Chapter 16 #3
Realising the volume of the music may have prevented me from hearing my phone ping, and that I may have been too occupied to feel a vibration, as soon as I get to the office, I take the device out and check it. No calls or texts.
Perhaps they're somewhere they can’t get a signal.
I hadn’t thought to check the observatory while I was there.
Maybe there’s something that blocks cell phones, as the signal might interfere with their delicate instruments.
I mean, who’d want to spy a new planet, comet, star, black hole – or whatever the fuck they're looking for, and the multi-million dollar telescope they’re using starts to glitch.
Or to be in the middle of conducting a delicate experiment and have their computer go on the fritz.
I know fuck all about it, but it makes a certain sense.
That must be why Life360 doesn’t work either, and yes, I had the sense to check.
It’s also probably why the message I just fired off from my phone is showing as sent but not delivered.
Toni had told me she’s taking Ace to some sort of event, and I remember the Lowell closes at ten. I’ll try again then.
When the time comes, I leave for church, which is a waste of my time.
I didn’t really need to be there. Tempest reports on the run we’d taken and offers his views.
I just nod to reinforce what he’s saying.
Stalker includes in his finance report that money is going missing at the strip club, which gives me the chance to make what turns out to be my only contribution to the meeting, when I confirm I’ve installed the extra cameras, which should be operating now.
When Bullseye calls for any other business, he pointedly stares my way.
I clear my throat. “Ace is in Flagstaff with Toni. I’m going up there tomorrow. I’ll be staying a week.”
“You walking out on us, Bro?” Stalker frowns.
“Nah.” I inject confidence in my voice. “You can handle it. I’ll be back for Friday and the weekend.”
“You putting that piece of skirt before the club?” Rattler grumbles. “Looks like you’re so stuck on her we’ll soon be hearing wedding bells.”
“I’ll ring your fuckin’ bell,” I snarl at him.
“Shut the fuck up, Rat,” Tempest and Saint tell him simultaneously. Then they look at each other across the table and give each other a thumbs-up.
Rat slides down in his chair, but he mutters, “Leaves us to do all the fuckin’ work while he’s off chasing pussy.”
Paint’s eyes open wide. “Like you might have to actually work the floor for once, and not spend all your time in the stripper’s dressing room?”
“Or get head out back,” Stalker adds.
“Fuckin’ pick on me, why don’t you?” Rat looks around the table for support. He gets none. But he does get Bullseye’s sharp eyes on him.
After a beat, Bullseye states, “We’ve all got jobs. Don’t expect anyone to slack on them. As for Freak? He’s given his all to the club. I can’t fuckin’ remember when last he took any time off.”
To my relief, his comments are met by a general raising of chins in my direction. Well, except for one, but that’s to be expected.
“Any other fuckin’ business?” Prez raises the gavel.
It’s Saturday night. Brothers all have shit they’d prefer to be doing, so there’s no back-and-forth chat, and no one offers any topics for discussion. There’s, thankfully, no meaningless questions. The meeting finishes, and all brothers disperse.
Unlike many of my brothers, I won’t be fucking or drinking tonight. I plan to get on the road to Flagstaff early the next morning. But I do have to do my job, so I follow Paint, Rattler, and Stalker out to our bikes, and, with Stalker and me taking the lead, we ride to Royals.
This time when I enter, the place is full to the rafters, and I’m glad I’ve come to give my brothers a hand.
There are not one, not two, but three fucking bachelor parties in, which are always a hotbed for trouble.
The groom usually thinks he’s entitled, just due to his getting wed, either the next day or soon.
His behaviour can range from insisting on being served first at the bar to having a last fling with any dancer he likes.
Which is fine, as long as the girl is willing.
It’s a fucking pain in the ass when she’s not – often needing us to step in and explain, in whatever way necessary, that he can’t have everything he wants.
If we’re lucky, it only needs a few choice words to persuade him.
Grooms, groomsmen, and friends always drink far too fucking much.
Most of the dancers are, well, I won’t say they’re happy to, but they tolerate giving lap dances for the extra cash.
But drunks are likely to get overly handsy, and we need to keep one person full-time watching the footage from the security cameras in each of the private rooms. As well as having men close to teach them whatever lesson they’ve earned, depending on how far the mistreatment has gone.
If it’s not lap dances or monopolising one of the girls for sex, then they’re trying to pull a dancer off stage, or getting up on it and trying to help get her clothes off. So extra security is needed close by there as well to keep the girls safe.
And then there’s always one skinny, nerdy motherfucker who can’t hold his drink. Puking in the heads is one thing, but often they can’t get that far before they throw up. The servers and bouncers have to double as cleaners on rowdy nights like this.
It’s still relatively early, and a quick glance around shows none of the groups are, as yet, three sheets to the wind.
Looking toward the bar, I see Stalker gesticulating to Meat and the other bouncers assembled around him, giving them their instructions.
His eyes constantly survey the room, and when he catches me looking, he raises his hand.
I lift my chin. Yeah, he’s aware of the possible problems just as much as I am, and is doing what he can to preempt trouble.
Are you starting to get the idea that my brothers and I hate Saturday nights and bachelor parties?
And don’t even ask me about the bachelorettes.
The girls who think they’ll walk on the wild side and have their party in a strip club.
After a few cocktails, they’re trying to pull the dancer away from the pole so their drunken selves can have a go on it themselves.
Well, there are normally a couple of them that try that, while the others are screaming at the top of their lungs, encouraging them on.
And then the bachelors decide what the bachelorettes are doing is a fucking good idea.
All this while the houseful of normal customers are getting agitated because they’re not getting the show they came to see and paid the table cover for.
You see where I’m going? It’s what we get for running a strip club with a reputation where anything goes. It does bring us in money, but it can be a pain in the ass as well. Especially on Saturday night, and when, as I noticed riding in tonight, it’s a full moon.
Even as I think about it, I see the place livening up. As I put in my earpiece, I’m satisfied it’s all hands on deck, with the bouncers spread out around the room. Rattler, Paint, and Stalker come over to join me.
“You got your ears on?” I ask.
The three of them nod, and Rattler’s expression as he spies the various parties shows that in this, at least, we’re of the same accord. To give him his due, when there’s a need to have all hands on deck, he shows up. Though he does complain about it.
Suddenly Rat’s eyes narrow. “Who the fuck’s that?”
Grimacing, I notice who he’s talking about. Employing the voice I use when I want to suggest I’ll hear no argument, I respond, “That’s the new girl, Amethyst, Amy…no…” I correct, “Ames. It’s her first night.”
“She’s going to get fuckin’ slaughtered,” Paint observes. His grin suggests he’s looking forward to the show.
“And there we go.” Stalker chuckles as the night’s split by a piercing scream.
Followed by a loud, obnoxious voice shouting, “Fuckin’ bitch.”
We all look at each other, then Rattler shrugs. “I’ve got this.” He leaves us and makes his way over to one of the bachelor parties who’d obviously thought Ames was part of the deal.
“Send her home,” Stalker suggests.
I take the opportunity to glance at my phone, ostensibly to check the time, but I also note the lack of messages I’m hoping to receive. “She’s near the end of her shift. You deal with her, Stalk.”
“Want me to tell her not to come back?”
I shake my head. “Nah, she deserves a second chance. I threw her in the deep end, starting on a Saturday night. Sunday’s are quieter.”
“Amen to that,” Paint puts in.
A tinny voice sounds in my ear. I raise my hand to cover it to hear better. “Got a problem in Room Four.”
Raising my hand in the direction of the closest camera, I give a thumbs-up. “I’ve got this,” I tell my brothers. Then I go to see exactly what type of issue it is.
Colour me surprised, not, when it’s a groom who’s got his hands all over Missy, one of our best dancers, who’s doing her best to fend him off. He’s already ripped off her bra. Seeing red as I notice a palm print on her face, I roar, grab him by the collar, and pull him the fuck off.
Then I teach him what it’s like to be hit in the face by someone larger than him. Only I can hit much harder, and blood flows from his nose with just one blow.
“You fucking broke my nose,” he whines nasally. “I’m going to sue you. I’m getting married tomorrow. Now, how am I going to explain this?” He gingerly touches his nostrils.
Ignoring him for the moment, I address Missy. “You okay? He hurt you anywhere else?” As she shakes her head, I offer, “You want to go home?”
She sends tomorrow’s possibly-no-longer groom – unless he can come up with a damn good reason for his bloody nose – a scathing look. “I’m fine. I’ll stay. I’m not going to lose out on money because of this asshole.”
“Reckon he owes you some cash, sweetheart.” I give the man my best enforcer look.
He blusters, “Me? Give her money? Everyone knows the dancers here are up for anything. And I didn’t get any satisfaction for the money I already paid.
” He puts his fingers to his nose again, wincing as he feels the swelling, and when he brings them away, they’re covered in blood.
“I am going to fucking sue you,” he threatens again.
“Go ahead.” I plant my feet apart and fold my arms across my chest. “Everyone knows prostitution is against the law, and so is attempted rape.”
“Attempted…” he shouts. “You’re trying to accuse me of…”
I raise my shoulders, then lower them. “Got it on camera.” I pause to point at the red light glowing in the corner.
“Would make a nice wedding present for your fiancée, wouldn’t it?
Royals is a gentleman’s club, and you’re no fucking gentleman.
Reckon the sheriff might like to know what you’ve tried to do when we all know our licence is for lap dances, and not full-on sex. ”
“My fiancée?” His face has gone white. He seems more afraid of her than local law enforcement.
Of course, he doesn’t know we’d never call the heat down on the club. Or give them access to any recordings. It might not be legal, but some of the girls like to offer the full package. His problem? Missy ain’t one of them.
Again, I’m not surprised when he pulls out his wallet, takes out a few bills, and drops them on the floor.
“There,” he snarls. “Now we’re even.”
Snatching the wallet from him, I take out the rest of his money and hand it to Missy. “Now we’re even.” Before he can protest, I advance on him. “Get yourself and your friends out of our club. You are no longer welcome. And consider yourself blacklisted. You won’t be allowed in again.”
To my astonishment, he advances toward me. Fucking idiot. “You think you can steal from me…”
“Recording. Fiancée.” I raise my chin toward the camera again. I listen carefully to the voice that starts speaking into my ear, thanking fuck that Genie’s on the ball and has got our backs from his office at the club. “Penny Althrope, I believe her name is.”
“How do you…?” His eyes are wide, and if I thought he’d paled earlier, he’s completely white now.
He stops arguing and leaves.
Turning, I meet Missy’s eyes. She’s grinning at me while holding her handful of money.
“Thanks, Freak.”
“Anytime, babe. You sure you're okay?”
Waving the notes toward me, she nods her head. “Best fucking medicine there is. I’ll just take a moment to put extra foundation on my face.”
“Take all the time you need, sweetheart,” I offer. Then, when I jerk my head toward the door, she leaves.
I start straightening the room, picking up the chair that had fallen over, then notice the blood that’s dripped on the floor.
“Enjoy yourself, Freak?” the security guy’s voice in my ear asks.
I did. But I don’t give him the satisfaction of hearing my answer. Instead, I say, “Room Four needs cleanup.”