Dragon in Boots (The Immortal Tailor #2)
Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE
“I can do this. I can do this. I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Jacquelin Flanagan parked her pickup outside the Dallas strip club, feeling the sorts of nauseous waves any woman might for her first shift at a new job. Not that there was much to bartending. If she smiled, treated customers well, and gave generous pours, the tips generally followed.
She hoped.
It’ll all work out. The money will come. It has to. Of course, that was the kind of hopeful bull crap that had led her here, to the sort of job that said to the world: I make crazy-bad life choices. Today, however, was a new low. If rock had a bottom, this was rock’s stinky diaper.
Seriously. Screw my shitty life . She sighed and gathered up her snacks, cell, and three-legged giraffe keychain, shoving them all into her enormous canvas purse.
Stay positive, Jac. It’s the only way you’ll get through this, she told herself.
It wasn’t that slinging drinks was beneath her, but it was a far and humbling cry from where she’d planned to be at age thirty-five: vet school, business degree, running a successful nonprofit for animals, and maybe even married with two smooth-skinned critters, aka kids. Those had been the dream. Not slinging drinks at a strip club.
What would her parents say if they were still alive? Nothing good.
Thank God my sisters are too busy with their lives to get in my hair. Heather and Holly—both opinionated, fiery redheads with green eyes, like Jac—were in their forties, dealing with teenagers, careers, and husbands. They had no clue that Jac had been lying for years about how bad things had gotten, and Jac would make sure they never found out. Not only would her older sisters give her hell, but they would try to help and then hold it over her head. Heather and Holly were both control freaks, though they weren’t always wrong when they gave advice.
For example: “Go to school first, Jac. Get it out of the way.” “Don’t support a man before you can support yourself.” “You’re bananas for taking over an animal sanctuary with nothing more than a broken wing and a prayer.”
It was sage advice that Jac had ignored, and now she was feeling the shame of it on every level, about to work her first shift at a place where the pants had Velcro, the sausage was free range, and the customers checked their brains at the door.
To boot, the owner, Mrs. Peepers, said they were trying “something new” by hiring Jac, a woman.
When Jac had asked why something as common as a female bartender was a novelty, Mrs. Peepers had simply leaned back in her pink chair, plopped her glittery pink cowboy boots onto her hot pink desk, and removed her long pink wig. Peepers then rumpled her flaming red hair—not at all similar to Jac’s natural red with golden highlights—and then put the wig back on. Backwards.
“Welp, sweetheart,” Peepers had said with a blatantly fake Texan accent, “let me put ’er like this: them-there customers arrive with their panties in o’ bunch—life’ll do that to gal who has too many doughnut holes because ain’t nobody poking them out. But when they leave the Pink Pit of Pleasure, well…they’re like randy sailors after spending a week with a mermaid on El Corazón Island.”
What the hell does that mean? Jac had thought.
“Great question!” Peepers had erected her pale index finger in the air, followed by wiggling her red eyebrows.
“But I…didn’t…say anything,” Jac had muttered.
“Didn’t you?”
“No. But I think you were trying to explain that the women get rowdy, or something like that,” Jac had said.
“Rowdy? Oh, no, Jac-hammer. Think: women blowing off yearsss of steam. Honestly, this club is no place for a lady.”
But they cater to women. Jac had shrugged off the strange conversation, not giving it much thought. After all, women had the right to release pent-up frustration like anyone else. So what if they did it while staring at men marinated in baby oil?
At the end of the day, this was a job, and Jac needed money. Caring for abandoned exotic animals wasn’t cheap, and the donations didn’t always come when she needed them. Take last month, for example, when Wanda the orangutang fractured her hip. Poor thing was pretty old.
Anyway, with Jac providing care for her critters seven days a week and also giving private tours during the day to help support the sanctuary, that only left her with a few hours each night to earn extra cash. So here she was, hoping the money would be as good as Mrs. Peepers claimed. If not, those poor animals would have nowhere to go.
Dressed in jeans, brown cowboy boots, and a bright pink T-shirt with the club’s flaming peach pit logo, Jac made her way to the heavy double doors of the Pink Pit of Pleasure and then followed the dimly lit hallway. Along the walls, framed posters of the male dancers gave her a taste of what she was in for tonight. Most of the men wore costumes—fireman, tiger, caveman, beaver, etc.—and they all had six-pack abs (or a large tail), but in her opinion, not one was sexy. Not even Dash, the headliner.
For her, attraction was all about a man’s character. Confidence, intelligence, and generosity were high on her list, but nothing compared to a man who was fearless. A fearless man wasn’t afraid to step up and take care of the people he loved. A fearless man knew how to fight for what was right, and he sure as hell wasn’t afraid of commitment.
Stupid Stanley. They’d broken up almost four years ago, but when they were together, she had quit school and busted her butt putting him through law school, only to get dumped the day he graduated. “Sorry, babe, but I’m just not ready to commit.”
Son of a turd! They were supposed to have gotten married after he found steady employment. Then it was going to be her turn to finish school.
All lies…
The biggest kicker was that Stanley had encouraged her to take over the animal sanctuary after the owner, Salome, died. At the time, Jac’d been bartending nights to make ends meet and working at the sanctuary during the day. She’d wanted the experience with animals, and Stanley had convinced her it would all work out.
“It’s not rocket surgery, Jac. You host fundraisers, you hire people to care for the animals, and we gain clout in the community.”
Asshole hadn’t given one nut-sack hair about her or those poor creatures. They’d been nothing more than a feather in his cap as an up-and-coming environmental lawyer.
Fraud! He hates animals! And the environment. She, on the other hand, loved and appreciated all life, including the complex and sometimes hunger-driven relationships of the animal kingdom. Everything had to eat something, from the biggest animals to the tiniest of bacteria. It was all about balance. It was about the right to survive.
That said, exploiting living creatures for greed was wrong. Sure, farmers and ranchers needed to make a living—otherwise, why do it at all? But the people who illegally bought white tigers, slaughtered elephants for tusks, or hunted animals for pure sport were evil.
Every creature had a right to live. And if that right was forfeited, it had to be in the name of supporting all life. The fly fed the spider. The spider fed the sparrow. The sparrow fed the owl. The owl…well, she didn’t know what fed on owls, but it had to be something hungry.
Point was, Jac was a realist when it came to how life and death went hand in hand, but she would fight to the bitter end to stop those who took, captured, and exploited animals they had no right to touch.
Like poor Larry . Her three-legged giraffe. Some dumb hunter had shot him in the knee when he was a baby, and left Larry for dead.
“Hi, are you Jac?” said a towering blonde in a black leather catsuit, standing at the end of the long hallway. She had a big bust and wore huge foam unicorn earrings that reminded Jac of Ping-Pong paddles.
“You must be Mink?” Mrs. Peepers had mentioned that her right hand, Mink, would be around to show Jac the ropes before the show.
“Nicetameetcha!” Mink said. “Wow. Peepers was right. You really do have a lot of freckles. It reminds me of that time I ate bad tacos.”
“Sorry?” Jac arched a brow.
“Hours of butt confetti.”
What the…? Had this woman just compared her freckled skin to diarrhea splatter?
Jac pasted on a tight smile, reminding herself of the stakes.
Mink continued, “Peepers also told me ya know your way around a bar, so let me just show you the important stuff you’ll need for tonight. Come this way.”
Mink gestured for Jac to follow her into the theater, which had a tiered amphitheater layout. Each level had pink café tables and chairs facing the big stage below with a hot pink curtain. A raised catwalk covered in glittery paint extended out, dividing the large space in half.
Mink pointed to their right toward a long counter with empty glass shelves behind it. “There’s the bar. On the other side are the restrooms, in case you need to shelter from the heat. Okay. Nice chat. Welcome aboard.” She turned to leave.
Heat? “Wait. Where’s the storeroom to restock the bar? How about a breakroom?” Jac chased behind Mink, who stopped, puckered her red lips, and blinked her long fake eyelashes.
“I don’t know. It’s my first day, like everyone else. New crew! Well, except for the dancers. Most of those guys have been here a while.”
And this just got weirder . Peepers had only mentioned the bartender leaving. She’d said nothing about the rest of the staff.
“What exactly happened to the other employees?” Jac asked.
“They all quit once the new headliner started last week.” Mink chuckled. “Once Dash gets onstage, the audience loses their collective mind.” Mink added under her breath, “Viva la revolution.”
“Revolution?” Everything this woman said sounded like it came from a box of Cracker Jacks. The bottom part. Pure nuts.
“Look at that. I’m being summoned. Gotta jam, chica freaka.” Mink turned to leave again.
Jac just stood there, confused by the welcome. She also hadn’t heard anyone summon Mink. “Um. Okay. Guess I’ll have a look around and find the bar supplies on my own.”
“They’re in the basement next to the breakroom.”
“But you just said you didn’t know…never mind. Thanks.” This woman was batshit crazy.
“No problemo, cowgirl.” Mink paused in the doorway leading to the hall. “Oh, and word of advice: when you get the urge to take off your shirt tonight, don’t.”
Jac frowned, glancing down at her pink T-shirt. Why would I do that? “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”
“Let’s hope not.” Mink’s smile melted off her red lips. “Just know I’m bouncing tonight, and I take no prisoners. Wait. Scratch that. I make them all my prisoners. Way more fun.” Mink sauntered away, swinging her ass side to side like she didn’t know how to walk in heels.
All alone, Jac looked around the cavernous room, goosebumps breaking out on her arms. “This place gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“ Meow ?”
Jac’s gaze moved to her feet, finding a tiny gray-and-white striped kitten.
“Well, hello there. Where did you come from?” Jac picked up the furball, noticing it had a black collar with a tag. Its name was Heebie.
Wait. Hold on. She’d just said the place gave her the heebie-jeebies and…
“I can’t with this job. I seriously can’t.” The super-pink ambience was creepy enough, but the employees were weird, and the place smelled funny, too. Like toasted marshmallows and fish.
Suddenly, the image of poor Wanda in her body cast flashed in Jac’s mind. That poor orangutang was going to need months of expensive physical therapy. Also, the payment on the property was two months behind because Jac had spent her reserves on vet bills and a new prosthetic leg for Larry. The old one had worn out.
If Jac didn’t pull in big tips over the next few weeks, the bank would foreclose, and her animals would be taken by the county to be put down. She was the last stop for creatures that were too old or sick to be in a zoo, and no other sanctuary would take them because of the care required.
Just have to make ends meet for three more months. Then she’d hold her annual fundraiser, and the sanctuary would be back in the black. At least until the next critter emergency.
“ Meow .” The kitten snuggled against Jac’s chest and purred.
“Aren’t you sweet.” She stroked its soft little ears. “Let’s go find Mink. Maybe she knows who you belong to.”
The kitten began to wiggle and fight. “ Reywrr! ” It jumped from her arms and ran for the hallway.
I guess he doesn’t like Mink either. Jac followed it out, but the animal was nowhere to be found. Hopefully, the kitten would find its way to its owner.