Incubus Dreams ab-12

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  "Ronnie, what's happened?" My pulse was thudding in my throat again. Adrenaline had chased the shock and the numbness away.

  "I'm drunk," she said happily.

  "What?"

  "I'm at a club across the river. I am watching men take their clothes off."

  "What club?"

  "Something Dreams."

  "Incubus Dreams," I said.

  "That's it," and she slurred her S.

  "Why are you at a strip club getting drunk?" I asked. The adrenaline was easing away.

  "Louie won't live with me. He says marriage or nothin', and I said nuthin'."

  "Oh, Ronnie."

  "I am drunk, and the bartender says I need a ride. Can I have a ride?"

  Micah was standing close enough that he'd caught some of it. "I'll go get her."

  "Anita, why are men such bastards?"

  I wasn't sure that men were such bastards, but I knew better than to argue. "I'll come get you, just stay there, and don't do anything you'll regret when you wake up tomorrow."

  She giggled; Ronnie never giggled. "Oh, I want to do something that Louie will regret tomorrow."

  Shit. "Sit tight, don't do anything stupid. We'll be there as soon as we can." She hung up, still laughing.

  I filled Micah in on the parts he'd missed. "You need to rest, Anita. I'll go get her."

  "First, she's in the men-are-bastards mind-set, and she's wanting to do something that Louie will regret tomorrow. I think you alone wouldn't be a good idea, besides she's my friend. But I'm letting you come with me."

  He was frowning at me.

  I touched his arm. "Going to bed with you beside me is the best idea in the world right now, but going to bed without you is like the worst idea in the world. I think alone my head's going to turn ugly. Maybe going out is exactly what I need."

  He frowned harder. "You can just call her a taxi."

  "Ronnie and I just made up from a fight that's lasted for months. I don't want to lose her again."

  "I'm not going to talk you out of this, am I?"

  "No."

  He smiled then, though his eyes still weren't happy. "Then let's go."

  I smiled at him. "Thank you."

  "What for, not arguing?"

  "Yeah."

  "But I'm driving."

  I didn't argue. I did get my vampire hunter kit and my equipment bag. The equipment bag was new, but it held more weapons. It carried lots of guns, lots of ammo, pointy weapons, and it all looked like a medium sized black duffel bag, luggage thing.

  Micah didn't argue about the extra firepower. He just held the door for me, since I had a bag in each hand. We met Nathaniel coming up the sidewalk. He grinned at me, until he saw my face and the bags. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

  I looked at Micah, and he looked at me. "She's got a warrant, so she can carry her entire kit with her."

  "You aren't going to catch vampires with her, are you?"

  I sighed. "Right now, we're going to go rescue Ronnie. She's drunk as a skunk over the river at Incubus Dreams. The bartender took her keys."

  Nathaniel's eyebrows went up. "Why go to that dump?"

  I laughed and dropped a bag so I could hug him. He hugged me back. "Come with us, and we'll discuss it in the car. I want to get there before she does something stupid."

  "You mean like get drunk at a strip club where I know the dancers will do a lot more than just strip for money?"

  I looked at him, and my eyes were wide. "Tell me you don't mean..."

  He shrugged. "That's the rumor, and I believe the person who told me." "Oh, shit." I started to run for the Jeep, because having sex with a prostitute stripper would qualify nicely as something Louie would regret in the morning. The trouble with that kind of revenge is that you regret it so much more than whoever you're trying to hurt. I threw the bags in the back. Micah drove, and Nathaniel got in the back. We were off to try to save Ronnie from a fate worse than death, or something like that.

  71

  Incubus Dreams sits by itself in the middle of an open field, a distant stand of trees, and a gravel parking area. It sits by itself, partly by accident and partly because it is the only all-male show on this side of the river. Bright multicolored neon surrounded the entrance. There was a large printed sign on the door that read, "All-Male Dancers." It was a last chance for the drunks to make sure that this was what they wanted to see, and they weren't about to stumble into the wrong club.

  The three of us stepped into the foyer, or whatever you call an open space with an empty display case and a little desklike area. There was no one behind it, no one to ask if we wanted to check our coats. I was actually the only one wearing a coat. It was mild for October, and lycanthropes tend to run warm. I had the short leather jacket on, mostly to hide the gun under my arm, more than to protect against the autumn chill. But whatever bouncer was supposed to check people out at the door wasn't at the door. We entered the club unmolested and unchecked out. Bad security, no cookie.

  Of course, maybe they were counting on you being deafened and stunned for a moment by the music. It was so loud you could feel the bass in your bones, and not in a good way. You literally stood a moment on the raised area inside the doors, just trying to adjust your senses to the damn music. Who needs security when the music is like a blow against the side of your head? A headache started almost instantly, faint, but promising to be a real bitch. I went over how much money I had on me, and how much it would cost to get them to turn the music down. Twenty dollars, it'd be cheap at twenty dollars. Of course, the DJ in his raised booth would probably be offended. I tried to ignore the music and looked around the room, trying to spot Ronnie. How many tall, leggy blond women could there be here? More than you'd think. The room was packed. Shit.

  We must have hesitated too long, because the DJ leaned down over his booth wall, which happened to be above us and to the left. He yelled, "Pay at the bar."

  "What? "I yelled back.

  He repeated himself, still yelling.

  I took the opportunity to ask if he could turn the music down. He smiled, shook his head, and vanished behind his wall. I started to reach for my pocket, and Nathaniel touched my arm. He leaned in so that his face was almost touching my ear. "Don't offer money for him to turn it down, you might offend him."

  I yelled back from an inch away, "Like I care."

  Nathaniel smiled and yelled, "He could turn it louder."

  I gave him wide eyes and let my hand fall back away from my jacket pocket. I didn't really think the music could get any louder, but just in case, I wouldn't tempt fate.

  There was a dance floor to the right, and several small raised stages with shiny poles in their centers. A pool table to the left and little tables scattered around hither and yon. Bathrooms were strangely prominent against the far left wall. There seemed to be no door to the men's room, and no doors on any of the stalls, so even standing at the door you could see directly into it. That seemed weird. The bar was, of course, at the far side of the room.

  There seemed to be a large group of women clustered around the nearest stage, though the stage itself was empty at the moment. But other than that one group of women, the rest of the customers were men. There were three blondes who could have been Ronnie, but when they turned, I realized they were so not Ronnie. The last blond was a man, who either liked the way he looked, or nature had been cruel. He'd have made a lovely women, but junior high must have been hell for him.

  Micah got us both moving down the little steps and into the crowd, a hand on either of our arms. We threaded our way through the happy, mostly drunken crowd, and finally made it all the way across the room to the bar. We paid our cover charge, mostly by pantomime, because the bar was too wide to get close enough to yell in the guy's ear.

  I tried to ask him where Ronnie was, but he just smiled, shook his head, and managed to hold an empty glass up, asking if we wanted a drink. Since I didn't have a blonde to hold up to ask if he'd seen one of those, I just shook my head, and w
e moved far enough away from the bar so that we weren't blocking those that did want a drink.

  A man wearing only loose boxers and socks came out of a black-draped area to the side of the bar. That must be the dressing rooms.

  We huddled, and I yelled, "Bathroom. I'll check the bathroom."

  They both nodded, and we began to work our way around the bar toward the women's bathroom, which had a large piece of cloth suspended from the ceiling, covering the door. Maybe it was to hide the fact that the women's bathroom had a door, so the men wouldn't feel cheated.

  There was a commode in the middle of the room across from the sink. It was just sitting there, in the middle of the floor, no stall, no nothing. It held water, and seemed to work, but it was just sitting there. There were two stalls against the wall, one had an "out of order" sign. There was also a line. None of the women in there was Ronnie. The walls must have been thicker than they seemed, because I could hear myself, say, "Ronnie, are you in here?"

  No answer. I finally turned to a tall brown-haired woman and said, "My friend called me for a ride home. Five feet eight, blond, gray eyes, attractive. Too drunk to talk right."

  The woman shook her head. A woman's voice from inside the stall yelled, "Hell, that could be almost every blonde we've seen tonight."

  I explained that I'd seen the blondes in the bar, and they weren't Ronnie and asked whether they'd seen her earlier. No one had. One of the women was using the commode in the middle of the floor as I left. Oh, well. I opened the door, and either the music had actually been turned down a notch, or I was getting used to it or going deaf.

  Micah and Nathaniel were where I'd left them, but they'd been joined by a man I didn't know. He was taller than either of them, but so thin all over that he looked smaller somehow. He had short, curly brown hair and was wearing a T-shirt, shorts, and socks. No shoes. Interesting.

  Nathaniel took my hand as soon as I got close enough to be touched. The stranger touched Micah's shoulder and let his hand linger there, just a second too long. He was smiling and asked, "Do the two of you like dick?"

  I kept Nathaniel's hand and moved up in front of them both, so that it forced the man to step back from us. He actually reached around me and touched Micah's shoulder again. I had to let go of Nathaniel's hand, but I moved up two more steps. For a moment the man was almost pressed up against me. He started to smile at me, then saw my eyes, and the smile faltered, and he stepped back.

  I don't know what look was on my face, but he stumbled a little over his words, "They said they liked dick."

  "I said, I liked my own," Micah said.

  "If anyone else asks," Nathaniel said, "just say no."

  I said, "We've had a misunderstanding here."

  The man nodded. "Sorry." He started to move away.

  I said, "We're trying to find our friend. She called drunk, needs a ride home." I described her.

  He gave me nervous eyes. He knew something, and I'd been scary, so he didn't want to tell me. I should really learn to tone down the whole silent threat thing, but damn, I've just gotten so good at it.

  Nathaniel's hand snaked around my shoulder. The hand had a twenty dollar bill in it. He said, "Ask again."

  I took the twenty and creased it down the middle. The man watched me do it. He seemed less nervous, but I could tell he still didn't like me or what was happening. Things hadn't gone the way they were supposed to go, and it had thrown him.

  "Do you know where our friend is?" I held the twenty up.

  "Maybe," he said, and his voice sounded rough.

  Nathaniel leaned over my shoulder. His voice was low and calm. "We want to find her before she does something she'll regret. She had a fight with her boyfriend, they'll make up, but not if she crosses too many lines, do you understand me?"

  "This will get you a lap dance, a good one. I have to do something for the money, or he'll know I told on him. He wouldn't like that, and he'd make sure I didn't like it."

  "Who?" I asked.

  Nathaniel was standing so close to me I felt him sigh. "Ronnie is already in the back, Anita."

  "The back?" I asked.

  "Wherever they go, she's already back there."

  Shit. "Take us to her," I said.

  "Dallas would kill me. We don't get that many beautiful women in here."

  "We could just start asking where Dallas is," I said.

  Something close to real fear went through his eyes. "Don't do that, please."

  I hate when I start feeling sorry for them. "What's your name?"

  "Owen," Nathaniel said, "he said his name was Owen."

  "Alright, Owen, we don't want to get you hurt, but if you keep us talking and something bad happens..."

  Micah said, "Give him another twenty, then he can take us to the back."

  I looked at him.

  "We can find her on our own, and he can pretend that he took us to the back for business."

  My look said it all.

  He shrugged. "He won't get hurt, and we'll all get what we need."

  I wanted to argue, but Nathaniel's hand had already appeared with another twenty in it. "I had a good night," he said. What did that mean? A good night? Good tips? Or did Nathaniel do lap dances when he wasn't on stage? I'd never asked. I hadn't wanted to know, hell, I still didn't want to know. I took the twenty and folded it together with the first one.

  "Take us to the back, Owen."

  Another dancer appeared in what I finally realized was the outfit; loose shorts, T-shirt, and socks. This one had more meat on him and was cute in a boyish, unfinished sort of way. "Need another hand?"

  It was Nathaniel who moved up, hugging me from behind, smiling, suddenly. "We've got all the men we need, don't we, Owen?"

  Owen nodded, and I watched his face remold itself, so that when he turned to his coworker, he was smiling and at ease. He took the forty dollars from my hand and tucked it into the top of his white socks. He made the movement strangely graceful and more feminine than it should have been, as if in his mind he was tucking a hundred dollars into the tops of silk stockings. It was a good moment and made me think better of him in the job he'd chosen. Before that one movement, I'd wondered what the hell he was doing here. Of course, with Guilty Pleasures as my measuring rod, everyone here looked too thin, too fragile, not muscular enough, not anything enough.

  I didn't manage a smile, but I kept my face pleasant and unreadable. "Yeah, we have enough men."

  "We don't have women here," the other dancer said. There was something in his eyes, something about the way he glanced at Owen, as if he didn't believe us.

  "We brought our own," Nathaniel said, and moved up between Owen and me, so he could drape an arm around us both. He was smiling. His lavender eyes shown with eagerness. It was an Oscar-worthy performance, and the other dancer seemed to buy it.

  He did glance back at Micah. "What's he going to be doing?"

  "Watching, silly," Owen said, and began to guide us around the other man. We threaded our way through the tables, with Micah trailing behind. I swear, I could feel the other dancer's eyes on us, as if he still didn't buy it. Or maybe he was jealous, God alone knew, because I didn't want to. Ronnie was so going to owe me for this one.

  A dancer stepped out onto the bar as we passed it. He was so not in shape, not fragile, sort of like a computer geek, or accountant. He had glasses and short hair that didn't flatter his face. He was ordinary and so didn't look like anyone that should be stripping. I wondered what he was doing here, like this, then he grabbed a set of bright chrome bars that were suspended above the bar and proceeded to roll his entire body up and through his own arms, proving that he was every bit as double-jointed as Nathaniel. Okay.

  The audience screamed behind us, and I couldn't help it, I glanced in that direction. The dancer was tall, thin, and a brunette and wearing only the white socks. He grabbed the bar in the center of the stage and began to writhe around it. I turned away, fast, and found that the dancer at the bar was nude now, too. I came alm
ost face-to-face with the other reason he was stripping here; he was well-endowed. I nearly tripped us all trying to get some room between us and the bar. Owen laughed, a high girlish laugh, and Nathaniel joined it with a masculine chuckle. Micah followed silent, and I waited to stop blushing. They did total nudity across the river, how could I have forgotten? What I wanted to do was run screaming, but instead I let Owen maneuver us toward the black-draped area across from the bar. Nathaniel was plastered between us, still smiling, still laughing. If Nathaniel could keep playing nice, so could I. I glanced back to check on Micah and saw the dancer at the bar proving that it wasn't just his shoulders that could bend in amazing ways. A woman was holding up money. Micah was staring straight ahead, as if, if he didn't look, it would all just go away. It wasn't just me that Ronnie was going to owe.

  Owen parted the black drapes, and in we went.

  72

  There was a small open area just inside the drapes. A man was leaning against the far wall. He straightened up as we came through the curtain. He was wearing a muscle shirt, exercise pants, and white socks. The clothes were slightly different, but the socks gave it away. He was another dancer. There was more muscle under the shirt, and he had a body closer to the kind I expected from a stripper. "Need a hand?" he asked. It was exactly what the other dancer had asked. Coincidence, or code for something? Didn't know, wasn't sure I cared.

  "No, thanks, we got it covered," Owen trilled. He clung to Nathaniel's arm, and Nathaniel let him.

  I tried to help. I said, "Sorry, but I think I'm at my limit for men for the night. After three, don't they make you throw one back?"

  The new guy laughed, shook his head, and motioned us toward a hallway that seemed to stretch the length of the club. Owen moved us all down that narrow corridor. There wasn't actually room for us to walk three abreast, so Nathaniel dropped ahead, and kept his arm around Owen. Owen must have taken that for a good sign, because he was suddenly draped around Nathaniel like some kind of tall, thin fashion accessory. Micah caught up with me, his arm sliding around my waist like I was his new security blanket. I guess I couldn't blame him, I wasn't exactly comfy myself.