“This is me not talking about it.” Sam slid into the Firebird. Jacob got in beside her. Terry and Candy got into Valentina’s two-tone 1963 Ford Galaxie, bronze over green metal flake. Regardless of Sam’s reason for returning, she was glad to be back in the bosom of her people. Surrounded by them she safe and protected, almost.
The crew was:
TERRY. Jacob’s best friend. Cute. Glasses. Long hair. A Todd Rundgren tee worn loose to hide the fact he was ripped. Sports had given him muscles, love of pale, skinny rock stars made him hide them. Seventeen and hairy. Five o’clock shadow. He could score chicks and booze.
CANDY. Model looks. Lithe, pale almost translucent skin. Straight, jet-black hair framing her perfect face. She was the quintessential glitter rock girl. Every glitter boy’s wet dream. Toujour Moi was her signature perfume. Her lips always tasted of cherries, courtesy of Bonne Bell flavored lip gloss. Around her neck, half a best friend’s heart. The other half was where it had been since the fifth grade—around Sam’s throat. She was the sweet Candy that men dreamt of tasting while Sam robbed them blind.
VALENTINA. She spun though life trailing glitter and feathers molting from her thrift store boa. Smoking hot, low-cut gown, nice tits, fine ass. Six foot two inches of drool inducing chocolate wonderfulness. If it weren’t for her dick, Terry—hell, anyone—would have done her in a second.
When Sam got out of the life, so did her crew. All except Billy Quinn, a muscular punk and their last driver. He kept going. He was now serving ten years at San Quentin for trying to stick up a Stop-n-Shop with a pellet gun.
Lions on the El Camino was a pure old-school, working-class coffee shop. All the waitresses had beehives and cat glasses, not one of them was under sixty. Sam and the others sat in a booth laughing and finishing their greasy feast. Jacob slumped over his mostly untouched food, smearing the yoke around with a piece of toast.
“You gonna’ eat that bacon?” Terry snatched it off the plate without waiting for an answer.
“No, go right ahead, pal.”
“Hash browns?”
“Knock yourself out.” Jacob slid the plate to his friend. His stomach did a slow tumble when Terry dug in with sloppy gusto.
“You feeling OK, little brother?” Sam moved her sunglasses down her nose and looked him over. “You pickle any important organs while I was gone?”
Aware the others were checking him out, Jacob sat up. “Nope, organs are in fine working order.”
“Handsome and a working organ? Ladies, be still your hearts.” Valentina fanned herself with a pie menu. Jacob looked from her to Candy, who shot him a playful wink. He struggled for a smartass quip but his hungover brain left him stranded by the side of the conversational road.
Sam was about to add to Jacob’s misery when she caught the eerie feeling that someone was watching her. Spinning around she saw a middle-aged man in a wrinkled suit staring at her from the counter. From his thick-soled black shoes to the tip of his buzz cut flattop he vibed cop. Midnight dark Ray-Ban Aviators hiding his eyes.
Sam froze. The others followed her gaze then went silent. Seeing the cop, they all looked with intense interest at their dirty breakfast dishes. “Think he saw us?” Sam whispered to Valentina.
“Pray to the blessed virgin or whoever for a no.”
Jacob flicked nervous eyes at Terry, who shrugged, unconcerned. Cops didn’t freak him one bit. He wasn’t by nature a lawbreaker.
The cop dropped a couple of bills on the counter and drifted quietly up to their booth. He stood behind Sam, who was starting to sweat. “Boo,” he said, without humor.
Valentina was the first to look up, all smiles and twinkle. “Why, if it isn’t the Korean Burt Reynolds. Detective Pahk, what a pleasure. You look manly as ever.”
“Aren’t you about forty miles south of Sodom by the bay, Henry?”
“Valentina.” She slid a steel edge into her voice, then a quick reverse back to coquette. “Bad boy, you missed me. Those shades don’t hide the way you’re eye-fucking my titties.” She pressed her breasts together, mounding them into an impressive display of cleavage. “You’re like a hungry bear looking at a pick-a-nick basket.”
“What, um, ever you say, Henry.” A bit flustered, Detective Pahk turned to Sam. “Heard you were living up north. Doing the naked hoochie coochie for loggers, burnouts and drooling frat boys, right?”
“Mostly loggers. Burnouts and drooling frat boys would have been a welcome change.” Sam kept her face flat, giving him nothing while remaining conversational. “Why haven’t they put you out to pasture?”
“Either it’s my solid arrest record or a picture I have stashed of the mayor banging a lady-boy, you choose.”
“I’ll take the union is protecting your ass for five hundred dollars.”
“Funny. This permanent, or just a visit?”
“You know, Detective, I’m not sure. But you will be my first call once I decide.”
“Crime rate dropped when you left town. You planning on raising it again?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I see you and these two,” he motioned to Valentina and Candy, “I have to think you’re getting the old crew together.”
“Again, you lost me. Old friends sharing a cup a joe. Not breaking any laws.”
“Unless there’s a law against hotness.” Valentina bit her lower lip and struck a sultry pose.
“If there is, we are guilty as charged.” Candy licked her finger, touched Valentina’s cheek and made a sizzling sound. Staring into the detective’s eyes, she sang, “I say, hey, babe, take a walk on the wild side. And the colored girls say . . .” She winked at Valentina.
“Doo do doo do doo do do doo,” Valentina sang, eyes closed, head tilted back.
“You, you and you—you three are a mug shot away from the pen. You’re the brother, Jacob?”
“That’s my name.” It wasn’t a clever quip, but at least Jacob purged the quiver from his voice.
“Heard you were some kind of Einstein, omitting the kooky hair; I don’t see it.” Pahk turned his attention to Terry, who just grinned at him. “Who are you, pretty boy?”
“Terry.” He put a hand out to shake, but seeing Sam’s eyes he wilted and let it drop.
“You play for the Spartans, wide receiver, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you wearing women’s eye shadow?”
“Yes, sir.” Terry’s smile didn’t falter.
“Why in the name of Jesus H. Christ would you do that?”
“Brings out the green in my eyes.”
Pahk looked sad and disgusted. “What’s your last name, son?”
“None of your business,” Sam said, flat. “Unless you want to arrest us, we’re done here.”
“Not near done, little girl. You are going down, you can take that to the bank.”
“Bank? That’s from Baretta, right? Corny.”
“I don’t know, Princess Samula, that Rooster was steamy, in a skinny hot chocolate fur collar pimpy way.”
“I am going to relish slapping the cuffs on you two.”
Sam affected a Texas drawl. “Your cart is way out in front of the horse. You have even one, no matter how shaky, piece of evidence against us?”
“I will. Then you, this gargantuan chicken-hawk tranny and the rest of you limp-wristed girls will be pulling a train up in the big Q.”
Terry’s grin fell and he stared at his glitter polished pinky finger anxiously. Jacob looked to his sister for support, but she wouldn’t take her cold eyes off Pahk. Even the ever-cool Candy looked unsettled. Valentina stood, towering over Pahk. All the flirt was gone. Her jaw muscles popped. Her hands balled into fists.
“Sit down, Henry, before I call the fruit squad.” Pahk looked at Valentina’s fists and forced a laugh. “Watch it, Henry, don’t want to break a nail.” He reached into his jacket pocket, feeling for his sap.
“Do it, I’ll go beaucoup dinky dau on your ass. Then the ACLU will destroy what’s lef
t.” Tension was rippling off Valentina in waves.
“ACLU? They might protect your Afro-American half, but the dick-licking dress-wearing side? I don’t think so.”
Valentina was about to lose control when Sam got between them. She put a hand gently on Valentina’s shoulder. “This is what he wants. Hit him, and you go down. Fuck him.”
“Not even on a dare. I only go down for charmers in too-tight jeans.” She let out a breath. Curled her lips into an approximation of a smile and sat down.
“Call the family shyster.” Sam flipped Jacob a dime that, amazingly, he snatched out of the air. “Time to decide, detective, bust us or politely fuck off.”
“Politely fuck off, huh? Nice.” He gave the crew one last hard look, then relaxed. “See you geeks around the playground.” They were silent until Pahk walked out, got in his unmarked cop car and drove down the El Camino.
“Nice guy, very personable,” Jacob said.
“A charmer, and so good looking,” Candy said. “Amazing he has no wedding ring on.”
“I guess a Casanova of his caliber doesn’t want to be tied down,” Jake said.
“Unless he does. That man is a poster child for a closet sub,” Valentina said. “Yes, mistress, may I lick the dog brown off your boots?”
“Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather. Whiplash girlchild in the dark,” Terry sang the opening to a Velvet Underground song. Even Sam laughed at that. The last of the residual tension left the booth.
“What we need, my fab compatriots, is this.” Valentina opened a pill bottle with nails that were smoky dark purple, to match her lips. She plucked out a large white pill. “Vitamin Q time.” She took a glass of orange juice out of Jacob’s hand and chased the lude down. She let her tongue circle the glass. “One of these boozy days, young Jacob, we are going to have to see just how straight you are.”
“My man Jake is straighter than a . . . well, something that’s really straight,” Terry said.
“Mmmmmm, you just keep decorating that closet, Terr-Terr, it will look dazzling when you come out.” She ran a finger over Terry’s cheek, down to cross his lips. He started to blush.
Sam watched the scene and smiled. “Candy, during my banishment to the cold north, did you relent and give my little bro the wool he so wants?”
“I wouldn’t risk losing my surrogate little brother for a tumble in the hay. Regardless of how good it might be.” Candy gave Jacob a consolation kiss on the cheek, leaving a classic red lip print.
“That, and face it,” Valentina said, “she’s Rolls Royce and he’s VW bug. Sorry, Jake.”
“No, please, a fact’s a fact.” Jacob nodded agreement.
• • •
Back at Creekside Apartments, the crew was fed and loose on Quaaludes. Terry and Jacob sat on stools by the bar top that separated the kitchen from the living room. “That cop has a real boner for your sister.” Terry’s neck was a limp noodle, leaving his hands to hold up his face.
“It’s a family thing. He’s the idiot donkey dick who busted Dad.”
“He’s not an idiot, Jake.” Sam was sprawled out on the living room floor, dark glasses covering her closed eyes. “Don’t believe the dumb cop crap, it’s a smoke screen. Pahk was slick enough to take down Pops.”
“OK, not an idiot, but definitely a donkey dick.” Jacob jumped when the phone started ringing. “Casa de loony tunes, how can we help you?” He listened for a moment, then passed the receiver to Sam. “It’s for you.”
“Callum?” Sam asked.
“Not even close.” Breeze crackled across the line. “This is your past racing to catch up to you.”
“How did you get this number?”
“You can’t hide from me. Shall I have Sardine and Cracker go to work on that cute little brother to prove it?”
“No. Breeze, I said I’d handle it and I will.”
“People say all kinds of bullshit when they think a blowtorch is in their future. Now here is what will go down. I will get my cash. You know how I know that?”
“Because you trust me?”
“No. Because I know how you’re going to get it for me.”
“How?”
“Steal it. New Year’s Eve Sylvester and the Hot Band are playing at Taxi Dancer, along with The Tubes and a third, opening act. It’s going to be a massive party kissing 1976 goodbye. There will be twenty-plus grand in the till by the time the ball drops. That’s not counting the bar and popper sales.”
“I’m a creeper, Breeze, a sneak thief. Brazen stick-up gigs are a good way to end up on a slab.”
“True, there is a chance of bodily harm, but . . .” Breeze paused for effect. “You don’t do it and I can guarantee you will need a toe tag.”
Sam wound the phone cord around her index finger. “If I did this, what would I pay my crew with?”
“The plus goes to them. Anything over your debt you keep. I’m dropping Sardine’s barn, so you owe me a clean twenty. Thank you, Breeze. You are ever so welcome.”
“Up fronts? I’m broke.”
“All this you should have thunk over before vouching for your scheming boyfriend.”
She was going to tell him to fuck off, she wasn’t a thief anymore. Tell him she’d find another way. Then she looked at her goofy brother flirting with Candy and she knew she would do whatever it took to keep him safe.
Breeze gave Sam the number of his inside man, a bartender named Bruce. It was December fourteenth—she had slightly more than two weeks to set up the heist. It wasn’t enough time. Robbing the joint might be easy, getting away with it was the trick.
CHAPTER 5
* * *
“Give yourself over to absolute pleasure. Swim the warm waters of sins of the flesh—erotic nightmares beyond any measure, and sensual daydreams to treasure forever.” —Rocky Horror Picture Show
The Bay City Rollers commanded that Saturday night was for dancing to rock and roll. But judging from Taxi Dancer’s dance floor, Saturday night was also and mainly for getting laid. Men of all shapes and sizes were doing that wonderful mating ritual known as disco dancing. The bump, the hustle, the cha-cha, the robot, the boogaloo—they all had distinct moves and styles, and all were danced to turn on your partner. When Diana Ross sang “Love Hangover” the dancers all sang along. Ohio Players’ “Love Rollercoaster” had them rising onto their toes then dropping down and yelling as if they were all riding that rollercoaster.
Valentina used several Quaaludes to bribe a bouncer, who let Sam and Candy in the back door. Their fake IDs weren’t good enough to get past the new man watching the front door. Taxi Dancer had been taken over by new management since Sam left town. They were hell on females now, demanded triple picture IDs, crap like that.
“This used to be our fucking club. What the hell, Val?” Sam said.
“Times change, princess, pendulum swings. Watch, in another year it will be a straight club and they’ll be keeping the leather boys out and playing Rush albums.”
Jacob and Terry cruised through the front door. They had really lousy fake IDs but they were cute boys. The hairy doorman in a leather vest and not much else didn’t even look at the Xeroxed Stanford student ID cards.
Once inside, Sam and crew headed for the couch room—the crotch room they called it, because it was where guys went to play open the package. Tonight Sam and her friends had taken it over. Valentina scared off anyone who wasn’t a friend. That wasn’t many. Most loved Sam. Most were glad to come and give her a hug and kiss, take a toke off a joint or a sniff off a popper. The welcome home party had been delayed but not forgotten. Candy took Jacob onto the dance floor. She was dressed in tight snakeskin print pants. Her scoop-necked tee shirt was studded with rhinestones spelling out Rebel Rebel. The mirror ball sparkled over Jacob and Candy as they danced. He wore bright yellow platforms, making him a few inches taller than her in her stilettos. Glitter and confetti swirled in the air. A man in chaps and no underwear handed Jacob a popper. A deep sniff and the amyl nitrate hit his
heart like an alligator. The dance floor smelled of sweat and amyl and sex and Candy’s Toujour Moi. She glowed. She leaned in whispering something he couldn’t hear and he felt her warm breath across his ear.
Terry was suddenly between them, yelling over Donna Summer. “An Indian chief just grabbed my dick in the men’s room.”
Candy laughed. She looked even more beautiful when she laughed.
“What the fuck you go in the men’s for?” Jacob asked.
“Woman’s was full.”
“Dude. You went in the men’s. No bitching now.”
“He. Grabbed. My. Dick.”
“Was he good-looking?” Candy asked.
“Fuck both of you.”
“Three way? You up for it, Jake?”
“Not with this hairy beast-boy,” Jake yelled. “Sorry man, didn’t mean that. I’d so bone you.” The last part was said just as the DJ dropped the music out. The whole dance floor heard, “I’d so bone you.” They erupted with blasts from their whistles. Even Jacob had to grin at his own mistake.
• • •
“Twenty large, girl? Damn, when you screw up, you go big,” Valentina said to Sam. They were drinking sloe gin fizzes.
“This man I was hanging with, he had a plan.”
“Oh, baby, man gets a plan it’s time to duck and motherfucking cover.”
“I know that now.”
“This man who planned it, was he cute, filled out his Levis? We girls get wet and stop thinking.”
“Wasn’t like that. OK it was like that, but . . . damn, Val, I thought he was real. Thought I meant something to the creepoid. Maybe I was just tired of shaking my titties and cooch for five bucks a grope, thought maybe he was my ticket off the stage.”
“Heard that, girl.”
“Heard what?” Jacob, Terry and Candy came in off the dance floor.
“Nothing, little bro.”
“An Indian chief tried to grab my dick.”
“I’ll let the society editor at the Chronicle know, Terr-Terr.”
Sam looked from Jacob to Candy then back to Jacob. “Candy?”
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