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Chapter 1 "Shit." It had been one of those days. I bent forward and fished the Glock out of the bath water. With a quick shake, I emptied the barrel and set the pistol on the side of the tub. Easing back into the tub, I let the hot water soothe the bruises and aching muscles. It had been a crappy week, culminating with a piss-poor day. Some assignments you just shouldn't take. I took another sip of beer, letting it trickle down my throat. I awoke with a jerk, grabbing the pistol. The sound of the key in the door echoed through the apartment. With the pistol trained at the door, I strained to hear an identifying sound. Suddenly, a woman clad in a tank top, short skirt, and "Spice Girl" platform sneakers burst into the bathroom. "Jesus, XXXX, what the fuck are you doing here? Why the hell are you pointing that thing at me?" I lowered the gun. "Sorry, Misty." What a name for a stripper. The sad thing was, it was her real name. "No big deal, but what's with the gun? Like, I mean, you scared the crap out of me, man!" As she turned to the mirror to check her makeup, she raised her hands to her hair. The brief halter-top rose, showing the bottom curve of her full, bare breasts. No bra. "That's class." I thought to myself. Nonetheless, I felt myself harden. There was no arguing that she was a hottie. She just wouldn't be launching any rockets any time soon. I groaned as I rose to get out of the tub. "What happened to you? You look like you got hit by a truck." I straightened and reached for a towel. "I had a rough day." "Well, at least we know some parts still work." She grinned and giggled. I reddened and wrapped the towel around my waist. "Nice tent." she said, still giggling. "What time is Barb done work?" "She still has a couple more shows." She smiled as she looked at my towel. I brushed past her and left the room. "God," she whispered, "even beat to a pulp, he makes me hot." "I heard that." "Asshole." That, she forgot to whisper. ~ I walked up to the bar, and slid into my regular stool. The bartender, Lamont, walked over and took a quick double take. "What happened to you?" "The question of the day. I slipped in the shower, OK?" "Yeah, sure. The regular?" "Nope. I'll have a vodka." "And?" "And glass." Lamont went down the bar and returned with a neat vodka. I pulled out my wallet. "You know your money's no good while I'm behind the bar. Besides, you look like you need it." "When's Barb's next show?" I winced as the vodka rolled through the cut in my lip like an icy razor. "She's just in back." " You mean she's doing a private show." "Yeah." I shook my head. I spun around on the stool and watched the action on the stage. The girl dancing was fairly new at the bar, I didn't know her name. I knew the names of almost all of the girls by that time. They treated me like the friend of an older brother. Like I had potential, but hands off. The new girl was attractive, in the way that some of the dancers were. Pretty face with a pasted on smile, and a $5000 chest. I was never one for improving on the good Lord's work. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of quick movement. I leaned away, and swept my right hand to the small of my back. "Jeese, XXXX, you're jumpier than a virgin at a prison rodeo." The small girl smiled up at me as she kissed me on the cheek. "What the heck happened to your face?" "The same thing that happened to the rest of me. You shouldn't sneak up on people like that." "Sneak up on you? The way you were staring at the new girl up there, I thought we were going to have to hire a deprogrammer to get you back." I couldn't help but smile at C.J. She was a tiny little thing, barely reaching my chest on her tiptoes. When I first met her, I knew the last place that she belonged was a strip joint. "Well, darlin', you could deprogram me, if ya wanted. You'd need a stepladder, though." "Smart we like. Smart-ass, however, is a different story. Obviously not smart enough to step out of the way of whatever hit you. And it looks like you forgot to step out of the way a few times. Seriously, what happened?" C.J. was too smart to brush off with a quick flip remark. "Some guy got pissed off about me following his girlfriend, and we had a little chat. He didn't exactly follow proper debating procedure." Well, it was a version of the truth, I guess. "Well, I can see him getting in a shot or two, but you look like you were tied up." Inwardly, I winced. That was a little too close to the truth. "Nope. I was just a little slow, that's all." As we spoke, her tray tipped, and her cash tray slid off the edge of the tray. My left hand darted out, and snagged the tray just as it left the tray. As I looked up, I saw the look on her face. Busted. "Too slow? Bullshit." The look said it all. She turned and walked away. Man, what a way with women. Hadn't been talking to her for more than 2 minutes, and already pissed her off. "You sure know how to charm the ladies. Umm, I'm not sure how to put this," Lamont said, "but should I be concerned about the piece you're carrying? I mean, it ain't nothin' to me, but the cops are in here now and then, and their eye is probably better than mine." I had to look at Lamont in a new light; there was always something about him I couldn't pin down. Now I had a better idea of what it was. Not everyone could spot a piece in an inside-the-waistband holster, especially under a jacket. "Not to worry, Lamont. It's legal. I've got a permit." "And how did you manage a permit? You don't look like no snitch, and I know you ain't an ex-cop. You can�t get no permit in Canada." "Well, I did an unofficial favor for a judge once." "Musta been one hell of a favor." "Lets just put it this way. When it was all over, I looked worse than this. I had to shoot a little, and it was easier for him to pull a few strings, and get me a permit, than to explain everything. It was kind of a bonus wrapped in a cover-up." "Hmmm," he grunted. "Well, if shit's goin down, give me enough time to duck, ok?" "Ok." Somehow, I didn't see him as someone who would duck when trouble came along. His nose had been broken a few too many times for that. He kind of nodded, and walked down the bar. My eyes went back to the stripper on the stage. She was finishing her set, and was collecting the loonies and toonies from the floor and throwing them onto her blanket, which looked like it had been stolen from one of the small town hotels that she had danced in. She came down the steps towards me and gave me a once over. It was the look of a new car buyer. I was surprised she didn't kick my tires as she walked by. This end of the bar was pretty much reserved for dancers, boyfriends and managers, and she couldn't figure where I fit in. I was none of the above. A couple of years ago, one of the girls had gone missing, then another. By the time the third had vanished, the cops had been called, but the jagoff assigned to the case didn't seem too concerned until the press got a hold of the story. By then I had been hired by the girl's management company, concerned by their declining profits. To make a long story short, I found the girls, not too worse for wear. Got paid, got a little press, and stepped on the dick of a certain city police detective that shall remain stupid. Instant star status at the bar, and instantly considered untouchable by the girls who worked there. Not that I didn't try to convince them otherwise. Barb came walking out of the back where the "private" rooms were. She was dressed in jeans and a blue men�s dress shirt. It looked familiar. I guess that's because it was mine. Her hair was up in a scrunchie, and she carried one of those hip one-strapped backpacks that were so popular. My breath caught. She never failed to amaze me. She walked up to me, and gave me a kiss on the lips that only lingered a little, but nowhere near as long as I had wanted it to. �When did I leave that shirt behind?� She smiled, looked at my face and said. "What happened to you?" The question of the day. |
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