by Laurel Dewey
After ten minutes, she sat back in the seat exhausted. Where once there was fullness, there now was an empty hole. Everything she thought she knew, now she wasn’t so certain. The rawness engulfed Jane, causing her to doubt herself. As she sat in her car, she felt suspended over her body, like an observer with no memory of who she was staring down on. The scab had been ripped off the flesh and underneath was the tender, exposed pulp yet to take shape and transform. To stay in this intangible suspension was impossible. But it seemed difficult to render her body back inside the shell. Just as another wave of fear began, Jane sensed that peripatetic aroma of gardenias. This time, it was strong and nearly overpowering. A gentle, comforting warmth embraced her. But there was also a sense of being pushed to rise up from the pit of despair—a blend of love mixed with firmness. Jane held her hand out toward the passenger seat as tears welled in her eyes again. The aroma nearly choked her and her hand burned with a seeming connection to another world. Was it the one she loved from so long ago who took his life? Or another? There were too many dead souls to choose from and who might want to haunt her now. She couldn’t help remembering the sentient words that Jake wrote: The dead are following me. At that heart-pounding moment, Jane knew that the dead were closing in on her as well.
As much as she wanted to fall into the void, something bade her to turn to the left. Within seconds, a black SUV sped down the highway, heading out of town. It belonged to only one person—Bailey Van Gorden. There was that sense within Jane that his destination was tainted. The shield of gardenias evaporated and she was back into her body once again and gunning the Mustang onto the highway. Bailey never saw her vehicle so he wouldn’t know it was Jane tailing him as long as she kept sufficient distance. Once she was in cell phone range, she dialed Weyler and told him that she was heading up toward Highway 7 to search for the elusive “Imperial” address she found in Jake’s locker. Fortunately, he didn’t argue and even wished her luck.
It was easy to keep both a bead on Bailey and stay far behind him once they emerged onto a wider section of the highway where other cars helped protect the blue Mustang from view. As Hank told her, the landscape on Highway 7 was fairly remote, dotted with a few campgrounds, vacation cabins, ranch houses and a lone Catholic chapel, built on a rocky outcropping, all separated by several miles. Mount Meeker rose up in front of Jane as she clocked nearly thirty-miles. About half a mile up, she saw Bailey turn left, along with two other cars. She followed him another five miles until he entered a small mountain town the size of a breadbox. There wasn’t any name for the town; no welcome sign at the entry point. It appeared that the economic downturn had certainly hit this place hard and fast. Buildings were boarded up and two of the three gas stations were abandoned. The only thriving businesses Jane noted were a video/convenience store, a handful of fast-food drive-thrus and a small market. She continued to carefully follow Bailey down the town’s only street, wondering where in the hell he was headed. At this rate, it would soon only be the two of them on the road and then she’d be easy to spot.
But once Bailey turned right and drove half a block, any concern that they were alone was quashed. On the right side of the road, surrounded only by a large parking lot and miles of grassland, was a strip club called The Cat House Lounge. It was 4:00 pm and the Saturday night crowd was converging with gusto at this isolated islet of lascivious satisfaction. Jane drove past Bailey’s black SUV and parked the Mustang in the far opposite corner of the jam-packed lot. Not knowing what she might encounter inside, she opted to keep the Glock in her shoulder holster, hiding the gun by buttoning her jacket around it. From the looks of the crowd heading inside, she was probably going to be the only woman in the place who wasn’t buck-naked.
The Cat House Lounge was one of those seedy joints that spared no expense on stage lighting but kept the audience pretty much in the dark. It lent a lewd sense of privacy that most men sought from joints like this. They could sit in the shadows in a public place and still be anonymous to the guy seated two feet away in the darkness. Just in case the men forgot where they were, the sleazy club had a red neon sign in script that glowed The Cat House Lounge behind the stage. Appropriately, the last three letters in House had blown out turning it into the The Cat Ho Lounge. Jane doubted any of the men in the large audience observed the obvious irony of the neon faux pas since they were far too busy staring at the three girls prancing through the glittering silver curtains at the back of the stage and taking their place at their respective pole.
Overhead, the speakers blasted Aerosmith’s potent tune, “The Other Side,” heavy with so much bass that Jane wondered if her inner ear was going to split. Two of the girls on stage gave new meaning to “rode hard and put away wet.” But the third girl stood out to Jane. She was a vibrant dancer with shoulderlength blond hair, porcelain flesh and breasts that were still young enough to be the personification of “perky.” While the other two strippers performed their routine in a trance-like stupor, this young wild child worked the room, posing, primping and teasing the men with astonishing ease. She owned her corner of the stage. When she stripped down to only her bra and thong and crawled along the perimeter of the stage like a hungry cat, men nervously slipped dollar bills into what material was left on her body. She made each and every one of them feel as if they were her favorite and the poor, lonely men believed her. Using the music to her advantage, she waited for the most climactic moment before stripping off her bra, unhooking her thong and working the pole upside down with only her four-inch Lycra heels to keep her attached. The other two strippers didn’t seem to care or notice that this kid owned the show and was getting the bulk of the tips as well as a few business cards tossed in for good measure. Jane had to hand it to the girl. She may have been young, but she was already corrupted and savvy to the disparity between the erotic dancer and the male voyeur. On some level, she knew how much sexual power she had up there. No matter what sordid life lay behind her, no matter who abused and abandoned her, when she danced on that stage and stood nude in the flashing stage lights, she was in charge and the helpless men were just cash beacons to fire up and manipulate. And the girl took advantage of every lonesome, desperate heart because deep down, she despised men. With every dollar they tucked into the buckle of her shoe, the hatred within her grew but the men would never believe that. To them, she was the animalistic ideal of sexual perfection. To her, they were the epitome of all the people who had molested her and left her with no choice but to dance naked in a desolate, dodgy, roadhouse club.
Jane shifted her focus to the crowd of men. Between the cigarette smoke and darkness, it was almost impossible to make out faces. Jane moved to a column and masked herself partially behind it. She peered closer at the row of booths against the far wall of the club. Bingo! There was Bailey seated across from a man and engrossed in conversation. There were no drinks on the table and they didn’t seem to give a damn about the nude dancers cavorting on stage. From what Jane could make out, the other guy was about late-thirties, conservatively dressed and clean-shaven. His posture showed a certain amount of apprehension, as if he were carefully sizing up Bailey’s words.
The music finally faded as the dancers swept up their tips and left the stage. Bailey and the man never once glanced away. From Jane’s point of view, Bailey’s body language was vastly different than when she talked to him. There was tension in his face but he seemed more accessible. This couldn’t be one of Bailey’s clients; his own YouTube video seemed to infer that he dealt in only a high-end milieu and The Cat Ho Lounge was shooting way below the curb. Jane knew that the only reason someone set up a meeting at a remote strip club was to convene in a brassy public place where the nature of your business was possibly suspect.
Jane squinted to get a better view of Bailey. She wished she could move closer, but there was no way she could do that without standing out. Bailey reached into his chest shirt pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. He slid it across the table toward the man as he momentarily took
a clandestine glance to the side. It was a gesture of guilt to Jane, but as guilty as he may have been, his body language demonstrated a willingness to continue with the deal. The other guy picked up what Jane thought was a piece of paper, looked at it and then slid it into his pocket with the same furtive approach Bailey used. “Drugs?” Jane whispered to herself. Was this a goddamn drug deal? A million possibilities blew through Jane’s head. Was the paper blotter acid that Bailey was selling to the guy? Or was the paper a card with directions to a drop point? Meth was certainly a feasible drug probability as it had literally sucked in both ends of the financial spectrum. Was that the reason for Bailey’s stuffed up nose and flushed face? If he was a meth user, Jane figured he was new to the game because he certainly didn’t have the haggard and ravaged physique of a meth freak. Furthermore, meth addicts weren’t into working out the way Bailey obviously was. So, what in the hell was Bailey trying to sell him?
Just as that thought crossed her mind, she watched Bailey shift his weight to his left hip and remove something from his back pocket with his right hand. The other man watched Bailey with stone-cold eyes. Bailey took another cautious look around the immediate area and carefully slid an envelope toward the man. The man pulled the envelope off the table and let it drop into his lap. Jane could barely make out his movements but it was clear that the guy was counting a wad of cash. Jane noted discernable tension in Bailey’s body and almost a sense of vulnerability that she’d never seen before from him. “Shit,” she muttered to herself. Was he conducting his own private ransom deal for Jake? Fucking idiot. Was he trying to be a hero or was he trying to cover up something deeper out of fear? Jane considered her options. She could wait until they walked out and then follow them outside where she would hold them at gunpoint until she phoned for backup. But not knowing what kind of possibly complex back end deal Bailey had made, that approach could backfire and put Jake’s safety in jeopardy. Following the guy with the cash was the only solution she could come up with at that confusing point.
Jane leaned against the column, her heart racing hard. She was satisfied that she was well-hidden in the darkness until she felt two perky breasts press into her back, followed by hot breath against her ear.
“What’s your pleasure?”
A porcelain hand reached around in an attempt to grab Jane’s right breast. Jane reached up and touched the girl’s hand before she made contact.
“Playing hard to get, huh?” the girl whispered in Jane’s other ear.
Jane slowly turned to find the blond dancer with the bewitching eyes standing inches from her face. The girl was barely covered in a creamy satin robe that was loosely tied at her waist. Her nipples punctuated the satin, obviously excited about a possible conquest. Jane was trapped against the column and momentarily speechless as the girl licked her fat, cherry red lips.
“What brings you here?” the girl asked, her youthful tenor bleeding through her attempt at adult sensuality.
Jane attempted a calm response. “Curiosity.”
The girl smiled. “You know what curiosity did to the cat, don’t you?” Jane wondered how many times the girl used that old saw. “My name’s Candy.” She tilted her head in a coquettish pose. “Candy is dandy…and so am I!”
Jane regained her cop demeanor. “Let me guess. Your last name’s Cane?”
Candy stepped back. “Wow! Are you psychic?”
“No. It’s a common street name. I used it myself years ago when I went undercover as a hooker.”
First there was a look of confusion. That melted into fear and transformed quickly into anger. “You’re a cop?”
Jane quickly pulled Candy away from the column and toward the front door. “Keep your goddamn voice down!”
“I didn’t think you were a cop,” Candy said, shaking off Jane’s grip. “I thought you were gay!”
“Gay?”
“Yeah! You know…” Candy motioned toward Jane’s torso.
Jane looked down at her clothes. “The jacket?”
“No. The jacket’s cool. It’s the shirt. It’s kinda manly.”
“Fuck,” Jane muttered. This roadhouse stripper was the third person in two days to intimate that she was doing the lesbian limbo. She walked back to the protective column and checked the status between Bailey and his unknown acquaintance. They were still engrossed in conversation. Just as Jane took a step to move a little closer, Candy crossed in front of her.
“Is that your husband?”
“No! Get outta the way.”
The girl was used to getting what she wanted and forced a pout before ambling behind Jane. “I just wondered. Since, ya know, he’s been here a few times before.”
Jane turned to Candy. “The guy in the white shirt?” Candy nodded. “Like, how many times?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her well-honed manipulation fully engaged again.
“Hey, Candy. It’s illegal for girls under the age of eighteen to dance in strip clubs. I can make one fucking call and have this Ho Lounge shut down…all because of you.” The kid’s eyes got as big as saucers. “And that’s not going to look good on the ol’ resume when you try to score a job in another classy club like this. I think they call that being blackballed.” Jane turned around, keeping her gaze on Bailey.
“Please don’t call anybody.” The bravado was gone and sheer desperation took its place. “I can’t go home and this is the only way I can make big bucks.”
“Yeah? What are you saving up for?” Jane asked, never taking her eyes off the two men.
“Bigger tits.”
“Jesus Christ, why?”
“The bigger the tit, the bigger the tip.”
Jane let out a weary sigh. “So this is your life’s ambition?”
Candy looked down at the carpet. “Well, no. My mom would die if she found out what I was doing. But I can’t go back home.”
Jane wasn’t about to ask her the reason. She knew it probably had to do with either her mother’s boyfriend or a stepfather who had stolen her innocence years before and forced her on the run. “So, you’re gonna answer my questions, right?”
“Right.”
“The guy with the white shirt?” Jane nodded toward Bailey. “You’re sure you’ve seen him in here before?”
“Yeah. He kinda stands out, you know?”
“How many times and when did he start coming in?”
Candy clearly struggled with the question. “I’m not really good at time…”
“Yeah, that’s one of the first signs that the drugs are starting to fuck up your brain.” Jane gave her a warning eye.
“I know. I know.” Candy tried to piece her memory together. “Um, I’d say he’s been here like two or three times. Maybe more.”
Jane turned and focused on Candy. “For how long?”
“A week? Two weeks?”
“How long have you worked here, Candy?”
“Two weeks…I think. Time kinda warps for me.”
Jane shook her head. What a waste. The kid was beautiful, had a great body and was a terrific dancer. With the right education and training, the legit world would be her oyster. But instead, she was already brain addled. “What about the other guy? You seen him before?”
“I’m not sure. I just remember the guy with the white shirt’cause I walked over to his table once and asked if he wanted a private dance and he said, ‘Fuck off, cunt!’ So, I took that as a No.”
Bailey was earning more daggers in Jane’s little black book of bad karma. “That’s all you can give me? By chance, you didn’t hear the name Jake when they were talking?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…” Candy stared at the floor, frustrated.
“It’s okay, kid.” Jane patted her on the shoulder and turned back to the men. The booth was empty. “Shit! Did you see where they went?”
“No. Maybe they went out the back door…”
Jane sprung toward the front door and headed toward where she saw Bailey’s SUV. It was gone. She peered into the d
istance, attempting to see his vehicle, but the setting sun forced a hard glare that prevented any clear view. “Fuck!” she screamed. Jane paced for about a minute, debating her next move. She went back inside the strip club and spotted Candy by the bar. The kid was just about to down a shot of whiskey when Jane placed her hand over the shot glass. “You’re too young to drink.”
“You also think I’m too young to strip.” Candy moved Jane’s hand off the glass and downed the shot like a hard core pro.
Jane wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulder and directed her to a more private area of the club. “Look, if I give you my business card with my cell phone number, will you promise to call me the minute you see that guy with the white shirt back in here?” Jane handed Candy her card.
The kid took it but lacked enthusiasm for the job. Jane opened her wallet. “Would a hundie make you remember to call me?” She folded a hundred-dollar bill in Candy’s eager hand.
Her eyes lit up. This was the only exchange she understood. “You betcha!”
Jane pulled another hundred out of her wallet. “Here. Buy yourself a sweater.”
Candy took the money and, for a moment, the kid who she really was under all the makeup, shone forth. “Wow. Thanks. I will… and I’ll call you.”
The sun set fast over the high mountains, draping Highway 7 in soft shadows. Jane sped down the road back to Midas, another day wasted in the pursuit of the elusive truth. She halfwondered what she’d do if she spotted Bailey’s black SUV on the road, but the closer she got to Midas, the more she realized that he’d either turned off another road or drove in the opposite direction. Jane surmised that it fit Bailey’s arrogant demeanor to take matters into his own hands and work some sort of deal behind the backs of law enforcement. But why? Had the people involved in Jake’s disappearance scared him so deeply that he chose to keep the cops out of it? He wouldn’t be the first parent to play that card. The problem with that scenario was that it usually ended up badly—the kidnappers got their cash and the kid ended up dead.
