Dust in the Heart

by Ralph Dennis

  A fleshy man with a scraggly red beard was behind the counter just inside the entrance. He wore a new black leather jacket without a club insignia. He was counting bills into a cashbox when Wilt reached the counter. He didn’t look up. “That’ll be three dollars door fee,” he said.

  Wilt dislodged a few drops of rain from his cap by slapping it against his leg. He didn’t offer the three dollars.

  “I said that’d be three dollars …” Irritation clouded the big man’s voice. But he broke off when he looked up and saw Wilt. “Oh, it’s you, Sheriff. Walk on in.”

  “Even if it’s not business, Kyle?”

  “Especially if it’s not business.”

  Wilt nodded. He circled the bar and moved past it. The outer room had three pool tables. A couple of players at the nearest table looked at him, at the yellow slicker, and went on with their game. At the middle table a sallow, balding man in blue coveralls stepped away from a shot he’d lined up and racked his stick. He tossed a crumpled five on the table and said, “I’m running late.”

  Wilt watched the man leave. He didn’t know the man and he didn’t fit any of the descriptions of men who were on the wanted list. It was more likely the man was afraid he’d be pulled with booze on his breath and wanted a head start. The new state laws on drinking and driving were scaring a lot of people.

  At the counter, Kyle shook his head. “You’re ruining my business.”

  Wilt stepped back to the counter. “There are a lot of ways to ruin a man’s business. That was one of the easy ones.”

  “A brag,” Kyle said.

  “A fact.” Wilt held Kyle’s eyes until Kyle lowered his head and began counting again. “Not ready to go the whole way, Kyle?”

  Head still lowered, Kyle said, “I’ll let you know when, Sheriff.”

  Time. In time.

  Wilt turned and moved to the doorway that led to main part of the club. He stopped here and unsnapped the slicker. The dancers weren’t on yet. But it wouldn’t be long. Wilt could see the head and shoulders of the man in the sound booth, the one who announced the dancers and played the tapes. He was hunched over with a cigarette pasted to his bottom lip and smoke curling upward into his eyes.

  The stage faced the doorway where Wilt stood. It was roughly thirty feet wide and somewhere between fifteen and twenty feet deep. There were narrow walkways from the wings on each side of the stage. Four thick posts supported a canopy where the colored lights were concealed.

  The main seating was in tiers, small tables on the levels down the center and booths on both sides. Nearer the stage, at the edges on all sides, there were bar stools and a narrow bar counter where the customers there could place their drinks.

  Even early, several of the tables and booths were taken. And what seemed to be college students had taken some of the bar stool close to the stage.

  Wilt settled on a table near the center halfway toward the stage. It was cool enough so he decided to keep his slicker on. The uniform might run some more of the customers away. He placed his cap in the chair beside him and waited for one of the waitresses to take his order.

  The waitress approached him from behind. Her recital was by rote. “The show starts in ten minutes. What’ll you have ?”

  He looked over his shoulder at her. Her face was down, eyes intent on a stack of guest checks. “How about a bourbon on ice, Erlene?”

  The waitress circled the table and stared at him. “Wilton … it’s you?”

  They’d been in high school together. He’d been in the 12th grade and she’d been in the 9th. He’d been the big man on the high school campus, basketball and baseball and she’d been timid and shy, with the look that said she had a crush on him.

  He hadn’t seen her since high school and to tell the truth he hadn’t even thought about her. No, that wasn’t true. Four or five months ago, he’d heard that Erlene’s husband had done a backwoods buck and wing and left town, leaving Erlene with two kids, on welfare and food stamps.

  “I didn’t know you worked here.” It wasn’t a good thought, her working for the bikers. Not with all the crap that was usually a part of the job. But as he looked her up and down, he decided that it wouldn’t be as hard on her as it would be with some girls. Faded the way she was, age and the weariness on her, it wasn’t likely she’d be hassled for more than a cut of her tips. That was much better than the way it was if the girl was young and the bikers thought the girl’s flesh had some commercial value.

  “I started last week,” Erlene said. A sad shake of her shoulders. “A girl’s got to eat, Wilton.”

  “There’s no problem if they treat you alright.”

  Her voice was low. “They haven’t been bad to me or anything.”

  Wilt motioned her closer. “You tell me if it gets rough. And just to be on the safe side, let it be known you’re a good old friend to the Sheriff.”

  “Thanks, Wilton.” She started to move away. “You’re not here on business tonight, are you?”

  “If it was business, I wouldn’t want that drink,” he said. “If I ever get it.”

  “Sure, Wilton. Sorry.” She gave him a trembling smile and rushed away.

  Wilt waited a count of five and looked over his shoulder. It was as he’d expected. Two bikers had Erlene cornered in the doorway. One blocked the entrance to the bar. The other one caught her arm. The one holding Erlene’s arm asked something. Erlene answered and shook her head. The biker released her arm. The other one stepped out of her way. Erlene scooted past them and into the bar.

  The bikers stood shoulder-to-shoulder and stared at Wilt. He met their eyes and, before it became a contest, he turned away. It wasn’t worth it. Cheap rooster cock games and those didn’t prove anything.

  When Erlene brought his drink, she leaned over him and said, “Kyle wants you to know it’s Black Jack Daniels and it’s on the house.”

  “Thank Kyle for me.” He dropped a couple of ones on her tray. “And thank you too.”

  “Aw, Wilt, you don’t have to do that.”

  “A girl’s got to eat,” he said.

  She backed away and scamped to the next table. Wilt had a swallow. It was Daniels but he couldn’t tell for sure that it was Black Jack. Another swallow and he left the table and headed for the bank of phones beside the Men’s Room. He dialed the Sheriff’s Station. Joe Croft answered at the switchboard.

  “I’m at the Blue Lagoon.”

  “I had a feeling. It was a look you had.”

  “You’re too smart to be just a chief deputy.”

  “I know,” Joe said.

  “Hey, don’t agree with me so fast.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “You need me, you call the bar. Kyle knows I’m here. I’ll check in before I head home.”

  “Enjoy yourself. It’s a slow night. I called in Frank Boyle and put him to checking all the gas stations that are still open. He called in a few minutes ago. Nothing so far.”

  “Call me if you need me.”

  “That Blue Lagoon. I got to make a run there with you one night.”

  “I’ll send you in undercover one night,” Wilt said.

  “Make the plans,” Joe said.

  Wilt was on his second drink when the house lights dimmed and the colored ones came up hot and bright. The M. C., the one in the sound both, wasted no time with the introduction. “Ladies and gentleman, the Blue Lagoon wants you to welcome Tanya.”

  A leggy blonde in cowboy boots, a ten-gallon hat, a vest and a skirt made to look like fringed buckskin pranced in from the wings to the right and started a dance that was half shuffle and half walk. At the end of the first number, timed to fit it, she tossed away the vest and stepped out of the skirt. Her breasts were long and pear-like. The bikini bottom was narrow at the crotch. It was pulled high so the buttocks were almost bare. There was a hand-shaped bruise powdered over on her right cheek.

  Erlene passed Wilt’s table on the tier below him. He motioned toward her. Erlene stopped. “Another one, Wilton?” />
  “Is Diane working tonight?”

  “Miss Mills? I don’t think she’s dancing tonight.” A turn and she looked at the doorway near the corner of the room, to the left of the stage, “I think she’s in her office.”

  “Where?”

  Erlene pointed. “Where that man’s sitting.”

  There was a man seated there on high-backed bar stool. He was young and thick-shouldered with the neck of a weight lifter. Thick arms were crossed over his chest. His eyes roved the crowd. Each sweep ended with a lengthy stare at the dancer. His eyes were those of a snake watching a bird.

  Wilt tucked his cap under his arm and picked up his drink. He headed toward the door and the young man who guarded it. He was four steps away from the door when the man edged forward on his stool seat.

  “Nothing for you over here.”

  Wilt stopped. “You wanna bet?”

  The young man tipped his head. “The pisser’s over there or you can leave the same way you came in.”

  “Miss Mills,” Wilt said.

  “She can’t see you.”

  Wilt stepped around him. He grabbed the doorknob. “She’ll see me.”

  The young man looked him up and down. He looked at the uniform pants that showed below the slicker and the cap crushed under Wilt’s arm. “You law?”

  “County,” Wilt said. He pulled the front of the slicker aside so that the badge and the uniform jacket showed. “You going to stop me?”

  The young man hesitated. “Kyle know you’re here?”

  “He knows I’m in the club. That’s all.”

  “I guess you can go on up.” The man settled back onto the bar stool.

  Wilt opened the door and found a narrow staircase leading up one flight. He started his climb. No matter how bad the pain was, he didn’t let the left leg drag.

  The man behind him cleared his throat. “And … knock.”

  “I always do,” Wilt said. “That’s to show I’ve got manners.”

  The man put out a huge hand and slammed the door shut between them. Wilt grinned to himself and grabbed the bannister to support his hip. Climbing steps wasn’t his favorite kind of exercise.

  He was sweating when he reached the landing. The door was straight ahead. He stopped and wiped his forehead with his hand. While he waited for his breath to even, he looked around. There was a hall and an entrance way to his right. A flimsy bead curtain hung there. Any shift of air set the glass beads to clattering.

  Wilt walked to the curtain and used a hand to peel a section away and create an opening. There wasn’t much to see. Only another hallway and closed doors facing each other.

  Wilt released the curtain so the beads didn’t clatter. He returned and stood facing the closed office door while he took a few deep breaths. A taste of the Daniels and he thought he was ready.

  He knocked. After a few seconds he heard footsteps.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Wilt.”

  “Who?”

  “The Sheriff.” That tore it. She didn’t even know his name. “I was just passing by.”

  The lock rasped. The door opened a few inches and then spread wide. Diane stepped back and released the doorknob. “Just passing by and you couldn’t find a phone anywhere?”

  “Don’t use your spurs on me.” He brushed past her and stopped in the center of the room. “It’s been a rotten day.” A subtle perfume he couldn’t identify brushed at him.

  It was a wallboard office. There was no attempt at decoration. No paintings, no prints. Even the paint job on the wallboard was the bare minimum, a single coat that hadn’t done much to disguise the texture of the walls. The furniture was from any of a dozen discount stores. There was a pine desk, a captain’s chair behind it and a leatherette-covered lounge chair to one side. “Who’s your decorator?”

  “Army surplus,” she said. She turned and closed the door with a firm push.

  “My decorator too,” he said. He realized he hadn’t really looked at her yet. It was time. He put his weight on his good leg, his right, and swung around to face her.

  Diane Mills was tall, about five-six or seven. Dressed, she looked thinner and more fragile than she really was. Undressed, there was that beautiful body with the colors on it as surely as any biker ever wore colors on his jacket. He saw it each time he watched her dance. The tattoo of an open road heading into the horizon that began high on her right shoulder and flowed downward and covered the top half of her breast. Maybe that meant she was a biker mama or had been. At least that was what he’d heard.

  He guessed her age at thirty and he didn’t think he was off one year on either side of the line. It was the special kind of beauty that caught him. The beauty, he’d heard one fellow Marine officer say, that was a woman at her full ripeness, the high arc that lasted a few years before she had to fight off the years.

  Tonight, she wore designer jeans and a white soft wool sweater. She seemed shorter and he realized she was in stockinged feet. Her boots were lined up in front of the desk.

  She’d been smiling. But as his appraisal lengthened the smile vanished and a thoughtful look replaced it. “The way you’re looking at me … did you think I was dancing tonight?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt my feelings any if you stopped dancing altogether.”

  The smile returned. “And give up show business?”

  “So that’s what it is.”

  She circled the desk and stood in front of the chair. It was, he decided, a move to put space and a solid object between them. “I understand Erlene is an old friend.”

  “We go back to high school.” He tossed his cap on her desk. When she didn’t sit, he moved to the lounge chair and eased into it. “Word travels fast out here.”

  “Kyle called me.”

  “Let’s see how the plot went. Erlene finds out I’m not here on business. She tells the two bikers who put the question to her in the doorway. The bikers pass the word to Kyle. Kyle calls you because if I’m not here on business then I must be here to see you. Am I close?”

  “Me?” She laughed and batted her eyelashes at him. “You came to visit little me? I’m not immodest enough to believe that.”

  “Kyle probably believes it.”

  Diane shrugged.

  “The truth is you do interest me.”

  “No, I bother you. You don’t know what I am yet. You don’t know how to classify me.”

  The conversation had drifted in a direction he didn’t like. He took a deep breath and a jolt of the Daniels in preparation for getting to his feet. “And when I decide?”

  “One of two things happen. You make a grab for me or you bust the club because you’ve decided I’m a hooker.”

  “Only two choices?” He used the edge of the desk to pull himself to his feet. “I thought there was at least one other possibility.” He hesitated and got his balance. “It must be great to have all the answers.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “You went to college … where?”

  “Coker … that’s in South Carolina. A girl’s school that teaches a young woman to be a proper lady.”

  “I never heard of it.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Her hair, when she was under the gels on stage, appeared to have a copper glint to it. In normal light, it seemed softer, blonde with a mild red tint to it. Her eyes were the pale green of a watermelon rind.

  “Take some time off. Let’s have a drink or a coffee somewhere.”

  It was the third time he’d asked her. The other two times had been nights she’d danced. Now, for a long moment, he thought she’d refuse again.

  “Why not?” A dip of her head. “It’s a slow night.” She circled the desk and put on her boots.

  Wilt looked around and found a dark tan trenchcoat on a wall peg near the door. He held the coat while she slipped her arms into the sleeves. He followed her outside and waited while she locked the door. When she turned for the stair, he stopped her with a touch of his hand.

  “What’s do
wn there?”

  “The brothel.” She moved away from his hand. “Isn’t that what you think?”

  “Just so nobody lives there. It’s against Beverage Control laws for anyone to live on the premises where alcohol is sold.”

  “Is that right?”

  “That’s the law,” he said.

  “But it’s alright for me to have dressing rooms where the dancers change into costume.”

  “Sure.”

  The young man stepped down from the bar stool and gave Diane a questioning look. “Everything alright, Miss Mills?”

  “No problem, Marky.” A wave of her hand toward him and she led Wilt through the audience. She stopped at the entrance way and ran her eyes over the audience, as if doing a rough count of the customers.

  The dancer on the stage had long black hair and a body out of a Rubens painting. Diane looked at Wilt and then down at the stage. “That’s Rachel. She’s new.”

  “But old from somewhere.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  At the bar, he stood back a distance while Diane had a whispered conversation with Kyle. Kyle, his eyes on Wilt the whole time, nodded a time or two. The eyes were in shadow and Wilt couldn’t read much into that stare.

  It was still raining when they stepped outside. A shiver ran the length of her when the first gust of wind struck her. She leaned back against him. “You sure we have to go out for this drink?”

  “Don’t be a baby.” He opened passenger door of his cruiser and waited while she seated herself. Before he could step back and close the door she said. “Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know why I pointed Rachel out to you?”

  “If it’s important, you’ll tell me.”

  “She available. Kyle could send her to you. It would be a freebie.”

  “How about you? Would Kyle send …?”

  “Nobody sends me anywhere. Ever. But Rachel ….”

  “No pimping.” He closed the door.

  During the drive she leaned back, her legs tucked under her. Her arms hugged her chest. Her eyes were barely open. He could see a bright gleam from her slitted eyes. Involved in her, concerned for her, he wasn’t even sure where he was going. His mind wasn’t on a drink or where they would have it. Driving by reflex, this way and that, until he was sure he was lost. Then he reached a dirt road and he wasn’t lost anymore. Smiling to himself, he continued on the road until it dead-ended.