by Kate Aeon
To do that, she had to be a convincing stripper. She had to connect with Teri.
Any good cop was a good actor. It was as much a part of the job as knowing how to question suspects and comfort families, how to protect the chain of evidence, how to uphold the law and still stop the bad guys. In Vice, Jess had learned acting in the school of life or death. And she was good. But this situation combined an awkward act, an awkward audience, and huge stakes.
She steadied on jangling guitars, a steady drumbeat, and Tim McGraw’s voice. Sexy voice with a down-home twang.
Wild ride, she thought. Play with the fantasy.
Which would have been a hell of a lot easier had she been into the stripper fantasy, and not a cop trying to get into position to stop a probable serial killer. Jess, dry-mouthed, tried for a sexy smile, and fought for inspiration because the music wasn’t doing it.
She swung her hips and spun around, grabbed the prop chair from the back of the stage and straddled it, gave Teri what she hoped was a smoldering look, felt the connection fizzle badly, and fought to take herself out of the huge, empty, rattling room, out of the awkwardness of the situation and into something hot and sexy. Into a fantasy she could believe in. And somehow... somehow, about ten to fifteen eternal seconds into the dance, with her body moving and the drumbeat faking her away, Teri faded and Hank was there. The shape of his powerful hands. The line of his broad shoulders, the slope of muscular forearms that tapered to strong, lean wrists. Jess heard his voice instead of the music, and imagined undressing for him. She smiled broader, relaxing; felt the drumbeat rock and stomp, and dove into it with him. Saw the two of them sweaty and naked together. Felt his lips on hers, hot as Atlanta in July, and she spun and shook, swung around the chair, made eye contact, flicked off clothes with practiced ease. As if she’d been doing it forever.
Tossed the hat behind her and shook her hair free.
Slowed down as McGraw gave way to Krauss, slid around the pole, shimmied and stretched, with Hank the invisible world around which she moved. She remembered to put dance things in there, but mostly, she was in a place where she and Hank were doing all the things she wanted and couldn’t have.
She heard the words of the song, and to Hank she whispered, Just let me touch you for a while.
She could feel him with her. Jess played peekaboo with the bra, swung on the pole, finally tossed the bright red fringy bra behind her onto the back stage, and ended up kneeling at the front of the stage, knees far apart, hands resting on the inside of her thighs with her arms squeezing against the outsides of her suddenly bare breasts, smiling, smiling.
At Hank.
As the music ended.
Jess’s vision of Hank vanished with the last note, and instead, she saw Teri studying her with interest.
“Yeah,” Teri said after a long moment. “Okay — Alison Krauss definitely goes on the recommended list. As for the rest, I think you’ll do all right. However, you want a little constructive criticism?”
“Sure,” Jess said. She got up and started scrambling after her costume — put the bra and the vest back on, and immediately felt better.
“I had you pegged as a wriggler, figured we were probably going to be sending you out the door. But you’ve clearly got a solid background in classical dance. The problem is, Gracie, that anything that comes from ballet or modern or jazz dance doesn’t work in this venue. You know how to move, but you’re going to have to stay in character. You can’t just wiggle your ass or crawl around the stage making kissy-faces at the guys. But on the other hand, if you put in that ballet-ish jump you did, the boys aren’t going to know what to make of it. Same with the butt-tucked ballet posture you fall into by habit. Ballet posture is lovely, but we strippers stick our asses out. The boys like asses.”
“It’s been a few years,” Jess said.
Teri laughed. “Honey, don’t lie to me. It’s been never. You’re one hell of a quick study, but nothing you say is going to convince me that wasn’t your very first time taking your clothes off on stage. You’re in a money bind, and I respect the hell out of you for putting yourself on the line like this for your brother. But you have never stripped before in your life.”
Jess sighed and sat back on her heels, her back leaning against the pole and her arms wrapped around her knees, and thought, Busted. “No. I haven’t. Do I still have a job?” She felt sick to her stomach. She could have blown this, in spite of everything. Without Jim and his good cover story, she would have blown it.
Teri strolled back over to Jess and handed her back her music. “We’re short on dancers; you have the motivation to get good at this; you had some really fine moments up there if you can string them all together. And you have a look we can use.” Teri shrugged. “In spite of a rough, rough start, you showed real... promise. Kick the ballet out of it and you’ll have ’em drooling all over themselves.”
“I was hoping all those years of classical dance would let me make the transition easily.”
“It gave you the body, and stage presence, and athleticism. But ballet isn’t about sex, whereas stripping is all about sex.” Teri leaned her elbows on the edge of the stage. “I’ll give you the most useful single piece of advice I got when I started in exotic dancing. Pretend the pole is a man. And pretend your hands are his hands. Because that’s sure as hell what every guy out there is going to be pretending when he’s watching you. That he’s the pole, and everything you’re doing to it, you’re doing to him. And that he’s touching everything you’re touching.”
Jess sighed and considered that for a long moment. “Okay. I can see where, in that context, ballet moves aren’t going to do anything for anybody.” She ran through her routine in her mind, substituting jumps and spins with places where she could run her hands up and down her thighs or play peekaboo with her breasts. Drop on the floor on her stomach, maybe, arch her back, and swing her legs forward into a side split, then go to a standing position by keeping her hands on the floor and her back arched and bringing her legs in, lifting up that way. That was going to pull the hell the out of her inner thighs.
Whatever. It’d look good. And at least she’d be getting something out of all those years of dance and all those hours of martial-arts work.
Jess stood, and Teri said, “By the way, Grace...”
She didn’t say anything else, and Jess arched an eyebrow.
“Don’t lie to me anymore, okay? A good working relationship has to be based on mutual trust.”
Jess felt like a heel, knowing she was still lying. “Okay,” she said. “I... needed this job. And I didn’t think you would hire me if I didn’t have experience.”
“I might not have,” Teri said. “Which would have been my loss, I think.”
“It would have been Jim’s loss,” Jess said, deciding on the spur of the moment that if she was going to be stuck being Gracie, then her fictional brother could by God be named Jim.
Teri’s mouth twitched in a half smile. “Yeah. I guess there is that, isn’t there?” And she held out a hand. “So... we’re good?”
Jess took her hand. “We’re good.”
From the main door into the ballroom, Lenny’s voice floated into the room. “Well, isn’t that sweet?”
And Jess thought, Thank God I’m not alone in here.
Hank stopped by HSCU headquarters before he went on to Goldcastle. Jim was back in his cubicle when Hank tracked him down.
“Problems?” Jim asked.
“I’m nervous,” Hank told him. “About Jess. About her vulnerability up on that stage. The killer is a regular presence in there; I could feel his touch all over the place.”
“You got all the transmitters and bugs planted?”
“I will by the end of her shift today. And the guys you have in place in there won’t be connected in any way. Plus Goldcastle has plenty of security cameras in there, and big goons who watch them.”
“We have you in place, too. She’s not alone.”
“Backstage she is.”<
br />
“Only the dancers go backstage during work hours.”
“Can’t be sure of that. I get the feeling that, at least after hours, the killer has been back there.”
“You mean killers,” Jim said. “So you’re leaning toward insiders? That fits what we have.”
“You might have evidence for more than one person involved, but I only feel one killer. An employee, or a club member using an employee who may or may not be in on what’s happening,” Hank said. “Only one personality behind the deaths. And someone who has killed a lot of women.”
Jim leaned against the corridor wall and hooked his thumbs into his pants pockets. “How many? Ballpark.”
“Two... maybe three dozen. Maybe more.” And then he paused, closed his eyes, and whispered, “Six by six.” He looked up at Jim. “The killer keeps thinking ‘six by six.’ So... maybe thirty-six?”
Jim pursed his lips and shook his head. “Yeah. Yeah, yeah. I knew this was bad. Anytime I start munching Rolaids, I know I’m in the middle of something nasty. And I realized this morning that I’m up to half a bottle a day.”
Hank nodded. “Your own psychic barometer.”
“Isn’t worth much.”
“Better than nothing.” Hank said, “More than she has. And I’m afraid that Jess isn’t going to be prepared for what the killer throws at her. She’s met him. Maybe touched him. Definitely touched something he touched.”
Hank watched the blood drain out of Jim’s face. “She didn’t say anything.”
“She isn’t sold on my ability to read this stuff. She’s been polite about it, but she’s not going to hang her reputation on anything I tell her. So I wouldn’t have expected her to.”
“But you’re sure.”
“Getting there.”
Jim stood up straight and rubbed the stubble on his shaved scalp. “Well, this was always a possibility. A near certainty, really. We put her in there to get information, she’s in the tank with the rest of the fish. And she’s a real pretty fish. Shark’s going to want to take a shot at her, too.”
“She have anyone watching her when I’m not with her?” Hank asked.
“We only have her covered at work.”
“Cover her at home, would you?”
“We can’t, really. We’re stretched thin on this already. But she’s a big girl. One of the most focused cops I’ve ever known. And one of the best. She’ll be okay.”
Hank decided that he could be her guardian angel. He could keep watch over her away from work, as well as in the club. Or maybe spend extra time at the club, even when she wasn’t there, finding out who was killing dancers. But all he said was, “All right. I’m sure you’re right.”
Jim looked at him, then looked away and made a disgusted noise. “I would never have thought it, but you are the most pitiful excuse for a liar that I ever met. Which is fine. It’s the liars who are good at it who make my life hell.” He grinned. “All right, my ass.” And then he said, “I’m not going to ask you what sneaky little plan ran through your head. Just don’t fuck up the case. And don’t screw up Jess’s cover.”
“I know all that. I don’t want to see her... hurt.”
Jim said, “Me, either. That’s why I’m looking the other way.”
Chapter Nine
Backstage, a couple of the day-shift girls had arrived by the time Jess got through a quick shower in the dancers’ locker room. They occupied seats along a mirror, putting on makeup, working with their hair, and adjusting costumes. Both were brunettes. One looked a lot like Crystal Gayle, with huge blue eyes and hair almost down to the floor. The other one was pert and short and cute. The pert one looked up and smiled when Jess walked in, and tapped the other on the shoulder. The long-haired girl looked over, nodded acknowledgment, and went back to fixing her hair.
“You’re one of the new girls,” the pert one said.
“Grace Callahan,” Jess said.
“That your real name or your stage name?”
“Real. My stage name is Summer.” This part of undercover was going to really drive Jess up the wall. She had to be Grace in here and Summer out there and make sure she didn’t let any of the details of her Grace identity slip to the customers, because exotic dancers had to protect themselves from potential stalkers even at the best of times. Summer would need a story of her own, but everyone would know it was a tissue of lies.
When Ginny and Jess had talked about stripping, Ginny had said, “They ask me if I’m a college student, or an actress, or if I’m a nurse or a dental hygienist or whatever. And I ask them what they think I do. And when they tell me, I tell them they’re right. Because if they say they think I’m really a secretary during the day, well, that’s their fantasy. That some uptight girl who works in an office during the day might really be this wild stripper on the weekend. Or they want to think I’m the college girl they wanted so much to get into bed with. Or maybe a single mom trying to make it on my own. I’m whatever they want me to be, and they leave happy, and I leave with a lot of money.”
Jess shook off the memories of Ginny, and returned her attention to the two women in the room.
“My real name’s Millie Hantumakis,” the perky dancer said. “But call me River. Everyone else does, and it’s easier to keep everything straight that way.”
“I’m all for easier,” Jess said.
“And she’s Cree,” River continued. “While she’s dancing anyway.”
“Hi, River,” Jess said. “Hi, Cree.”
Cree ignored Jess.
“She’s deaf,” River said. “And she already has her hearing aids off because they’re big and they get in the way once she starts on her hair.”
Jess felt her eyebrows starting up her forehead, and got her expression under control. “Doesn’t that make it hard to, ah... do this job?”
“No,” River said. “She’s amazing. She picks music with a good bass beat, and goes by the vibrations. The guys love her. And she reads lips really well, so what with the loud music out there, she follows conversations with the guys a lot better than most of the rest of us do.”
Which made sense.
Jess got back into the cowgirl costume.
“I did a cowgirl for a while,” River said. “Too many pieces to take off.”
Jess grinned. “I considered that a plus, actually.”
River was pulling on the parts of a schoolgirl uniform. Lacy little ankle socks, a very short pleated plaid skirt over a plaid thong, a plaid bra with sequins along the top and over that a white shirt and a school tie. “You been doing this long?”
“I’ve been dancing for a long time. This is my first day stripping.”
River looked startled. “Um, nothing personal, but... aren’t you kind of old to just be starting out?”
“Yeah,” Jess said, putting on eyeliner. “I had a sudden need for a whole lot of money, and this was the only legal way I could think of to get it.”
River took a seat at the dressing table and started applying makeup. “You get in trouble with a bookie or something?”
Jess gave a rueful laugh. “Jesus. What is there about me that makes people think gambling problem? My brother’s in the hospital, and he doesn’t have insurance. I’m going to see if I can raise enough money to pay his bills.”
“I’m sorry,” River said. “Me, I do it to keep a roof over my head and my kid’s, and so I can get time off to go to her school plays and stuff.”
“You have a kid? In school? You don’t look old enough.”
“I got pregnant in high school,” River said. “Dani’s father turned out not to love me quite as much as he said he did, once that happened. He offered me money for an abortion, and my mother tried her best to talk me into taking it.” Her voice got soft. “At the last minute, I didn’t go through with it. I couldn’t kill my baby. And every day since, I’ve been glad I didn’t. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Jess said, “I can’t imagine. I don’t have kids.”
&n
bsp; River said, “Dani changed my life. I learned how to be responsible, how to think about someone besides me. It’s been hard, but she’s been worth it. And doing this lets me give her a decent life. I’m scared, though. Thinking maybe I should pack us up and move someplace else. New city, maybe.”
“Why?”
“Because someone is killing dancers here.”
“I... heard something about that,” Jess said, outlining her lips with a liner that matched the red bra. She hated wearing makeup. “When I bought this costume, as a matter of fact. It was only a... a rumor, though. I thought.”
“It’s not a rumor. There have been detectives around asking questions. And I knew one of the girls who died. From the kind of questions they ask you, you can figure out at least a little bit.”
Jess nodded. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
“Teri’s worried,” she added. “She’s been really paranoid lately.”
A tiny, curvy redhead burst into the dressing room looking pissed. “Bastard picks ten minutes before I’m out the door to go apeshit on me,” she snarled to River. “Cuts my costumes into ribbons with a pair of scissors, tosses my makeup out the window into the neighbor’s backyard — and they have that goddamned pit bull — and tells me I’m done dancing; that he’s not going to have a girlfriend who’s taking off her clothes in front of other guys anymore.”
“Didn’t he meet you while you were dancing here?” River asked.
“Yeah,” the redhead said. “Of course he met me here. But now all of a sudden this isn’t the right job for me. So I told him he was goddamned right he wasn’t going to have a stripper for a girlfriend anymore, and to get the hell out of my house by the time I got home.”
“Hey, Ginger. Borrow one of my costumes,” River said. “The ones on the right side of my locker are clean.” River looked over at Jess and said, “Summer, meet Ginger Rose. Ginger, meet Summer.”
