of di fred ay mind as I slipped through the door. I shoved them aside.
Squalid and dark, the entraank of stale cigarette smoke and spilled beer. Momentary silenveloped me, a stark trast to the stant din of the city. Stopping for a moment to catch my breath, eyes blinking and adjusting to the dim light, I felt my heart pounding in my chest. My pursuer wouldn’t follow me into the club, not if he wao remain anonymous. He’d have to wait outside for me to emerge.
(If, oher hand, he was looking to catch me--I’d just given him the perfect opportunity away from the crowds of the street. Pretty girl steps into nasty bar and never es out; would anybody notibsp; I’d just be ane two n in tomorrow’s news, girl hree found dead in the park.)
I padded across the entrand as I approached a swinging door opposite, a faint thrumming of music reached my ears. Treble and midrange joihe beat as I pushed through inte, dimly lit room with a bar at one end and a low stage at the other. The stage was empty but plete with mandatory pole and mirrored bag. A scattering of tables filled the hall. The chairs along jerk-off row were lifted off the floor and turned upside down on the edge of the stage. A rge, industrial-size wet-vac sat unattended in the middle of the room. Coloured lights drifted idly across the stage, fshing to the beat of the music turned low. The lights scattered against a mirrored ball and danced zily around the room.
There’s nothing quite as desperately sad as a club—strip club or meat-market—with the lights on and the booze, sex and drug-induced haze of fantasy gohe smell, the fked paint, the stains of vomit and booze. We could unch a mission to Mars, a woman could lead it, but men still jacked off irousers in the front row to infted women prang in Perspex heels on stage under fshing disco balls.
Passing through the room, I tried to keep as silent as ossible in kitten heels. Women’s clothes arely designed for practicality, let alone for subterfuge, you know? Even with the music, the click of those hard-soled shoes and narrow heels sounded absurdly loud in my ears. I’m pretty damn good at being quiet when I want to, but everything about dy was desigo draw attention, not turn it away. Keeping low, I wove between tables and made my way for a door he stage. The “Staff Only” hopefully meant it might lead to a ba, and then onto a rear exit from the bar.
“I don’t give a fuck how fug big his fug gnds are! We’re already short a girl for tonight, we’re not opening short a bouoo!”
A short, podgy man came st into the room from a door he bar. He was well-dressed and wouldn’t have looked out of pce with that m crowd streaming past the coffee shop, but his face flushed red with rage left him dangerous- and sleazy-looking. “You tell Alex to get his fug ass down here, you hear me?” he tinued, nostrils fring with anger. His face glistened with sweat as he stomped past. “I won’t have my girls in danger because that pussy’s got a cold. Fuck the st pandemid fuck the one, if he’s not here by six, tell him he’s fired!” He jabbed at his phone as he stalked across the room and shoved it into his pocket. “Now where the fuck’s the er goo?” he muttered, headed for the swinging door.
He shouldn’t have seen me. It was bad luothing more. A sudden shift of the lights above cascaded off of one of my earrings a out fre of silver and emerald. The man gnced absently my way as he walked. I held my breath. He stopped walking and did a quick double-take.
“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, spotting my crouched form. “What the fuck are you doing in my bar?” He reversed dires towards me.
Shit. I preteo fiddle with my shoe before standing straight. I fshed a nervous smile. “Um, hi?” I quickly sed the area for something I could clobber this bastard with if things turned nasty.
He came close enough to see me clearly. I shifted unfortably under his gaze. His eyes sed me up and down slowly and his scowl quickly melted into a smile. His face lost its red flush, and with the anger gone he seemed almost friendly, a beardless Santa Cus in a Hugo Boss suit. Saying that, despite the surprisingly disarming smile there was a hardo his eyes that he couldn’t hide. It made him intimidating--especially standing this close, with his heft a that left me feeling so small.
“You must be the girl the agency was sending over,” he said.
Jesus Christ! Five minutes in a strip club and some sleazeball manager was me a job. “Um, yes?” I squeaked out, thrusting my B-cups out as far as they’d go. His frankly appraising gaze made me want to squirm like you wouldn’t believe. A slow burn started in my stomach, although I had to admit that in some ways the man’s look seemed less sexual than most of the creeps ogling me oreet. This guy raising the merdise, not looking to score.
“My name’s Frank,” he said, thrusting out his hand.
“Hi, I’m. . . .” With a sinking feeling in my belly, I gave the first ahat came to mind. “I’m di!” I said, swallowing a deep sigh. His hand, slightly cmmy, ignored my limply extended fingers and seized me by the wrist.
“Sorry about earlier,” he said. His grip slid past my arm and found my waist with far too easy familiarity. Giving me a light tap on the ass that made me jump, he effortlessly led me towards the stage. I nearly pnted my elbow in the bastard’s temple, but narrowly suppressed the urge.
“No problem,” I answered through gritted teeth.
“Just having some staffing issues. Nothing for you to worry about. After all, my loss is yain, right?”
“Yup!” I answered, and forced a giggle. “It’s like, I’m o town and when the call came I was, like, just so happy, because I’m desperate for work and. . . .”
“Of course you are, babe,” Frank said. He looked me ian. “You’re a bit small up top, no? I retty specific, D-cup her. The punters like ‘em big.” He shrugged. “Fuck it, so long you got the moves I don’t give a shit. Beggars ’t be choosers, right?” He gave me a wink. “You have any w clothes with you?”
I bli him in fusion.
He sighed. “For the audition?”
What, the bastard expected me to jump on stage? Yeah, in your fug dreams, Frank. I shook my head, earrings dang against my cheek.
“Um, I just moved here and. . . .” My hand fluttered to my lips. “Oh no! The agency, they didn’t tell me and . . . oh, I’m so stupid! I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I’ll just rush home and. . . .” Okay, yeah, I was ying it on a bit thick but at the moment I just wao get the hell out of there. There rofessional assassin waiting for me outside, but believe me, I’d rather go mano-a-mano with one of Steele’s hired killers tha up on that stage and prance around like this guy’s wet dream.
“Easy, di, easy,” Frank said, giving my ass a ‘f’ squeeze that nearly resulted with my knee in his crotbsp; He led me towards the Staff Only door. “You borrow some shit from the ging room, okay?”
We passed through the door into a dark hallway. The slow burn in my stomach redoubled at the sudden realization that I was aloh this strange man in the back of a disreputable club. No one knew I was here, other than the bastard followiside. My fear was irrational; this guy didn’t get to run his club by assaulting every girl that walked through his door. At least not on the first day of work, anyway. Besides, I knew I could take him despite my ck of strength. It wouldn’t be pretty, but especially with surprise on my side I’d kick this jerk’s ass. Reason did nothing to dispel the ay.
With a final pat on the ass he pushed me through a door. “You get yourself prettied up, di, and I’ll see you on stage in five.” Again that charming smile, but he spoke with unnerving authority, the kind the suggested something bad might happen if I kept him waiting.
I smiled over my shoulder at him. “Okay!” I answered, trying to look grateful and hoping the dark hid my disgust at this man’s toubsp; “And Frank? Thanks for the ce.”
“No problem, babe. You hurry up now.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll set up some tunes and wait by the stage.”
The door shut with a solid clibsp; I gave Frank a mio clear out of the hallway and sed the room. Last time I’d been back stage in a strip club had been with di. I’d fucked her up against the bare crete wall behind a rack of cheap fake furs and silver me stoles. Five mi, rough and intense and rude, and she’d fug loved it, nearly gnawing a k out of my shoulder as she stifled her moans. Then she’d quickly ged and slipped bato the bar to work the tables, and you bet your ass I’d loved the idea of my cum still sloshing around in her belly, still warm and sweaty from my efforts as she rubbed her ass up against those sad pervs in the bar. She’d left me to find my own way out, of course, and I’d had to quickly sneak away before the bouncers caught me and embarrassed themselves trying to kick my ass.
I stepped up to the mirror over the makeup ter. The startled-looking girl in the mirrreen eyes were wide with surprise at the situation she found herself in. Arg my back slightly, I watched as she thrust her chest out and the disarmingly shy smile that trasted her pose. But looking closer, anger smouldered beh those soft features, and her eyes were far harder than Frank could imagine.
The fug things is this, though: as my eyes danced across the room, taking in the row of ridiculous shoes, those t spikes and inches of ptform, and the scattered colle of sparkly vials and shimmering clothes, I couldn’t help but briefly imagine myself out on that goddamn stage, shaking my ass and twirling around that pole.
Yeah, sure, maybe the tits were a bit small—for a stripper—but this fit little body and those years of w out, the grad dance-like motions that apanied all my training--goddamn, but I’d make one hell of a stripper. Even with strength melted away, I still had the sheer athleticism, the muscle-memory of a gymnast; I’d twirl and fug own than goddamn pole, better than ever di did. Well, other than one important bit, of course, and the stirring of my cock beh my skirt (and the tucked-aain that came with it) snapped me from my reverie.
Fug hell. It seemed just yesterday I’d been swiftly climbing the corporate dder, with my own offid secretary, wearing tailored suits, screwing sexy girls I’d picked up in painfully fashionable and over-priced bars . . . how the hell did I end up here, backstage in some grotty little strip bar, imagining myself twirling around a pole for the eai of a bunch of sweaty, sad men? I gave my head a shake. Goddamn hormones, stupid pills pying with my head.
I poked my head out the door. Empty. Silent. Stepping lightly into the hallway, I walked quickly away from the main room. The door closed behih a faint clibsp; I passed a ste closet, staff toilet, turned a er and . . . perfect: a back exit.
Pushing the bar, I gently opehe door an inbsp; Blinking in the sudden light, I peeked into a short recess off the main back alley. It reeked of piss and refuse. Flies crawled across the taut skin of garbage bags bulging from a rge bin pressed up against the brick wall. The wind breathed down the narrow passage, stirring up dirt--died dowurrohan before apanied by the whistling of cables and drying lines overhead.
I flicked the lock open so that I could e back this way if I had to. The door closed shut behind me. I quickly crossed over to the back alley. The brick felt rough beh my palm as I hugged the wall and looked around the er.
The alley led about thirty metres back to the main street that the bar opened on to. He stood there waiting patiently at the er. My pursuer. About six feet tall and slender, with shaggy blond hair and good clothes, a strong and angur nose. A rge dumpster and scattered cardboard boxes and strewn garbage y betweewo of us. An ope breathed out greasy warm air and the wind’s presence sounded a low howl as it swept down the alley.
Easy. I crouched doicked up a discarded beer bottle. I slid the bottle into my purse and gave it a solid whack against the ground. It broke with a muffled crabsp; My delicate fingers curled lightly around the neck of the bottle and pulled it out and held it up before my eyes. The bottom half y in shattered fragments itom of my purse, and the jagged edges glistened wetly with leftover beer. A few silent steps to the dumpster, a slow creep along its edge--and then the final rush; even if he heard me it’d be too te. I imagihrusting the broken bottle into his neck, the warm gush of blood and gurgled surprise, and smiled. David: 2, Steele: 0, you fug bastard.
I slipped out of my hard-soled shoes and delicately rested my full weight down on my bare feet. Carefully, mindful of broken gss, I slid into the alley, shuffling forward, weight resting on the edges of my feet, the bottle held loosely in my grip, using the dumpster and boxes for cover. I moved swiftly forward, staying close to the wall, the wind flowing over me and carrying away every sound, my girlish st, tossing my hair up in a blonde halo around my fad cool against feverishly hot flesh. I reached the back of the rge metal tainer. My nose wri the stench as I crept closer.
A momentary oasis of unnaturally intense silence as I crouched behind the dumpster. I could hear every sound he made, the slight scuff against the ground as he shifted his weight, his exhation of breath and the rustling of his long coat. There couldn’t have been more than te of space between us. My hand tightes grip otle. A final exhirating moment; tightly coiled, I slithered to the edge of my cealment and tensed for the attack.
“Hey. It’s Jeff.”
The man’s voice caused me to pull back.
“Yeah, rep in.” He paused for a moment. “Tell me about it. Shitty day. Think it’s gonna rain. Feels like a big storm ing in.”
He kept his voice quiet as he spoke, and his eyes kept a careful wat the entranbsp; A few times he gnce up the alley but gave no sign of spotting me.
“You ready? Yeah,” my follower said. “Subject: dy Belmy. Female, age 20. Subject left her apartment at 8:11 am and. . . .” For the several minutes he gave, at a rapid, clipped pace, a plete litany of my day’s progress. I was a little put off realizing he’d been following me for lohan I’d known; those damn hormone fshes were pying havoc with my senses. I should’ve picked up on him the moment I left my apartment.
“10:48: subject steps into Satori and . . . .” He stopped for a moment. “Yeah, Satori. It’s a titty bar. Strange name, I know. You should see this pce, absolute dive. Asiaish strip club. Bit out of character for this girl if you ask me, but she’d have the bod for it if she got herself a boob job.”
What the fuck was wrong my boobs? Damn straight I’ve got the body for it, you fug jackass. And as soon as he got off the phone he’d find this body was good for more than just stripping and dang.
“That’s it. She stepped in 15 minutes ago and I’m waiting for her to e out again. Maybe she’s applying for a job or something, how the hell should I know? It’s not like she’s got any other job that I’ve seen. She’s got to make cash somehow.” He nodded a few time. “Yeah. My reendation? This is a fug waste of time. Why the hell does Steele want this girl followed anyway?”
I flushed hot, then shivered as a chill danced down my spine. There was the firmation I needed: Steele was still behind all this bullshit. Guilt fshed through me at having doubted Agent K--but only momentarily. The sta of tits led in cy cups, the heft of long hair and taess of makeup didn’t leave mu for anything but a the thought of that bitd her betrayal.
“No, I’m not questioning the boss’s orders. You think I’ve got a death wish? But what the hell do you wao say? This chick’s life is b. She wanders around the city and drinks coffee and spends most of her day in her apartmeing drunk.” He paused. “Yeah, she’s been buying loads of booze. Nah, I don’t think she’s got any friends.”
And you know, hearing this bastard judge my life like that--so flippantly, so dismissively--fuck, it actually hurt, you know? Stupid thing to be feeling, crouched as I was, coiled and ready t forward; but the stark truth of what he’d said hit me so hard I almost had to blink away tears.
The fucker listened for a bit, grunting a firmation at the occasional unheard question. Finally he shrugged. “Well, no,” he said, his voice grudging. “But the info we’ve got on her says she’s just e out of another round of therapy and surgery, right? She’s a fug basketcase. Of course she’s going to be ag a bit . . . yeah. Yes.” He sighed. “No, she hasly been ag in a way sistent with her profile. But even if her behaviour doesn’t match her profile, her ret--
“She’s been aloof. You quote me: ‘moments of extreme sociability that seem forced, followed by long stretches of alienation and introspe.’ No. No. Yes, from the profile I expected a ditzy blonde or something, a real flirt, but . . . hey, don’t get me wrong, she’s hot and dresses sexy but . . . hell yes! I’d do her, but there’s something about this girl that’s a bit off . . . something in her body nguage, the way she holds herself when she’s not moving. Like I said--she just left a ic, right?”
My muscles were beginning to ache. I wao stretch out but didn’t dare move. This guy--Jeff--even in his versation his senses clearly remained alert, mindful of the entrao the club and any movement in the alley. A few times he had to cup his phoo be heard as the wind whistled through, filling my ears and carrying away his voice, and I had to fall ba long-disused lip-reading skills or risk missing out on what he was saying. Still, I was ting on that wind to ceal my presence when I moved.
“Alright, fine. It’s Steele’s money. She’s ag odd. I’ll tihe surveilnce.” With that he clicked his phone shut and slid it ba his pocket.
And that was my moment: his brief distra as he ehe versation. A short window in which I could rush forward and that’d be that, throat ripped wide open, dead before he hit the ground, his hand still in his goddamn pocket, blood spreading in a sloool around his unmoving body as his vision dimmed, his st sight my cruel smile. . . .
Only I didn’t. Instead I backed away, quietly, bato the bar, ahe broken bottle standing behind the dumpster in the alley.
Author's Notes:
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