Tsea (4 page)

Chapter 7

Detective Sheldon slapped a file on the desk before me. I glanced up at him, unmoved by the show of power. I knew exactly what was going on here and his intimidation tactics did not move me.

“How do you know April Kelly, Ms. Hunter?”

I leaned back on the velvet seats, feeling the cushions depress beneath my hands. The VIP section was rarely used. The transparent glass meant that everyone below could identify the customers indulging in booze and women with little trouble. Most of the people that employed this raised section of the club were foreigners with little fear that their extra-curricular activities could get back to their lives back home.

“She was a friend,” I crossed my legs and watched my black heels sway.

The detective picked up on my attitude and frowned. “Anything more?”

“She was the one who introduced me to
Mickey’s
. I owe her everything.”

Detective Sheldon snorted.

I cut him a look.

“Excuse my bluntness, ma’am but,” – his eyes shifted about the room – “this ain’t my definition of ‘everything’.”

I leaned forward and folded my hands against my thighs. “I know that someone like you wouldn’t understand, Detective. That’s fine with me. But please don’t mock my lifestyle.”

“My apologies.” He turned away from the topic and flitted through a myriad of questions about April, most of which I could not answer. We were fellow Mickey Girls, dancers bonded through the strip club. We didn’t hang out otherwise. Not for a long time and when she’d left last month, I hadn’t heard anything from her.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” I glanced at Detective Sheldon, “what can you tell me about The Executioner, Detective?”

He gaped, his large eyes going wide and crinkling around the edges. “I’m sorry,” he stuttered, quickly regaining his stoic disposition, “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“I’m amazed that you’ve kept it out of the media for so long, though if I could hazard to take a guess, I can imagine other club owners, pimps, and escort businesses wouldn’t want the public to know too much about their activities anyway.”

For a minute, Detective Sheldon looked as if he’d deny my claims, instead he glared at me. “That’s classified information, missy. Who gave you that name?”

“A source.” I replied firmly and then I stood and advanced, lowering my voice. “I’m not going to tell anyone,” – I admitted, thinking of Manuel and the flak
Mickey’s
would receive if news of the contents of that body bag last night ever got out – “but I need to know something.” I swallowed, “did she suffer?”

The officer pulled at his collar. “This is none of your business,” he replied gruffly, “but no. She was already dead when he … removed her head.”

I nodded slowly, feeling that gag reflexes working in my stomach. Poor April. “Do you know who’s next?”  He seemed annoyed that I knew so much about something that had been kept hush-hush for a couple of years. When he continued to work his jaw and kept silent, I prodded. “Who?”

“We don’t know,” Detective Sheldon glared at me. “We’ve never been able to call a pattern to his killings. He doesn’t work by any algorithm that we’ve seen. It’s why we haven’t been able to catch him yet.”

“So, basically I could be his next target.” I slapped my palms against my thighs. The thought was incredibly frightening and a little liberating. Was this the last day anyone would see me alive?

Once again, Detective Sheldon shuffled his feet, seeming incredibly uncomfortable. I knew I was pushing it, but when it came down to surviving, I’d do whatever I had to. I told Detective Sheldon so in no uncertain terms.

“Look,” I unbuttoned the top of my shirt so that my cleavage was in full display. He coughed and angled his head but not before getting an eyeful. “I can easily pull one of your green deputies aside, do my thing, and get the information that I want.”

“Ms. Hunter…” he began.

“Yes?” I asked innocently as I pulled the clip from my hair and fluffed my curls out. It frizzed like crazy but I wanted to get my point across. Sending the Detective a sultry look that had drawn more grim-faced men to their knees, “Is there something that you want to ask me.”

He pulled himself together. “You should carry yourself with more respect.”

“Respect is not the topic here, Detective.” I walked slowly over to him, allowing my hips to sway the way they did when I danced. “I’m giving you a chance to save my dignity. I’d hate to have to distract one of your men for something that you can tell me.”

He waved his hands over my chest. “For Heaven’s sake, cover that up.”

I smiled victoriously and slid the buttons through the holes.

Detective Sheldon sighed. “The Executioner is getting clumsy. It’s almost as if he
wants
to be found. He’s never thrown a body through a window before.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the window of opportunity for snatching him is now.” He glanced at me. “It also means that he’s acting on emotion. He’s angry. Angry at people like you. Angry that no one is giving him the recognition he thinks he deserves.”

I glossed over the ‘people like you’ part and focused on the rest of the Detective’s warning. Perhaps Carlos’ hadn’t been too crazy when he’d insisted on walking me home last night. If a psycho-killer was escalating, I’d need all the protection I could get.

“That’s enough for now, Ms. Hunter.” Detective Sheldon swept his hands toward the door. “I need to move on.” Nodding slowly, I walked toward the door. I stopped at the threshold and glanced back at the Detective. He had his hands in his pockets as he contemplated the clipboard on the table. I cleared my throat to get his attention.

“Protect us,” I pleaded.

He dipped his head. “I’ll do my best.”

Even he sounded unsure of the promise. I frowned and left.

Manuel’s idea to salvage our Saturday night sales was a pop-up show, invitation only. I had to admit, I was impressed by his ingenuity. Our regular spot was filled with police tape and crawling with feds. Manuel had placed a bouncer there to direct all our faithful customers to the pop-up location while he let all our previous and present patrons know of our new lineup.

As I finished pulling up my fishnet stockings, I received a text from Manuel with the location. I smiled. I recognized the address as an old firehouse that had, ironically, burned down. The government invested a ton of money to renovate it but when the election year ended, it was still unfinished and unusable.

At least for the firemen.

I pulled my shoes unto my feet and stood, enjoying the clack of my heels against the tiled floors. Padding to the full length mirror in my bedroom, I observed my reflection. My curly hair was tied up in a long pony that descended to the small of my back. I’d done my makeup with a heavy hand, understanding that the lights would probably be harsher in the firehouse. My outfit was a small, black number that I’d paired with fishnets and black boots.

Satisfied with the outfit, I slipped a jacket over my top and headed outside to catch a taxi. As I walked down the sidewalk in search of a cab, I was hyper aware of my surroundings. Detective Sheldon’s caution about The Executioner rang in my ears. For the first time, I wished my neighborhood was younger and hipper. Perhaps if people were hanging out on street corners, I would feel more comfortable.

As it was, the entire sidewalk was completely deserted. A dog barked in the distance. Another howled in reply. The trees behind cement and chain link fences bent toward me, as if urging me to find safety. I heard a rustling sound and quickly whirled around, searching for any shadows that didn’t belong.

All I saw was the lazy brush of an empty plastic bag on the street.

I shivered and held my jacket tighter around my chest. Taxis usually ran a couple blocks away from my house. Only a few yards were left until I was in a more upbeat neighborhood.

“
Thwap
!” My heart soared up to my throat as the sound disturbed the night. I jumped and glanced about, expecting a figure to dart out at any moment. No one walked behind me. Seriously unnerved, I quickened my footsteps, wondering if I should start running down the sidewalk and screaming for help.

When I heard the muttered rasp of heavy breathing coming from directly behind me, I didn’t even bother turning around. Taking off like a shot, I managed to run a few paces in my stilted heels when I realized that the labored breath and rustling sounds had come from a stray dog that had managed to get into a neighbor’s garbage.

I held my racing heart and chuckled at my own crazy imaginings. I was safe. I was completely and totally safe. I managed to find a taxi and arrived at the firehouse with little complications. The music was already thumping and shaking the walls by the time I greeted the bouncer and stepped through the doors of the new
Mickey’s
.

Leah and Lila greeted me. The girls were decked out in matching costumes that exposed their flat, bronzed stomachs. “This place looks amazing!” I said in way of greeting.

“Totally!” Leah responded in her heavy, Spanish accent.

“Where’s Manuel?” I yelled above the music.

“He’s over there.” Lila pointed to where Manuel was talking to the DJ. I swerved through the few customers holding drinks in their hands. Since it was a pop-up, the entertainment was only just beginning. Neither of the Old Guards had taken their places around the poles yet, though I saw Kensie doing her thing on an old man that looked about ready to keel over and die.

“Hi, sweetie.” I wrapped my arms around Manuel’s waist and rested my head on the back of his neck.

“Hi,” he rumbled and turned around. When he saw the jean coat I wore over my outfit, Manuel’s face turned stormy. “Why are you still wearing that?” With little warning, he tore the jacket from my body and then grinned when he saw my black costume and bare skin. “That’s better.” He slapped me on the bum. “You’ll need to work harder tonight. Essence isn’t answering any of my phone calls and I don’t know when she’ll be in, so I’ve lost one of my top girls.”

“Hey,” I hissed, “I told you to stop doing that. I’m not any other girl here, Manuel.”

“Sorry, baby.” He ran his palms down my arms, “I just can’t help it. When I’m around you… I can’t,” he kissed me, “keep my hands to myself.”

His attention usually soothed me. His touch often turned me on. But tonight it didn’t. Maybe it was the unfamiliarity of the new location or the threat of potentially losing my head because of a roaming serial killer. Whatever the reason, Manuel’s words didn’t melt me the way they usually did. I caught a glimpse of the intentions behind his flattery. I saw a glimpse of the man that love and great chemistry had blinded me to.

He wasn’t the man that I thought he was. Or maybe he had always been the same and I was the one suddenly cured of my blindness. Manuel’s hands were feeling up my backside. I slapped his roving arms away, angry that he wasn’t the guy I’d convinced myself that I loved.

“I have to get to work.” I snapped and strutted away.

As I walked, I could feel the attention of the customers. Their eyes slipped over my face for a split second before they devoured the breasts on full display in my tight top. Their eyes flickered down to the smooth skin of my waist, the curve of my hip, the swell of my behind exposed in the leather underwear. They didn’t need to do anything but watch because that’s what I offered. That was my legacy.

The thought was no longer appealing.

I neared the pole, brilliantly silver in the dim glow of the firehouse. I had no idea how Manuel had gotten it so, but a large, circular podium with a silver beam stood only a couple feet away from the authentic fire station rod that connected the second floor to the first. If I made a wrong turn, I’d fly right down to the first floor in an unflattering heap.

Inhaling a deep breath, I slowly wrapped my hand around the beam, testing it for strength. Now more than ever, the podium needed to be bolted properly to the floor or it would tip. As I got acclimated to the feel and width of the shaft, I felt the shifting in the air.

Men drew around me like flies, drawn by the promise of something sweet. I paid them no mind and took my time, simply walking around the pole, taking in the size of the base that I had to work with. I tuned out the low rumblings of male voices and the stares of appreciation with little difficulty though it had not always been so.

During my first few gigs at
Mickey’s
, I’d been especially shy. My grandmother had taught me right from wrong, moral from immoral. Modesty and purity until marriage were philosophies instilled in me from a young age. After losing my grandmother, nearly getting kicked out of school, and bouncing from one minimum wage job to the next, however, the easy money that dancing promised lured me to drop my morals and my pants.

I didn’t start out on the pole. April and I had worked the stage as strippers. The first night, I kept pulling my skirt down, covering my chest, and – to the amusement of the customers – taking off the least bit of clothes as possible. I got laughed off the stage and was about ready to give up on the business.  It was then that Manuel took me aside, showed me how pleasing a woman could be. Showed me how much power she could have when she took off her clothes.

He made me feel strong, empowered. In control. For the first time since the death of my parents and my grandmother, since struggling to earn my degree and toiling to pay off the debts my family had left, I wasn’t the plaything that Fate screwed over. Manuel taught me the art of seduction. He encouraged me to embrace my sexuality and there was freedom in that.

I fell in love with him as our lessons moved from the pole to the bedroom and vowed to never leave his side. That meant dedicating my life to being a Mickey Girl. It was not an easy road. The judgments, the hard stares, the taunting names had hurt at first. Soon my heart hardened to the catcalls, the crude language, and the guilt.

Guilt that my parents would be disappointed if they could see me now. I kept reminding myself that it was my choice. That this was what I wanted to do because it felt
good
. It was thrilling to rake in crazy amounts of money for a few hours on the podium. I could become the fantasy that women wished they could be. I was queen of the night. This pole – I drew my hands down the surface – was my scepter. This podium, my throne.

I tilted my head toward the speakers, feeling the beat of the dancehall song. Slowly, I wrapped my legs around the rod and began my routine, closing my eyes and allowing the beat to choreograph my movements.

Pole dancing took skill and strength. Mickey Girls had high dosages of both, though not all of us rocked a podium. Girls like April had danced on stage in choreographed routines. It was a tad more… exposing than a burlesque dance where the entertainers had most of their clothes on by the end of the numbers.

“Watch it!”

“Hey!”

Loud protests disturbed my concentration. I slipped a few inches off the pole and teetered to the edge, directly beside the large cutout that led to the main floor. Before I could catch my step, I was hauled forward completely off the circular stage. Large hands clutched me to a rock hard chest. A guttural growl escaped from thin lips.

“I told you not to come out here,” Carlos grumbled before whirling around and charging through the throng of groaning men.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” A short, thick man protested, keeping step with us as Carlos carted me away. My human King Kong ignored the customer and parted the crowd like a linebacker streaking toward the goal post.

“What are you doing, man?”  Another patron in a business suit with a ruffled tie barred our way.

The pulsing dancehall music underlined the irritation in his voice. Even I shivered at the blatant expression of authority.  The scowl on Carlos’s handsome face said that he too had heard the tone and didn’t appreciate it.  Without missing a step, Carlos pushed past the disgruntled customer.

He held me close, refusing to put me down until we’d cleared the dancing area and neared the bar. Carlos set me to my feet. I stared at him in confusion. I was about to put him to task for his barbarian display when a hand came flying out of nowhere.

“What the hell, man?” Manuel charged Carlos, grabbing him by the collar. Carlos Fuentes was far from a small guy, but Manuel had a temper. If it came down to a fight, the club owner would undoubtedly lose, but not before getting in a few punches.

“You put her in danger,” Carlos glared at Manuel with dark eyes. “You put them all in danger.”

“What are you talking about?” Manuel spit. He tightened his grip, his eyes darting back and forth. Carlos’s restrained anger and his cryptic words threw Manuel off his game.

I stepped forward, my eyes locked on Carlos. “Who?”

Manuel slowly released the bartender. Carlos straightened his now wrinkled shirt. In a resigned voice, he replied. “Essence.”