TOUCHED BY BLOOD
BY
Craig M Buckhout
CHAPTER ONE
Misty, not her real name, real names in a place like this were hard to find, breezed through the door, which wasn’t a door at all, only a beach towel nailed at the corners where there used to be a door. She dropped her bag on a cheap plastic chair in front of a Formica countertop that ran the length of the room and inspected her face in the mirror.
She called herself Misty because no one else claimed it and because it seemed like an okay name for a dancer; her kind of dancer anyway. It was also a way to keep what she did there and other places separate from who she really was, though that line wasn’t so clear anymore.
Misty leaned in towards the mirror and lightly tapped the tip of an index finger over the dark pouches beneath both eyes before turning away in disgust. She then crossed the room where she worked the combination on a gray metal locker decaled with a yellow, saucer sized happy face. After two attempts, she finally got it open and swung the door with a bang.
Nona, who was seated at the far end of the counter, applying the final touches to her make-up, turned to look at the commotion. After a second or two, she turned back to the mirror and asked, “What’d he do this time?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Misty said, stepping out of her shorts.
“Sure you do. What happened?”
“I don’t even know why I stay with him.”
“Then why do you? …And if I remember right, he stays with you, not the other way around.”
“It’s not so easy to get rid of him, you know.”
“So what did he do, hit you again?”
“No, nothing like that. He stole a hundred bucks out of my purse.”
“Dump him,” Nona said.
“How? You know what he’s like. He’s using again, too. He gets crazy when he does that stuff.”
“You could stay with me until he cools off. I’ll make you a good deal with the rent. …But you won’t will you?”
Misty stripped off her top, bra, and panties and hung them in her locker. She stepped into her G-String, walked over to her bag and removed bottles of make-up, hairspray, and brushes which she arranged on the countertop.
After a few moments Misty asked, “Before this, did you ever think about doing something else?”
Nona lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and blew it out of the side of her mouth up toward the ceiling. “What do you mean?” she replied. “Before this, like in all this, the club and everything?”
“Yeah, you know, like maybe being a nurse or a teacher or getting married and having a bunch of kids and going to PTA meetings; I don’t know, anything, anything but this.”
“Um …no, not really; never gave it much thought I guess. Why?” Nona lifted her breasts up, leaned in against the counter’s edge, and used the mirror to poke at a pimple that was just starting to erupt on her chin.
“You got any of that lotion? I got a zit here. Can you believe it, a flippin zit?”
Misty reached to her left and grabbed a small bottle with a skin colored liquid in it, got up and walked across the room where she set it on the counter.
“I guess I just didn’t think it’d be like this,” Misty said. “I thought I’d do it for a few months, maybe a year, make my money, and go back to school. I was always good in school.”
Nona turned from the mirror, the cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth and said, “What are you complaining about? With tits like you got and all the extra jobs Carl’s been giving you, you should have plenty.” The cigarette bounced up and down with the words.
“That’s the problem. I should, but I don’t. It goes out as fast as it comes in.”
“That’s why you got to get rid of him. Frankie’s a leech I’m telling you. What do you need him for anyway? What do we need any of ‘em for?”
Nona tipped the bottle onto the end of one of her index fingers and dabbed at the spot on her chin. Misty picked up the bottle and made her way back to her chair, where she sat down.
“I’ll just have to think of a way to do it. It’s just that you never know what he’s gonna do. He gets mean.”
A new song started up out front prompting Misty to look up at the clock hanging on the wall over the doorway.
“Bout time to get out there, don’t you think?” Misty asked.
“Plenty of time,” Nona replied.
“I don’t want him coming back here to get you.”
“Carl don’t scare me none.”
“Yeah, well he scares me. They say he broke somebody’s nose last night, out back in the alley.”
Nona took another pull from her cigarette and waved her hand dismissively. “I can handle him.”
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than, “Nona! Get your ass out here!” It was Carl coming down the hall.
“Shit,” Nona whispered.
“I told you.”
Nona one eye squinted a final drag from the cigarette as she stood up, dropped the butt into a cold cup of coffee, and slipped into a black leather vest that she left unbuttoned.
Carl swept the towel aside and strode into the room. He was wearing all black; black tee shirt, black jeans, and black shit kickers with those long pointy toes capped in silver.
Carl was the head bouncer, book keeper, hirer and firer, and final word in all things of importance at the club. He was also one of the biggest, and surely the ugliest, and meanest man Misty had ever met. You didn’t dare cross him. In fact, it was Carl who convinced Frankie he shouldn’t ever put a mark on her again, following their last fight. He didn’t care if Frankie tuned-her-up some, that was none of his business, he just didn’t want any bruises. It was all a matter of protecting his investment.
“How many times I gotta tell you; I want you ready and waiting when it’s your time to dance,” Carl told her.
Nona moved past him, keeping as far out of his reach as possible, scurrying like a scolded child going to her room. “I know, I know, but I had a zit for chrissakes sake. I’m ready to go now. Plenty of time.”
“But you’re not out there waiting, like I said. And don’t fuckin’ stop and talk with anyone either. I swear I’m tired of telling you.” He stared after her until she was gone.
Once Nona had made her exit, Carl grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it over to where Misty was seated.
She watched him in the mirror with her hand poised, holding a mascara brush.
Carl spun his chair around and scooted it up close, before sitting down and resting his massive, tattooed arms on top of the backrest.
She hated it when he did this. Why’d he have to invade her space? But as much as she wanted to move away from him, she knew she couldn’t show her discomfort. He’d take advantage of it.
“We got somethin’ special for you tomorrow night, all night,” he said.
She wanted to scream. And what’s this we crap, she thought. We as if that meant some big deal organization or something. She knew his we; it was him and another guy. She’d even slept with the other we. He’s got a short memory. Probably not the only thing he’s got that’s short.
“Yeah, how special is special?” she asked, still looking at him in the mirror. “The last special job you sent me on, the guy wanted me to pee on him.”
“You got paid for it.”
An idea started to form in her head on how she could maybe get a little extra out of this thing. Maybe start putting some of it in a separate account that Frankie wouldn’t know anything about.
“Not paid enough, the freak. Besides, I’m scheduled to work tomorrow night or have you forgotten?”
“I already took you off.”
“Well if I’m not working tomorrow night, I want what I
would have made dancing added to my special fee.”
“There’ll be extra in it for you.”
“Yeah …like how much extra?” she said turning to him.
He pulled a joint from his pocket, straightened it out, put it between his lips, and lit it up before answering.
She knew he was stalling, thinking. He wasn’t one to answer the phone on the first ring.
“We’ll put another three hundred on the card, so after you pay for the room and any extras the client might want, you should have plenty when you add it to your usual.”
Misty turned back to the mirror and applied some mascara. Now it was her turn to stall. She wasn’t thinking, though. She was making him wait.
After a little bit she said, “I’d make more than that here. Throw in another hundred bucks and I’ll consider it.”
“You’ll consider it? You’ll consider shit, that’s what you’ll consider. I’ll give you an extra three-fifty and you’ll do it or find yourself job hunting tomorrow.”
He took a drag on the joint and held it in.
She knew he was just talking. She was his best draw at the club. Even though she was only trying to get another fifty out of him in the first place, she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook.
“This guy doesn’t want anything weird or anything does he?”
In a gravelly voice he said, “No, he’s just supposed to be some rich guy from the mid-west who’s looking for a good time while he’s in town. Everything is the same. You get there early, use the card to pay for the room, and then leave an extra key for me in an envelope at the front desk in case there’s trouble. After that, you call me between midnight and two to let me know you’re okay and again when you leave. No money talk while you’re with him. If he wants to give you a gift, that’s between you and him, but don’t ask for one, got it?”
She turned to face him again. “Yeah, I got it, just like I got it all the other times. And you’ll add another three-fifty on the card, which I get to keep in addition to my regular fee?”
“Yeah, but don’t go and expect that every time, you hear me?”
There was a noise and they both turned their heads towards the doorway.
Just inside the room stood a woman of about thirty with dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing flat black shoes, tan, mid-calf length cotton pants, and a light blue top.
“Who the fuck are you? Carl asked.
Misty grabbed a tee shirt off the back of her chair and pulled it over her head. As she did so, she said, “Ellen, you shouldn’t be here.”
Ellen ignored Carl and spoke to Misty. “You weren’t returning my phone calls so I decided to drop by.”
“You know this broad?” Carl asked Misty.
“I didn’t call you back because I didn’t want another lecture.”
Carl set the joint on the countertop and stood-up.
Ellen casually slipped her hand into her purse.
“I’m just trying to help you, Moll. You’re my sister, and I can’t stand seeing you in a place like this.” She then looked directly at Carl and said, “And by the look of things, you need all the help you can get.”
“I don’t need your help, not now anyway.”
Carl started for Ellen but stopped when he saw the pepper spray in her hand. She held it close to her leg with her thumb on the trigger but in a position where he’d be sure to see it.
“If you think that will stop me, you’re out of your fuckin’ mind,” Carl said.
“It might not keep you from getting to me, but you’ll regret it when you do.”
“Carl, she’s my sister,” Misty said. “Let me handle this. Ellen, you better go.”
Misty tugged at her tee shirt, pulling it down.
“I don’t care if she’s Mother …Mother …whatever, I want her out of here.”
“It’s Teresa, Einstein. Mother Teresa,” Ellen said.
“That doesn’t help Ellen. You’re just making it harder on me,” Misty responded.
“I just came by to talk. It’s swastika boy here who’s making it hard.”
“Look Ellen, I can’t talk now, anyway. I’m on in just a couple of minutes. Can’t we make it later, tomorrow maybe, or the next day?”
“If you’ll really do it.”
“I’ll get hold of you, I promise.”
“Okay, then I’ll take off, but you better keep your promise. The home number is the same but this is my new cell.”
Ellen set her business card on the end of the counter while keeping her eyes on Carl.
“All right, all right, I’ll call you, please, now just leave.”
“I miss you, Moll. I’ve got something to tell you.”
Ellen turned and left the room, but after she was sure Carl hadn’t followed her, turned back.
“What have you told her?” Carl demanded.
“Nothing, I swear.”
“So she doesn’t know anything about our side-deal?”
“I told you she doesn’t. As you can see, we don’t talk much.”
“You better be telling the truth. If you’re not, it isn’t just me you’ll have to worry about.”
“Carl, I know the rules, now leave me alone. I have to get ready.”
“Just see that you remember those rules, you hear me?”
Ellen had heard enough to be reasonably sure her sister wouldn’t get hurt, and also enough to be worried about what she’d gotten herself into. She turned and headed for the exit.
Carl walked out of the room and caught a glimpse of Ellen leaving.
“Son of a bitch.”
CHAPTER TWO
Nolan St. Claire reached a manicured finger above his head and pressed the button to request assistance just as the Gulfstream 200 began a gradual decent into the Jet Center at Mineta San Jose International Airport. He could have easily gotten what he wanted himself, but he wanted her to do it; after all, for all intents and purposes, he practically owned her. Hell, he owned the whole damn plane.
At the sound of the buzzer, Jody Coombs, the co-pilot, looked over at Stan Jacobs, who was actually flying the plane, and asked, “How about you this time? I’ll owe you one.”
“Sorry, I don’t like him any better than you do.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t play pat-a-cake with your ass like he does with mine, does he?”
“No, but I don’t want to give him the opportunity either.” A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
Jody took a deep breath and exhaled in resignation as she unfastened her harness and moved between the seats.
“Thanks a lot, pal,” she said.
St. Claire watched her approach without expression. He casually threw one leg over the other, plucked at some imaginary lint on his trousers, and briefly glanced at his handmade Ostrich-skin boots. He ordered them special from a small boot maker in Austin, Texas; eighteen hundred bucks a pair. He felt they added panache to the otherwise boring corporate image most of his contemporaries had. They also added another two inches to his height which helped with the women. He liked that the best.
He saw her duck through the doorway and into the cabin. As she did so, she put a hand over the front of her blouse when it fell away from her chest.
Habit or intentional, he wondered. No matter.
He recognized that under normal circumstances he wouldn’t give her a second thought. She was too boney and uptight for his tastes. He preferred, well, something a little fleshier and shall we say more grateful. But desperate circumstances and all of that; meaning when you’re on the road it isn’t always easy to get what you want. She’d be a nice little appetizer before the entrée tomorrow night. He felt a slight stirring between his legs.
“What is it you need, Mr. St. Claire?” As hard as she tried, she couldn’t hide her annoyance.
He handed her his glass. “Would you mind freshenin’ up my drink sweetheart? And help yourself to one if you want.”
Jody stared at him for a couple of beats then took his glass. �
��No, thank you. I could lose my license if I did, sir.”
“Well now, who would ever know? I certainly wouldn’t say anything. I can be very …very discrete when necessary.”
Jody didn’t miss his meaning. “I appreciate that, sir, but I take my job very …very seriously. Your safety is at stake.”
She turned around and took two steps to the on-board bar where she dropped three cubes of ice into his glass and added two fingers of Glenfiddich 40 year old scotch. The whole time she was doing this she felt his eyes glued to her ass. The nerves at the small of her back and the base of her neck fired-up like the launch of an Apollo Rocket.
He didn’t immediately move his hand to take the glass but instead made her stand there for a second or two holding it. When he finally accepted it, he said, “I also need you to call ahead and make sure my car is waiting for me. If it’s not, the number for the person responsible for it is on your list of contacts. It’s Templeton or something like that. Call him and tell him I expect it to be there when we land; no excuses.”
“We already have verification that the car is waiting, sir.”
“Perfect, that’s the way it should be. I’ll make sure I show my gratitude in a way he’ll appreciate. Now how about you Miss Coombs, can I offer you a ride somewhere? Do you have accommodations arranged? Perhaps I can be of help.”
He reached out and took hold of her hand, but she pulled it away.
It was all she could do to keep from slugging him. “Actually, it’s Mrs. Coombs, Mr. St. Claire, and I have both a ride and a place to stay. My husband should be arriving by commercial jet in about an hour and a half. We’re going to get a couple of rare days together while you’re busy at the conference.”
This was a lie. Her soon-to-be ex-husband was in New York and right about then was probably with his blond, slut of a girlfriend. Jody was very careful to keep her personal life out of the company intranet.
“Ah, I see. That’s fortunate now, isn’t it?”
With that, he picked-up the most recent copy of Forbes and began thumbing through it.
Jody stood there for a couple of seconds before turning back towards the cockpit. As she was leaving the cabin, St. Claire stated, without ever looking up from his magazine, “Make sure my luggage is loaded into the car when we land Mrs. Coombs. I wish to be on my way as quickly I can.”
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