Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
After the strip show ended, Jac located her pink T-shirt in a bucket of ice. How it had gotten in there was a mystery, but then again, nothing about this night made sense.
I have to get out of here. She scrambled to clean up and prepare the bar for whomever would be working the next show because it sure as hell wouldn’t be her. After she collected her money, Jac would walk out those pink double doors and never look back. Whatever had happened tonight was the result of either mass psychosis or Mrs. Peepers pumping drugs in the air. Either way, when Mr. Tool Belt had gone onstage, Jac had felt herself turning into a primitive animal that only related to basic needs. Mostly humping.
But beyond the weirdness she’d experienced with her own body, what truly terrified Jac was how the audience didn’t seem at all bothered. They’d strolled out of the theater, giggling, smiling, and acting like they’d just been on the world’s most exciting roller coaster.
Something felt very wrong about all this.
Jac finished up cleaning, grabbed her purse, and then stepped around the bar to go search for Peepers.
“Hey. You leaving?” Mink appeared out of nowhere, dressed in a clear raincoat covered in blobs of gelatinous goop.
Ewww. “What’s that?”
Mink looked down. “Nothing. Where ya off to so early? It’s only eleven. The next show is at midnight.”
“I think I’ve had enough for one night.”
Mink narrowed her dark eyes. “Leave now, and you don’t get paid.”
Seriously? “But I need my tips.” Peepers had said that the servers divided everything up, and then they each got a share. It was to foster teamwork or something like that.
Mink reached under her slicker, produced a thick stack of twenties, and handed it over.
“What’s this?” Jac asked. There had to be a thousand dollars there.
“Your tips for the first show.”
“What?” Jac blinked. “How?”
“The dancers give ten percent to the bar and servers. If you stick around for the midnight show, that will double.”
Wow. That was a lot of money to walk away from.
“So you staying or going?” Mink asked.
Think of Wanda. Poor, poor Wanda. Then there was Orion the penguin, who needed a new heart valve. The surgery wasn’t cheap.
“I guess staying,” Jac said.
“Great!” Mink grabbed a glob of goop from her slicker, popped it in her mouth, and rolled her eyes in ecstasy. “Mmmm…spicy!”
Nasty. What is that stuff? Jac winced.
“See you after the show, Red.” Mink turned to walk away. “And keep your shirt on this time!”
Jac’s heart began to race, realizing what she was in for. Screaming. Inexplicable indecent thoughts. Insanity. Losing her clothes.
“I just want to know one thing,” Jac called out. “What the hell are you pumping in the air?”
Mink flashed a grin over her shoulder. “Pure magic, baby. Pure magic.”
“Meow!”
Jac looked down to find the same kitten from earlier. “Heebie?”
He rubbed his face on the leg of her jeans.
“What were you doing onstage earlier, huh?” She scooped him up and took the kitten behind the bar. “If you know what’s good for you, little guy, you’ll stay here until my shift ends. Then I’ll find you a good home, because this place is crazy.”
She grabbed a shallow dish used to salt margarita glasses and filled it with half and half from the fridge. She placed it on the floor by her feet. “There you go, kitty.”
The cat looked at her, jumped up on the back counter, and went straight to the whiskey section.
She laughed. “Yeah, I don’t blame you.”
“What the hell are you doing with my cat?” growled a deep voice.
Startled, Jac jumped in place and gasped.
Standing on the other side of the counter was none other than Dash in a white robe, his shockingly blue eyes laser-focused on the kitten.
Sadly, Dash was even better looking up close with that chiseled jawline and smoldering gaze.
“Say what?” she said.
“You heard me.”
Jac shook off the effects of his looks and restarted her brain. “Yeah, I did, stripper boy. That’s why I’m giving you a chance to explain, because it sounded like you were accusing me of doing something to this kitten—one that shouldn’t be here to begin with. The music is way too loud.”
Dash narrowed his eyes. “He likes it.”
“Oh really? He tell you that?”
“Maybe,” Dash said coldly.
“Okay, well, I speak kitten, too, and he just told me he wants a safe, warm home that won’t make him deaf.”
Dash chuckled. “Pfft. Like most women, you know nothing.”
Wow. Woooow… “Says a man who takes his pants off in a club that pumps vaporized roofies in the air so the audience empties their wallets.”
His plump lips crawled into a slow snarl, and he leaned in close, bowing his tall frame over the bar. “Careful, or you’ll end up vaporized, too. Now give me some water.” He looked at the cat. “He’ll have a shot of Fireball.”
Hell no would she give alcohol to a kitten. It would kill him. Obviously, the guy had to be testing her. Like a fat dick.
Suddenly, an image of a large, plump penis, belonging to a particular male stripper wearing a black Speedo, flashed in her mind. Crap. Did I just think about the chubby roll in Dash’s pants?
No. Not going there. I do not, nor will I ever, want a man for his body. All she wanted was a man who stood up like one. For her. For himself. For her fur babies, scaly babies, and feathered babies. Basically for anyone who needed standing up for.
She grabbed a glass, filled it with water from the hand-operated soda dispenser, and set it on the counter. She then poured a shot of flaming hot cinnamon whiskey and threw it back with a smile.
“Now fuck off,” she said. “And if I see that kitten anywhere near a speaker again, I’ll call animal control. Got it?”
He was about to open his mouth and dish what would surely be a word salad containing crunchy sprinkles made of pompous hyperbole, but Heebie jumped onto her shoulder and began purring against the side of her head.
That cat really liked her. “See. The cat agrees.” She folded her arms over her chest.
Dash’s plump lips flattened into a hard line. “You’re lucky my kitty likes you.”
“That makes one of us.” Her kitty was hissing big time.
“Don’t push it, bar wench. Now hand me my cat.”
Wench? Did he think medieval slang would send her cowering? She lived with wild beasts—lions and tigers and bears. Oh yes. Lizards and poisonous snakes and a boar. Give me more.
“Think you scare me?” She laughed. “I bet you’ve never been attacked by an alligator.” Of course, Herman had no teeth, but it still hurt like a son of a gum.
Dash was about to speak, but then he looked at the cat like he expected it to say something.
“Well?” she prodded.
Dash snapped his mouth shut and strutted away.
“That’s right. You keep on walking, stud muffin!” she bellowed. “It’s all you’re good for, anyway.” She blew out a breath and hugged Heebie to her chest. “You’re coming home with me tonight. This is no place for us decent animals.”
The second show of the evening began like the first, only this crowd came in pre-lit and much thirstier than the first, so Jac had been too occupied with drink orders to pay attention to the strippers until the final act.
Like earlier, Dash strutted onstage bare chested, and the crowd went crazy over his tool belt and…eh-hem, tool, but this time, she didn’t feel a thing. Not one twitch of the hand urging her to remove her shirt. Not one bead of sweat. Not one dizzy spell.
Maybe Peepers skipped the roofie aerosol?
Then Dash’s jeans came off, and the audience ignited like a stick of dynamite. Money flew through the air, and the sexual energy turned electric. Meanwhile, Jac still felt nothing. Nada. Zilch.
So maybe the effect Dash had on the audience was psychological. It was the only explanation.
Jac went back to preparing drinks, only to look up for the finale of Dash’s performance when he sauntered to the end of the catwalk and snapped his fingers.
No kitten.
Confused, Dash glanced over his shoulder, finding the stage behind him empty.
Jac looked under the bar. Heebie was there, napping on her purse. Ha! He likes me better. She grinned victoriously.
Standing in his boots and black banana hammock, Dash slowly turned his gaze in her direction. Though she couldn’t be certain given all the lights, Jac could swear Dash’s eyes held a promise of retribution.
You don’t scare me, she mouthed at him. The cat is mine.
Dash snarled and disappeared backstage just in time to escape the mob.
A few minutes later, the theater began emptying out, and Jac began cleaning up. She was eager to get the hell out of here. Mostly to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere, but also because she had her animals waiting at home. There were meds to administer, and Wanda probably needed a changing.
“You stay right there, Heebie. I need to run downstairs and grab some cases of wine,” she said.
“Hey. Here’s your cut.” Mink appeared on the other side of the bar out of thin air.
“Jesus. How do you do that?” Jac pressed her hand to her chest.
Mink ignored her and produced another wad of cash. It had to be three times bigger than the cut from the first show.
“That’s a lot of money,” Jac said in amazement. It was the answer to her prayers.
“It includes your severance.”
Jac’s jaw dropped. “I’m being fired?”
“Don’t take it personally, sweetheart. You’re just not a fit.”
“For a strip club?” No, this had to be Dash’s doing. “It was him, wasn’t it? He said something to you.”
Mink shrugged. “Next time, don’t insult the star of the show.”
“He insulted me first.” He’d accused her of hurting the kitten. Okay, well, he hadn’t said it outright, but the meaning had been clear. “Mink, I need this job. Lives are depending on me.”
“Sorry, kid. Not much I can do.” Mink set the cash on the counter. “Oh, and another word of advice: never fuck with another man’s pussy.”
Jac arched a brow. That was a crude way of saying it. “His cat likes me because it feels safe. In fact, Heebie is coming home with me.”
Mink burst out laughing.
“What?”
She pointed a finger and made little circles in Jac’s face. “You think you can just waltz in here and steal a man’s—”
“Don’t you dare say pussy,” Jac interjected.
“Pussy,” Mink spat.
Jac shook her head. “The cat issue is between Dash and me. Okay? But the job situation is not. He doesn’t own this place. Mrs. Peepers does. So if she wants me gone, then she needs to say it to my face.” After I have the chance to beg for my job.
Mink narrowed her dark eyes. “Are you challenging my authority?”
A twinge of fear climbed up Jac’s spine. It was like that time she thought Kip the tiger was completely out so she could change the bandage on his paw, only to realize she’d given him the improper tranq dose. He’d almost eaten her.
“Yes?” Jac said sheepishly, refusing to completely back down.
Mink stared coldly at first and then smiled with wide, crazy eyes. “I like it! You’re still fired, but come back tomorrow and grovel if you like. Maybe Dash will change his mind about letting you stay.”
Grovel to that stripper? Jac’s heart crumbled. She wasn’t sure she could suck up to that jerkwad. Everyone had a line, and hers was not standing her ground. It was a lesson she’d learned the hard way after being with Stanley, who’d constantly talked her into things when she knew they were bad ideas—quitting school to support him, taking over an animal sanctuary to make him look good in the community, and believing anything he’d ever said.
She was over all that now, and in many ways, she felt grateful. At least she hadn’t married the guy, and she did love her animals, but that didn’t mean she should go back to her old weak-spined ways.
It also doesn’t mean putting my ego ahead of my responsibilities.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jac said glumly. “And thanks for the money.” She inhaled deeply, grabbed her purse, and headed for the hallway. Oh. I almost forgot.
“Heebie! You coming?”
The little furball appeared by her feet.
“There you are, little guy. Let’s get out of here.” Tomorrow, she’d come back and talk to Dash, but she would not be bringing him the kitten unless he promised to leave it at home or somewhere safe during the show. Otherwise, no cat.
Jac picked up Heebie and stepped out into the parking lot, where she nearly slipped on a pile of squishy, wet, translucent globs.
“What the hell?” The substance stuck to her boots and smelled like old fish.
Whatever the stuff was, it felt like the appropriate ending to a night filled with rotten things.