CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Cracker peed in the urinal, thinking over his next move.
He’d found Angela’s townhouse easy enough.
When he went up to the front door and peeked in a window, he’d seen two girls in there.
There were more than a few cars pulling in and out of the parking lot, so, rather than attract attention by trying to pull the girls out of there, he’d gone back to his truck, sat, and waited.
Then he’d followed the girls to this strip club.
Nice enough place. Lots of good old boys, drinking beer while they hooted and hollered at the girls.
The two girls he’d followed put on some kind of show.
The tall blonde with the big boobs and the shorter, dark-haired girl with the nice behind turned the club on its ear with their girl-on-girl action.
Got these country boys all riled up. It had given him a chance to make sure that the dark-haired girl was Julia.
Fact was, he’d thought it was her when he’d gotten his first good look at her walking out of Angela’s townhouse.
She bore a distinct resemblance to the girl in the painting back in Julia’s apartment.
Yelling her name when she was up on stage was just a formality.
All he had to do now was grab her, take her back to Brannigan, and then get the word out that Conor needed to show his face or his girl would soon be missing important parts.
Things were coming together. As soon as he finished peeing, he’d pull her out of her dressing room, shove her in his truck, and get this party started.
A young buck walked into the restroom—beefy boy with a moustache and a curly-haired mullet.
There were five open urinals, but the boy took the urinal next to Cracker and started pissing.
He stood six inches taller than Cracker and was so wide that he bumped Cracker’s shoulder, mumbling “Sorry” while he did his business.
“No problem, son,” said Cracker. He turned and pissed on the boy’s leg.
The boy jumped back. Cracker aimed for the boy’s shoe, wetted it down a bit, and then zipped up while the boy huffed and puffed.
“I’m gonna kick your ass,” said the boy, looking downright shocked at the hot piss on his shoe.
Cracker stepped to the sink and washed his hands.
“You hear me?” said the big country boy, following him. “You’re going home with your teeth in a bag, mister.”
The boy grabbed Cracker’s shoulder. Cracker snatched the boy’s hand and twisted it back against the joint, lowering him to his knees.
“Don’t touch on me,” said Cracker. “That’s what got you pissed on to begin with.”
“Okay, okay,” said the country boy. “I give.”
Cracker released the boy’s hand and walked over to the paper towel dispenser. The dispenser was stainless, showing Cracker a distorted reflection of the country boy walking up behind him with a cocked fist.
“Son, hold on,” said Cracker, doing an about-face. He wiped his hand and tossed the paper towel on the floor. “You look a man in the eye when you fight him. Take your best shot.”
The country boy flexed his fists. He looked confused. “What are... What’s the trick?”
Cracker shrugged. “No trick. Just get a move on. I got business, and you’re holding me up.”
The country boy reared back and threw a hard right.
Cracker tucked his chin, taking the punch on top of his head.
He heard the boy’s hand crack on his skull.
He looked up. The boy cradled his hand, his teeth gritted in pain.
Cracker slashed an elbow into the boy’s temple, drove a knee into his crotch, and helped his downward progress with a right to the back of his head.
The boy twitched a few times and went still.
Cracker wiped his brow. That punch opened a cut on top of his head.
He bent over the sink, splashed cold water on his head, and then straightened, pressing paper towels against the cut.
God damn it all. It was going to be hard to keep a low profile while he was bleeding like a stuck pig.
If asked by the law, people would recall the sight of a big, bloody hillbilly traipsing through the club right before Julia disappeared.
He sighed and crumbled another handful of towels, pressing them against the cut on his head.
A handful of men came in while he tended to his head.
A couple pulled up short and walked out when they saw the boy on the floor.
Cracker knew they’d tell the club’s bouncers what they saw, and he didn’t have time to mess with bouncers.
He dabbed at his wound one more time, then looked in the mirror.
Blood oozed, but not too awful. He ran a comb through his hair.
It didn’t cooperate, sticking out here and there, but it would have to do.
He exited the restroom and made a beeline for the dressing room Julia and Angela had ducked into after their dance.
He glanced back at the restroom as he walked.
That boy had slowed him down, but things never went exactly the way you planned them.
The key was to adapt to changes in the operational environment and keep your eye on the goal.
That’s how things got done in this world, like kidnapping beautiful, little Julia, and—if it came to it—taking her apart piece-by-piece until Conor came to heel.
* * *
Conor drove around the back of Sweeties and wedged the Camaro next to a Mustang by the dumpster. He got out and tried the back door of the club. It was locked. He ran around to the front, hoping that Ronnie was right, that Julia was dancing here.
He paid the cover and walked into Sweeties.
It was dim inside. A big, circular bar dominated the middle of the club.
Girls twirled around poles on a stage built inside the perimeter of the bar, gyrating to the music.
Some of the girls walked on top of the bar, high-stepping around the beer bottles, glasses of whiskey, and shots of liquor.
Conor pushed to the front of the bar and checked out the girls.
They were all super-hot, but they weren’t as pretty as Julia. A bartender came over.
“What can I get you?”
“Looking for a girl. Julia Terranova. She work here?” said Conor.
The bartender shook his head. “Don’t know. You want a drink?”
Conor held his hand below his chin. “She’s about this tall. Shoulder-length dark hair. Big eyes.”
The bartender shrugged.
Conor started to step away. He touched his cheek. “Big scar? Girl with a big scar on her face?”
“Oh yeah,” said the bartender. “She’s something. Just finished a set with Angela. I think they’re in the dressing room.”
“Where’s that?”
The bartender pointed at a curtain around the back side of the bar.
Conor fought through the crowd to the curtain. He went to step through the curtain and walked straight into a girl coming out. She was tan, blonde, tall, had big boobs, and looked worried.
“Is Julia Terranova in there?” he said, holding the girl by her shoulders.
“Damn,” she said, studying him. “Are you Conor?”
Conor relaxed his grip on her. “How’d you know?”
Angela squeezed his biceps and slapped his shoulder. “You’re all muscle,” she said, smiling. “Can you fight?”
“I’d rather not,” said Conor. “Where’s Julia?”
“Follow me,” she said, pulling him through the crowd. “I’m her friend, Angela. A lowlife little rat took your girlfriend.”
Conor followed Angela toward a curtained off section of the club. “What rat?” he said as they stopped in front of the club’s private lap dance area.
Billy Kelley stepped through the curtain and stopped in front of Conor.
“That rat,” said Angela, pointing at Billy. “He took her to get raped by a pervert.”
Conor turned his attention to the little man. He was one hundred percent hick. Long hair and a gold front tooth twinkling in the club’s strobe lights. The man looked at Conor, then at Angela.
“What’s going on here?” said Billy.
Conor turned to Angela. “You sure this is the guy?”
Angela grinned. “Positive.”
Conor snatched Billy’s shirt and wobbled him with a backhand. “Where is she?” he said.
Billy looked around, his eyes wild. “What are you talking about? Who are you?”
Conor looked at Angela. “You know where she is?”
“Yeah,” said Angela.
Conor grabbed the back of Billy’s head with both hands, pulled it down, and drove his knee into the hick’s mouth. Billy’s gold tooth bounced on the floor and spun out of sight. Billy fell on his face, unconscious.
Angela searched Billy’s pockets. She pulled out a key ring. “Follow me,” she said.
Conor grabbed Billy by the hair and dragged him through the white curtain.
A body on the floor would bring attention he didn’t need.
He threw Billy onto a white leather couch.
Heavy bass music throbbed through the room.
It was curtained off into four sections, and he could see the shadows of strippers giving lap dances to their clients behind the curtains. He turned to Angela. “Where is she?”
Angela grabbed Conor by a belt loop and pulled him toward the bar in front of the curtained back wall. She pushed him behind the bar and handed him the key ring.
“Pull back that curtain and unlock the door,” she said. “Julia’s in there.”
Conor did as she asked. He stepped into darkness.
He heard rattling, like chains, and a muffled scream. He moved toward the muffled scream. His thigh bumped something. He reached out and his head exploded with pain.
He dropped to all fours. A kick caught him in the ribs. He rolled over. A foot came down on his stomach, stomping the air out of him. He curled up, waiting for the next blow.
Then he heard rattling.
And gagging.
He pushed off the floor. The overhead lights in the room popped on, blinding him. He squinted.