The Keys to Jericho

by Ren Alexander

  “Quite possibly, since I’ll be serving time for first-degree murder.”

  “Oh, you love me.”

  “Not what I’m feeling right now.”

  Sighing, I take a filled glass and Dash shouts, “Hold up! First, I want to say congratulations to my best friend Jared. May you and Kat have a long and happy marriage, and always a place for me to stay.”

  I scoff, “Garage.”

  He frowns, but says, “I’ll take it. To Jericho and Merrick.”

  Everyone repeats the sentiment before swigging the tequila. I grudgingly down mine, hating that I did, but resigned to the fact I’ll be getting trashed tonight under duress.

  Dash scrambles for a lime, while I roll my eyes. Dave keeps the liquor coming, and I take my second shot, fighting it less than the first.

  On a roll, Dash slides another shot glass my way and asks, “How’s your sister doing?” When I glare at him, he says, “Really, I mean. She hasn’t said much and looks…”

  “Like hell?”

  “Defeated.”

  I shake my head. “You know how it goes.”

  Dash nods, glancing down at the bar, before he grabs another shot and tips the glass, on the fast track to getting drunk. Slamming down the empty glass, he yells, “What’s the hold up, garçon?”

  “Your dad is going to slam you for that.”

  “He’s the one who sent me to France for two weeks in college. He loves me, too.”

  “Doubtful.”

  Rio says, “Yeah, Douche. Not from what I heard, either.”

  “Okay, now.” Dash pounds on the bar. “Jericho! DDP! Drink up!”

  Duquesne picks up his glass, drinking the tequila in a fast gulp. Dash yelps, “That’s it! Jericho, your turn!”

  “I did.”

  “No, your glass is full.”

  “That’s an extra one. Take it.”

  Dash gives me a quizzical look, but shrugs and reaches for it, downing it before I even blink.

  Dave returns and pours more, and even Rio starts pounding them back. Dave asks, “What’s your poison, Jared? You want something else?”

  I shake my head. “Nah. This is good. Thanks.”

  Picking up a lime, I put it in my mouth, giving Dash the impression that I’m drinking more than he thinks I am, so he’ll shut the hell up. Dash can put back the booze; however, once he starts, he doesn’t know how to stop on his own, and usually has to be drug out of bars by Rio or me.

  I glance over at my dad, who seems to be content, drinking his Coke, taking in our arguing, which also seems true for Tony. Pete, on the other hand, looks bored.

  From behind the bar, someone taps me and I look over my shoulder to see Victor. “So Jared Beckett is in love?”

  “I am.”

  “That sweet Katriona has stolen your heart?”

  “She has.”

  He kind of hums and I give him a confused look. He says, “You treat her like she’s your stolen treasure. You understand?”

  Instead of laughing in his face, I nod. “Understood.”

  Dash suddenly laughs. “Oh, sweet Jesus! You know what I just realized?”

  All of us stare at him, waiting for his drunk reasoning. He laughs again. “Rio’s name is in Katriona. How fucking weird is that?”

  Victor heads backstage as Rio shakes his head. “You get plastered in minutes, and that’s the shit you come up with?”

  Dash snaps his fingers. “If a turtle has no shell, is it then naked or homeless?”

  Pete says, “Soup.”

  “Aw, gross, Pete,” Dash whines, reaching for another shot, while sliding another one to me.

  Pete asks, “So, should we wager which one of these rookies is going to choke first?”

  Dash smacks his lips. “I bet they just need some guidance.”

  I grin, and even though I run the risk of seeing Calder’s dick, I think everyone else should suffer, too. Crossing my arms, I nod to the stage. “You should show them how it’s done.”

  The lights dim and Dash shrugs. “If I have to. We’ll see what they got first.”

  From the overhead speakers, Shell’s voice announces the stripper’s name, which is Heaven Sent. Dash leans over Rio, asking, “What the fuck kind of name is that?”

  I reply, “Your mother’s was Cherry Bomb.”

  “Well, that’s better than Heaven Sent. Definitely not heavenly in here.”

  “Maybe that’s the irony.”

  “The what? Don’t go turning into Doc Pussy.”

  Rio says, “Bite one, Douche.” Crossing his arms, mirroring me, Rio asks, “Do they pick their own damn songs?”

  Dash downs a shot and says, “Yeah. Why?”

  Rio scoffs, “Who in the fuck strips to ‘Runaway Train?’”

  Dash shrugs, looking at the girl with larger-than-life tits, wearing what looks like a burlap sack, an eye mask, and a rainbow clown wig—no lie—taking the stage. “Heaven Sent, apparently.”

  I shift my hat and grumble, “Jesus Christ.” Maybe Tony has a nail gun with him.

  We sit, watching her unsteadily spinning around and then awkwardly gyrating against the pole. Frowning, I ask no one in particular, “Who would think this shit is remotely hot?”

  Pete asks, “A circus clown on crack?”

  Even my dad cringes when I look at him.

  Dash asks, “No boner for you then?”

  I glare at him while Pete yells, “Take it all off!”

  Dash says, “They only go topless here.”

  Pete shrugs, taking another shot glass. “Does she know that for sure?”

  Dash shrugs in return. “True.” Dash cups his mouth and yells, “Get naked, sweetness!”

  Rio mutters, “Shit. It can only get worse from here.”

  The girl eventually takes off the bag, revealing a too small, black bikini, and tries to hide herself through her dance moves.

  Dash sneers, “Are you kidding me?”

  Pete says, “I see more skin in the parking lot at Oceanic.”

  I nudge Duquesne. “You see more before you clock in at work.”

  He shakes his head, but says, “Uh, yeah.”

  Dave laughs at our observations, while filling more glasses. “Shell wasn’t kidding when she said some of these girls were green.”

  I laugh. “Green? This one still has milk on her lips!”

  As Dash slides another shot to me, he screws up his face. “Huh?”

  I glance at Pete, subtly sliding the glass on to him as he clarifies, “She was just pulled off her mother’s tit.”

  Recognition lights up Dash’s face and he nods. “Well, that’s a visual.”

  When she’s finished, Shell announces the next contestant: Mrs. Clitfire.

  With a headache brewing, I scoff, “What the fuck?”

  Dash asks, “She’s married and advertising that fact as a stripper?”

  I irritably retort, “That’s the detail you noticed?”

  Dash reasons, “Maybe it’s just part of her stage name.”

  “She needs to try again. Sounds like she’s advertising some venereal disease.”

  Rio offers, “At least she picked ‘Crazy Bitch.’”

  Dash shakes his head. “So overplayed.”

  “Her outfit isn’t bad,” Pete observes. The purple sequined, cut-off top and matching shorts aren’t as bad as the last one’s choice in costume.

  Dash says, “Her mask is too flashy. Too distracting.”

  Pete nods. “Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting you’re an expert.”

  Shrugging, Dash grabs another shot and slides it to me, ensuring I’m getting my share. “I just know my stripping shit.”

  I mutter, “That’s reassuring.”

  Pete asks, “Who gets final approval?”

  “My mom picks them, but she also helps my dad with the hiring. They both have final approval, I guess.”

  I say, “It’s so nice when exes work together for the greater good of stripping.”

  “They’re still frien
ds.”

  “As they should be. I mean, they did share an unfortunate night of passion, resulting in you.”

  “Bite it, Jericho.”

  The rookie undulates over to us, taking her top off on her way. Dash says to me, “Drink up, Jericho!”

  She stops in front of us and blankly asks, “Which one is the groom?”

  I shake my head, not wanting to participate, but it is rather obvious which one of us is the groom with our ridiculous shirts. However, they all point to me anyway.

  I sigh as Dash sends another shot my way, which I take this time. Drinking it, I shift on my barstool, making myself inaccessible, while she starts twirling in front of me and shaking her ass. Glancing over at Calder, I growl, “Say your goodbyes now.”

  “Blame your dad. He handed the party over to me. He wanted to shoot pool. How boring!”

  I move my glower to my father, who shrugs. “I thought you’d want something funner than that.”

  “Wrong!”

  She puts her hands on my knees, shaking her tits at me, making Rio lean away, distancing himself from the calamity. Her dull, brown eyes are filled with worthless suggestion. I curtly remove her hands from me, and say, “Sorry. You’re married. I don’t do that shit.”

  Holding up her hand, she giggles. “No ring tonight!”

  I nod to the door, already dismissing this one for Dave and Shell.

  As she pouts and heads for the stage to grab her top, Tony says, “At least her wig looked real.”

  Rio asks, “If so, how’d you know she was wearing a wig?”

  “I saw the tag.”

  Dash howls, “Oh, man! And dismissed! Good job, Jericho! See! You did need that mask in the truck!”

  I shrug, catching the next shot Dash passes to me. “This could be fun after all.”

  Sitting straighter, Rio asks, “Weeding out the unqualified?”

  I laugh. “You know. Anything to help Dave and Shell, since they’ve helped me.”

  Dash says, “They have no shortage of applicants, so weed away.”

  Leaning my elbows onto the bar behind me, Shell announces the next prospect to be Tainted Love, playing her namesake song.

  Dash shouts, “Fucking seriously? That’s the best she could do?”

  Pete says, “Taint. That word even makes me gag.”

  I sneer, “Does she even know what that shit means?” I ask Rio, “Why don’t you explain it to her, doc?”

  Rio shakes his head before he downs his drink. “Fuck. I’d rather not.”

  “Pussy.”

  “No. Just smart.”

  Dash laughs. “Definitely pussy.”

  When she dances onto the stage, her glittery gold mask and gold, metallic wig join forces, blinding us as she swings her hips side to side. Her cheap, gold nightie swings more to the rhythm than she does. Pete says, “Her wig looks like a set of pompoms my sister had as a kid.” Tony laughs, reaching for a shot of tequila.

  After shaking around the stage like she’s in a disco earthquake, she sashays off the stage and to us. Dash says, “Executioner, get ready.”

  She looks at all of us before her gaze settles on me. I guess this one can read. Crossing my arms, I smirk at her when she licks her lips. Suddenly twirling, she spins her way between my legs, which makes me frown at her and then at Calder’s howling.

  Shoving her barely-contained tits into my face, she says, “I allow touching.” That statement makes Calder turn his mouthful of tequila into a spray, and Rio leans toward me this time.

  I suck air in through my teeth as I shake my head. “You know, I’m not feeling it or your ass.” Shrugging, I give her a not-so contrite smile.

  Forgetting about me, she moves on to Duquesne. “You can feel me if you want.”

  Rio tightly smiles and avoids looking into her bright light. “Uh, I’ll pass. Thanks anyway.”

  She tries Calder. “How about you? You’re adorable.”

  Dash smugly grins. “Sorry. Underage.”

  She jumps back from him like he just announced he has a grenade. “Are you serious?” Dash picks up another shot, nods at her and then empties it in front of her. Christ. How stupid is she?

  Scowling at us, she puts her hands on her hips and says, “Well, you’re all a bunch of sticks in the mud. Loosen up.”

  “If I wanted to touch you, I would.” I nod to the door. “Next.”

  She glances at the others in the small audience and when nobody objects, she turns in a huff. “Assholes.”

  Duquesne mutters, “Fuck. I’m blind and I couldn’t even look right at her.”

  “Yep.” Another shot glides over the bar to me and I glance over my shoulder. “I think I’ve had enough for now.”

  “Nope!”

  Shell announces the next victim as Lady Zass to ‘Bootylicious.”

  Dash loudly sighs. “Another overused song for strippers.”

  “Zass?” Pete questions, taking a drink.

  When she spins around the stripper pole, we see her zass plain as day.

  Dash squeals, “Fucking look at that thing!”

  Pete says, “Jesus. It needs its own zip code.”

  She tears off her see-through, red robe to reveal pasties and a black g-string. Pete and Dash yell, as Rio and I shake our heads, as she shakes her ass.

  Dash observes, “She kind of looks like Rihanna in the face.”

  Pete laughs. “With Beyoncé tied around her waist.”

  When she slithers to the bar, jiggling her ass like Jell-O, she heads right for me and I refrain from rolling my eyes just yet. Her mask is feathery and when she dances to the spot between my legs, the feathers fly into my face. Even as I blow and swat them away, she keeps swiveling around, as if she’s lost in her own world. She sways her hips against my legs, like she’s a bell. I can’t even move to escape her.

  Suddenly, she grabs my hands, putting them over her tits, holding my hands on them. My mouth falls open, shocked, but I quickly recover, noticing how fake her tits feel. She giggles. “You’re frisky.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, you’re out of here.”

  “What? Why?”

  Dropping my hands, I say, “Because you can’t handle me, hot stuff. I promise you.”

  Hearing the others laugh, she steps back, glaring at us. “You’re missing out. I promise you. Nobody snubs these tits!”

  Shrugging with a laugh, I inform her, “I just did.”

  “If you don’t want to touch them, you must be gay.”

  “If you think I do, you must be crazy.” I give her a sardonic smile before yelling, “Next! And give me some hand sanitizer!”

  She tosses her fake hair over her shoulder. “I can easily get a job at Shaker’s.”

  From behind the counter, Dave slides a bottle of germ-X my way and says, “You should. They also pay twice as less and you have to split all your tips. Good luck.”

  As I rub my hands together, she growls and stomps to the stage, on her way to scrape together her robe and her dignity, if she had any in the first place.

  Shell announces, “Please welcome Star!”

  Some pop song comes on and a sickly-looking girl wearing a white wig, which looks gray beneath the light, and a flimsy, white dress, jerkily dances onto the stage, grabbing onto the stripper pole and whirling around it. From here, she looks like a skeleton dancing around a dead tree.

  Rio finishes his shot and asks, “What in the fuck is her deal?”

  Dash just as unsteadily sends me another shot. I doubt he’ll remember the rest of the night, if there’s much more to it, but I have to admit, I never knew swinging an ax could be so much fun.

  When she makes her seemingly now, obligatory trip to the bar, I close my legs more so I’m not a literal open invitation. However, that doesn’t stop her from bumping against my legs, nearly cutting me with her sharp hipbones. Closing her eyes, she raises her arms and sways her body, as if she’s listening to different music in her head. I questioningly glance at Rio and Dash, who both roll their eyes. Shi
t. Calder’s even 10 sheets to the wind and he gets how fucked up this one is.

  Adding some odd drumming hand movements, she swings her hands around, losing her balance, and nearly stumbling in her tall, white boots. On impulse, Rio and I jump off our stools, each grabbing an arm to steady her. Rio asks, “You okay?”

  Not answering, she just starts swaying again, trying not to miss a beat. We both let go of her and I say, “Hey. You can stop now.”

  Instead, she bends and whips her head around like a plane’s propellers taking off, going faster and faster.

  Dash squeals, “Whoa!”

  She keeps going until the song ends, even when her white wig flies off, landing at Duquesne’s feet. Standing, her blonde hair is a clusterfuck as she dizzily sways from spinning. Rio hands her the wig and she takes a bow, almost falling over again.

  Looking over at Dash as Rio and I sit down, I say to her, “We’ll call you.”

  Saying nothing, she nods and teeters out the side door.

  Rio mutters, “Jesus Christ. I’ve seen it all.”

  Pete asks, “What the fuck was that shit? I felt like I needed to prepare for takeoff.”

  I laugh. “Your future wife. Don’t let her get away, Pete.”

  “Shit. She looked like a fucking ghost.”

  Dad says, “I think she was dancing to that song from Beetlejuice in her head.”

  “No doubt, Dad. This is nuts. Someone needs to show them how it’s done.”

  Pete says, “Fuck, yes.”

  Dash jumps down from his stool and goes to the stage, yanking off his shirt as he goes.

  Behind the bar, Dave says, “Jesus. Not again.”

  A fast remake of “Smooth Criminal” blasts the room and Dash single-handedly clutches the pole and swings around it, dipping low and moving better than the other contestants did. Fucker.

  Putting both hands on the pole, he leans back and lifts his feet onto it, climbing like a monkey. Wrapping his legs around the pole, Dash leans back, dangling upside down from it, which has to take strong stomach muscles to achieve.

  My stomach should win an award for holding down my food.

  Dave sighs. “I fucking hate when he does that shit.” He shouts to Dash, “Get your fucking ass off there before I knock you into next week! This isn’t your gym class!”