Pole Dance

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  "You got it, big guy," she called over her shoulder.

  "Haven't been here in a lot of years," he murmured as we removed our jackets and were settling into the wooden chairs. His eyes roamed the walls. "Love this place, though. Removed from the tangle of shit we've got going every day." My eyes followed his, taking in the rodeo posters, business cards and local announcements that littered the unfinished, log walls. I could understand what Jake meant but not said. That this less than 50 seat café was the hub of the community and celebrated, provided a venue for the gatherings of all the local happenings. While it allowed outsiders to partake of their hospitality, the heart of the community and its citizens was its main focus.

  "So if given the chance you'd prefer a small town to a large one?" I asked after our ice-teas were delivered.

  "Any day of the week, Darlin'," Jake said, his eyes still moving over the walls, the other customers. "In my experience, the more people a town has, the more problems creep in. Seems to drag the hope, the life, right out of 'em."

  I listened to his soft voice which was now almost a whisper and hard to hear over the busy noise of food service, knowing that he really believed this, and that at some point he had experienced it firsthand. Our wings were delivered and our conversation died as we both applied ourselves to the scrumptious, saucy wings while trying, and failing, to keep the mess of them in check. We must have gone through a hundred of the napkins before we broke open the wet-wipes in our bid to get clean.

  We were sharing a piece of blueberry pie topped with lemon sorbet when Jake starting speaking again.

  "Got a call from Sam last night, Darlin'," he said looking at me over the rim of his coffee cup. "Said he found some irregularities regarding your parent's estate."

  "I don't understand. Why was Sam looking into the estate? I thought I was only using him for advice on evicting Pam due to nonpayment?"

  "Asked him to, Darlin'. Morning after our first night together. Not an attorney, but know that you only gettin' your bedroom shit was fucked up."

  "I don't know how I feel about you digging into things, Jake," I said feeling my cheeks color as my temper started to rise. Geez, why does this man feel the need to get all up in my business, in things he has no business being in? I stirred my fork in the remaining crumbs of pie floating in the melted sorbet as I tried to keep my temper in check.

  "Kinda knew it was gonna piss you off, pretty girl. Wasn't right that you got so little when your folks could've left you so much, yeah? My pop was a general contractor. Knew that yours had to have insurance on his tools and some of that shit costs some serious cake."

  I tried to hide my face behind the mug of my coffee. I got what he was saying but still wasn't happy that he had done it behind my back. After a bit, after I'd gotten my emotions under control, I was able to ask, "So what'd Sam find out?"

  "Found your parent's will, the insurance policies and house notes as well as a little document called 'Power of Attorney' that authorized one Layton Jamison to act on your behalf."

  "I knew that he was the appointed executor but how'd he get that Power thingie?" I asked my heart beginning to beat triple time. "I know he had me sign a lot, and I mean a shit load, of papers when we met after my parents' funerals." My mind started racing as fast as my heart as I tried to remember all the different papers that had been in the large packet that materialized like magic on Mr. Jamison's desk. Funny, too, I remember a short older lady that Mr. Jamison had introduced as something of the republic.

  "Aw, shit," I muttered as it all began to come together in my head. "Jake?"

  I caught his gaze and saw that he was waiting on me, waiting for me put it together myself and was watching for my reaction.

  "He stole from me," I whispered, my eyes on Jake but my head was way back in the memories of being in Jamison's office at the bank and getting writer's cramp from signing, signing, signing, page after page after page and that older lady stamping and signing after me. "He played me, Jake."

  I saw him nod. But he still didn't say anything.

  "What else do you know, Baby?"

  "You sure you want to hear this?" he asked softly and I could tell that it was painful for him to watch me hurt. I tucked that bit of info into my 'Jake file' to review later. For now, I could only nod in reply as I steeled myself against the next information he had to give.

  "Sam found that your parent's estate was worth over $450,000 including both their house and the apartments as well as your dad's tools and equipment. The insurance paid off the mortgages on both houses and satisfied the liens on the contracts your dad had in process. Your parents had life insurance that were for $50,000 each and the cars and trucks had already been paid off. From what Sam could find, you were only allowed the furniture in your room and your Gram's house slash apartments plus a $5,000 annuity that you can have when you turn twenty-five." Jake was silent as he allowed me to take it all in.

  He reached across the small table and captured one of my hands. I felt my body brace, instinctively knowing that his touch was meant to steady me through his next words.

  "Babe. Asshole stole almost a half a million dollars from you."

  "Holy shit!" I yanked my hand from his and was half out of my chair before I realized the noise in the restaurant had stilled at my exclamation. "Sorry," I mumbled to the tables sitting adjacent to ours as I reseated myself.

  I was quiet as I let this knowledge settle inside me.

  It hurt.

  It hurt to know that I had been struggling for almost two full years while that swarmy bastard had taken what had been mine, that my parents had planned on me having, giving me a chance to succeed.

  "How do I…," I swallowed, feeling the tell-tale tickling in my eyes that signaled tears. I swallowed again around the boulder in my throat and forced myself not to cry before I continued on a whisper. "How do I get that back, Jake?"

  His large hands covered mine, which had a death grip on my coffee mug as he studied my face.

  "Per Sam, a lotta complaints been filed against Jamison. Same reasons. Said you need to look into filing one. Seems a couple of half-hearted investigations happened back in the day. Thinks with Patel in charge, the investigations are gonna be more thorough, yeah? Says the thing we can work on right away is why you're fuckin' paying a mortgage on apartments when your folk's insurance should've paid it off."

  "Something to think about then." While it hurt like hell to think of how I'd been swindled, it wasn't something that I could control or take care of this minute. And going after my money wouldn't bring my parents back, though I would've given all the money to Jamison, to anybody, who could bring them back to life, back to me.

  I glanced up at Jake and knew he got it, he understood. There was sympathy in his eyes as he rumbled, "Yeah, Darlin', something to think about."

  *.*.*.*.*

  "Now, Mr. Davidson," Jeff began.

  "Hank, please."

  "Okay, then, Hank," Jeff continued. Where were you on the nights of February 8th, 14th and 20th?"

  "Well…" Hank moved his head backwards to gaze at the ceiling as if it would help him find the answers. "I work most nights at the club. So unless those days were a Monday or Wednesday, I was working."

  "Okay. And what were you doing on the 8th and the 20th, then?"

  "Probably with my lady."

  "And do we know this lady? Does she have a name?"

  "I don't understand why you need her name." Hank shifted his gaze from the ceiling to his hands that were tightly clenched together on the tabletop.

  Tim studied Hank as he formulated his reply. If he were to describe Hank in two words it would be as a 'Gentle Giant' as Hank was one of the nicest guys you could meet, in spite of his massive build. He couldn't imagine Hank using his strength to hurt anyone much less the girls from the club, especially when it was his job to protect them.

  "'Cause we'll need to check with her to confirm you were with her on those nights." Jeff explained.

  "So I'll need an
alibi is what you're saying." Hank's eyes were now firmly on the white knuckles of his hands. "You think I'm guilty, then? Do I need to get a lawyer?"

  "It's okay, Hank. We're just talking here." Tim said. "We're just checking into everything and everybody. We want to nail the sick piece of shit that's killing these girls. You worked with them, right?"

  Hank answered with a soundless nod of his head.

  "So I know you want us to do everything we possibly can to get these girls the justice they need, right?" Again, Hank just nodded.

  "So what's the lady's name that you were with on the nights of the 8th and the 20th?"

  "Fiona," came the soft reply.

  "Fiona Preston?"

  "Yeah."

  "So you were with Fiona the nights of the 8th and the 20th? Were you with her all night?" Tim pushed.

  "We usually go to dinner or a movie and then wind up at her place."

  "Did you usually spend the night, Hank?"

  "She won't let me. We'd get done--ah, being together and then she'll tell me to leave." Hank admitted.

  "And what time do you usually leave her place?"

  "I don't know, midnight? Maybe. One or one-thirty at the latest, I think."

  "Do you know if Fiona is seeing anyone else?"

  "Huh?" Hank raised his eyes to the detective for the first time since the interview started. "You think she's seeing somebody besides me?"

  "We don't know, Hank. Just asking questions." Tim found it fascinating that Hank was unaware of Fiona's alleged private dances for the town's elite.

  "She wouldn't do that to me," Hank said softly, pulling his huge hands through his blonde hair and sounding like he was trying to convince himself more than he was the detectives.

  Figuring he had gotten as much as he was going to get, Tim left the room and joined Ram out in the bullpen.

  "What'd you get?" Ram asked watching his lead detective cross the floor.

  "He says he was with Fiona the nights he wasn't working which we'll check out. Don't think Hank's aware that his honey is giving private dances on the side. It's fuckin' with his head to imagine her with someone else."

  "Get enough to hold him?"

  "Don't think so, Chief. Enough to dig further but not enough to hold him. But not even enough for a search warrant."

  "Shit!" Ram exclaimed rapping his knuckles on the nearest desk before turning and angrily making his way back to his office.

  "My thoughts, exactly," Tim murmured making his own turn back toward the hall and going back into the interrogation room to cut Hank loose.

  *.*.*.*.*

  "My house or yours?" Jake asked as we made our way back across the parking lot to his motorcycle. When I didn't answer right away, he snagged me in his signature neck-hug and pulled me close to plant a kiss against my temple. "Your choice, pretty girl."

  I mentally reviewed my schedule for the rest of today, Saturday, was pretty light and that I'd always considered my 'get stuff done day' that included laundry until I had to be at The Roses at seven. Since I'd done the few dirty clothes from the basket in my tiny bathroom when I washed the sheets yesterday, that was one less chore I had to do today.

  But my thoughts went a different direction as I watched a man standing close to, and admiring, Jake's motorcycle. "Excuse me?" I said, obviously interrupting his perusal. "Could you do us a favor?" I turned and looked at Jake trying to keep my lips from grinning at his confusion.

  "Could you take our picture?"

  I glanced again at Jake and saw his eyes light up. He had done this with his cell phone at Enrique's and I think we must've looked at that one picture about eighty-three million times.

  We needed another shot to capture this moment, our moment. The guy, biker-bad in his boots, well-worn jeans, t-shirt and vest covered in patches, took three quick photos before handing my phone back.

  "'Preciate it, man," Jake rumbled shaking the stranger's hand before bumping fists.

  "Nice subject," the man growled, pointing his chin in my direction, though I couldn't have told you if it was me or Jake's bike since I was standing next to it scrolling through the pictures he had taken.

  I saw Jake's smile as his eyes captured mine.

  "Thanks."

  We were standing next to the bike after Jake had reviewed the photos over my shoulder, as I scrolled through them again. I pointed my chin up at him and caught a soft, sweet kiss.

  "So, where are we tonight, gorgeous?"

  Jake repeated himself with no irritation, no impatience.

  It was a miracle.

  "I have to be at work by seven and am off at midnight," I said watching him. I was finding it interesting that Jake never showed any surprise at my weird-beyond-words schedule, almost like he was aware of it before I told him.

  "Traded with Dale because he…" Jake's voice wound down as his eyes skittered, wandering around the parking lot. "Be doin' nights for a couple of days, yeah? Won't get free until two. That too late for you?"

  I thought about it for a moment remembering how awful it had been last night without Jake curled behind me, holding me tight around my waist and projecting that tonight would be even worse. Especially with all the food for thought he'd given me today.

  "Do you know of a key shop we can stop at on the way home?" I asked arching my neck up and shielding my eyes from the late day sun that was reflecting off the patches of snow that still lingered on the ground. I caught Jake's slow smile, which was just as bright as the reflected glare of the snow. He handed me my helmet and draped his long leg over the bike.

  'Guess we're off to make keys.' I thought as I slipped the helmet on and straddled the seat, gripping Jake's hips with my thighs and shoving my hands in his pockets.

  I felt Jake's hands reach back to grip and stroke my thighs before he returned them to the handle bars before gunning the low-rumbling engine.

  *.*.*.*.*

  "Let's get this done," Dale said firmly. "You wanted to talk to me, so talk. I've got to be at the club so let's get on with it."

  Ram looked at Dale's crossed arms and clenched jaw which gave evidence that Dale was more than a little upset at being at the Police station. Ram asked him the same questions that he had been asking everyone from the club over the last couple of days. Questions he thought he could recite even in his sleep. Watching Dale as he answered, Ram again noticed that the co-owner of the club, who was usually dressed to the nines and groomed to a fault, was just as much of a mess as he had been the day before.

  "I'd have to check my day-timer but if I wasn't closing the club I was probably out. I can get you that info, along with who I was seeing, after I get back to the club, all right?" Dale stood up obviously thinking the interview was over.

  "Sit down, Dale."

  "We're done, right? I said I'd call you with my whereabouts and with whom when I get back to the club."

  "I said sit down, Dale."

  Dale sat and crossed his arms again.

  "How's the anger management going, Dale?" Ram asked softly. "Know it was a few years back since you had to take the course. You still working on containing it?"

  "You've got to be shitting me," Dale said through clenched teeth.

  "There were no more complaints so I guess you got it under control then, huh? That was the last of it? Just that one instance of roughing up that girl?"

  Dale remained steadfastly silent, his eyes trained on Ram.

  "No one else? Nobody piss you off enough for you to leave bruises on?"

  "It was a long time ago, Patel. Let it go."

  "Heard she moved away a couple years back after marrying that Donovan kid. That set you off, Dale? Seeing your girl with another fellow?"

  Dale sighed loudly and looked out the window. Ram gave him a few seconds before he heard Dale sigh again and begin to speak.

  "The only reason I got rough with Laurie was because I caught her trying to key my fucking car. She was pissed because I broke it off with her so I could spend time with Sara. I tugged her away fr
om the car maybe harder than I had to and left a few bruises but I never fucking 'roughed her up'. Her dad, who was the general manager at Meer's, is the one who involved the goddamn police. Luckily, my dad was able to calm everything down and I got to spend some hours in anger management instead of fucking dangling from the end of a rope, which is what her old man wanted." Dale stopped and looked at Ram. "What can I say? It was new money versus old money. Old fucking money won."

  Ram held Dale's gaze for a few moments. "Okay, then. You get the info to me this afternoon and I'll have one of the guys check it out."