There was nothing classy about this place. I could tell just sitting here in the car. Being located on the seediest side of town aside, the place was a grade-A certified dump. Calling it a strip club was adequate but cordial. And gentleman’s club was too tasteful. The only truly appropriate name a place like this could be called was titty bar. And I still feel generous about that.

            Even at night the building was grimy and sour looking, the off white paint age stained and peeling. The neon lettering beside a flashing nude woman read Palms Up in fading jaundice yellow that was once likely gold.

            “So what’s the plan?” Jackson asked from the driver’s seat.

            “I…don’t know.”

            “What! We’re going in there without a plan?”

            “It’s a strip club! Why would we need a plan?”

            “Alright,” he gave me a look of pure condescension. “It’s time for Jackson’s plan!”

            “You have a plan?”

            “Yes. Unlike you, I am prepared for the mission.”

            “Boy, you are really getting into this.”

            “I did some asking around about the place. Went to see some old friends, and they told me that to get into the club, you need a password.”

            The look I gave him must have been a doozy because he smiled in an even more satisfied manner. “What kind of strip club has a password?”

            “The kind that’s dealing some serious dirty.”

            “Okay, so what’s your plan?”

            “We’re gonna go in there and…say the password.”

            “Brilliant.”

            “And I even have a plan B.” He reached over me and opened the glove compartment. When the light flipped inside I could just make out the handle of a gun.

            “Jackson!”

            “What? It’s for protection.”

            “You know you’re not supposed to have that. If they catch you with it, they’ll throw you right back in jail.”

            “Then I guess I’d better not get caught.”

            “How’d you get that anyway?”

            “I have a friend.”

            “With friends like that…”

            “Hey, a lot of people are still upset with me for taking that plea bargain. I have to protect myself. And momma.”

            “Whatever. Just leave it in the car.”

            “Fine,” he closed the glove compartment. “I still think you should have worn something sexier.” he said as he looked over the unnecessary layers of clothing I had chosen to wear.

            “Oh this is soo not the place to draw attention.”

            We got out of the car and walked toward the awning covered entrance. The parking lot was sprinkled with the remnants of a light shower that made the grey concrete seem soiled and squalid. Or maybe I was just projecting my own feelings.

            A doorman was positioned at the front door. “What brings you folks out tonight?”

            “We heard the fish were jumping and the cotton is high,” Jackson said.

            After that weird and unnecessary display the doorman nodded and let us pass.

            At the next door we paid the cover, which was outrageous enough to make me wonder if perhaps the dancer had gold plated vaginas or something, and we went inside. I’d never been inside a strip club before—well, not one were the dancers were woman anyway.

            The room was lit only by strategically placed mood lighting that I think was supposed to complement the dancers, but only added to the sleaze factor. There were three stages. Two smaller stages were off to the side of a larger main stage. On the smaller stages topless girls danced around brass poles. The main stage was not only wider but longer as it reached further into the audience. The light over that stage was dim as no one was dancing there.

            Couches, chairs, tables, and booths were seating dozens of men, most entranced by the scantily clad women who commanded their attention with come hither looks and sensual dance moves.

            At the balcony was a DJ who played RnB slow jams meant to tease and tantalize. A bar was at the back.

            The first thing that I noticed was the dancers jiggling colossal butts with more skill than I had in my little finger. The next thing I noticed was how absolutely bored most of them looked. A job is a job I guess.

            I had decided to dress modestly, hoping that my presence would go mostly undetected…I was wrong.

            Quite a few eyes had noticed my entrance, even with Jackson on my arm.  Their looks ranged from indifference to curiosity. One thing that was a consistent presence on all of their faces was lust.

            The dark tint in their eyes, the curiosity with my presence, and the pungent sense of sex in the air made me feel like a gazelle who had just wandered into a lion’s den. I’d never seen so much pure hunger in one place before. And even though I wasn’t the most succulent of the suckling pigs at the buffet, it was very clear that more than one man wouldn’t mind having a taste.

            And just like that I was overwhelmed.

            So overwhelmed in fact that I considered turning around and running the hell out of this slaughter house. But I had a job to do so I shrugged off my discomfort and pulled Jackson toward the bar. We sat down on barstools and waited as the bartender finished up someone’s drink order. When she moseyed on over to us she smiled a smile so warm I relaxed. “What can I get for you?”

            “Nothing. I’m just looking around.”

            “You know there’s a two drink minimum, right?”

            “Oh. In that case I’ll have a coke.”

            She poured me a glass tall enough to keep me in coke for the next ten years and said, “Eight dollars.”

            “Eight dollars! Shiiieet.”

            Her laugh was infectious and light. “Yeah, I know. It’s a little high.”

            A little high? She should be pointing a gun at me right now because this shit is robbery.The cover charge alone was enough to make me contemplate closing down Taste Teas and opening my own strip club. I’d probably be able to retire before I’m twenty-eight. “I can’t imagine how much the alcohol is.”

            She leaned in with a huge smile on her face, “It’s actually a little bit cheaper. The boss likes to get the patrons a little tipsy. They tip more.”

            “Your boss is an evil genius.”

            “That he is. What brings you down here? You look hella out of place.”

            “I knew a girl who used to work here.”

            “Oh yeah, who?”

            “Abbey Collins.”

            “Blondie!” she said with odd surprise. “Haven’t seen her in a couple of weeks. How she been?”

            “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but she’s dead.”

            The smile fell from her face in an instant. She paused, jaw dropped before she sighed and shook her head in solemn acceptance. “Damn.” She pulled out a shot glass and poured some rum, raising a toast with me.

            “To Blondie,” she said. “Real sweet girl. Too sweet for this place.” We clinked glasses. “How’d she die?”

            “Murdered.”

            “Double damn.”

            “Were you a friend?”

            “Yeah, one of the few friends she had up in this place.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “A lot of jealous bitches up in here. And this ain’t no ‘girl power’ place where all the women stick together and watch out for each other. It’s cutthroat. It’s business.”

            While I might not have much knowledge on exotic dancing, I understood business well enough. “How cutthroat we talking?”

            She sighed, slinging a towel down and leaning forward on her forearms. “Some dancers don’t take well to competition. There’ll be those dancers who make bank—like Tanqueray. She was the headliner before Blondie came up in here.”

            “Abbey was headlining?” For some reason I found that hard to believe.

            The bartender laughed. “Yeah. It’s exactly what you’re thinking. She was an awful dancer. Had no rhythm and she always made this face! She just looked uncomfortable, like she didn’t want to be here.”

            “Like me.”

            “A little, yeah. And even then, men lined up to get a dance from her. She could sometimes pull in thousands of dollars a night. When she started making more than Tanqueray—girlfriend was pissed!”

            If someone was taking thousands of dollars from me a night, I’d be pissed too. “How she take it when Abbey left?”

            “Oh there was no love lost between the two of them. Tanqueray just couldn’t understand why men loved Blondie so much. She barely had to work—Blondie that is. She was so timid and reserved and that doesn’t fly so well here. If you want money you have to go get it. You know, go put your ass in homeboy’s face if that’s what it takes, but for Abbey, just being in the room was enough. It rubbed Tanqueray the wrong way. That bitch is a hustler.”

            “Is she in tonight?”

            “Tanqueray? As a matter of fact, she’s due to dance in a few minutes. Why the interest?”

            “I’m investigating her murder.”

            She paused. “You a cop?” She almost seemed offended.

            “No. Just a friend, looking for answers.”

            Her smile returned, a little weaker. “I hear that. Whoever did that to that sweet girl deserves to go down.”

            “Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

            She thought for a moment. “No, I guess not. If it helps Blondie.”

            “How did Abbey interact with the other girls?”

            “Well like I said competition can be high around here. And to add insult to injury she didn’t seem like she liked the attention.”

            “I’ll bet the other girls didn’t like that.”

            “Mm hmm. Didn’t appreciate the attitude of someone who obviously didn’t want to be here.’

            “Why didn’t she just quit?”

            She sighed. “Once you get into the life it can be hard to get out.”

            “Why get into it at all?”

            “Most start for the money. It’s a no-brainer. Some are only in it for the pay and some enjoy the attention of men. Everyone has their reasons.”

            “Who’s the boss around here?”

            “Officially, Gloria Garcia. Unofficially, Angelo Delgatto.”

            “What does that mean?”

            “Well, Glori handles the money and the business and takes care of the girls and all that, but Angelo owns the place. Glori is more like an underpaid manager.”

            “Is there more than one place?”

            “Oh yeah. Angelo’s built up a little empire for himself. I knew him back in the day when he was just some knuckle headed punk from The Alley. He’s the one who hooked me up with this job.”

            “So he’s a good boss then?”

            “Hell no,” the corners of her eyes crinkled up when she laughed. “He’s more of a monetary investor. The place would go under without Glori.”

            “Did Abbey know a man named Larry?”

            “Larry the Clinger? Yeah, we all know Larry.”

            “Clingy?”

            “Yeah, but we get guys like that sometimes. There are all types of different men who come up in here, but most of them fall into three categories. The ones who understand how this works. They come in with a hand full of bills and enjoy the girls without expectations. We like those kind of guys. They spend their money and leave.”

            “Everybody’s happy.”

            “Exactly. Then you have the nasty ones who come here tryin’ to ask the girls to go the extra mile. Do nasty things like let them beat the girls for some extra cash under the table.”

            “Do you let them?”

            “If it was up to Delgatto…well, anything to make a profit. But Glori is very adamant that the girls not be abused. She’s very protective.”

            “Huh…” If that’s true then I doubt this Glori person would kill her. “What about the last kind?”

            “Ah, the losers. And ain’t nothing loveable about them, either. They come here cause they couldn’t get women any other way. A lot of times they misinterpret the attention. Think the girls really like them.

            “And Larry took a liking to Abbey?”

            “He’d come every week and only ask for Blondie. He’d stay ‘til closing and wait for her out back. It was some creepy shit. Blondie was getting scared. She said he followed her home once. Even got her home number. Glori had him banned. His picture is still hanging near the entrance so the bouncers remember not to let him in.”

            “And what would happen if he tried.”

            “He’d get his ass kicked.”

            I was about to ask her how big of a problem this was when the DJ got on the mike. “Give it up for Jade. Baby girl was working it!” A few men hollered in agreement. “Alright, alright. You know what time it is. It’s that time when our girls start getting frisky and start looking for some high rollers to shower with a little bit of our special brand of hospitality.”

            More cheers.

            “That’s what I like to hear. Our first lady up is our number one stunner, the first lady of lap dances, the premier pussy popper, queen of cock tease—you know who I’m talking about! Let’s give some love—and if we’re lucky she’ll give it back—to Tanqueray!”

            The lights over the large stage went on and out walked a woman with more ass than the combined body mass of all the inhabitants of the Eastern hemisphere. She was dressed in a tight black lace number that slid over her light honey brown skin strategically covering her naughty areas. Her hair was absolutely massive; a curly, wild mane that framed her alluring face like a sinful red halo.

            The woman in me had a brief ping of envy—over that gargantuan ass of course, she can keep the Ronald McDonald wig.

            All attention was immediately on her. So much so that some of the other strippers left in a huff once the eyes of the men they were trying to attract had settled firmly on Tanqueray.

            “From the looks on your faces,” the DJ said. “I can see that some of you are about to blow. I’ll take this opportunity to remind you of our Golden Rule. If you don’t want to get put out, keep your hands where we can see them and keep your palms up! All jiggelers will be escorted off the premises. No exceptions.”

            Oh, now I get it…gross.

            Whatever activities the men had been doing before, lap dances, table dances, etc, stopped as all the men turned to stand at attention—figuratively and for some literally.

            …I need a shower.

            As I was staring out over the crowd watching in part disgust and fascination as men practically wet themselves over a little nudity—seriously, her thong wasn’t even off yet, when my eyes caught a man sitting in a corner booth. His eyes were shielded under a brown fedora, the cigar in his lips forgotten as he stared up at the stage.

            He was raising his hand like this was preschool and he needed a potty break. Odd.

            A waitress walked over and leaned down. He whispered in her ear and she scribbled something on a scrap of paper. The waitress walked it to the DJ booth, where he looked at it briefly before nodding to the man.

            Another hand went up across the room. Same deal. When the waitress handed the paper to the DJ this time he nodded to the other man. And just like that the guy in the fedora raised his hand again.

            This ritual went on all the way through Tanqueray’s dance, with the three of them in some silent communication that was separate yet not inconspicuous.

            “Jackson, did you see that?”

            “Yes I did Evie. Tanqueray is stacked!”

            “No what was going on in the audience.”

            “Why the fuck would I be staring at dudes in the audience?”

            He’s got a point. In fact, the only one who seemed to notice besides myself was Tanqueray. After this silent tug-of-war had been established between the two men her focus rested on them alone. In fact the entire dance she stared at either/or, enticing with an enigmatic look in her eyes. Provoking even.

            When Tanqueray’s dance was over she collected the meager bills that lay at her feet and walked off stage in her shameless nudity. She waited off to the side while the guy in the fedora was escorted over to her, his eyes hollow and his hands jittery and restless. He looked irritable, almost sick. Then Tanqueray grabbed his hand and led him down a bouncer guarded hallway that read Private Rooms.

            “What’s going on over there?” I said to the bartender.

            “Oh, he just won the auction.”

            “Auction? What did he win?”

            “A private dance from Tanqueray.” I was going to ask what the hell kind of private dance requires a covert auction when I heard yelling coming from the entrance.

            I turned around to see an entourage coming into the club. At the center was a tall middle-aged man in a tailored black suit. His dark skin went well with dark features, and though handsome for his age his attractiveness was marred by the potent sense of chronic agitation that devastated not only his face, but his entire being.

            On his heels was a woman, dressed more casually in tight jeans and a simple t-shirt. Her curly dark brown hair stopped right at her shoulders, framing a plump but hard face that was made harder by her rage.

            “Why Delgatto,” she said as her legs sputtered to keep up with his longer pace. “Why’d you do it, huh? She was just some little girl.”

            “Shut the fuck up, Glori. I ain’t got time for this girl power bullshit today.” His voice was calm and dark and familiar.

            “Oh, you’re gonna listen to my bullshit! When you asked for her, I asked—no I begged you not to hurt her. She was too soft for that shit. Did you beat her? If you beat her I swear to God—“

            But she didn’t get to finish because he swung around and backhanded the hell out of her. While she lay sprawled out on the floor holding her hand to her busted lip he said, “First of all bitch, you don’t make rules for me. I make the rules for the rest of you motherfuckers, clear?”

            His entourage was quick to agree.

            “Second of all, what I did with Blondie is none of your goddamn business. So stop bringing it up. And lastly, if you ever threaten me again I will put you down like a fuckin’ dog.”

            “Oh, is that how it is now?” she got up. “Angelo, I’ve known your sorry ass since the first grade. We been running this business for twenty fucking years. And now you wanna hit me? I know what you did. That’s all I got to say. I know what you did and I will not stand by and watch you hurt these women. Bet on that.”

            The sea of people who had gathered to watch the spectacle parted to get the hell out of her way when she left. Delgatto turned and walked our way. When he passed I turned so I wouldn’t have to make  eye contact.

            After the commotion died down, I noticed Mr. Fedora come back from the private rooms. His demeanor had changed. He was more calm, less shaky and agitated. And a lot more alert.

            “Did Abbey know that Delgatto guy personally?” I said to the bartender.

            She scoffed. “Oh yeah. Sometimes he gets a little cozy with the dancers, if you know what I mean. But she was extra close. As in, off limits to any other men. His main squeeze now is Tanqueray.”

            There’s that name again.

            I turned to Jackson. “I’m ready to go.” My tolerance level for sleaze had just run out.

            “Alright.”

            I turned back to the bartender. “Thanks for your help…uh, I didn’t catch your name.”

            “Tiana Butler. You can call me Tia.”

            I dug around in my purse and pulled out a Taste Teas business card. “Evie Harper. Please call me if you remember anything else.”

            “Sure. Let me give you my number.” She scribbled it on a cocktail napkin as I pulled out some cash.  “It’s on the house. Any friend of Blondie’s.”

            “Thanks.”

            As Jackson and I walked out, a bouncer pulled Jackson aside. “Hold up, man.” the bouncer said.

            “What?” Jackson’s demeanor was all at once defensive.

            “Boss wants to talk to you.”

            He paused. “Go wait for me in the car.” He handed me the keys and followed the bouncer back inside.

            Before I left I took my phone out and snapped a picture of Larry’s not-allowed-on- premises poser. It was my lucky day. They’d printed his first and last, plus a black and white photo.

            It was a little grainy but I could see that Larry Barnes was a tiny man. His features were the definition of ordinary. Ordinary mouth, ordinary nose, and ordinary eyes that seemed withdrawn but nondescript. Even ordinary light colored hair that he swept neatly to the side.

            I had a hard time believing such an everyman could be a killer. But then again ordinary men have done far worse.

            And what about Angelo Delgatto? There was no mistaking; he’d been the other voice on the answering machine. There was also no mistaking the threat in his voice, either. Maybe he’d killed her in some kind of lover’s spat. Tia had said that she was off limits to all other men. I can't imagine he took it well when she started hanging around Harley.

            And then there was the ever popular Tanqueray. Could she have done it so she could be the most popular; make the most money? Or was it jealousy for being the boss’s favorite? I bet that gets you quite a bit of status.

            When I got in the car I made extra sure the doors were locked. My eyes darted back and forth watching all around me as people went in and out. I was on edge, and tired, and if I was honest with myself a little frightened. Where the hell was Jackson?

            That’s when I remembered the gun.

            Maybe I took it because I was scared. Maybe I did it for Jackson; he wasn’t supposed to have it anyway. I don’t know, it didn’t make sense. But when I opened the glove compartment and wrapped my fingers around it, I did feel a little better. Like some kind of power boost. A small dose of metal courage.

            I slipped it carefully into my purse just as Jackson was coming back to the car.

            “What did they want?”  I asked once he was in the car.

            “They just asked about why I visited the club, where I heard about it, etcetera.” He started the car.

            “Why would they want to know that?”

            “Probably just suspicious since I didn’t buy a lap dance or stay too long.”

            “Oh.” My purse sat heavy on my lap as we turned out of the parking lot.

            “That was weird. You take me on weird field trips; do you do this with Henry?”

            “Yes. You’ve been to strip clubs before, what part of that seems weird to you.”

            “The password, the quiet, the questions, but especially the auction.”

            “Oh, you saw that did you? I thought you zoned out on me.”

            “Well, once the blood went back to my head it did strike me as strange. Usually when you go into those places the girls are everywhere and offer you services. I’ve never really seen anyone be auctioned off like that.”

            “I was thinking the same thing. In fact, I’m mighty curious about what’s happening in those private rooms.”

            “Evie, if you go in there and order a private dance someone will notice. You don’t exactly give off the lesbian vibe.”

            “No, but you do—I mean, you know. I’m going to have to outsource a bit on this one. How do you feel about a private dance from Tanqueray?”

            He smiled. “Best. Mission. Ever.”

****************************

A/N: I already know what you're going to say, 'DeliriousMoon, why you got to be such a slow updating ho?' I know I'm a sloho and that took forever but forgive me I mean well. I just get a little busy this time of year.

Also, this chapter is dedicated to Viviloana for being gracious enough to include me in her book Wattpad Reviews & Interviews, where there is a review of More Poison in Your Coffee and an interview of yours truely. Dedication Tag, your it.