Shallow Grave-J Collins 3 (17 page)

Th

e bar began to fi ll with customers. Charity was as lazy a waitress as I’d ever seen. She spent most of her time gazing longingly at the empty stage and chomping ice.

So far I hadn’t seen anything suspicious, however, the show hadn’t started. I fi gured whoever was ripping off the tills waited until all eyes were on the stage.

Th

e deejay announced the fi rst dancer. Named Candy. Bow Wow Wow’s song,
I Want Candy
blasted. A statuesque brunette promenaded on stage decked out like a life-sized candy cane in red-and-white striped spandex.

She gyrated, hands above her head; six-inch red stilettos made her tall enough to dangle from the poles, conveniently running above the stage. She performed a pull-up and straddled her legs midair, fl ashing a white g-string before landing soft as a cat.

Around the stage, bills began to appear.

My gaze slid to the Bare Assets patrons. Th e place

could’ve been hit by a scud missile and these guys wouldn’t 186

have known, so rapt was their attention on Candy.

Smiling, swinging her gleaming hair, Candy

dropped to her knees and gyrated like a slinky to customer #1. She fl icked the money to the back wall, spun and backed her ass right into the guy’s face.

Whoa. Was that . . . legal? I watched raptly as she did it again.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you staring? You’ve never been in a strip club before?”

My eyes met Charity’s. I refused to blush. Or to answer. “Did you need something?”

“Yes,” she hissed. “I’ve asked you
twice
for a gin and tonic. Get your eyes off Candy’s tits and do your job.”

“Coming right up.”
You miserable little bitch.
I glanced at the clock. Only two hours had passed. At this rate I’d have no tongue left, or I’d be in jail for assault.

Th

e song,
Lollipop
blared from the speakers. Candy ripped off the spandex, grabbed a prop—a big dildo thinly disguised as a colorful sucker—opened her mouth and thrust it down her throat.

Money fl ew on stage.

Another cocktail waitress came on shift. A young blond waif who weighed about 100 pounds soaking wet and was high as a kite. She said, “I’m Trina. Ignore Charity-case. She’s just pissed she’s not up there fl ashing her ass for cash.”

187

“Does Crystal know you’re stoned?” Charity oozed false sweetness to Trina.

“Yep. I told her I’d have to be high if I was working with you.” Trina smiled at me and sashayed back to her section.

I was loading the dishwasher when I heard the cash register beep. I whipped around. Charity’s hand was in the drawer. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What the hell does it look like?” She smirked, jamming a stack of one dollar bills in the slot and pocketing a twenty.

“Like you’re stealing.”

She slammed the drawer shut. “Piss off .”

I grabbed her shoulder. “Keep your hands out of my till.”

For a second, she appeared startled, then she laughed.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll break your fucking fi ngers.”

“Ooh, little mouse does more than squeak.” Point-edly, Charity pushed my hand away and said, “Touch me again, and I’ll tell Crystal your slimy hand was on my ass. You’ll be fi red so fast your pea-sized brain will wonder what happened.” Charity ambled away.

I wanted to kill her.

Two more strippers came and went. After a short break, the star performer was announced. A long line 188

formed from the front of the stage and wound through the tables. For what?

I said to Trina, “Who’s next?”

Trina cocked a hip against the bar, empty tray clasped across her fl at chest. “Mistress Dominique. She’s a big draw from Denver. She plays here about once a month.”

Th

e lights dimmed. Smoke swirled. A strobe fl ashed.

Mistress Dominique leapt on stage to the strains of
Dr.

Feelgood
by Motley Crue.

Her name should have been Mistress Dominatrix, as she was all legs, tits and platinum hair. She wore black vinyl boots that ended an inch above her knee. Th e

matching black vinyl skirt molded to her hips, showing two inches of her ass cheeks. Th

e bustier, a tangle of

metal chains and leather straps crisscrossing breasts, had to be at least a size 44D. Shimmery lace gloves extended to her elbows. Clutched in her right hand was a cat o’

nine tails.

She smacked the crop on her leg.

Th

e crowd of men went nuts.

Mistress Dominique plunged to her knees in front of a lucky patron. She whacked the whip on the stage, twirled around and backed up, grinding her booty into his face. Her spine arched, she set the crown of her head on the fl oor between her elbows and plucked the paper bill from his mouth with a fl ex of her butt cheeks.

189

I squinted. No way. It had to be an illusion. A sleight of hand or ass or something. No one was that fl exible. I leaned forward. “Did she just . . .?”

“Yep,” Trina said. “Keep watching. It gets better.”

When the second song, Puddle of Mudd’s
You and Me
began, she peeled off the gloves, whipped off the bustier and strutted to the procession of drooling men. Reaching for the overhead brass bars, she tiptoed the four-inch stiletto boots up customer #1’s torso. She hooked her knees over his shoulders and shimmied toward his grinning face until it disappeared between her thighs.

I honestly couldn’t believe this. I couldn’t believe my fucking
boyfriend
owned this place. Shit. So much for my earlier false confi dence. I was totally out of my element. I snuck a shot of Jack Daniels and knocked it back. Didn’t help.

Th

e DeVinyl’s
Touch Myself
was the fi nal tune. Mistress Dominique unzipped the skirt and kicked it off .

Spread her legs wide and rubbed the whip over the scrap of leather masquerading as a thong.

Trina spoke in my ear, “See those circles below her hipbones? Th

ey’re tattoos.”

“Of what?”

“Eyeballs.”

“She has eyeballs tattooed above her groin?”

“If you were closer, you could see the eyeballs are 190

looking down at her crotch.”

My own eyes widened.

Trina laughed. “Funny, huh?”

As Mistress Dominique jiggled her ass at the crowd, I noticed she had another tattoo in the small of her back.

“What’s that tattoo above her butt? It looks like a bar-code or something.”

Trina spun, her stoned face confused. “You’ve never seen one?”

A bad feeling churned in my gut. “No. What is it?”

“It’s a brand.”

“What kind of brand?”

“It says,
Property of the Hombres
.”

Th

e shot of Jack threatened to crawl back up. “Property?” My voice rose. “As in the Hombres think they
own
her?”

“Ssh,” Trina said, looking around wildly. “Not think they own her, they
do
own her. She’s under their protection. But the tattoo announces that she belongs to the club and to the club members and they can do whatever they want to her, whenever they want.”

“Is that the way it is with all the strippers in here?”

“No. Just a few.” She frowned. “Hey, you
do
know who owns this place, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Martinez. I’d fucking kill him.

191

We were slammed after Mistress Dominque’s performance.

Th

e strippers were mingling with the customers before the second set. Trina told me the dancers’ main job was to get guys to buy them shots—the real money maker in the bar business.

In that hour, I’ll bet I poured 100 shots. It was hard not to feel sorry for the guys who were blowing all their money on women who’d never blow them, no matter how much booze they bought.

Cynical and crude? Yep. No point in sugar coating it.

Th

e bar was busier for the second set. I’d positioned myself to watch the other bartenders, but so far no activity from unauthorized persons in either cash drawer.

192

An off night? Maybe. Th

e only way I’d know for sure

was when Crystal counted the take. I wished this shift would speed by so I could go home. Hell, I wished I’d never agreed to do this favor.

Charity bustled up. Yanked down her shirt so her nipples practically popped out and smeared on a fresh coat of gooey purple lipstick. She fl uff ed up her carpet of teased hair.

Tempting to ask if she was spiffi

ng up because her pa-

role offi

cer had snuck in, but I kept a bland expression.

However, Trina wasn’t going to let it pass. “What’s up with the excessive primping, Charity-case?”

“Did you see who came in? Mr. Martinez and his posse.”

I went absolutely still.
Was he was here checking up on me? Jerk. I slammed a screwdriver on the counter with more force than I’d intended, drawing Charity’s attention.

Her eyes glittered. “What’s your problem?”

“Nothing.”

“Th

at’s what I thought.” A smug smile. “I’ll bet you don’t even know who we’re talking about.”

I drew my eyebrows together as if in deep thought.

“Crystal mentioned a Martinez. He’s the guy who owns this place?”

Trina angled her head his direction. “Th

at’s him.

193

At the center table, surrounded by all those big guys.”

“Th

e dark haired one?”

“Uh huh. Isn’t he a total yummy, naughty package?” Trina added.

I shrugged. “If you go for that bad boy type.”

“You don’t like bad boys?”

“Not really,” I lied.

“He won’t go for you anyway,” Charity said snottily.

“A mouse like you couldn’t handle a tiger like him.”

Ugly, thick, black jealousy arose. Why did I have a burning need to prove to this sow I could handle Tony Martinez just fi ne? “But I’m sure you think
you
could handle him?”

“
Th

ink
? Watch and learn.” She thrust out her chest, fl ipped her hair, and sauntered away like she had a stripper’s pole jammed up her butt.

Trina said, “Ignore her. She’s like that to everybody.”

“Everybody?”

“No. She’d be nice to you if you had a dick.”

I laughed.

“Or if you were a dancer or had the power to make
her
a dancer.”

Charity prowled to Martinez’ table. “Th

ink she’s

got a chance with him?” I said.

“No one who works in here has got a chance with him. He doesn’t date his employees.”

194

I aff ected surprise. “Really? Not even the dancers?”

“Especially not the dancers.”

“Why not?”

“Rumor has it his ex-wife was a stripper.”

Th

at rat bastard. I was absolutely going to kick his ass.

I glared as Charity smiled, tried to fl irt, tried to get his attention. Tony gave her a brief nod and continued his conversation with Big Mike.

Our eyes met for a heartbeat. I ignored the fl ash of sexual heat and let him read YOU BIG JERK in mine before I ripped my gaze away.

“So? When’s the big date?” I asked Charity when she deigned to return to her section.

“Nothing fi rm yet, but he’s defi nitely interested.”

You wish
.

Ana Lucia was on stage. I was wiping down the sticky condiment tray, when I heard a familiar male voice. “Can I get a Bud Light?”

I glanced into Big Mike’s amused eyes. “Sure. In a bottle or on tap?”

“On tap.”

“Coming right up.”

“Nice specs. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Glad my disguise is working.”

Since no one was around as I poured, Big Mike leaned over the bar. “How’s it going?”

195

“It sucks. Big time. Th

anks for asking.”

“Th

at bad?”

I think I growled.

He grinned.

I placed the frosty mug on a cocktail napkin and slid it across the bar. “Th

at’ll be four bucks.”

“Put it on Martinez’ tab.” He slurped the thin layer of foam. “He recognized you right off the bat.”

“Bully for him.”

“He knows you’re pissed.”

“So?”

“So. He wants to talk to you about it.”

“Tough shit. Tell him I’m busy.”

“He thought you might say that.”

I folded my arms over my chest and waited.

Big Mike sighed. “Come on, Julie. You know how he gets.”

“I’m fi nding it hard to be sympathetic to ‘how he gets’ when I’m doing this because
he
asked me. He’s also made it abundantly clear we are to pretend we don’t know each other in public. So if he bitches about my behavior, tell him I’m acting exactly like he does.”

“Hey, I understand why you’re upset. But can’t you give him fi ve minutes?”

“No.”

“What would it hurt?”

196

My pride
. “Might hurt his chances of fi nding out who’s ripping him off if we’re seen together. It’s a chance I’m not willing to take.”

“Is this really about your professional reputation?”

“Partially.”

“And what’s the other part?”

“Woman’s prerogative.”

He shook his head. “Th

is ain’t gonna make him

happy. He’s already been on edge since he got back from Denver.”

“Yeah? It’ll get worse when you tell him I don’t want to see him
at all
until this is over.”

“At all?”

“Nope. Not here. Not at my offi

ce. Not at Fat

Bob’s. And defi nitely not at my house. Th at about

covers everywhere he allows us to spend time together, doncha think?”

“Fuck.” Big Mike slammed his beer. “Th

ink your

night sucks? At least you don’t have to tell your boss he ain’t getting any anytime soon.”

I turned away and hid my smile. Score one for me.

Th

e next time I glanced over to the other section, Martinez and company were gone.