A Voice from the Field

by Neal Griffin

  Kane knew that come eight o’clock or so, when the early crowd had long since gone home to the wife and kids, things would roughen up and it would be standing room only. By 9:00 P.M. a team of six bouncers would be on hand to maintain order. All three dance poles would be continually draped with a rotation of a half-dozen girls, each one with a body and the talent to pull in a thousand dollars a night. Waiting lines would form five deep for the private lounges that were really nothing more than walk-in closets with a couch and lava lamp. There lap dances would be performed at a price of fifty bucks a minute. Real action started at two hundred. Serious money … and Kane knew he needed every dime of it.

  It had been four days since his rather contentious meeting with Curtis Bell. Tomorrow Kane was expected to take delivery of one hundred fully automatic M4 Colt machine guns along with fifty thousand rounds of armor-piercing ammunition. Kane would turn around and sell the hardware piecemeal and gross about five hundred K. But it wouldn’t be easy to close the deal. Kane had come to realize Curtis Bell was not the sort of black-market arms dealer who would give a lot of second chances. Kane needed to move the deal along, all the while being particularly cautious in his dealings with Bell.

  Kane walked the crowd, estimating the night’s impending action. He worked his way past a table full of frat boys from Madison, chuckling to himself when he realized they were sitting next to a group of former frat boys who were now political staffers at the state capitol. Nearby, a dozen or so middle-aged men in cowboy hats and Western boots were starting to get a load on. A bouncer told Kane the men were part of a convention of Texas preachers, looking for private entertainment and ready to spend big. Kane slowed down long enough to let them know the VIP room and two dancers would be made available as long as there were at least ten men in attendance, and they averaged five hundred a head. The deal was struck, Kane stuck his fingers in his mouth and gave a loud whistle, catching the attention of Buster Cobb. He signaled Cobb over to take care of the details, then moved along.

  Kane figured he was looking at a twenty-thousand-dollar crowd. Not bad, but not good enough. He was going to need at least another fifteen thousand to be able to pay Bell the hundred thousand the dealer was expecting.

  Kane made his way to the corner table Jessup Tanner was sharing with Pepper Hill, one of the lead dancers in the Roadhouse’s stable. Hill had been with the club for six months. A natural blonde with an authentic forty-two-inch rack, she had proven herself to be a real asset. Even in the low light of the club, her complexion was a perfect milk white, and her honey-colored hair fell into alluring curves, just long enough to brush the swell of her breasts that lay round and natural against her chest. The girl was by no means fat, but she had a healthy, robust set of curves—none of that anorexic hip bone protrusion on this gal. Best of all, she was genuine and free of any artificial enhancements. A rare, old-school commodity in the striptease industry.

  Hill had come to the Roadhouse with solid credentials from an upscale gentleman’s club in Chicago. A top-shelf dancer in every respect, she had developed a love of the nose candy. At first it had just been about controlling her weight. Then the dope started to get hold of her, so the high-end club, not wanting to draw any more attention than cops naturally paid to strip joints, turned her out. Hill had been forced to take a step down the career ladder and wound up at the Roadhouse, where addicted dancers were not just tolerated, but encouraged.

  Kane looked to Tanner, who was supposed to be the man in charge of overall operations. Kane was well aware of Jessup’s infatuation with Pepper Hill. Jessup spent hours fawning over the girl during the day and never missed her dance sets at night. Even now, Jessup stared at the young woman, who was dressed in a sheer robe that left little to the imagination, with the lovesick look of a teenage boy. A few weeks back, Kane had caught Jessup providing Hill with free dope. Kane had set the man straight on that. Only he doled out the drugs—and the first rule in the life of a Roadhouse stripper was: nothing’s free.

  After several seconds of going unnoticed beside their table, Kane shouted to be heard over the music, “What the hell, boy? You think this club will run itself?”

  Tanner’s head jerked up. Kane made sure Tanner saw his anger; the smaller man immediately tried to lessen his offense. “Just getting ready for the crowd, boss. Pepper’s got a new routine. She’s going to perform it tonight. Ain’t that right, Pepper?”

  “Yeah, Gunther.” The stripper’s voice was coy but full of spunk. “You should come see.”

  Kane looked Hill over, figuring her to be twenty-one or twenty-two years old. Twenty-three tops. She had a few good earning years still ahead of her. Kane had her up to about a gram and a half of cocaine a day, which meant she was well and truly hooked, but the physical effects were negligible so far.

  Kane didn’t have a problem with Hill’s love of dope. It was her personal no-touch policy that he found irritating. He was pretty sure she wasn’t even putting out for Tanner. Kane didn’t care what Tanner might or might not be getting out of Hill, but that sort of uppity behavior with a customer really limited the earning potential of any dancer, even a hot number like her. If she was ever going to earn him top dollar she needed to loosen things up. Kane knew when a customer paid upward of five hundred dollars for a private show it came with the expectation that the house rules would be lifted. Although he’d grown to admire Hill’s moxie, Kane had already decided that the time had come to train that shit out of her.

  “Good. I got just the audience for you.” Kane took hold of Hill’s elbow and pulled the woman out of the booth. “Get on back to the VIP room. Tell Buster you’ll be one of the dancers for the private show.”

  Pepper’s eyes turned to Tanner. “I don’t do private shows. I’m a stage dancer.”

  “Yeah, Gunther.” Tanner’s voice held a tremor. “I’ll find another girl for that crowd.”

  “You forgetting something, Pepper?” Kane towered over her. “You’re into me for two grand.”

  She said nothing and Gunther let his gaze drift to take in all of her there was to see. He reached out and squeezed one breast. Her body went tense and he bent down, putting his mouth next to her ear.

  “You wanna pay me back another way? Just you and me?”

  The stripper shook her head but knew better than to pull away. Gunther dropped his hand, letting it glide along her down-covered belly. He tilted his head to catch Tanner’s jealous gaze and winked at the other man, still talking low in Hill’s ear. “Then you get on back to the VIP room and you make those Texas preachers praise the Lord for their good fortune. You hear me?”

  The young woman pulled her robe tight, wrapped her arms around her body, then double-timed it to the door that led to the VIP room. Tanner stared after her. His forlorn expression made Kane’s blood boil. He smacked Tanner across the back of the head with an open hand. The other man looked up at his superior, terror in his eyes.

  “You got anything to say?”

  His voice shook. “No, boss.”

  “Good. I’m in no mood to put up with some schoolboy bullshit. We’re running a business, not a dating service. Now, you got some numbers for me?”

  Tanner knew the drill and started right in. “The joint’s been off the hook the past three nights. We’ve been pushing the girls hard on the extracurriculars, just like you said. We did almost forty-five K.”

  “What about activities outside the club?”

  “We’ve still just got the one dog in the pound for now, but we worked her hard. We hit three camps between here and Chippewa County. The wets really turned out. And of course it’s growing season, so there’s no shortage of the horny little bastards.

  “In three nights, we did forty-five hundred. But I gotta say, boss, the product is about wore out. Maybe good for one or two more rotations. After that, we’re going to need to head out west and re-up.”

  “That’s it? Not even fifty grand? With what we already had on hand and tonight’s take, we’re still gonna be almost t
welve grand short.”

  Tanner pushed back. “I got nothing to work with. We can only go to the well so many times. But we’re good. I talked to my contact in California. New load just came in. We can get two for five grand apiece. One of ’em, he says, can’t be a day over sixteen. Don’t speak a word of English. Meek as hell.”

  “We ain’t got time for that. We need the cash now.”

  Kane found himself wondering about every word that came out of Tanner’s mouth. Getting left behind in the parking lot had been a turning point in their relationship. After Kane’s enlightening road trip, he and Jessup had finally had their long overdue chat. And that had brought everything into focus for Kane. He realized he couldn’t trust Jessup Tanner to do anything other than look out for himself. The little bastard would kiss whatever ass kept him out of jail.

  Kane smiled as a thought struck him. Maybe it was time for Tanner to step up. Let him take the risk for a change. Make sure he stayed invested. Kane nodded toward the door that led back to the dressing room. “Might be time we have one of the girls step up. Earn some top dollar.”

  Nodding, Tanner flipped through the pages of his notepad. “Who you got in mind? Rachel’s into us for almost five grand of product. I can run her down to Chicago. Set it up. She can pull in that much if we put her out there for twenty-four hours of high-end work. I figure if we threaten to cut her off, she’ll be willing to step up.”

  “Nah, she can’t bring in that kind of money anymore. We need somebody who can score big. And I’m thinking more along the lines of an auction. Forty-eight hours. No restrictions.”

  Tanner flipped through a few more pages, then looked up. “All right, boss. Make the call.”

  “I’m thinking Pepper. After the private gig, let’s reach out to the high-dollar audience. Let ’em know we have a onetime offer. Special deal, winner takes all. That’ll bring in some high-end money.”

  “Auction Pepper?” Tanner’s voice was hollow; his eyes were black pits in his pale face.

  “Yeah. Tonight. Work it right and that oughta bring in a good portion of what we need to close the deal with Bell.”

  “Yeah, but boss, she—”

  Kane cut him off, “Yeah but nothing. We need to score big and score quick. Guys will pay top dollar to spend a couple of nights with a gal like that. Whatever you can’t cover with Pepper, we’ll turn that little brown bush-hoppin’ bitch out for one more circuit.”

  Tanner shook his head. “Pepper ain’t gonna go for anything like that, boss.”

  “Course she ain’t going to go for it. You still gotta do it.” Kane stared hard at the man.

  “I don’t like it, boss. I’ll get one of the bouncers to step up.”

  “You’ll do what I tell you, Jessup. That’s what you’ll do.” Kane closed in. “Or maybe you and I need to have another talk. Take another look at the nature of our relationship. Is that what we need to do?”

  “No, boss. That ain’t necessary.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Kane laughed. “In six months we’ll have her working for a Happy Meal at Mickey Ds. Hell, maybe she’ll even give you a little taste by then, right?”

  “She ain’t like that. Pepper is—”

  “Pepper is part of the Roadhouse stable, Jessup. And that’s all the hell she is. Time we introduce her to the reality of the life. Now, are you in or not?”

  It took Tanner several seconds to answer, and when he spoke it was through a clenched jaw. His voice was flat and he gave a mock salute. “I’m on it, boss.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Kane grinned, enjoying his power over Tanner. “Like I said, set it up for tonight. Go upscale. Be sure to get a security deposit. I don’t want to be getting her back all beat to shit or marked up.”

  “Yeah, boss,” Tanner said. He lowered his head, staring at his notepad.

  Kane cuffed the man across the face. “I ain’t feeling you, boy.”

  Tanner looked up. “I’ll get you the money, boss.”

  “That’s more like it, boy.” Kane turned to walk away. “Set it up tonight. Get back here when it’s done.”

  TWENTY

  Tia pulled the GTO into the lot of the sheriff’s substation and eyed two men leaning against a pickup truck, both dressed in jeans and flannel shirts. One sported a full beard; the other looked like he’d gone a week or so without a shave. Badges hung from around their necks and each carried a forty cal in a pancake holster. She pulled up close and parked, knowing both cops were giving her the same once-over. She pushed back on the sense of fear mixed with a bit of guilt. Uncertainty came over her and she thought back on her conversation with Connor. What am I doing here? I don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Tia reminded herself she was trying to save a life. She got out of the car, doing her best impression of a cop who fit in.

  “You Suarez?” the bearded one called out.

  “Yeah. Looking for Detective Lonnie Jacobs.”

  “That’s me,” he answered, and nodded to the man next to him. “My partner, Grady Phelps.”

  Tia moved in and shook their offered hands. “This it? The three of us?”

  “Yeah, ’fraid so. Our overtime budget sucks. Tonight we’ll just try to get the lay of the place. Maybe see who the players are. Shot callers and such.” Jacobs looked at his partner, then back at Tia. “Understand you’ve already had a run-in with two of them? Kane and Tanner.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Case went to shit on you?”

  “No.” Tia shook her head and held the man’s eye. “Case was solid. DA dumped it.”

  “That happens,” he said, nodding.

  Tia didn’t want to dwell on it. “So what’s the plan then?”

  “Well, being that it’s a strip club, we figured you could go U/C again.”

  Tia was wondering if she’d heard him right and trying to come up with a response when Phelps gave Jacobs a shove.

  “Shut up, Lonnie. Damn, man.” Phelps looked to Tia. “Sorry. His shit is weak like that a lot. Thinks he’s a real comedian.”

  Jacobs laughed, giving Tia a look that bordered on a leer. Tia ignored him and turned to Phelps. “I figured you guys would go inside. I can take the long eye outside. Watch the comings and goings.”

  “Yeah. That’ll work,” Jacobs said, drawing her attention. She detected a little chill in his tone—likely he was offended that his joke hadn’t gone over. “Probably the further back the better. If they burn you, we’ll be next.”

  “Or,” Tia said, “if you guys get torched, they’ll come looking for me?”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Jacobs said. “Just stay put in the parking lot.”

  “What’s your cell, Tia?” Phelps pulled out his phone. “We can stay in touch by text.”

  The three of them traded numbers quickly.

  “How come the DA dumped your case on Kane?” Jacobs asked, returning to his earlier topic.

  Tia shrugged as if the whole thing were no big deal. “You’d have to ask her.”

  “I’d rather hear it from you,” Jacobs said, clearly unwilling to give up.

  An uncomfortable silence hung until Tia broke it. “Graham said the assault was bad because I didn’t ID myself as a cop. As far as the kidnapping charge, nobody saw the girl but me.”

  Phelps looked down, kicking his toe in the dirt. Jacobs nodded and looked thoughtful. “You get that a lot? DAs dumping your cases if you don’t have a corroborating witness?”

  Tia bit her lower lip and shook her head. “Not really. In fact, never.”

  Jacobs wasn’t going to let it go. “You mean never until the last few months, right?”

  “You got a real question, Jacobs, or you just going to keep up this gay-ass gentle bantering shit?”

  Jacobs stood up straight. His brows lowered, his eyes narrowed, and he seemed ready to probe deeper until Phelps jumped in, saying, “Let’s get moving. We’ll go in separately. Tia, why don’t you wait till it gets dark, then set up in a corner of the lot. Sound good?”
>
  Tia stared at Jacobs but answered his partner’s question. “That’s fine by me.”

  Phelps reached into the pocket of his jeans and tossed Tia a set of keys. “Take the Chevy truck. You don’t need to be burning your own gas on this. Nice goat, by the way.”

  Tia decided Phelps was all right and Jacobs could go jerk himself off for all she cared. “Thanks. It’s a ’64. My dad and I restored it ourselves. All original.”

  Phelps nodded. “Sweet.”

  Clearly unhappy with the casual conversation, Jacobs turned on his heel. He spoke as he walked away. “All right. We’ll head out. Be in the lot after dark. If we get into any shit inside, don’t worry. We’ll call uniformed deputies for backup.”

  Shaking his head, Phelps took a deep breath, then followed his partner toward their four-wheel drives. He offered Tia a fist bump as he passed. “Ignore him, Tia. He’s a prick. I’ll try to text every half hour or so, give you an update.”

  After the deputies pulled out, Tia went to her car and grabbed her go bag from the backseat. As she ran her hand across the vinyl tuck-and-roll upholstery, a memory swept over her, suddenly vivid and clear. She and her dad pulling up in front of the house in Eau Claire.

  They had driven almost two hundred miles, after reading an ad offering interior seats for a ’64 GTO. When they met with the owner, Tia, who was about fifteen at the time, served as her dad’s translator. They’d negotiated the man down to $175.00 for the mint-condition black vinyl seats. After carefully loading the bounty into the back of their battered pickup truck, they celebrated with root beer floats at the A&W drive-thru. She had dozens of similar memories covering their hunt for engine parts, light fixtures, and dashboard knobs. As she remembered the major score of the convertible roof assembly she gently caressed the fabric surface, feeling the ribs of metal underneath.