21. Twenty-One Cam
Twenty-One: Cam
L akes wanted to work again tonight, and I couldn’t refuse. The money she made per night was astronomical and it seemed to help level her, so here we were. Again. In this shitty strip club with men the pope’s age, sitting around with their tiny dicks in their hands. I lounged in my usual spot, nursing a whiskey and eyeing the crowd. Lakey was in rare form tonight, her hot pink wig bright as fuck as she gyrated in the cage with another dancer. The nipple tassels were a nice touch. I smirked, knowing the poor schmucks drooling over her had no idea what she really was.
My gaze drifted, scanning faces with practiced ease. That's when I spotted him - a guy in the back corner who stuck out like a sore thumb. Crisp suit, ramrod straight posture, eyes darting nervously. Everything about him screamed "I don't belong here."
I leaned forward, intrigued. "Well, well. What do we have here?"
As I watched, another man slid into the booth across from Mr. Out-of-Place. Something about him tugged at my memory, but I couldn't place it. He was a big guy, bald. Filled out his suit to the point of the seams straining where they joined. Goddamn… I knew him. Why couldn’t I place him? Fuck, that was gonna bug me all night.
The newcomer's body language was all wrong too — tense, alert. These guys weren't here for the tits and ass. No, they were up to something.
I drained my glass, mind racing. Where the hell did I know that second guy from? An old mark? Someone from juvie? The face was so damn familiar, but the name danced just out of reach.
"Looks like we've got some party crashers," I muttered, signaling the bartender for another drink. "Question is, what are they after?"
My eyes flicked back to Lakey, still putting on one hell of a show. If these guys were a threat, she'd want to know. But first, I needed more intel.
I stood, stretching casually as I made my way towards their table. Walking by some dancing women and ignoring the way they stared at me, I stopped just before hitting their booth, leaning against the wall, pretending to be engrossed in Lakey’s performance.
“Hey. Scram, mutt.” A large meathead stood in front of me, sizing me up.
I yawned, and stretched my arms above my head, pulling myself to full height. I had at least two inches on this prick, but he far outweighed me in the all-brawn club.
“I’m just standing here, watching my girl, you know how it is.” I said nonchalantly.
“Yeah, well, watch her somewhere else.” He crossed his arms, waiting.
As I scanned his body, I noticed a piece bulging. Ah, yes. Rules for thee, but not for me . Must be something big happening here. I patted his face before breaking out in a smile at his responding scowl. “Alright, chief. Have a good night.”
Grabbing my phone, I carefully took a video of the club, lingering on the two assholes in their power suits, and the guard who acted like a chihuahua on meth. Skeeter’s laptop might have photos. The thing was, I knew that one greasy fuck. But from where?
As Lakey sauntered over, still glistening with sweat from her performance, I grabbed her arm and pulled her close.
"We need to talk," I murmured, my lips brushing her ear.
She giggled, all bubbly charm for the leering patrons. "Mmm, I wanna get some drinks first."
I tightened my grip, squeezing her ass. "Two guys. Back booth. They don't fit. Something's off."
Lakey's eyes flickered to the men, then back to me. Her smile never faltered, but I caught the slight narrowing of her eyes.
"You're paranoid, babe," she said, shrugging off my hand. "They're probably just closet cases afraid to admit they like dick."
I growled in frustration. "This isn't a joke, Lakey. I swear I recognize one of them."
She rolled her eyes, already moving away. "From where? Your vast criminal empire? Chill out, Cam. Not everyone's out to get us."
I watched her sashay back to the stage, frustration building. Sometimes her nonchalance drove me fucking crazy. Most times, she took what I had to say seriously, but she got a kind of high from dancing, something even I couldn’t give her.
Sometimes, it made it so she stopped listening entirely, her hyperfocus overtaking all reason. Yes, it was cute, like when she would dance in the kitchen, but right now, it was annoying.
"Fine," I muttered under my breath.
The missing pieces slowly clicked together, but it was like walking through molasses. I’d almost placed exactly who they were, and then it would be snatched from my mind. I was almost positive that one guy was the warden at the prison, and the other looked similar to a guy I used to fight for back in the day by the name of Cloak. If it were them — and I couldn’t be sure it was — why the fuck would they be meeting?
After I got out of juvie, Cloak had approached me to fight in his underground club. I made bank destroying noobs, but it got sketchy, so I got out. Lakey and I lived the high life for a while, until all the money was spent, and we were back to the same old song and dance. I hadn’t told Lakes, but Cloak had approached me about a year back, asking me to fight again. I put his head through a window. Traitors don’t deserve second chances. So… was it just coincidence that they were here? Or did they realize that captivating little bitch was Lakey? Part of the black void in my memories was tugging at me, begging me to remember something. Vague flashes of Cloak meeting with someone in the chapel came to mind, but nothing stuck.
Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. If they came for me, or for Lakes, they’d end up as shark bait. I didn’t have the bandwidth to give a fuck about piecing it together any further. I felt a pair of eyes on me and looked down to see my girl staring up at me, a questioning look on her face. I smiled, leaning down to kiss her before downing my drink.
We left the club an hour later, the chill night air a welcome relief compared to the sweaty interior. The ride home was tense, Lakey humming tunelessly while I stewed in silence.
The moment we stepped into our apartment, Lakey's cheerful facade cracked. The smell was overpowering.
"Jesus fucking Christ," she snarled, storming towards the bathroom. "We seriously left him in the tub?"
I followed, wincing at the sight of Skeeter's pale, bloated corpse. "We've been busy," I offered lamely.
Lakey whirled on me, eyes flashing. "Busy? We've had two days! Now he's all... soggy."
I couldn't help but snort at her indignant tone. "Sorry the murder victim's inconveniencing you, princess."
She huffed, grabbing her gym bag. "I can't deal with this right now. I'm going to shower at the gym. You..." She gestured vaguely at the tub. “Handle this."
"Wait, what about—" The door slammed behind her. "—those guys at the club," I finished to the empty room.
I sighed, eyeing Skeeter's corpse. "Looks like it's just you and me, buddy. Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?"
I rolled up my sleeves, a grim smile tugging at my lips. "Time to get down and dirty, Skeeter. Hope you don't mind a little dismemberment."
Grabbing our trusty bone saw from under the sink, I got to work. The squelch and crack of flesh and bone filled the bathroom, but I hardly noticed. This wasn't my first rodeo, after all.
"You know," I mused, hacking through a particularly stubborn joint, "if you'd just played nice, we could've avoided all this mess. But no, you had to go and be difficult."
As I worked, my mind drifted to Lakey. God, I loved that crazy bitch. When she got like this, all stubborn and irate, it ground on my gears. She almost always, without fail, left me to clean the messes she made. Unironically, this mess was mine, but the sentiment remained. Still, the way her eyes lit up when she was elbow-deep in someone's guts... it was fucking beautiful. Or the way she looked at me when I had my fun. It almost made up for the fact that I had issues when it came to cleaning. She’d be fine living in relative mess, but I wasn’t. Sure, I had an advantage because of my obsessive need for things to be clean, but still, she could at least offer to help chunk him with me.
An hour later, I'd reduced Skeeter to a pile of manageable pieces. I bagged them up, making a mental note to dispose of them in a couple hours, just before the garbage truck grabbed the big apartment bins. Now for the real fun — bleach time.
"Sorry, buddy," I muttered, dousing the tub in industrial-strength cleaner. "Gotta erase your final resting place. No hard feelings, right?"
As I scrubbed, I thought of what his role in all this was. It was clear he was some kind of information/data holder, but to what degree was anyone’s guess. His laptop would have some useful info. But first, I needed his fingerprint.
Fishing out his dismembered hand, I carefully pressed his thumb onto a piece of tape, later I’d do a silicon mold if needed, but turning off the password would work once I’m in. "There we go. Your final contribution to society, pal." I chuckled, “At least this might replace the memory of you jacking off on granny. Probably not, but it is a nice thought, isn’t it, friend?”
Just as I finished my deep clean, I heard the front door open. Lakey's voice rang out, "Honey, I'm home! Did you take care of our little problem?"
I grinned, surveying the spotless bathroom before heading to the kitchen. "Baby, you have no idea. I’ll push him down the garbage chute just before dawn.” Rummaging around in the freezer, I grabbed a pie and set it in the fridge. Dunno what kind it was, but food was food. You eat it and shit it out.
I settled into the worn leather chair, Skeeter's laptop balanced on my thighs. The soft glow of the screen illuminated my face as my fingers danced across the keys. My tape fingerprint sat on the table beside me, just in case.
"Alright, you piece of shit," I muttered, "let's see what secrets you're hiding."
I navigated through mundane files - porn, shitty music, the usual crap. But then, something caught my eye. A folder labeled "Chimichunga_X" sat nestled in the corner of the desktop, practically begging to be opened. I mean, with a name like that it’s gotta be something good.
Well, well, well. What do we have here?
I double-clicked, only to be greeted by a password prompt. My lips curled into a snarl.
"Fuck me. Of course it's encrypted."
I leaned back, running a hand through my hair. The challenge only made me more determined. I cracked my knuckles, a wicked grin spreading across my face.
"Game on, asshole."
I dove into the dark web, searching for decryption tools. My eyes burned from the screen's glare, but I couldn't stop. The thrill of the hunt coursed through my veins.
Hours ticked by. I barely noticed Lakey coming in and out, doing her thing before tossing a sandwich my way with a concerned look. I grunted in acknowledgment, too focused to eat.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the folder unlocked. My heart raced as I clicked through file after file, each one revealing more about Chimera.
"Holy shit," I whispered, my eyes widening. "Lakey, baby! Get in here. You're gonna want to see this."
She sauntered in, her eyes bright with curiosity. "What's got you all worked up?"
I gestured to the screen, my pulse quickening. "Well, our favorite beady bastard? Turns out he was sitting on a goldmine. He was way more important to Chimera than he let on."
She leaned over my shoulder, her breath warm on my neck. I clicked open a file labeled "Operatives" and a map popped up, dotted with red pins.
"Well, fuck me sideways," Lakey whispered, her eyes scanning the screen. "Are those...?"
"Chimera agents," I finished, a grin spreading across my face. "And look here, baby. There's one just a few blocks away."
Lakey's eyes lit up with that dangerous gleam I loved so much. "Oh, Cam. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
I leaned back, drinking in her excitement. "You bet your sweet ass I am. We're gonna pay our neighbor a little visit."
My mind raced with possibilities. This was our chance to get ahead, to finally have the upper hand against Chimera. But we'd need to play this smart.
"Listen, babe," I said, grabbing her hand. "This is gonna be tricky. We can't go in guns blazing. We need finesse, charm..."
Lakey's lips curved into a wicked smile. "And a dash of psychopathy?"
I chuckled, shoving the laptop off me and pulling her onto my lap. "Exactly. You up for a little roleplay, darlin'?"
She straddled me, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Always. What did you have in mind?"
As I outlined my plan, I could feel the anticipation building between us. This was what we lived for — tracking, hunting, that little dance on the edge of danger. It felt nice. I mean, to be focused on something real. Tangible. Something that would produce results.
A mission that felt like I had a purpose, even if that purpose was slow murdering assholes who tortured women and children.
Something that actually made sense for once in my Goddamn life. Half of me was proud. I’d wanted to be a cop when I was young, so young, I hadn’t yet realized the state of corrupt decay within the forces. Before I gutted a man for hurting my girl. Now, I was glad I’d never had the chance. These types in prison? With more money than they knew what to do with? Always get off. Always.
Now they wouldn’t.
Maybe, I would have been able to be something else, someone else, if Chimera hadn’t existed. Maybe I wouldn’t have needed to gut a rapist, but I did, which led me —us— here. A strange feeling crawled up my back. If Lakey and I were both products of the foster system, how did they plan all of this? Was she always going to end up at that nun home? Was I always going to end up in prison?
How the fuck had they planned all of this?
More importantly, I couldn’t figure out why the fuck we were even still alive. The more I thought about it, the more a sick ball twirled in my gut. There was more to this. More than we were piecing together. Just… what the fuck was it?
"So," I said, my hands resting on her hips, shaking the creeping thoughts from my mind, "you ready to raise some hell?"
Lakey leaned in, her lips brushing against mine. "Baby, you had me at ‘roleplay’."
I grinned, feeling that familiar rush of adrenaline. "Alright, let's get our shit together. We've got a busy night ahead."
She hopped off my lap, her energy infectious. "What's the plan, again? Sorry, I was daydreaming. Are we going full 'damsel in distress' or more 'lost pizza delivery'?"
I stood up, stretching my arms above my head before crossing them over each other, pulling the tension in my back. "I'm thinking we play it simple. Charming new neighbors who just moved in down the street. You can be your usual bubbly self, and I'll be the doting husband."
"Ooh, domestic bliss with a side of murder. I like it," Lakey purred, already rummaging through our closet. "How about this?" She held up a pastel sundress that screamed 'innocent housewife'.
"Perfect," I nodded, grabbing a polo shirt and khakis. "We'll look like we just stepped out of a fucking Norman Rockwell painting."
As we got dressed, I couldn't help but admire how easily Lakey slipped into her role. One minute she could be shoving a severed cock down someone’s throat, the next she was the picture of suburban perfection. It was hot as hell. I chuckled. She’d give a lesser man whiplash with her personalities.
"Don't forget to grab the pie from the fridge," I called out as I checked my reflection in the mirror. "Nothing says 'harmless neighbor' like pie. Oh, you got a brown wig? If this guy is entrenched, he will recognize you."
Lakey appeared behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. "And I can fill it with poison, right? Wait, when did you get pie?"
I turned, cupping her face in my hands, marveling at how different she looked with the short brown wig. She actually looked… domestic. "I dunno, I found it in the freezer and thawed it in the fridge. I think it’s chicken, but who really cares? Not like he’s gonna eat it with us.” I grinned, spinning her in a circle. Damn, she looked good like a soccer mom going out for dinner. Might have to fuck her later like this. “No poison, darlin'. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. First, we gather intel. Then we decide how to deal with our new friend."
Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Fine, but I call dibs on the first stab if things go south."
"Wouldn't have it any other way, sugar," I laughed, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Now, let's go introduce ourselves to the neighborhood."
As we stepped out of our apartment, arm in arm with a pie between us, I felt that familiar thrill. Small steps were still steps, especially when it meant slotting one more piece into the puzzle.