The Way of the Guilty

by Jennifer Stanley

  “It’s false advertising,” Edward told her. “Trust me, the girls inside aren’t that hot.”

  Club Satin was housed in a brick building that had once been inhabited by a small hardware company. The business had folded and the Club Satin owner had tacked on a cheap addition resembling a prefab trailer. Now the storefront windows that had once been used to display drill sets and power saws were painted black and covered with electric-pink awnings emblazoned with the club’s name. Tubes of pink neon lighting accentuated the roofline and two spotlights had been erected on top of the highest portion of the roof. The pair of strong beams signaled to traffic passing overhead on I-95 that something exciting was occurring below and travelers need only take the next exit to discover what it was.

  Cooper had only seen strip clubs in movies, so she expected to encounter the raucous members of bachelor parties, zealous fraternity boys, and businessmen in town for a dull convention. But Club Satin’s clientele was a marked degree shadier than her Risky Business visions, and as soon as Edward paid the cover charge and she stepped past the unsmiling bouncer, Cooper felt her anxiety level rise.

  “You look like Bambi in a forest fire,” Edward hissed in her ear. “You gotta play this like you go wherever you want, whenever you want. Act like there aren’t any rules for you. Own it, girl!”

  Nodding, Cooper pointed at a chalkboard announcing the pool tournament and the night’s food specials. “Just steer me to a table. I’ll be ready to play.”

  Edward drove her through a knot of men whose attention was focused on a woman dancing on a small, elevated stage in the shape of a circle. A brass pole protruded from the center and the dancer was hanging upside down using the incredible strength of her legs.

  “Wow,” Cooper murmured.

  Dodging sloshing beer bottles and lit cigarettes, Edward pulled Cooper toward the purple-felt pool tables located in the middle of the main room. A gargantuan man dressed in a lime-green tracksuit waved a clipboard at them, indicating they needed to stop before approaching the tables. “You registered?” he growled.

  “Yeah.” Edward appeared irritated by the question.

  The man flicked his eyes at Cooper. “Team name?”

  Deadpan, Edward replied, “The Ball Busters.”

  The man chuckled. “At least one of you, anyhow. Rack ’em up on table two. You’re playin’ the Pick Pockets.”

  Cooper wasn’t happy about their team moniker, but decided not to criticize her partner right before their first game. Instead, she focused on assembling her custom cue. As she chalked the tip, she took a moment to take stock of the environment. The six purple-topped pool tables were aligned against the club’s far wall, opposite the long bar. The area near the entrance was reserved for those wishing to dine while viewing the dancers, and smaller tables meant to hold drinks and ashtrays were scattered around the remainder of the open floor. In the center of the room, an elevated catwalk with a dance pole at each end jutted out into the sea of tables and chairs. A fog machine was pumping out a veil of mist at the base of the runway and pink, purple, and yellow strobe lights sent confusing pulses of color through the air.

  “I hate this techno music,” Edward snarled in Cooper’s ear and handed her two ibuprofen tablets. “Trust me. You’re gonna need these. It’s only gonna get louder as more girls take the stage.” He swallowed several pills. “We won the coin toss. You any good at breaking?”

  Cooper nodded, stuck the Advil in the back pocket of her skirt, and stared intently at the tight triangle of billiard balls on the table. For years, she and her ex-boyfriend Drew had played pool against each another, in lighthearted games with friends, and in local competitions. After only a few games, it became clear that Cooper had a natural talent for the sport, and Drew encouraged her to hone her skill whenever they went out.

  “I just visualize where the ball needs to go before I move the cue,” Cooper had once explained to a group of admirers. “Everything else fades away right before the shot. It’s like being in a tunnel and seeing only that circle of light ahead.”

  Now, she leaned over the table, gripped the cue with a firm yet flexible hand, and exploded her right arm forward. The sound of the cue ball cracking against the hard cluster of solids and stripes brought a smile to Cooper’s lips. She felt more at home in the strange setting the moment the burgundy seven-ball and the sun-yellow one-ball slipped into separate corner pockets with satisfying thuds.

  “Guess we’re solids,” Edward remarked to the Pick Pocket males. He watched in admiration as Cooper proceeded to sink the cobalt two-ball and the mango-colored five-ball before missing an attempt to put the forest-green six-ball into a side pocket.

  The Pick Pockets looked like strong contenders at first, but the leadoff player was much more skilled than his partner, who missed his first shot by a mile.

  When Edward’s turn came around, he swept the remainder of the solids as well as the eight-ball from the table in three shots. She and Edward shook hands with their opponents, collected pint glasses of cold beer, and prepared to begin round two.

  “Dicks with Sticks?” Cooper repeated the competitor’s team name. “Charming.” Her attention was divided among the roughness of their challengers’ appearance (the two men were clad entirely in black leather and had tattoos of flames licking up the sides of their necks), the exotic dancers who had eased out of their costumes and were now gyrating clad only in minuscule thongs, and an attempt to spot Nathan somewhere in the crowded club.

  “I’ve been checking up on him,” Edward said, following her gaze. “He and Jake have been chatting up one of the lady bartenders. They’re doing their job. You focus on yours.”

  “And what is my job again?” She placed her hand on her hip and frowned. “You never made that quite clear to me.”

  Edward put his lips against her ear. Pointing at the table as though strategizing their next game, he whispered, “We win this tourney and the big fish will have us to his table for a drink. One of his associates will give us a pile of cash as our reward. That’s how we get close to him. I’ll disappear and you try to spend some of our prize loot on China White.”

  “What if I’d been a horrible pool player?” Cooper was stunned by the riskiness of Edward’s plan.

  Edward shrugged. “I’ve been racking and whacking since I was a kid. In clubs, in jail, at people’s houses . . . As long as you didn’t scratch or shoot the wrong balls every time, I figured we’d win this thing easy enough. I just let you go first to see what you were made of.” He smiled. “Turns out, you got game.”

  Edward was right. While the second-round players possessed a crude name, their skills were also equally unrefined. After Cooper and Edward sent the glowering men packing, they next defeated a pair of big-bellied bikers. Only the reigning champions, the Snipers, barred their path to victory.

  “Good team name,” Edward commented to no one in particular as he placed the loose balls in the wooden triangle. The Snipers, swarthy young men in their early twenties, wore dress shirts unbuttoned far enough to reveal tanned, hairy chests and thick ropes of gold chains hanging down from their necks. Cooper could smell their musky cologne from across the table. As she studied them covertly, she realized that their outfits were very similar to the clothing in Miguel’s closet and decided that it might be worthwhile to flirt with whichever player wasn’t currently shooting in hopes of discovering a more tangible connection to the dead man.

  “That’s a hot shirt,” she said, leaning against one of the Hispanic men as she stroked the smooth material.

  The man, who had introduced himself as Jorge, responded immediately. “You like what you see, huh, baby? Nothin’ but silk. I got silk sheets on my big, big bed, too. You wanna come over and see?”

  Cooper pretended to consider his offer. “I dunno. I kinda came here with another guy.”

  “So?” he practically spit out the word. “He can’t do for you what I can do for you!”

  “Yeah, you Latino men are supposed to be ta
lented.” She did her best to form a sultry pout. “But I’ve only been with one and he wasn’t that great.”

  Jorge began to laugh, slapping the leg of his pressed trousers. “Shut up! One of my brothers couldn’t get the job done! Who was this loser?”

  Shrugging, Cooper said, “You probably don’t know him. Name’s Miguel Ramos.”

  “Oh, but I did know him.” Jorge scoffed and chalked the end of his cue stick. “He got clipped, girlfriend, so he won’t be disappointin’ any more hotties like you.” He licked his lips. “You can count on me to light your fire.”

  “He’s dead?” Cooper interrupted while trying to act skeptical. “He seemed like a nice guy. Who’d bother killing him?”

  “Nice don’t cut it on the street. You can be as nice as you want, but you better not get greedy or you get cut down,” Jorge preached importantly and then stood back in order to examine Cooper’s buttocks. “Let’s have a little side bet, huh? Make things more interestin’. I win, you come home with me.”

  “And if I win?”

  Jorge grinned lecherously, his white teeth gleaming beneath the neon lights. “Then you get to come home with me. See? You get to be happy either way!”

  Just then, Jorge’s partner missed a shot and it was Cooper’s turn. If she could sink the thirteen-ball followed by the eight-ball, she and Edward would win the tournament. As she leaned over the ball, her hand didn’t feel as steady as it should. She backed away from the table and reached for her beer, trying to shut out Jorge’s derisive laughter and lewd tongue gestures.

  “Get your brain in the game,” Edward suddenly hissed in her ear. He then tapped her gently on the side of her head. “Take yourself out of this bar and to a place of peace before you pick up that stick again.”

  Cooper heeded his advice. She gazed at the floor for a long moment, picturing herself in the backyard of her parents’ house. There, in the shelter of a rear wall, was an aviary custom-built for Columbus, the wounded red-tailed hawk Grammy had adopted several years ago. It was one of Cooper’s delights to take the injured raptor to the large field bordering their property so that the bird could use his crippled wing just long enough to hunt for a meal. In her mind, she left the noise and stale air of Club Satin, opened Columbus’s cage, and invited the majestic bird to alight onto her gloved arm. She visualized walking with him to the field behind her house, seeing the thistles and buttercups waving in the breeze. Only when she truly believed she could feel the heat of the sun on her face did she reclaim her stick. Leaning over the table, she took the shot. The thirteen-ball floated into the side pocket.

  “Eight-ball, left corner pocket,” she announced and sank it with a perfectly aimed and definitive strike. The crowd gathered around the table burst into applause.

  Smiling, Cooper gave Edward a celebratory embrace. Jorge and his partner were markedly aggrieved over their loss and began to insult Cooper and Edward using a stream of English profanity punctuated with angry words in Spanish. Fortunately, the giant in the lime-green tracksuit quickly intervened, pushing the foul-mouthed pool players away with one shove of his massive paw.

  “Boss wants to congratulate you,” he informed Edward and then leered at Cooper. “Especially you.”

  “Who is the boss?” Cooper asked before Edward could stop her.

  “He’s at his table in the corner. Call him Mr. Albion.” His mouth twitched into a twisted smile. “That’s all you girls need to know.”

  The crowd parted for the man in green and Cooper and Edward followed him to the back of the club. The dancers onstage had been replaced by a batch of fresh, fully clothed girls, and while Cooper pretended to observe their risqué cowgirl and squaw costumes, she spotted Nathan and Jake. The men were eating hot wings and laughing with their waitress, who was displaying a large amount of cleavage as she leaned over the bar and wiped a spot of blue cheese dressing from Nathan’s chin.

  Suppressing a surge of jealousy, Cooper looked ahead and focused on the figure of the man in white. Seated at a large table with a view of the entire club, he was obviously Albion. The big fish. The boss. He was dressed in a translucent white shirt and cream-colored linen trousers. Like Jorge, his shirt was unbuttoned at least three buttons in order to show off gold necklaces bearing diamond-encrusted pendants, one of which was a cross. He had a neatly trimmed dark beard, ice-blue eyes that protruded rather eerily from their sockets, and very pale skin. As the giant in green introduced Cooper and Edward, Albion smiled, revealing a mouthful of nicotine-stained, jagged teeth.

  He looks like a vampire, Cooper thought and did her best to conceal her fear.

  “Congratulations, my friends.” To Cooper’s untraveled ears, Albion spoke in what sounded like an subtle, Eastern European accent. He openly assessed Cooper and pointedly ignored Edward. “You are pretty and talented, my sweet. How do you want your prize money? I assume cash is good, yes?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Albion,” she replied and dipped her head in a slight bow. This act of subservience seemed to please Albion and put him at ease as well.

  “Some champagne.” He snapped his fingers at the man in the tracksuit and then turned to the brunette seated beside him. “Go powder your nose,” he ordered. “I wish to talk to the pool sharks.” His toothy smile, pale skin, and cold eyes recalled the underwater predator precisely.

  The girl sent Cooper a hostile glare but obeyed without comment.

  “If you’ll excuse me for a minute,” Edward told Albion. “I see an old Army buddy of mine by the bar.”

  “Please. Take your time.” Again, the tone was unmistakably commanding.

  “Where are you from?” Cooper asked him once they were alone. “Your accent is so attractive.”

  “Russia,” Albion answered as his gaze traveled from Cooper’s breasts to the edge of her short skirt. “And I enjoy your accent, too. You Southern girls. You sound so innocent, but can be quite wild in private, is that not so?”

  Luckily, the arrival of the champagne precluded Cooper from answering. Albion poured and raised his glass to toast her victory. After a single sip, she removed the Advil from her skirt pocket and placed them on her tongue, turning her back slightly away from Albion as though attempting to hide the action.

  “What are you taking there?” he asked curiously.

  Cooper decided to go on the offensive. “That’s my business.” Now she studied him. “After all, you could be an undercover cop or something.”

  This made Albion laugh for several seconds. He wiped his eyes with a napkin and exhaled in contentment. “That’s a good one! You truly do not know who I am, do you?”

  “I live out in the country. In Louisa County,” she said by way of explanation.

  Albion digested this information and continued to gaze at Cooper with his icy eyes. “If you want to have some fun, you should come to me. I’m a famous man in the city. For fun.”

  Cooper indicated the envelope of cash sitting in the middle of the table. “What will that get me?”

  A greedy light washed over Albion’s face. “Some excellent product. Tell me what it is you want.”

  Here it was. The moment she’d been working toward all night. Now that it had finally arrived, Cooper was nearly frozen with fear. To cover up her anxiety, she gripped her champagne flute until her knuckles turned white. She sipped, pretending to mull over his question.

  “If I could pick anything, I’d choose China White,” she replied, looking out into the crowd instead of his face. “I’ve heard it’s the best there is.”

  Albion was silent so long that she was forced to turn to him. “What’s wrong?” she scoffed at him playfully. “I thought you were famous for fun. What could be more fun than China White?” She reached for the envelope. “Don’t sweat it, though. I can get hooked up later. It’s a big city.” She smiled at him. “Thank you for the champagne. You have great taste in bubbly.”

  His pale hand shot out and closed over hers, flattening her palm and the envelope against the table.

  “R
elax, baby.” He smiled again, though no pleasantness permeated the coldness of his eyes. “Drink your champagne. Order some food.” Waving expansively, he snapped his fingers at the man in the tracksuit. “We have plenty of time for business.”

  “No, thank you. I’m keeping an eye on my figure.” Cooper glanced at Albion from under her lashes.

  “And what a figure it is.” He moved his chair closer to hers. “I’d like to show you the inside of my Hummer.”

  It took all of Cooper’s restraint not to guffaw at such an inept come-on. “Look, you seem like a cool guy, but I’m not ready to get close to anybody. This guy I was seeing . . . he died recently. I’m still not over that.”

  Albion toyed with his champagne glass, his expression one of boredom.

  “I met Miguel when I brought my car in for service. We’d only been out on one date, but he treated me nice.” She continued even after she felt Albion’s body stiffen beside her. “Even though he tried to get me into bed right away and I knew nothing about him at all, I liked him. I guess you men are all the same. Always after the same thing!” She giggled slightly as though the baser nature of the opposite sex was genuinely amusing. “But I’m holding out for the real thing this time.” Feeling daring, she traced a finger down Albion’s upper arm and looked at him with intensity. “Are you the real thing?”

  “You should stop playing with squirrels, my pet, and spend some time with a wolf.” His crooked, yellow grin was repulsive. “First, you come to my Hummer. Then, we’ll have more fun.”

  “And you’ll get me my China White?”

  Albion slid his hand up her thigh. “As much as you want, baby.”

  Cooper drained her champagne. She didn’t want to be alone with this man, no matter what it might prove. “That sounds fun, but I need to tell my partner I’m leaving first. Be right back.” She reclaimed the envelope and stuffed it in her purse, her heart hammering. Would this predator even let her walk away without permission?