Topless

by Relentless Aaron

  A food bar and café was situated at the far left. Five of the round stages were situated at the rear right, while two others were either at the front right or left. Also at the front right of the club, couches enclosed one stage and a back room where videos and specialty items were sold. Adjacent to that area, on the left, red velvet ropes enclosed the other stage and a series of tall and short cocktail tables and chairs.

  Second level entertainment would be available in three corner VIP areas. The fourth corner, in the rear, was reserved as the deejay booth. Finally, there was a kitchen, dressing rooms with showers, a lounge for staff, two offices, a storage room, a coat room, a box office, and a few restrooms. Dino certainly had his job cut out for him, and all of his years of hospital construction would now pay off for something more personal. Once all of the major construction was completed, Dino figured to spend the last week installing the various electronics, TV monitors, touch screens, sound system, special lighting, video surveillance, glass and mirrors, more palm trees and plants, pool tables and the telephone system. Dino woke up every day with a hunger to do more and to do his best. For him, this was the job of a lifetime, where he couldn’t wait to get to work.

  On the morning after the tragic explosion, Dino arrived to find the side street blocked off by police and roadblocks. First, he figured that the block was being checked for some kind of oil or gas leak. But closer investigation told him a horror-filled tale. The NYPD was there in force. The FBI agents were obvious in suits and ties. Outside of law enforcement, there was a tremendous black spot and black residue all over the street, the sidewalks, and the side of the building. Strewn about were bodies covered by white sheets. There were other areas with white chalk outlines that were illuminated brightly against the charred pavement. Across the street from the building were three overturned, blackened vehicles. Dino noticed that one was longer than the others, turned on its side. It looked like a bomb had exploded and left no survivors. Instantly concerned with what was happening inside, Dino raced into the entrance of the club. But it was business as usual. Contractors busy and on schedule.

  “I’ll tell you what, Hammer. The bodies on the street are burnt to a crisp. But the bodies that were in the car are merely blackened. I’ve seen the photos on the wall back at the office day after day and week after week. I can ID those three like I can ID my own children. Bruno drives his boss around in the limo. The boss was Fat Jimmy and with them . . . Anthony Bianco.”

  “You mean theee Anthony Bianco? The mob boss?”

  “Yup. And Bobby-boy ain’t gonna like this—I promise you. He’d rather win a trial . . . a conviction. Put his ass in jail like his father. But he won’t get points for this.”

  “What do you think happened, Walsh?” The two deliberated and tried to act authoritatively with all of the municipal cops watching every move. Meanwhile, inside Black Beauty, Dino was on the phone with Douglass giving him the full update.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Reaquaintance

  Friday, December 13th

  A luxury bus is about to reach its destination. In one of the windows reads a handmade sign: NEW YORK OR BUST.

  “Today’s gonna be filled with good luck. Can’t you see it now? Panties hanging everywhere. Bras off. Women walking around butt naked all day long.” Douglass looked at Debbie like her skin just melted off. He was never so amazed at her comical wit as he was with that statement. She sure knew how to liven up a moment.

  “Debbie, I know the business is about tits and ass, but let’s try and be diplomatic about it, shall we?” Douglass laughed at his own humorous try at “diplomacy” and made googly eyes at Mechelle and Valerie simultaneously. They were standing outside of a factory building in downtown New Rochelle. The property was a catch, discovered by Greg, advertised as a loft. When the group went to see it and saw how convenient it was for the housing for the dancers, they almost wanted to move in themselves. Finished wood floors. High ceilings. Walls were white-painted brick. Large picture windows. Beams and rafters and storage spaces that were indicative of city living; but all of this was located smack-dab in suburbia.

  “There they are.” All eyes were directed towards the high end of Webster Avenue, the block where the bus rumbled down and pulled up to a slow stop. Valerie stepped out to welcome the group; the first image the girls would see . . . and recognize. Douglass wanted that. He wanted the institution of his operation to be an all-women affair. Valerie welcomed the bus full of women to New Rochelle and indicated what their first day might be like. But the bottom line was confusion.

  “All weekend, Debbie, Mechelle and myself will be helping you all get settled. Things like beds, blankets, pillows and room assignments will be worked out. We’ll go over responsibilities, meal schedules, hygiene and laundry. Now, I know that you’re dying to get off of this bus, so please take your time, grab your things and let’s get busy.”

  For the next few days, all of the dancers got settled, and they began to buddy up and become familiar with each other’s names. Name tags were issued and required to be worn under the collarbone during orientation. A sort of probation period. The staff felt it was important for everyone to feel a sense of belonging and that it was more feasible when everyone addressed each other by name. Most everybody had unique names, like LaKeesha, Tamara, Joy, Blossom, DaShawn and Kareema. There was a set of Kellys and three Lisas. There was one other Valerie. Douglass teased his girl once by suggesting that he might get confused between the two. That was an opportunity for Valerie to push him into an unused storage space of the loft, and while he stood over her, she showed him why he would absolutely not mistake her for any other woman. Case closed.

  For the days to follow, a fitness instructor, a beautician, a nutritionist, and a cook made the dancers feel pampered. Some clever dance moves were taught, and they were warned about the unspoken rules of adult entertainment. Also, each employee was reminded of the policies, and of their agreement with Black Beauty. If they violated the rules—any of them—they would be terminated from the program. Dancers were also reminded that there were 60 other girls back in Chicago that would fill their shoes in a heartbeat. So the opportunity held its impact.

  Saturday, December 21st

  “Nice to have you back . . . in New York, at least.”

  “Thanks, Chief . . . gettin’ married, you know.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “A shapely, celebrity-type.”

  “Is that a fact? So you went all this time without a steady . . . without a wife, just to catch you a famous piece of ass? I could’ve given you a complimentary ticket to the Soul Train Awards and let you take a squad car down to Hunts Point for some head.”

  “No, Chief. She just happens to be in the spotlight, and well . . . I still like the part about the piece of ass and some head. I’m getting older, you know.”

  “And wiser, I see. Listen, I wouldn’t bother calling you, but . . . there was another incident on Boston Post Road.”

  “Oh really?”

  “I thought you might know about it, marrying a newscaster and all . . .”

  “How do you know about the newscaster?”

  “Uhm . . . well, a little birdie told me.”

  “Well, supersleuth, for your information, I stayed in South Beach for three weeks. She had to leave after a week. Continuity at the TV station is a big issue there. So I do not know the details.” Chief filled him in and Wade hung up, somewhat disturbed that he had let the case get on without him. According to the Chief, the FBI was leaving the case alone. The mob was literally massacred. Their Pretty Girl business was burned to the ground. But there was still the question of Moet’s murder. And apparently, that wasn’t important enough for them. It wasn’t embezzlement, or laundering or racketeering. She was just another body left dead in the Bronx. It wasn’t like it was D.C., or Boston.

  But the murder was important to Wade. Unfinished business, indeed. His commitment to Brenda liberated him. His 3 weeks in Florida eased his mind. And
with all this death and tragedy having come to his own backyard of the Bronx, he felt re-ignited and was eager to complete his mission. Being back in his apartment with that ole familiar scent of the single life (or was that the dogs?), Wade was hungry again. Something had been bothering him all this time. Somehow, some way, the killer knew Moet; or at least, he knew of Moet. Wade realized that the killer was a he and that he was a white man with dark hair. Or was it blond? One witness said dark, one said blond. No matter. That wasn’t as important as the “who” in the puzzle. Wade continued to stare at the composite from the police artist and also the one that Debbie described. He had all the prime players, dancers, staff, and lovers laid out on his bed. How was it that nobody else saw this guy, except for Ken and Debbie? Wade thought out the possibilities. Maybe the killer was a hired hit man. If that was the case, what was the motive and who would or who could pay for such a job? Was someone lying to Wade? Between Debbie and Ken, Ken was obviously able to afford that kind of service. But why would Ken do this . . . threaten his career. He had loads of money and fame.

  Wade had to look beyond that, however. He watched too much Columbo to let that I-have-money myth slide by without further scrutiny. Wade made a mental note. National gun registry. Ballistics. Wade returned to the videotapes; going through each one, from start to finish. It was less exciting this time, and more detail stood out, since Wade focused this time.

  Despite that focus, after two tapes, Wade fell asleep.

  Monday, December 30th

  Wade’s apartment was set up like a command post. No squad room. No phone calls. No Feds. No nothing. He did manage to get out once or twice. There was a date with his fiancé and a visit to Black Beauty. When he stopped by only days ago, the club was almost complete. They were moving some pool tables in and checking the sound system. Wade was following up on Douglass’s offer for head of security. But he didn’t know what he was truly getting into until he actually stood inside the place. It was huge and left very little to the imagination. He gave some pointers to Dino about the electronic surveillance and warned Douglass about the safety of the dancers once they left the club. But ultimately, he didn’t want to begin duty until after the new year. If nothing surfaced, at least he would have given it his best shot. As for now, he felt like he was racing the clock. Just two days until New Year’s Day, and he was reviewing videos. Having seen them all twice, he recalled that there was one other tape. One that was still lodged in the video camera when he visited Moet’s home a second time. When Wade realized that the tape would not fit in his tape player, he was forced to shoot over to the major electronics store to purchase an adapter that would enable him to see the video conventionally. He was anxious to return home to see the tape, and once he popped it in the player it was as if he was seated at a premiere—the way he felt when he saw any of Moet’s tapes for the first time. On his large screen, the tape began with total darkness and then some fuzz. It was at its end. He rewound it until images lit up the screen. He even had to tilt his head to get a level view. Apparently, the videocamera was laying on its side, running non-stop, and Moet didn’t know that it was recording. There was a man’s voice. Then two different female voices.

  “. . . So please keep him company till I come out of the shower.”

  “Sure. So what’s your name?”

  “Bobby.”

  “How do you know Moet?”

  “The club . . . and private parties.”

  “Oh . . . okay. That’s cool.”

  “You work at the club? I haven’t seen you.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You do parties, too?”

  “Yeah . . . but you’re Moet’s client so . . .”

  “I pay reeally good . . .”

  “Like how ‘reeally good?’ ”

  “Maybe four hundred for a party.”

  ” And you think that’s worth my time? You’re kiddin’.”

  “Okay . . . okay . . . eight hundred.”

  “Now you’re talkin’, big boy.” Wade could only see from the couch on down, and the voices were coming over hollow and tin-canned. Apparently (and Wade couldn’t see this either) the girl gave Bobby her number. “My name is right there. Don’t wear it out . . . and please put it away. Moet is not to know about this. Am I clear? Otherwise I’ll yell rape during the private party . . . So don’t fuck me—or I’ll surely fuck you. Got it?”

  “Oh yeah—okay.” Wade still had his head tilted and his poodles (who usually weren’t the slightest bit interested in what was showing on the boob tube) were begining to mimick him. Bones already had a cramp in his neck from watching with Wade for the past few moments.

  Wade wasn’t sure about the accent and had to call Brenda for help.

  “That’s Caribbean, silly. The girl’s probably from Barbados.”

  “Valerie.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind. Gotta go. Thanks, love. Bye.”

  Wade pushed the receiver and poked again at his residential phone. He needed to speak with Douglass directly.

  “Yo.”

  “Gil?”

  “No. Greg. He transferred the calls to me. He’s big-time now, you know. Who’s this?”

  “Wade. I need to talk to him. Do you know where he is?”

  “He’s probably getting fitted for a tux. You know the whole New Year’s Grand Opening.” Greg was at the club.

  “What about Valerie?” Wade ricocheted the follow-up question.

  “The girls are probably with him. He’s extremely busy with all . . .” Many voices were humming busily behind Greg.

  “Listen to me, Greg. I have reason to believe that Valerie, and maybe Gil are in danger. It may be a long shot but then again I may be right.”

  “I can try to reach him. The house. The loft. The car. I’ll try. But last I heard he was having a private thing. Ya know—he and his girls. He told me to look for him at the Grand Opening.” Wade thanked Greg and took a deep breath once he hung up the receiver. Damn, the party’s tomorrow and I don’t even have a tux. Wade thought fast and eventually dialed Brenda again.

  Douglass’s Words

  I was in Cos Cobb, heading back from a long night of fun at the Norwalk Motel in Connecticut. Our small family threw a mini-picnic on the floor in our room where we enjoyed watching Destiny crawl about. I, for one, was thrilled. But it was total glory to see Valerie and Debbie with as much pride in my child’s movements as Mechelle and I. I could have frozen that image in time; and it meant so much more than any business venture, celebrity associations, or even all the adventures we’ve had in bed. And, trust me, we had some crazywild times.

  But it was these moments that mattered the most. The promise that I see in my baby replaces everything. Destiny is the foundation of everything I’ve done. A living breathing reflection.

  And just to think, there was a question of whether Destiny was even mine or not. I still get the chills when I think about what Mechelle went through. The shit she told me about . . . North Carolina. Had me trippin’; like, I wanted to take my squad down there and find those redneck fools. In my dreams I kept telling myself, “In and out. That’s all we gotta do. Get in there . . . shoot shit up, and jet.”

  But I can’t lie. Shit is so nice nowadays with the money, the sex, and the new club . . . then, all of a sudden I got like forty other women I’m responsible for? Nah . . . I can’t fuck this up. I’ve come too far.

  As we glided down 1-95, back to New York to prepare for the big party, no more glory could be packed into my truck. It was party time. And on some ole whatever state of mind, we stopped over in Greenwich to do some last-minute shopping before I decided to open up communications once again with the outside world, resurfacing from my little seclusion in the next state over. The first person I called was Dino.

  Douglass

  “Wade called. He said something about you and Valerie being in great danger.” Dino was rushing the conversation.

  “So he’s on the job already, huh? Does that mean I’ll
see him tonight?” Douglass remembered Wade’s extended vacation.

  “He said he’ll be by with Brenda. He’s been calling all day today asking for you . . . concerned about security tonight . . . trying to work this problem out with the metal detector . . .” Dino had a phone in one hand, a Coke in the other.

  “Problem?” Douglass asked, lowering the music in the jeep.

  “Gil, the walk-through isn’t operating properly . . . the mercury that came with it—to maintain the balance and sensitivity—wasn’t in the box, or misplaced or something. We’re still here tryin’ to get it working now. Wade suggested a wand . . .”

  “No wands, Dino. I’ve got the world coming down tonight and I don’t want to be disrespectin’ people on our first night. I know you guys are gonna know the celebrities, but there’s so many more important people coming that you won’t know. But fuck it . . . everyone is important. Besides, this is invite only. So we should know . . . or we’re supposed to know everyone who’s coming.”

  “True.”

  “Who’s there now?”

  “Brent, Walter, David and Bruce . . . Greg’s college buddies, Demetrius is here with me, keepin’ things on lock; most of the dancers are here . . . I think there’s one more group of girls on the way over from the loft.”