I didn’t know what to say.
I’ve been through this scene too many times. It always ends the same, with me alone. I didn’t want to lose Tori, but I can’t change what I am. I don’t know how to do anything else. Even if I stopped, the training would always be there, waiting, like a sleeping tiger.
I hadn’t intended to show off or frighten her. Just get the frustration out of my system. Show her she was safe, that I could protect her as well as any man.
“Would it help if I said I’m sorry?”
“No. You wouldn’t mean it and you still wouldn’t feel remorse. You’ve just spent the entire journey gloating over your triumph. That that man’s injury has opened up the possibility for you to solve the case and win a battle against injustice.”
“I wasn’t gloating! And what’s so wrong with wanting to solve the crime? It’s your injustice, Tori. A chance to…”
She sighed. “You’d feel just the same if it was some nameless, faceless client.”
“No, I wouldn’t. I’d have no personal stake in that.”
“Can you honestly tell me you don’t feel more strongly about exorcising your frustration than about how I feel?”
“Yes!”
She didn’t look convinced. I tried again.
“I’ve never experienced what you have – I can only imagine the pain and terror you went through. My sympathy with your feelings is more important than making myself feel better.” I took her hands and looked into her eyes, tried to communicate that to her by touch if she couldn’t see it in my face. “You’re important to me. More important than getting the culprit. More important than my inadequacy. More important than my frustration.”
“And if I asked you to stop, not to go after them?”
“Is that really want you want?”
“Just answer the question, Randall.”
“Two days ago you asked me if I’d kill them for you!”
“Would you stop?”
I hesitated too long, and she knew me too well. She let go of my hands and stepped away. “Justice means more to you than people, Randall. Getting the villain means more to you than to me. You’ve got the bit between your teeth. You won’t let go.”
“Why is that a problem?”
“You really don’t see it, do you?”
“No, I don’t. I don’t want to lose you. Help me understand, Tori.”
“I’m not sure you can. I’d like you to call me a cab. I’d like to go home now.”
“You can’t! Your flat is...”
“I’ll live with it.”
“It isn’t safe!”
“Neither are you!”
“Please don’t go.”
She looked at me sadly, then came forward and touched my face.
Over her shoulder I saw Cecily in the doorway enjoying our little drama. Then Tori was speaking. Her voice was quiet, her words soft. I almost missed them over the pounding of my heart and the voice screaming in my head, ‘You’re losing her.’
“That afternoon I spoke in anger, in fear, I was terrified, abused, I didn’t know what I was saying. When I asked you if you’d kill them for me I meant it. Then. I don’t mean it now. I want to put it behind me and forget. I don’t want everybody to know. I don’t want people pointing the finger saying, ‘There goes the rape victim.’ I want to be known for what I can do, what I am, not what somebody tried to make me. I don’t want to be the cause of more violence. I want to get on with living my life, forget about what happened, be a dancer, be happy, make lots of money and have you love me.”
“You still want me?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard right.
“Yes. I want you. I just don’t want to be part of your world. The violence scares me. I can’t stop you doing this. Just don’t make it your life’s work. I don’t want you to hunt down this deviant to the exclusion of everything else. I want a romantic relationship with you, not a client/bodyguard relationship.”
“Don’t you think you’re worth fighting for?”
“Not in the way you mean.”
Cecily chose that moment to interrupt. From where she was standing I suppose she couldn’t tell the crisis was over.
“Lovers’ spat?”
Tori’s expression switched from aroused to ugly. She lunged for the door. Whatever Cecily saw in her face made her back off so fast she slammed into the wall in her hurry to get inside. I grabbed my lover and swung her into a tight embrace.
“Whoa! What happened to not wanting to be a part of my world because the violence scares you? That’s quite a U-turn there, babe.”
“I…” She blushed furiously with embarrassment. “After what you told me last night I just… Oh, hell. This is how you feel, isn’t it?”
I didn’t need to say anything, and I wasn’t going to rub it in.
“You’ve got that ‘I want to fuck you senseless’ look on your face.”
“I have?” I asked, ingenuously.
She sighed. But she looked pleased. I kissed her, she tried to hold back for form’s sake, but eventually she had to return the kiss. I put my arms around her. Her hands slipped under my battered jacket and started stroking my ribs. I steered her towards the door.
“I suppose that means I won’t be going anywhere for a while.”
“God, I hope not,” I breathed into her ear.
5
“I always forget how hot you look in a tux. Until I see you in one again. Promise me you’ll leave it on when we get home? I’ve always wanted to fuck somebody wearing a tux.”
How the hell was I going to concentrate on the job if she kept saying things like this? I was going to have to start carrying spare underwear about too, if she didn’t keep her hands to herself when I was driving.
She gave a delightfully ribald laugh then left me alone to try and gather my scattered wits and get us to her club in one piece.
Lap dancing is a growth industry. Since Peter Stringfellow converted Stringfellow’s night-club in London into a lap dancing bar they’ve been springing up like wildfire.
After initial protests had died away, this place was fast to follow. In a town that gets much of its revenue from tourists, anything which will bring in more punters gets first priority for development. Sun, sea, sand and silly hats, a trip to the Tower, the Sea Life Centre to see the sharks, Madame Tussaud’s to see the waxworks, the Pleasure Beach to ride The Big One and doughnuts on the Prom with the kids by day. A nice meal in one of the restaurants in the evening and a walk through the Illuminations, if it’s the right time of year. Then while a sitter watches the kids, a couple of jars in the nearest watering hole and a boogie at a night-club. Then round off the night by slipping away from the dozing wife to a lap dancing club to watch pretty girls get their kits off. What more could anyone ask?
Not including the sole male lap dancing venue, there were, at last count, five clubs. All of them were former night-spots, some in the quieter South Shore area, one on the Promenade itself, and some right in the town centre. They range from places businessmen are not afraid to be seen to the downright seedy.
Tori’s place of business is unimaginatively called the Bird Of Paradise. One of the upmarket places, it can be found up a side street between a hairdresser and a furniture shop on the fringe of the town centre. It’s not a million miles away from our office – another bone of contention between Dean and me. He thinks such places lower the tone.
Because this is a lap dancing club, nobody under twenty-one gets through the door – they check ID – and usually only members, unless they know you, or the business you belong to. Though of course there are plenty of short term memberships available to the tourists, which was going to make my job harder. Everyone has to sign in, whether they’re members or not. The security protocols might sound stringent, but they have to think about the licence and protecting the girls. And it’s most definitely in that order.
The club entrance is a candy pink and white striped pavilion, covering a flight of external stairs and the double doors with t
heir attendant security and doorman, then a second flight of steps inside. These lead through more doors on to a raised catwalk of plush carpet, with ornamental wrought iron and sandblasted glass panels for a railing, like a 1920s cruise liner. Two bars, one to either branch of the arms, are adorned with topless bar staff and pretty girls draped in feathers and not much else. The balcony runs the entire length of the club.
Here and there are slim tables, just big enough for a couple of glasses and a bottle – which will cost you an arm and a leg. The walkway sweeps down two curving stairways that debouch on either side of a stage with a fireman’s pole as its central feature.
More tables, a little bigger, for groups and those not afraid of being seen in such a place, dot the open floor space of the mezzanine together with another bar. Two star-marked doorways underneath the stairs denote the private rooms where you can pay the girl of your choice to all but masturbate you to a climax, while you can’t lay a finger on her in return.
Two similar doors at the back of the room lead into the amenities. His and hers. The men’s toilet is usually full of punters and the women are only ever the staff.
Other penguin-suited bouncers circulated amongst the clientele and the girls as I escorted Tori into the club proper. A few of them nodded to Tori; me they looked up and down speculatively, wondering whether I was part of the Blackpool bouncers’ mafia: competition or an ally. I hoped it wasn’t going to degenerate into a pissing contest. The business with Spink had put enough of a crimp in my relationship with Tori, and I wasn’t anxious to add to my troubles.
Aside from that, we didn’t get many looks. Or rather Tori didn’t. She deliberately dresses down to enter and leave so she can do it without hassle.
I don’t know whether I got more looks from the clientele or the girls. Both of them were curious about a woman in drag. I could tell the men wondered whether I was part of the act, while the women were wondering what was under the suit and who was getting it. I hadn’t been back here since the first night I’d met Tori, I’d always waited outside to pick her up, so it was doubtful they’d remember me – I’m not the only woman who comes here to watch – or know I was dating one of their dancers.
I gave her a hand up on to the stage. She blew me a kiss before disappearing through the curtain. I shook my head, twitched my pants to realign the creases and rearrange my underwear, then went to report to the management.
“Spink says good things about you.”
I said nothing, just waited for the punch line.
“You don’t look big enough to do any real damage.”
“Did Leon tell you how he came to be in the hospital?”
My questioner looked uncomfortable. Good, Spink had told him. Now I wouldn’t be forced to prove myself by breaking someone else’s bones.
“I can do the job. If you think I won’t be impressive enough standing at the doors, fine. It’s bloody cold out there. I’ll be happier circulating seeing nobody does anything they shouldn’t to the ladies. They might be more inclined to listen to diplomacy from me than some of the neanderthals you employ.”
I knew some of the other staff and didn’t think much of them. They were brawlers. The whole point was not to get into a fight in the first place – something my employer obviously knew too. Relief fell across his face like a curtain.
“That would be good. I told the others you’d be coming. Most of them seemed to know your name. This is not your usual line of work. I was told you’re a bodyguard.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not working for anybody specific at the moment?”
“I can’t discuss that. Let’s just say there’ll be no conflict of interest. Once someone else fills this position I’ll go back to doing what I do best.”
“I can only pay you the going rate for a bouncer.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else.”
He looked relieved. “I suppose this will be a bit of breather for you, not having to dodge bullets and whatnot.”
I thought about my last two assignments and nodded. “Yes. It will.”
“Erm, yes, well, if you wouldn’t mind, circulate on the balcony level for an hour or so, then make your way down to the mezzanine. If one of the lads taps you and says, ‘Star 1’ they’ll want you in the left hand room. ‘Star 2’ is the right. Someone has to be there when the girls go for a private dance. Some of the gents think they’ll be able to get their hands on them then and need a bit of presence to persuade them otherwise. Will that be a problem for you?”
“No.”
“You sure? You’re a woman. I mean…”
I squashed my irritation. You wouldn’t believe the amount of times I’ve heard that line. It doesn’t pay to get angry. Just project competence and nip it in the bud right away.
“This is a job. My personal opinions and my politics don’t enter into it. Anything else?”
He looked at me for a moment, then decided to give me the benefit of the doubt. “If somebody yells, ‘Heads up’, that means all hands to the main doors. Sometimes a crowd of drunken blokes’ll try their luck and we don’t allow that.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“One of the girls calls, ‘Help,’ or the other bouncers, ‘Help here,’ that means they can’t handle the situation. If you’re nearby, you pile in, break up whatever’s going on.”
“OK. What about the police?”
“We are a legitimate business enterprise. No sex for money goes on in this establishment. From time to time, the law drops by, but they’re plain clothes and they don’t usually cause any trouble. Their Chief Super is a member. We don’t get raided when he’s in. And he’s in tonight. Front and centre on the mezzanine.”
Interesting. This was the kind of information that might be useful to Dean some day.
“One more thing. A couple of the lads have been approached by the girls to look the other way in the Star rooms so they can have full sex. It’s not to happen! They might try to bribe you, but stick to your guns. It’s my licence if this place gets a reputation as a knocking shop. If the girls are stupid enough to make arrangements outside of club hours with the punters, that’s their business. I’m not having them screwing the public on my premises. There is a bonus for anyone who reports it to me.”
“I understand.”
“On your way, then. It’s pay in the hand at the end of the night. Your tax affairs are your own lookout. And if you’re crap, you’re out.”
“I won’t be.”
The night began quietly enough. The bouncers and I sniffed one another like wary dogs staking out territory. Muzak gave way to the first dancer. More clients arrived, occupying balconies and tables, making a stroll along the catwalk an obstacle course negotiated with care and diplomacy. The feather-clad girls draped themselves around me and I draped them round something, or quite often someone, else. One of the bar staff got fresh with me, but I thought of Tori and wasn’t tempted. Much. The noise level rose. More clients arrived. Then I broke up my first fight.
I was about to descend to the mezzanine when two guys went for one another. The woman milking both of them leapt clear with a cry of “Help here!” I was closest.
I didn’t see who’d started the affray, but the glitter of what might have been a knife and a broken bottle made me wade in impartially. I grabbed each combatant by the back of the neck and smacked their heads into the table. Both went limp and stopped struggling. I continued to press their heads to the melamine.
“Are we finished, gentlemen, or do I have to ask you to leave?”
Affirmative grunts came from the faces being ground into their spilled drinks.
“Good.” I relieved them of the weapons they’d been about to make use of, then let them up. Bouncers converged from all sides. The cavalry. Too late.
“Fuck! Wasn’t that a bit much?” the first man on the scene grumbled.
“Yeah, you could have broken their noses and then…
I interrupted the second to hand over the flick kn
ife and smashed bottle the bravos had been about to fight with, and said sweetly, “I don’t know, gentlemen. Why don’t you decide?”
Halfway down the stairs a third man caught up with me.
“You went up against them barehanded, knowing they had weapons?”
“It was that or a bloodbath on the balcony. Which would your boss have preferred?”
“Didn’t you..? I mean, weren’t you worried that you might have been..?”
He really was very young. I stepped aside to allow a couple to pass me. He joined me against the banister.
“This is what we do. You’d be a fool if acting to stop a situation like that doesn’t scare you shitless. But you practise and you work until you know what to do. Then you do it. If the thought of being cut makes you freeze you should get out of the job. Now.”
“How do you learn? Will you teach me?”
I hadn’t a clue who he was, but he seemed in earnest. I let him follow me the rest of the way down the stairs, snagged a napkin from a table and requested a pen from one of the bar staff. I wrote out the address of my gym and gave it to him.
“If you’re serious, go in the morning and tell them I sent you. Tell them what you do for a living and why you want their help. Somebody will take care of you and show you what you need to know to get started. Other than that all you can do is watch and learn.”
“Thanks!” He was like a dog with two tails. “I really appreciate this!”
I let him bound around enthusiastically for a while then shooed him away so I could get back to work. I wondered if I was ever like that.
I’d arrived in time for Tori’s first number. If you’ve never seen what goes on in a lap dancing club, nothing can prepare you. Most people have watched Showgirls (good) or Striptease (not so good), or seen one of the handful of documentaries Channel 4 or Channel 5 have been brave enough to show. (Divas comes to mind.) So it won’t shock you when I tell you that Tori strutted out on to the horseshoe-shaped stage and very artistically took her clothes off to something slutty by The Artist Formerly Known As Prince, and slithered suggestively up and down the fireman’s pole.
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