Pole Dance (23 page)

Jake had become a loner, someone that was exactly where he said he was going to be, when he said he was going to be there. There were no sub-text in his actions or speech with regard to the fairer sex either in the club or when Dale had spent time with him outside of the their businesses. It was weird and Jake's involvement with this latest one, in light of the turnaround, was even weirder.

"Ah, Jake? You are being careful, right? I mean, I saw her resume and can guess that this Caitlin doesn't have many assets, if she has any at all. Make sure that she's not just with you--"

"For my money?" Jake interrupted. "That what you're gettin' at, Dale? You think she's only with me for my money?"

"Just lookin' out for you, Man."

Jake sighed.

"Just leave Caitlin to me, yeah?"

"Okay, noted," Dale said as he marked both invoices with the general ledger code that would bill Jake instead of one of the businesses and put those papers into the 'resolved' pile. " But, bud, this is really unusual…"

"Want her, Dale," Jake stated firmly, his eyes on his best friend.

"Somethin' special?" Dale questioned softly though his mind was racing. 'What the fuck does that mean?' he thought as Jake's words echoed in his head.

Jake slowly nodded. "Very special, Dale."

Dale held Jake's gaze as he sifted through the responses he could use and eliminating those that were guaranteed to piss Jake off.

"Uhm, okay." Dale lowered his eyes knowing with the surety of their experiences together that Jake wasn't gonna offer up any details. "Should anything with the word 'Caitlin' in it then be billed to you going forward?" Dale was nothing if not savvy and quick on his feet. "Was that the one that Hank said you were draped all over at Enrique's?"

"Yep."

"Allrighty, then. Next subject…"

*.*.*.*.*

"Jake, you got Patel on line one, " the tinny voice announced.

"Stanton," Jake said using the speakerphone button.

"Jake? Take me off of speakerphone, okay?"

Jake recognized the voice of Ram Patel, Grantham's Chief of Police, with his English expressions which many assumed was due to an British education. Those many, though, would be wrong. His mother was British and had married Ram's sub-Asian continent father when they met as guest lecturers at the State University. Ram was born and bred right there in the good old' US of A but you wouldn't know it to look at or to hear him.

Jake snagged the receiver and heard Ram swearing softly, "Christ, I hate speakerphones!"

"What's up? The militant moral majority of Grantham planning another protest against the sin of the club?"

"Wish it was, Jake. Can't explain it over the phone but was wondering if you and Dale had a moment for me later today?"

Jake flipped thru his Day-Timer, carefully marked with Caitlin's schedule as well as his own. "Nothing doing right now and have about an hour before the next crap hits. I'll call Dale now. Meet us at the Club?"

"Be there in twenty," Ram said before disconnecting without a good bye.

Jake was still mulling over the Suds'n'Duds financials when he heard a soft three-knock against his office door.

"It's open," he rumbled as he rose to his feet across the acres of desk.

"Yo, Jake," Ram said as he made his way across the office floor to grab Jake's outstretched hand. Standing over six feet, four inches and broad of shoulder, Ram was an impressive man. From his glossy black hair to the tips of his glossy black boots, he was a force to deal with and not just because of his looks. "We got a situation."

Jake caught Ram's brown eyes and then gestured to one of the chairs before lifting his chin to acknowledge what Ram had said.

A very disheveled Dale entered the office just as Ram was settling into his chair. "Sorry I'm late. There had better be a good reason to drag me out of bed."

Jake took in the wrinkled t-shirt and khakis as Dale slid himself into the only chair left open. He and Dale alternated the close of the club weekly and he could see that Dale was worse for wear this morning since they had met earlier and it was only 9.30am. 'Maybe an hour and a half of sleep, then,' he thought as his eyes hit Dale settling into the other chair positioned right next to Ram in front of the desk.

"There've been three murders in the last three weeks," Ram announced without preamble as he began to shuffle the manila folders that he had brought with him. "All three were girls that have or were working at the club."

Dale and Jake exchanged a look as Jake seated himself across the desk from Ram.

He took the top folder that Ram had set in the middle of the desk. Opening the first, he saw a picture of a woman with her head turned, arms crossed over her head but with her trousers down to her knees and her top and bra lifted. The picture showed the initials 'W o B' carved against the beauty of her stomach.

Swallowing thickly, Jake asked hoarsely, "So?"

"We've identified the body as Tracy Collins who worked at your club until about three months ago."

Jake looked again at the photograph and connected the wavy dark blonde hair, winged eyebrows and denim jacket as Tracy's. She had been beautiful, a tall stately headliner, working the pole, building a following until she had been caught flashing body parts that the club wasn't permitted to have on display. When pressed before having her escorted out, Tracy, face blackened by the tears of her mascara, explained that her mother had been diagnosed with cancer and she needed the extra money to help pay the astronomical medical bills. And Jake knew from experience that those 'private glimpses' were usually worth three to five hundred per flash. Which didn't matter, though, since they were so heavily regulated since being a 'Breasts Only' club.

He pushed the folder to Dale who took a quick glance at the picture before slamming the folder closed.

Jake moved to the second folder and cringed as he recognized Abby, one of the club's second best on the poles from six months ago. He was able to see her, through the vines and stems of her impromptu grave, recognizing her signature zebra print vest and camouflage green mini-skirt though they, too, were pulled up to expose her privates. The 'W o B' was carved into her belly being center and front in the frame of the picture.

Abby had been let go due to a failed drug test which she had tried to laugh off, contending her latest man was a druggie and she was getting the drugs through the exchange of body fluids. Jake knew better after seeing track marks in between her toes that were exposed in their final interview. Legs crossed and top, swinging foot exposed in her platform flip-flops, Jake had seen the marks and had, without reluctance, handed over her final paycheck. Flipping her hair, Abby had given him the glare that in any other circumstance would've caused flames, but had finally given way and stomped out the Club's door.

"When'd you find her?," Jake asked on a thick voice. He was passing the folder to Dale, who held up a hand, signifying he didn't want to look, touch or go anywhere near the folder. One glimpse of one file was enough for Dale. Jake could relate.

"Two weeks ago, Buddy," Ram answered softly, knowing that this had to be hitting the co-owners hard, as both Jake and Dale were very involved in the lives of their employees. "We're thinking that she was the first."

"First? So, these aren't chronological?"

Ram slowly nodded, not sparing words. "They're just your girls, Jake."

Jake hesitated over opening the last file knowing, without being told, that it was going to be the hardest folder yet. He moved the other viewed folders to the far left of his desk and propped his elbows on the edge, fitting this last folder between his bent elbows. He slid his eyes to Dale, who's skin had taken on a decidedly green tint, before moving his eyes back to Ram.

"This gonna hurt worse than them?," he asked with a glance to the other folders before raising his golden eyes to meet the dark brown ones of the Chief.

"Know this is tough, Buddy, but its gotta be done," Ram replied on a whisper while holding Jake's gaze.

Jake slowly peeled back the front cover of the report, steeling himself against the grainy photograph that he knew he would see inside. His eyes fell on the glossy print, his eyes glazed and deliberately unfocused to avoid any recognition. But, as human as the next person, his eyes zeroed in and recognized the dark layered hair of Pam, his former waitress turned dancer. Her face was turned away from the camera and, like the other two, had her hands posed above her head. Her striped top and lace-edged bra were pulled above her breasts while her jeans were tangled with her lace panties and were pulled down to above her knees. There it was again. The 'W o B' carved into her stomach.

"Pam's been with us for over four years," Jake swallowed thickly raising his eyes to Ram, "She was newly promoted to dancer at her request," His eyes flowed again over the grainy picture.

"Aw shit," Dale growled before shooting to his feet and running to the small office bathroom.

"We found her last night," Ram was following Jake's eyes as he took in the photo. They both ignored the sound of Dale's retching. " Just like the others, she was found behind a dumpster."

"But, she hadn't been let go," Jake said firmly. "She hadn't been fired or given notice. She had just been promoted to dancer."

"I know, Buddy," Ram said on a sigh. "She was just one of Fuego's girls."

There was more than a few seconds of silence which was only broken by the sound of running water and the toilet flushing from the corner bathroom.

Both Ram and Jake's eyes followed Dale's unsteady progress as he slowly took his former seat next to the police chief.

"Jake? You notice that all of these girls worked for you and Dale, right? And that all of them have been murdered?" Ram hated having to mince words but recognized that there was a vested interest in each of the folders that he had brought.

"So how can we help?" Jake asked after a couple of beats through the tense silence, though his glance had cut to Dale before settling on Ram's face.

"I need a list of your female employees, especially the dancers going back from a couple of years ago to present," Ram said softly. "I need addresses and emergency contact info as well." Jake nodded but Ram could tell by his stillness that he was still caught up in the grisly photos he had seen. Feeling the need to speed the investigation up, he continued. "And we need that list as soon as possible."

"Sure, no problem," Jake's first look was to the shaking and pale Dale before replying as Dale seemed to pull himself together. Jake closed the folder on Pam slowly and without looking at the picture again. He didn't need to look at the pictures again since he knew that visuals would stay in his head for a long time. He stacked the folders and handed them back to Ram.

Dale stayed silent but his eyes moved back and forth between Jake and Ram as each of them spoke but with kept drifting furtive glances to the pile of folders as each of them nodded their heads towards the folders as they spoke.

"Couple of other things. We're gonna have a presence in the club, undercover, so we can keep an eye on things. This sick fuck strangles them then carves the 'W o B' on their bodies," Ram explained then shot his eyes towards Jake, then Dale before letting the rest of his knowledge fly. "And we've found semen in the cuts. This sick piece of shit beats off on their dead bodies." Ram shook his head in disbelief. "We've tried running the DNA but we're not getting any hits that match, plus the tests coming back show that the semen is from different people. Which makes no fucking sense at all."

Ram spoke to his clenched hands that seemed firmly embedded in the desktop before muttering. "In other words, Buddy, we got shit."