Winning Texas (13 page)

There were a few women stationed at each emporium to give in-room massages and other, tip-worthy services as well. Some of the women had drug and alcohol habits that kept them mired in prostitution. Others would rather work for big tips from long-haul truckers than eke out meager salaries clerking at the nearby Wal-Mart. As business accelerated or dwindled, he could move the women between the Gas Emporium locations. He mostly left management of the massage business up to Bonita Vasquez, the Mexican-American woman he
’
d hired five years ago to run those services. She
’
d done well and always took time to make Krause
’
s visits pleasurable. He
’
d called earlier and told her he was an hour away.

Now, as he pulled into the emporium, he could see Bonita on the porch of the motel-style building in back. In her mid-thirties with long, dark hair and almost-black eyes and lashes, she was attractive without being beautiful. She dressed professionally enough that she didn
’
t look like a madam and was a shrewd businesswoman. She and Krause shared a long history and he
’
d come to value her problem-solving skills as much as her willing body.

“
Kyle,
mi amigo
, welcome,
”
she said, kissing him softly on the cheek. He smelled her musky perfume and it brought back memories of happy encounters. She led him inside her unit, which consisted of a large living room leading into a kitchen with a bedroom and bathroom in the back.

“
Hi, beautiful,
”
he said, looking around. She had apparently redecorated since the last time he
’
d been here, with furniture and fabric in gaudy reds and yellows. She had also added some Mexican velvet paintings of mountains and deserts that he hated, so he refrained from comment on the new d
é
cor. He never spent more than a few hours there and didn
’
t really care if it was wall-to-wall polka dots.

“
How
’
s business this week?
”

“
Good here,
”
she said.
“
Not so good at the Odessa store. Had to get rid of two of the women. Too drunk to work their schedule and stealing money from the truckers. Very unprofessional.
”

“
I
’
ll go over the figures with you later,
”
Krause said.
“
Now I just need to rest.
”

He leaned back in the leatherette chair and sighed. She came around behind him and started massaging his neck and back. Her skilled hands felt heavenly and he began to unwind from the stress of the trip.

“
Had to get away from Juliana for a few days?
”
she asked. Bonita had met Juliana once, and the two women had immediately sized each other up as dangerous rivals. He cursed himself for being so open with Bonita about his frustrations with Juliana.

“
She went to Galveston with a real estate broker,
”
he said.
“
Wants to buy a beach house
–
the last thing I want or need.
”

“
You sure she
’
s not making love to a beach boy?
”
she teased.
“
Maybe she needs a change.
”

Her instinct for the jugular roiled his temper.
“
Cut the crap, Bonita, and bring me a beer.
”

She poured two Coronas into frosted glasses from the freezer and added limes. He smiled and touched glasses with hers, trying to make amends for his cross words. After a while, she led him to the bedroom, unbuttoned his shirt and eased him down on her king-sized bed. For a few minutes, he relished being fully in the moment, as he almost never could in his problem-plagued life. It was as if time stopped
–
and then in an instant, it all went sour. He heard the walls shake and felt a huge explosion that definitely wasn
’
t the orgasm he
’
d hoped for. Something terrible had happened.

He leaped off the bed, wrapped a towel around his lower body and ran ahead of Bonita to the door. The scene in front shook him almost like a second explosion. Part of the convenience store was gone. The left side of its roof had a gaping, smoking hole and the walls on that end had caved in. He knew that if he didn
’
t get help fast, the gas pumps in front would be next. If they blew, the entire property would catch fire.

“
Get me a phone, quick,
”
he yelled at Bonita.
“
If those gas pumps go up, we
’
re goners.
”

CHAPTER 12

Annie was running off the tension of her workday when her cell phone rang in the pocket of her shorts. She noticed it was Matt Sharpe and picked it up quickly. It had been four days since they
’
d been together at his apartment. Though they
’
d traded flirtatious texts, she
’
d begun to wonder whether their night together was the latest mistake in her star-crossed love life. She knew that her judgment about men was often flawed, especially when alcohol was involved. She hadn
’
t meant to sleep with him that night and was embarrassed that she
’
d succumbed so easily to his scotch and flattery. She tried to reassure herself that he was a decent man, but she knew that the sex would change the friendship. So she was glad that his tone of voice sounded warmer, but otherwise normal.

He
’
d come by the morning after her car was vandalized and searched the area for clues. But he didn
’
t find anything and asked if she was certain she
’
d been followed home from his apartment. She knew she hadn
’
t imagined the dark SUV behind her in the predawn hours, but couldn
’
t say for sure if it had meant harm. But she felt uneasy, remembering how Alicia Perez had stalked her four years ago. Could it be Perez, risking recapture by showing up in Houston in a revenge move? That seemed unlikely, but she found herself searching online more often for signs of new secessionist activity and looking in her rear-view mirror more frequently when she drove.

“
What
’
s up, Matt?
”
she said, slowing to a walk.

“
Want to go to a porn star show at a strip club tomorrow night?
”

“
Now that sounds romantic,
”
she joked.
“
What
’
s the deal?
”

“
The Texas Girls Club on the North Freeway is hosting Carla Carmine, who
’
s billed as one of the busiest porn stars in California.
”

“
Another feather in Houston
’
s cap. Is that unusual for a strip club?
”

“
It doesn
’
t happen every day in this area, but it
’
s not uncommon for porn stars to make public appearances at clubs to extend their fan base,
”
he said.
“
Usually the vice squad is there, too.
”

“
Why is that?
”

“
Obviously, we don
’
t want them to step over the line of what
’
s legal,
”
Matt said.
“
Also, it could be rowdy, with too many people drinking even more than usual. I
’
ll just be there as an extra pair of eyes and hands for the vice squad folks.
”

“
Well, as it happens, one of my reporters has been investigating the Texas Girls clubs
’
mogul, Kyle Krause, so I
’
m curious enough to go.
”

“
Holding out on me?
”
Matt asked.
“
Give me the scoop.
”

“
Please keep it under your hat. It
’
s early in his investigation.
”

“
Think I
’
d go running to Kyle Krause with that news? Hardly. I
’
ll pick you up at 7.
”

Annie was intrigued. She
’
d been researching Houston
’
s troubled history with strip clubs to help Nate with his project. The city currently was home to at least one hundred clubs, more than most other metropolitan areas, though it was hard to definitively keep track because they opened and closed with regularity. There were many theories about why Houston was such a magnet for topless entertainment, but Annie thought one reason was the proliferation of conventions Houston hosted that attracted large numbers of men, including the giant OTC. As a center for energy production, the city yearly welcomed more than 50,000 participants in the Offshore Technology Conference. The OTC was always a headache for the
Times
to cover, but it was a huge boon for bars, restaurants and strip clubs. Annie personally knew one local woman who broke off her marriage after a picture of her husband cavorting with a prostitute surfaced online.

Also, though she thought of strip clubs as a sort of a hangover from the 1960s
–
prior to the feminist movement, when men were less evolved
–
the businesses were actually flourishing worldwide.

She
’
d learned that Houston had tried for years to put too-exacting regulations on the clubs, such as trying to specify the number of inches dancers should be separated from customers
–
only to be sued by large chains. Now, the regulations had been simplified, and the largest clubs, or their chain ownership, paid into a special fund that supported the vice squad. It was a way to self-police that had both critics and supporters. The mom-and-pop clubs were usually the ones that would flout regulations with impunity. They tended to move out of the city to locations in the counties that were beyond policing. Overall, it was a strange system, but it seemed to work.

Matt showed up at her door the next night, gave her a kiss and whistled appreciatively at her outfit
–
a short white denim skirt, a figure-hugging black top and white bejeweled sandals.

“
Wow, Carla Carmine will have nothing on you,
”
he said.

“
Thanks, Matt,
”
she smiled.
“
No badge or uniform?
”

“
No, we need to blend in with the best of Houston
’
s lowlife.
”

The Texas Girls club fronted on the North Freeway, the section of I-45 that wound through downtown north to Houston
’
s George Bush Intercontinental Airport and on up to Dallas. The big airport was named for George H.W. Bush, the much-beloved longtime Houston resident, not his less-esteemed son, who
’
d chosen to relocate to Dallas after his presidency ended. The 23-mile stretch from the airport to downtown vexed some city boosters with its low-rent billboards, sagging businesses and wilder-than-usual traffic. It seemed to showcase the worst of Houston for newly arrived visitors, but nobody did much about it. The Gulf Freeway, which led from the south side of downtown to Houston
’
s smaller Hobby Airport, was even tawdrier. When she first moved to Houston, Annie had been appalled by the city
’
s haphazard, anything-goes development, but after ten years, she had an unreasonable affection for it. Houston had resisted zoning for decades and wasn
’
t likely to ever embrace it. Now, she believed, along with other Houstonians, that market forces, not zoning, mostly dictated what a place looked like. Houston, by and large, didn
’
t look that much different than big cities with more conventional zoning laws.

Matt drove around the jammed parking lot of the strip-center club and finally located a space. He opened the car door and took her arm, steering her toward the booth just inside the Texas Girls entrance. A meaty, shaved-head bouncer with a ZZ-Top-style beard and a cobra tattoo on his neck demanded their IDs. He looked at them closely and frowned when he saw Matt
’
s police identification.