Ray's Hell: A Crime Action Thriller

by Matt Rass

  Dominique paced the stage, her back against the wall, lost as to what to do next. Ray extended his hand out to her and said, “Get off the stage.”

  She turned toward him and a look of recognition passed over her face, but then was quickly replaced by confusion as she saw DC at his side.

  “Take my hand,” he said.

  She grabbed his hand and leaped from the stage. DC frowned. She watched helplessly as Ray turned away from her and tried to make his way through the crowd with the stripper. But then a fight broke out in front of them, and he turned back to face DC. He stretched out his hand and took hers in his too.

  It hadn’t taken much for the other white people to start shoving and punching one another. Ray puffed out his chest and, holding the two women by their hands, used his torso like a bulldozer, knocking kids out of his way. Everyone was splashed with beer and liquor as Ray kicked over tables and chairs. A swinging fist caught him by surprise, and he stopped to let it fly past to strike a kid beside him. Another fist was thrown. Ray sidestepped that and a different person was hit.

  The girls were being pulled and groped by the anonymous crowd. Ray stopped and returned to them when his grip was broken.

  A fat, bald, egg-headed man screamed in Ray’s face—“Nigger!”—and raised a beer bottle by its neck. Ray booted him in the stomach and he bounced off the crowd, then back into Ray’s tilted forehead. The man went down as if he’d been hit with a shovel.

  The crowd pushed and jostled DC loose from Ray’s grip. As the bald man scrambled to get back up, Ray stomped on his face. A size thirteen right on the button. By this time, DC had been fully enveloped and swallowed by the wave of white people.

  When Ray lifted his boot from the bald man’s head, the man’s eyes were closed and he looked as sound asleep as a baby.

  Ray searched for DC. She was gone. “Shit,” he said, then called her name above the heads of the crowd.

  She wasn’t more than ten feet behind him, but she had been knocked over and took refuge under a table. She felt her boob being grabbed and turned to slap a pimple-faced Asian nerd across the face. The kid grimaced then blushed.

  “Pervert,” she screamed.

  Ray reached the exit with Dominique at the same time as Dwight and Angelique. Ray didn’t want to leave without DC, but Dwight was forcing them out. “You gotta go so I can close this door,” he said. “Last time these drunk asses fell down the stairs and tried to sue us.”

  Ray scanned the crowd one last time before he said to Dwight, “Soon as you find DC, take her to the hotel and make sure she stays there, got it?”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  Ray watched the white strippers, wearing only g-strings and bra, clomp clumsily down the stairs in their high heels, see-sawing from side to side, holding each other’s hands. He shook his head. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

  TONY’S OFFICE

  Tony’s office was in the back of the strip club. The only light in the room was coming from the glow of the security screen he watched showing Dominique and Angelique leading the Detroit Cop down the side of the club to the girls’ back apartment.

  A knock at the door and Tony nearly jumped out of his soft leather chair. “Jesus Christ!” he yelped.

  His son Mike, a hulking beast of a man, stuck his head around the door. “Hey, Pop. You see this fight goin’ on out here?”

  Tony’s face reddened and his arms swelled in the air as if he was conducting an orchestra. “The fuck you always gotta barge in here for? I tell ya once, I tell ya a thousand times: wait for me to tell you to come inside before you just open the goddamn door.”

  “The shit outside,” Mike tried by way of explaining. “They’re fighting all over the place… I thought I heard you say ‘come in’.”

  “Well, why the hell aren’t you out there tryin’ to bust that shit up, then? ”

  “I thought you said I shouldn’t bust people up no more?”

  “Not for nothing, but if the sons’ a bitches are gonna destroy my goddamn club, then yeah, by all means, feel free to crack a fucking head once in awhile”

  “So you want me to like, go do that now then?”

  “What the hell did you come in here for?”

  “We went down to the Welcome to see about…”

  “Close the goddamn door and sit down,” Tony said, cooling off. “And turn on the fucking light.”

  Mike flicked the light switch and gently closed the door as if he was apologizing to it as well for the intrusion. Tony checked the security monitor and could see people starting to exit the club and congregate in the side parking lot. “Goddammit,” he said. “These kids don’t know what to do with themselves these days.”

  Mike pulled a metal chair from the wall and meticulously unfolded it and set it beside his father’s black metal desk. He was so big the chair was lost from view underneath him.

  “So?” Tony asked.

  “We’re waiting for the call from Andre to tell us that the whore has gone into the hotel...”

  “Yes, yes,” Tony encouraged.

  “After the call, we pull up to the hotel and wait for her to come out,” Mike continued. “And while we’re waiting, we see this dude pull up in an old Crown Vic, and one of the guys says it looks like a Fed.”

  “’Cos he’s drivin’ a Crown Vic?”

  “It was the whole thing, Pop. The car, the way he was dressed with a suit jacket and buttoned shirt. He had a buzz cut hairdo. And he’s just waiting there in his car with the lights off for like ten minutes.”

  “Then what?”

  “He goes inside the hotel. But while he’s doin’ his walk, he’s looking around all sketchy-like, as if he’s checking to see if anyone’s watching him, ya know what I’m sayin’?”

  “Could be cheating on his wife. Building up the balls to go inside. Lotta young pussy in that place. But I get what you’re sayin’. Good job. Then what?”

  “Five minutes after he goes in, we see the whore come from the side parking lot. Musta taken the fire escape down. But she’s with this big, black dude...”

  Tony leaned across the corner of his desk and spoke softly to his son. “That’s the kid Sam’s brother, Ray Price. He’s a cop from Detroit.”

  By the dumb look on his son’s face, Tony could see the intrigue was lost on him.

  “Anyway, they get in the guy’s Caddy and tear outta there and I tell the guys to chase ’em down ’cos I think, you know, the whore’s got Joe’s cellphone. But then we lost him downtown.”

  “Wait a second,” Tony said, straightening up. “Was it the black whore?”

  “Yeah,” Mike said. “I mean, doesn’t Andre just have black ones?”

  “The fucking cop was in here tonight with her.”

  “Which cop?” Mike asked.

  “Are you listening? The kid Sam’s brother is a cop from Detroit.”

  “Oh. Right. Mark, the bartender down there, called one of the boys and said a cop from Detroit was asking questions about Sam.”

  “If you already knew about the cop why was you just acting like you didn’t know what the hell I was talkin’ about?”

  “When?”

  “Just now.”

  “I did,” Mike said. “I was just finishing tellin’ the story.”

  “What happened to Joe? Tell me you left someone behind to make sure she did him in?”

  “I thought you said you didn’t want us to move on him, you know, so it doesn’t trace back to us?”

  “We gotta make sure the motherfucker is dead.”

  “But there was the Fed.”

  “You don’t know if it was a Fed or not. The job was to take out the junkie and take his goddamn phone. Now what?”

  Mike lowered his head and shook it. He was saved from any more embarrassment by a knock on the door.

  “Who is it?” Tony yelled.

  “Dwight,” came the response.

  “This fucking guy,” Tony said to Mike. “He’s your next problem.” “Come in,
” he yelled.

  Dwight opened the door and said, “We got everyone out on the street. April called the cops to clear them away from the doors. Sup Mike?”

  Mike stayed silent, his back to the door.

  “Good,” Tony said and watched as the bouncer stared daggers at the back of his son’s head. “You don’t feel that?” Tony asked Mike.

  “What?”

  “Fucking guy is staring at you like you banged his girlfriend.”

  Mike shrugged. “Maybe I did.”

  “He wishes,” Dwight said.

  “But I ain’t into fat chicks with small tits,” Mike countered.

  “Awright, awright boys, enough of that,” Tony interrupted. “Why don’tcha go and help the girls clean up Dwight, and we’ll open up again in a half-hour, okay?”

  “Sure thing, Boss,” Dwight said and began to close the door.

  “Hey Dwight,” Tony added. “You know what happened to that chick that was with Sam’s brother?”

  Dwight stuck his head back into the room and Mike gave him a slow turn and waited for his response. Dwight shook his head. “No. She musta followed him out soon as the fighting started.”

  “Awright,” Tony said. “See that anything broken out there is accounted for.”

  “Sure thing,” Dwight said and closed the door.

  Mike turned back to his father. “I called the pimp, Andre, but he hasn’t heard from the hooker. You want me to go out and find her?”

  “Yes. The cop is in the back apartment with the girls, so that means the whore is out there alone on the streets, or she went back to Andre. Call him again and tell him if he wants to do business with us, he gets you the girl and the cellphone.”

  Mike nodded, stood to refold the chair, and put it back in its place.

  “You want me to write this all down for you Michael?”

  “No, I got it.”

  “Okay, send Dwight back in here. I’m gonna send him to The Welcome to see what happened to the fucking junkie.”

  “And I’ll let you know when we get the girl?”

  “Sure,” Tony said. “Love you.”

  “Love you too, Pops.”

  Mike exited the office and Tony looked over to the feed from the security camera, pushed a button, and the screen turned from the parking lot to the inside of the strippers apartment.

  “Let’s start the show,” he said.

  Mike slapped the waitress, April, on the ass and she almost jumped out of her heels.

  “What the hell, Mike.”

  “Where’s Dwight at?” he asked.

  April rubbed the red welt on her butt cheek, “I dunno, geeze. Don’t scare me like that.”

  “You see him, tell him my dad wants to see him, okay?”

  “Why don’tcha just text him?”

  “’Cos I wanted to come say hi. You still seeing that loser?”

  “Go away, please.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Mike took out his phone and texted Dwight to go see Mike’s old man.

  Dwight pulled DC down the flight of LED-lit stairs now engulfed in a single flood light from above.

  “Hey,” DC complained, yanking her hand away from his. “You’re gonna make me fall on my face.”

  “We gotta hurry,” Dwight said. “They’re lookin’ for you.”

  DC stopped mid-way down the staircase. “Who’s lookin’ for me?”

  “Muthafukkas up in that office.”

  “What for?”

  “For standin’ there like a dumbass. C’mon now, let’s go.”

  DC gave her hand over to Dwight like a princess stepping down from her horse drawn carriage. He shook his head and continued down.

  Out in the street, Dwight received the text from Mike. He read it and pushed DC through the throng of pissed-off patrons as a Sheriff Deputy exited his vehicle behind them and began shouting orders for the crowd to disperse. “Git a move-on. You don’t hafta go home, but you can’t stay here,” he said.

  “Where’s Ray at?” DC asked.

  “I dunno,” Dwight said. “But we gotta get off the street.”

  He pushed the front doors of the neighboring Ramada Inn open and turned back to see Mike exit the club. Mike looked left then right, and just before their eyes would have met, Mike looked down to answer his phone and Dwight ducked into the hotel after DC.

  Mike put his phone up to his ear and nodded at the Officer directing the crowd. “No,” Mike said into the phone, “we didn’t get it.” The line cut abruptly on the other end like he had been hung-up on, and he just stared at his screen before pocketing it and crossing the street to his GMC SUV.

  Inside the vehicle he quick dialed a number and waited for the other line to pick-up.

  “Mikey!” the voice on the other end shouted.

  “Angelo!” Mike shouted in return. “I need some guys downtown to cruise for a hooker on the loose.”

  “Since when are you in the pimpin’ game?”

  “Since your little sister went away to college. Don’t ask questions, just get some guys in wheels down here to come find the bitch.”

  “Who is she? What’s she look like?”

  “She’s a black. Looks like a lesbian with short hair and has on an acid washed skirt and pink sparkly top.”

  “What she do?” Angelo asked. “You know, so we know how to deal with her when we find her.”

  “She started a fight at my old man’s club and stole a cell phone from one of the customers,” Mike said.

  “Fuckin’ darkies,” Angelo said. “Awright, we’re coming down.”

  Mike took a vial of cocaine from his pocket and unscrewed the cap. He removed his car keys from his other pocket and tapped the vial over one of the keys to form a small white hill and stuck the key under his nostril. Just as he snorted someone rapped on his window. It was the Officer from the crowd control. Mike coolly licked his key and fit it in the ignition before he lowered his window. “What’s up?” he asked.

  The cop looked at him suspiciously. “I need you to move the SUV, Mikey.”

  “Sure thing.”

  The cop just stared at him.

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, I don’t think it’s very hygenic to be licking your car keys like that.”

  “Oh no?”

  “No. It’s bad for your health.”

  “Okay, thanks Chief.”

  “Sure thing,” the cop said and directed traffic behind the SUV to stop so Mike could pull into the street.

  THE STRIPPER APARTMENT

  The entrance to the strippers apartment was a mess of high heels, flip-flops and running shoes. Ray stepped over the path the girls created and entered the kitchen. It was equally a disaster. The L-shaped kitchen counter was strewn with empty bottles of wine and takeout containers, the cupboards were yellow from cigarette smoke and cooking grime, and the sink overflowed with dirty dishes. Ray coughed. The air in the apartment was heavy with the stink of stale weed and cigarettes.

  “Can I take a seat?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Dominique said and sat across from him at the stained formica breakfast table smoking while Angelique rummaged in the kitchen. People had carved their names and initials into the top of the table. The thing was an archeological record of suspected drug and pussy dealers.

  Under the harsh lighting in the kitchen, Ray could see the work that’d been done on the women’s faces. The skin was tighter than a balloon ready to burst and the lips so unnaturally plump it looked as if they’d been chewing on a mouthful of bees.

  They could’ve said they were in their twenties, or thirties, or forties and Ray wouldn’t have been surprised by any of those admissions. He tried not to look at their cleavage, but their boobs protruded so far from their chests, it was impossible to ignore.

  Dominique’s phone buzzed with a message and she read it with one open eye, the other closed to the rising trail of smoke from her cigarette. She stuck her phone in a Bluetooth speaker and butted-out the cherr
y of her cigarette on the aluminum rim of the table. Something was up, Ray thought. If he’d been on duty, he’d be checking the bedrooms right about now. Make sure there weren’t any surprises around the corner.

  “This place is only s’pose to be for the new girls,” Dominique explained. “That cheap Tony at the club won’t even pay for our hotel anymore.” She swiped through a list of songs on her phone before pressing play and George Michael's “Careless Whisper” began playing on the tinny speaker.

  “Just the two of you here?” Ray asked.

  “Ya,” Dominique said, “You don’t hafta worry. No one’s gonna bother us. Those other bitches at the club are local.” She removed a rolling paper from a well-used pack of Zig-Zag’s on the table and searched her purse. “So you’re Sam’s brother?”

  “Yeah,” Ray said. “Dwight tell you that?”

  She nodded. “Mm-hmm. But I’ve heard Sam talk about you before. He said you’re a big time Detroit cop.”

  “There ain’t no more big time Detroit,” Ray said.

  Angelique closed the fridge door. “I can’t find the gin.”

  “Check the cupboard under the sink,” Dominique said, removing a clear plastic pill bottle packed with weed, and a vial of black oil from her purse.

  “I caught your stage names at the club,” Ray said, “but who’s Dominique and who’s Angelique again?”

  “I’m Dominique, and that’s Angelique,” Dominique said. “But you can call me Dom and her Angel.”

  “Is that your real names?”

  Angelique interrupted, “We don’t have any clean glasses.”

  “Why don’t you go to the bathroom and brush your teeth first,” Dominique told her. “I’ll clean the glasses.”

  “Why do I hafta brush my teeth?”

  “I dunno, because you puked all over the friggin’ stage?”