Tales of River City

by Frank Zafiro

  From his vantage-point at the counter, the clerk could see the entire room and everyone in it. A tall man in a long duster stood in the corner below a sign that read “Facials” and another customer read the back of a small packaged item with the title “Pleasure Box” emblazoned across it.

  Westboard made straight for the counter. “River City Police,” he said.

  The clerk curled his lip at him. “No shit.” He was a small, greasy man with thick lips and a diamond stud in each ear. “What do you want?”

  “Just a walkthrough,” Westboard said.

  “Again?” the clerk said. “You guys were just in here two nights ago.”

  “We weren’t,” Kahn said, appearing at Westboard’s elbow.

  The clerk scowled. “You know what I mean. Your buddies. Other cops. How often do you guys need to come in here?”

  “How about every day?” Kahn asked, his voice hard. “How’d that be?”

  The clerk shook his head in disgust. “There’s nothing illegal in here, you know.” He waved his hands at the magazine racks and at the sex toys that lined the walls. “All of this is perfectly legal.”

  “Maybe,” Kahn said, “but not everything that goes on in here is legal.”

  “I run a clean place!” the clerk snapped.

  “Then you won’t mind us doing a walkthrough.”

  The clerk’s upper lip curled. “Actually, I do mind.”

  “Good thing I wasn’t asking, then,” Kahn said and turned away from him, heading toward the door that led to the dancer’s booths.

  Westboard gave the clerk a neutral gaze, then turned to follow.

  “Assholes,” he heard the clerk mutter after them, but Kahn didn’t seem to notice, so Westboard ignored the small man.

  The door led into a long hallway. Halfway down the hallways was a large window. Behind the glass, a buxom blonde sat in a chair reading a magazine. She wore burgundy panties and an open silk floral print robe. A telephone receiver hung on the wall next to the window. No customer was in sight.

  “One down,” Westboard said, eager to push on around the corner to the next booth. There were three more, one in each hallway, and he was hoping they didn’t happen upon any customers at all, much less one who got carried away while watching the girls in the booths.

  “Hold up,” Kahn said.

  Westboard groaned inwardly.

  Kahn picked up the telephone receiver and the blonde did the same. Her face lost most of its weary resignation when she saw that they were police officers, though Westboard wasn’t certain if that was just another act.

  “Hey, there,” Kahn said, his voice an octave lower than normal.

  “Hey,” the dancer said back. To Westboard’s ears, the sound was both muffled and tinny. The muffled part came from the thick glass between them and the tinny aspect came from the phone receiver that Kahn had pressed to his ear.

  “Anyone bothering you tonight?” Kahn asked her.

  She shook her head and said something Westboard couldn’t make out.

  Kahn laughed. “Yes, I would. Definitely.”

  The dancer shifted in her seat and the left side of her robe slipped open, exposing her breast. Westboard figured the move was intentional and based on Kahn’s staring, it had the desired effect.

  Muffled music, mostly bass, echoed from around the corner. Someone had put money in one of the slots, Westboard realized, and another dancer was at work. He nudged Kahn and jerked his head toward the sound.

  Kahn ignored him. “Really?” he asked the dancer. “You would?”

  “James?” Westboard said.

  Kahn looked at him. “Huh?”

  “There’s three other windows and we still have to check the movie booths.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He lowered the receiver, covering it with his hand. “Look, just check the other three without me. I’ll meet you back at the counter.”

  Westboard frowned at Kahn.

  “Come on, man. I’ll just be a second.”

  Matt gave in with a shake of his head. “Just don’t keep me waiting out there with Mr. Personality.”

  “I won’t.”

  Westboard set his jaw and walked away, turning the corner into the next hallway. It was empty, too. A small Asian woman reclined on a large cushion behind the glass. She eyed him suspiciously, but made no move to cover her exposed breasts. Westboard gave her a curt nod that she didn’t return.

  The music grew louder closer to the third window. As Westboard made another right turn and walked down the dim hallway, he saw an old man in a suit pressed up close to the glass. The man’s hands were on the glass itself, his fingers spread out as if he were trying to grasp through it. Some bass-heavy tune echoed from inside the enclosed stage.

  Westboard glanced at the man, saw that he wasn’t exposed and then looked into the booth. The dark-haired dancer sat on a low-backed chair, her hand plunging between her legs as her back arched in time with the music. Her eyes were closed and her head thrashed from side to side, whipping her hair into her cheeks.

  Neither the dancer nor her audience of one noticed him as he walked past and took another right into the final hallway.

  The final booth belonged to a red-headed woman. She wore a white lingerie set over her full figure, complete with a corset and a push-up bra. At a glance, Westboard guessed she was forty, but after a closer look, she looked closer to fifty.

  He started to walk by, but she caught his attention with a wave of her hand. When he waved back, she pointed at the telephone and picked hers up. Reluctantly, Westboard did the same.

  “What’re you doing, honey?” she asked breathily.

  “Just a walkthrough,” Westboard said.

  “Why you whisperin’?” she asked him, a sly smile crossing her lips.

  “I didn’t realize I was.”

  “Oh, you were, honey,” the redhead said. “You afraid someone might overhear us?”

  Westboard shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  The redhead’s eyes swept slowly up and down his frame. Then she leaned forward and squinted at his nametag. “Officer…Westboard, is it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am?” she chuckled and let her eyes sweep over him again. “My, my, my. Polite and a right handsome man. My prayers have been answered.”

  Westboard cleared his throat. “Uh, is there anything I can do for you, ma’am?”

  “Oh, I’m sure there is.” Her voice was like honey-coated gravel.

  He remembered what Kahn had asked the first dancer. “I mean, has anyone been bothering you tonight?”

  She affected a look of mock sadness. “Not nearly enough, officer.” She leaned forward, exposing her cleavage. “But I have high hopes for you.”

  “Goodnight, ma’am,” Westboard said, replacing the phone receiver and giving her a polite nod. She reflected back a doe-eyed look of regret. He turned and walked away toward the front of the establishment.

  In the main lobby, the customer who had been browsing sex toys was gone, but the man in the duster had moved onto the “Trios” magazine section. The clerk stared at the small television, a surly look on his face. When he saw Westboard, he turned to him and jerked his thumb toward the monitors.

  “How long is he going to bother Brandi?”

  Westboard looked up at the monitor and saw Kahn was still at the first dancer’s booth. The split screen showed a view inside the booth, and the dancer was waving her arms in the air and the both were laughing.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Most people have to pay to talk to her,” the clerk said. “A dollar a minute, they pay. And it’s a five-dollar minimum.”

  Westboard thought about telling him that this was different, but he knew his voice wouldn’t have any conviction in it.

  “Or are you going to tell me he’s taking a police report from her? Some bullshit like that?” The clerk glared at him.

  Instead of answering, Westboard pointed at the door on the opposite side of the l
obby. “Film booths, right?”

  The clerk just stared at him.

  Westboard turned and walk toward the door.

  “Nothing illegal about watching those movies,” the clerk muttered after him.

  As soon as he passed through the door, the musty smell of sweat and sex washed over him, reminding him of one more reason he didn’t like walkthroughs. He tried to breathe shallowly through his mouth and started down the line of doors. Every few steps, his boots caught on the sticky floor. The tearing sound the boots made as they pulled away from the cement floor was nauseating.

  The layout was the same as the dancing girls’ side of the business, only there were considerably more doors than glass booths on the other side. Each booth on this side had a video monitor in it and customers plugged quarters into the machine for sex videos by the minute.

  The doors all had locks on them, and Westboard was grateful that each doorknob he tugged on was either locked or exposed an empty booth when he swung open the door. As he moved down the hallway, he hoped he’d finish without running into any problems. He might even get through all the doors before Kahn finished talking to Brandi.

  He turned the first corner and ran out of luck on the second door. As he pulled the door open, he immediately saw a man standing in front of the monitor, watching two lesbians kiss furiously. His pants were still on, but he was fondling his erection through the clothing.

  The sound of the door opened startled the man and he jumped. “Jesus!” he said and reached for the knob. Then he saw Westboard and the uniform and he sagged. “Oh, Jesus.”

  Westboard looked at him for a few moments, registering the fear and guilt in the man’s eyes. The smacking sounds and moaning of the lesbians on the monitor filled the air.

  Finally, he said, “You need to lock the door.”

  “I will,” the man said, relief washing over his face.

  Westboard nodded, shut the door and moved on.

  The rest of the hallway was either locked or empty, so he turned left and headed down the third hallway. Halfway down, he found a man in an unlocked booth, staring at the screen. His hands were pulled close into his chest, where he cradled a handful of quarters. He cast an empty gaze at Westboard over one shoulder, then went back to looking at the screen in front of him.

  Westboard closed the door without a word.

  He turned left again and made his way down the fourth hallway. Nearly every booth was empty. Two thirds of the way down, he found an empty booth with a monitor that was still playing. He wondered about that for a moment. At twenty-five cents a minute, he doubted much movie time was ever wasted. Someone had been in the booth recently.

  “Aren’t you just the speedy one?” someone said behind him.

  Westboard started in surprise, turning and raising his hands defensively.

  “Easy, Matt,” Kahn said, laughing at him.

  “Don’t do that,” Westboard snapped back.

  “Sorry,” Kahn said, then motioned to the booth. “Empty?”

  Westboard’s heart rate started to slow. “Yeah. The monitor’s still on, is all.”

  Kahn cocked his head. “That’s strange.”

  Westboard shrugged. “Maybe they finished.”

  “Already come and gone, you mean?” Kahn gave him a devilish grin and moved to the next booth. Westboard followed, glad they were almost finished themselves.

  Kahn pulled the door to the booth open, exposing two men in front of a monitor. One was leaning back against the wall while the other knelt in front of him.

  “Holy shit,” muttered Kahn.

  The men seemed to notice Kahn at the same time. The standing man pulled away deeper into the small booth, awkwardly trying to push his erection back into his pants. The kneeling man scrambled to his feet, staring at Kahn.

  That was when Westboard recognized him. Matt tried to step back away from the booth and blend into the darkness, but he bumped into the hallway wall.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Kahn boomed in his best police voice.

  The standing man cringed. “Nothing, sir.”

  “Nothing?” Kahn asked in disbelief. “It sure looked like something to me.”

  “The door was closed,” the man who had been kneeling said.

  Kahn turned his attention to him. “Yeah? Well, it wasn’t locked, was it? And that makes this a public place. And what you were doing in public is considered lewd conduct. Now break out some I.D.”

  Both men reached into their pockets and removed identification. As the man who had been kneeling leaned reached out to hand the card to Kahn, he caught Westboard’s eye. Recognition came a moment later.

  Craig, Westboard thought. His name is Craig.

  Craig said nothing, but his eyes bore into Westboard’s.

  “Craig Ritter,” Kahn said, reading the I.D., “and…oh fuck. You’re kidding me, right?”

  Craig’s eyes left Westboard’s to look at Kahn, but the officer was focused on the man who’d been standing.

  “Sir?”

  “Is this I.D. for real?” Kahn demanded.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Kahn cursed.

  “What’s wrong?” Westboard asked, but Kahn shook his head.

  The two men and Westboard waited awkwardly while Kahn checked both names with the dispatcher. Silent moments passed until the dispatcher came back, announcing that both men were clear of any warrants.

  Kahn copied and turned to both men. “Both of you stay right here,” he ordered. “And keep your hands to yourselves.” He motioned to Westboard and the two officers stepped several yards away.

  “What’s going on?” Westboard asked.

  “The one guy is military,” Kahn whispered.

  “Which guy?” Westboard asked, though he knew. Craig worked for a law firm.

  “The suck-ee, not the suck-er,” Kahn said.

  Westboard cringed inwardly but didn’t reply.

  “You know what’ll happen to that guy if we pop him for the lewd,” Kahn continued.

  “They’ll kick him out,” Westboard answered.

  “Yeah, they will. They can say ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ all they want, but a misdemeanor arrest like this is public record. They will discharge him for sure.”

  “What do you care?” Westboard asked, surprised that he did.

  Kahn’s eyes narrowed. “Hey, I’m not all into fags or anything, but I was in the Army myself and I figure that if the guy can fire a rifle, that’s good enough for me. He shouldn’t get kicked out because of who he likes to fuck.”

  “I agree.”

  “’Sides,” Kahn said dismissively, “maybe he’s not that gay. It’s not like he was the one on his knees.”

  Westboard ignored his statement and asked, “What do you want to do, then?”

  “It’ll be a warning,” Kahn said. “I’ll handle it.”

  Westboard followed him back to the booth where both men stood, avoiding each other’s gaze.

  “How long have you been in the Air Force?” Kahn asked without preamble.

  The man swallowed and licked his lips. “Uh, six years. Almost seven. Sir,” he added.

  “Looking to make a career out of it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What would happen if I called your C.O. and told him about this?” Kahn asked.

  “I’d be in a lot of trouble, sir,” the man croaked.

  Kahn gave him a hard stare for a full minute while the airman sweated and his breath quickened. Westboard watched the exchange, but he could feel Craig’s eyes on him.

  Finally, Kahn held the I.D. out toward him. “My dad and granddad were both career military,” he said, “so I’m going to cut you a break.”

  “Th-thank you, sir,” the airman said, accepting his identification from Kahn’s hand.

  “But I don’t want to see back down here again,” Kahn told him firmly. “Not ever.”

  “You won’t, sir. I promise.”

  Kahn handed Craig his identification, too. “You
get a walk because he does,” he said. “But the same goes for you.”

  Craig nodded and accepted the I.D. “Thank you, officer.”

  Kahn gave him a curt nod. “Now, get out of here. Both of you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” The airman said, and made directly for the door. Craig gave Westboard one final look and followed him.

  When they were out of earshot, Kahn looked over Westboard. “That was about the most un-natural thing I think I’ve ever seen.”

  Westboard squirmed, then answered, “Not from what I heard about Gilliam’s bachelor party.”

  Kahn laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

  They checked the last few doors and found them all unoccupied.

  Once they returned to the lobby, Kahn strode purposefully up to counter. The clerk regarded him with a scowl.

  “You see those two guys who left about two minutes ago?” Kahn asked him.

  “I see everything,” the clerk answered coldly.

  “Apparently not,” Kahn said, “because those two were going at it in one of your booths.”

  “Who were they hurting?” the clerk asked.

  “Anyone who happened to open the door,” Kahn said.

  The clerk’s eyes narrowed. “You, in other words?”

  Kahn’s cheeks reddened and his nostrils flared. “Listen, you—”

  “Kahn!” Westboard said.

  The officer turned his head and snapped “What?”

  Westboard tapped his radio. “We got a call.”

  Kahn looked at him for a long moment, then nodded in understanding. “Okay, fine.” He turned back to clerk. “I could’ve written those two guys up for lewd conduct, you know. That’d get your license suspended.”

  “And I could’ve taken it to court,” the clerk said, “and made you testify about how you like to pull open doors to catch guys masturbating into dark rooms. Or better yet, how long you like to sit and flirt with Brandi while she flashes her tits at you.”

  “You little—”

  “Kahn!” Westboard repeated. “We’ve gotta go.”

  Kahn glared at the clerk for a few moments longer, then said, “You’re lucky I have to go.”