by Cassia Leo
I’m happy she can’t see my grin when she sits behind me. The ease with which she finds the footrests tells me that this isn’t her first ride. When her arms wrap around my waist, my engine isn’t the only thing that roars to life. I regret the thickness of the leather jacket separating us. At each turn, I enjoy feeling her breasts pressing into my back. Down, boy, down.
The neons are no longer flashing when we arrive at the club, but the front door is still open. She removes the windbreaker and folds it perfectly before giving it back. She thanks me without making eye contact.
The main room is strangely silent and almost dark, except for a few nightspots over the bar. As my eyes adjust, I see Sally in her jeans and T-shirt, sleeping on one of the red velvety couches in the back. Her head rests on Slider’s lap. In the few seconds it takes for him to notice our presence and freeze, I notice the way he looks at Sally as he caresses the side of her face. The man has it bad.
He lifts her head and slides a cushion under her head to make her comfortable as he gets up. She moans softly in her sleep, and I can see that the sound gets to him. When he turns around, he’s wearing his bad-ass biker frown, and I wonder for a second if I didn’t imagine the soft and tender expression he had while looking at Sally.
So much for my idea of trying to date her at the end of this mission.
Slider greets Jeanne-Michelle with a nod. She nods back and follows him without a word. The three of us walk up the stairs, and Slider opens the door to his office. Toussaint is sleeping like a baby. Fuck! I hate the fact that when we wake him up, we’re going to tear his childhood apart. As of today, his life will never be the same. Ten is much too young to lose a parent. I know because that was about Lisa’s age when our father died in a car accident. Our mother was safe at home with us when it happened, but the accident crushed her as well. I hope Jeanne-Michelle will be able to do better with Toussaint than I did with Lisa.
She kneels by the sofa, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. She’s about to touch his forehead to wake him when she turns and gives us a look that is clearly an invitation to give her some space. Slider and I step out of the room, but I don’t walk far from the door.
“How is she?” Slider asks, keeping his voice low. I shake my head, and he sighs and says, “What a mess.”
When I look back into Slider’s office, Toussaint is sitting up and holding his aunt. They’re both crying, and I have to blink a few times to chase away the extra wetness in my eyes. Toussaint looks toward the door and sees me. He pulls an old-fashioned handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes his tears. He softly says something to his aunt, and Jeanne-Michelle breaks the hug to look at him. He has a determined expression, and under my very eyes, the little boy tries to turn into a small man as he uses his hankie to erase her tears.
I think Jeanne-Michelle sees the transformation too, because she’s bursting with pride. She holds his face and kisses his forehead. She gets back on her feet and folds the blanket while Toussaint puts on his shoes. When she’s done, she puts the blanket on the sofa and lays the pillow on top of it before turning to us.
“Your sister’s car is in the parking lot,” Slider says. “The keys are in Josette’s handbag, which is on the bar.”
“Thank you. I’ll need to drive Toussaint home to change before school,” she says. “After school, I’ll take him to the hospital.”
The doubts I have about that being the right thing to do must be clear because she glares at me, daring me to question her decision.
“He needs to understand what drugs do to a person,” she says softly to me. Not softly enough.
“I already know that,” Toussaint whispers. “But I really want to hug her again.” Toussaint walks to me.
I hug him, my eyes very wet. “I’m going to miss you, buddy.”
“I will miss you too, David,” he says. “Mimi’s good in math, but she doesn’t make it as fun as you do.”
I chuckle. “You can always call me here if you need me.”
When I let him go, I see a new softness in Jeanne-Michelle’s eyes. I like the fact that she’s beginning to understand that I’m not one of the bad guys. I realize it’s absurd, since I’ll probably never see her again, but I’m happy she no longer seems to hate me.
She picks up Toussaint’s backpack and walks down the stairs, holding the young boy’s hand. Slider and I walk with them to the bar where she picks up her sister’s handbag.
As they leave, Slider says, “You know the door is always open, Mimi. Anytime you want to come back, we’ll be glad to have you.”
Mimi? That’s kinda cute. Without turning around, she makes a gesture with her hands that I understand to mean something like “when pigs will fly.”
“She’s a dancer too?” I ask.
Slider looks at me. “You have no idea what sexy is until you’ve seen her strip.”
“But she’s so innocent looking,” I protest.
He laughs. “That’s the spice of it. Every single time, it looks as if she’s doing it for the first time. The johns love it. They go absolutely crazy with the tips even though she doesn’t do lap dances or private dates.”
“Oh, I see.” I try to imagine Mimi stripping, and I chase away the image of her doing it in a room full of other guys. That thought is much too unpleasant. Does Slider feel the same way when Sally strips? “What’s with you and Sally?”
Slider looks away and indirectly answers my question. “Crap, I was going to lock up with her still in the room. Why don’t you go? I’ll wake her up and send her home.”
“You sure?” I tease. “I could take her off your hands.”
“No messing around with the talent,” he growls and walks back in.
“Says who?” I taunt because I’m feeling evil. I can’t have Sally because Slider’s got dibs, and I’ve just watched a damn fine woman walk away with no intention of ever coming back.
Slider flips me a bird, and it’s my turn to laugh.
***
CHAPTER SEVEN
“The bitch ain’t gonna cut it,” Slider mutters to no one in particular.
The crowd is totally ignoring the new girl on stage. She’s got okay moves, shaking her voluminous breasts and her lovely ass, but it’s not enough to capture their attention. Obviously there’s more to being a stripper than having a luscious body and swinging around a pole in lascivious fashion.
When she’s done with her exhibition and reached the bar, Slider says, “Kitten, I’m going to give you one week to get your act together. If you don’t do better than this by the end of the week, you’re gone no matter who recommended you.”
Kitten turns around and goes back on the stage with a frown.
Slider’s been trying a different girl every other night since we lost Josette, but no one works. He’s been unable to replace our black panther or our missing blonde, so on weeknights, the place is running with just Kim, Suzy, and Sally. We have a few more on weekend. It’s a good thing Slider can get loans from other clubs.
Turning to me he says, “We need Mimi real bad.”
“We do?” The woman’s been haunting my dreams for two weeks. I sure want to see her again, but here wouldn’t be my first choice. Not that I’d mind watching her undress slowly, but I would rather she do it for me in private, not in front of a bunch of rowdy men.
“I’m surprised she’s not back already,” he says. “She can’t be making enough with her French tutoring and her bartending to support herself and the kid while going to college. That’s why she caved and came back to work for me the last time Josette was in the hospital.”
“I went to see her last week,” I say.
Slider looks away from the dancer onstage and silently asks for more information by raising his eyebrows at me.
“Josette, not Mimi,” I say.
He seems disappointed. “How is she?”
“Scary!” It’s the best word I can come up with. “She’s wasting away. She was thin before, but now, she’s just skin and bones. She loo
ks grey. I hope Toussaint never sees her like that.”
Slider turns back to the stage and mumbles, “That’s the problem with children. They get to you.”
So that’s what his issue is—some kid stole his heart. I’ve heard about couples like that, where the guy sticks around long after he stops caring for the woman simply because he’s fallen in love with being a father to her kid.
The new girl walks off the stage as one shy person applauds. Oh well, at least she’s got one fan. I join in and clap because I’m a sucker for the underdog, and I’m a bit cynical too. I appreciate that her number is so lame I’ll never have to worry about clients getting too crazy.
“Wanna come with me?” Slider asks.
I have no clue what he’s talking about, so I ask, “Where to?”
“Pay Mimi a visit. Toussaint likes you, and you could have a chat with him while I try to talk Mimi into coming back, at least until we find a replacement.”
I was about to ask if he has her address, but for once, I keep my stupid question to myself. He obviously does. “Sure, just let me know when.”
“Saturday, eleven. She’s been hired at the restaurant in the new tower in town.”
“You mean the Central Hotel?”
He nods.
“And the kid’s gonna be there?” I ask.
“Yeah, Toussaint comes and has lunch with her on Saturdays, then he hangs out on the beach waiting for her.”
“How do you know all that?”
“Sally’s seen her on campus, and I’ve had one of the prospects for the Category Five Knights following her for a week.” I frown, and he says, “It’s not as creepy as you think. I’m making sure she’s safe.”
I shake my head in appreciation of Slider’s forethought. He’s right. Now that Mimi has Toussaint with her, Josette’s dealers could confuse the sisters and come shake Mimi up for whatever her twin owes.
Slider hangs out by the bar to watch Sally do her cowgirl number. She ties and unties herself to the pole with a lasso, and she ends up wearing very little more than a Stetson and her boots. Her number is cute and sexy. I’ve got to hand it to her—she’s got imagination! From the corner of my eye, I observe the way Slider’s hands roll into fists when one of the clients pats Sally’s butt after sliding a bill in her G-string. He’s got it really bad for her. I get that he won’t do anything about it because his life is complicated enough. He’s totally invested in a long-term undercover operation, which isn’t the right place to be to start a meaningful relationship. Too bad, because Sally’s a sweet girl.
Slider goes back to his office and leaves me to man the floor. The rest of the night drags on with less than my usual share of drunks. It sort of makes up for the crazy nights and the bachelor parties that are thrown here periodically.
A couple of the Knights’ full-patched members arrive and hang out at the bar next to me. They’re regulars, and they never give me a hard time. As always, Dmitry, the sergeant-at-arms, tries to talk me into joining the club. The Russian giant doesn’t need to sell me on the brotherhood aspect though—Ernest and Brian convinced me of the beauty of that ages ago. But Dmitry’s trying really hard. He says they even agreed that I wouldn’t have to go through the prospect phase. Are they that badly in need of new members?
I’m running out of excuses to explain why I won’t apply. I can’t very tell him that I’m a police officer and that if I was ever going to join a MC, I would pick the Iron Tornadoes.
Dmitry would actually be a good fit for the Tornadoes. He’s about as vicious as Brian’s father. The Russian tries to compensate for his lack of hair by sporting a beard that makes him look about as mean as he really is. I observed him once in a fist fight that he’d had the courtesy to take outside, and he’d scared the shit out of me. Possibly because his favorite weapon was the folded blade.
But no matter how much sense it would make, merging the two clubs isn’t about to happen. First because the Iron Tornadoes don’t discriminate—their members belong to all races. Second because the two MCs have some bad blood. I don’t know the origin of it, and I guess most of the members don’t either, but if a Knight ever fell in love with an Iron Tornado, we would have a Floridian version of Romeo and Juliet. We could even complicate it a bit by having a Knight fall for one of the daughters of a Latino member… then he’d be in trouble with the Tornadoes and also with his own crew for stepping on forbidden grounds.
***
CHAPTER EIGHT
At ten to eleven, Slider parks his ride next to mine in front of the Central Hotel. This place is the first high-rise ever built in Point Lookout. It’s a gigantic eyesore in the midst of lovely single-family homes. The houses west of the building are in almost constant shade, but no one’s complaining too loudly because the hotel has created a shitload of new jobs for the town.
The hotel started operating at half capacity at the end of May, and already the local bakery has had to hire two new people to keep up with the demand. In season, the bakery and all the other suppliers are likely to have to hire even more people. It’s worth a few extra hours of shade for a dozen families.
As we step in the place, I can’t help seeing the huge posters announcing the official grand opening party on June 15. It’ll be a huge barbecue on the beach with live music and a DJ who must be famous, given the size of the letters used to write his name. I follow Slider along a very long bar to a door marked “Staff Only.” He pushes the door open and enters as if he owns the place.
At a large table, a dozen people eat lunch almost silently. One of them is Mimi. Sitting across from her is Toussaint, eating a sandwich wrapped in silver foil. So much for the generosity of the hotel management. Toussaint is allowed to join Mimi on weekends.
The kid sees me and jumps out of his chair. “David!” He run to me, oblivious to the fact that other people are in the room.
They all look up from their plates. The few who were inclined to smile as Toussaint jumps in my arms to hug me frown when they notice Slider. He’s wearing his biker’s uniform and looks very badass.
An elderly man stands and addresses Mimi with a very clipped British accent. “Jeanne-Michelle, my dear, why don’t you entertain your gentlemen callers outside? Don’t forget that your service starts in twenty-five minutes.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mimi answers with a clenched jaw, glaring at us. She folds her napkin and gets up.
Slider has a half smile, probably from the “gentleman” designation. I’m ready to bet it’s been a long time, if ever, since he’s been called that. He opens the door, and Mimi passes me to follow him outside the common dining room. I gesture to Toussaint that he should go back to his seat and finish his lunch.
Smiling at the man who’s probably the head waiter, or whatever they call their chief of staff, I ask, “You don’t mind, do you?”
Since I’m sitting on Mimi’s chair before he has a chance to answer, he saves face by nodding. Toussaint looks at me with an ear-to-ear grin and resumes his attack on his sandwich.
“How have you been?” I ask.
He chews his mouthful and says, “Fine. I moved in with Mimi while we’re waiting for Manman to get better.”
I shake my head. I’m not sure what Mimi has told him. He could be in full denial or misinformed.
“Living with Mimi is nice,” he says.
I can see in his eyes that he would probably be more enthusiastic if he didn’t feel as if he were betraying his mother by saying how great Mimi was. I try to make light of it with a joke. “You’re such a weird kid. You really like folding your stuff?”
His eyes go wide, and he frowns. “How do you know Mimi likes folding stuff? You’ve been to her place?”
I wink at him. “No, she’s never invited me, but I can see she’s very neat and organized. She would kick me out after half an hour because that’s about how much time it takes me to mess up a room.”
“Then your time is almost up,” Super Waiter tells me. He’s hovering over me and bending slightly, an
extended arm toward the door.
I decide to ignore him and ask Toussaint, “All good with the math?”
The man coughs and insists, “Sir.”
Toussaint’s eyes dart from the man to me, more annoyed than scared.
I stand and tower over the waiter. “I’m keeping my young friend here company until his aunt returns. I trust this won’t be a problem.” I use the icy tone I perfected talking to the very drunk soldiers who returned to the base after curfew. I add a touch of contempt to my voice for good measure.
The man realizes I’m taunting him. He steps back, and out of the corner of my eye, I see some of the staff would cheer me on if they weren’t afraid to lose their jobs. I’ve always loved to bully a bully. Does that make me one? I guess so.
I sit down again, and the man leaves the room. I wonder if he’s going to call security to have me removed. I’m betting against it—that would make him look like an idiot in front of his crew—so I chat for a few minutes with Toussaint.
Mimi returns. “He’s waiting for you outside.”
I stand and pull out the chair for her. “I’m sorry we interrupted your lunch. It was cool seeing you, kid,” I say to Toussaint, who waves good-bye at me.
As I leave the hotel, I find Slider waiting for me on his bike. He’s in a foul mood.
“I offered her a minimum pay, and she told me to go fuck myself,” he says, kicking his engine alive. “Literally!”
“Well, she could very well come around soon,” I tell him. “Her boss wasn’t happy about our visit, and I’m pretty sure I wasn’t diplomatic enough when I told him to get lost, so I’m betting he’ll need to fire her tonight to assert his authority for the rest of the crew.”
“You devious bastard!” Slider says with a wicked smile.
I take that as a compliment. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do to get the job done.”
***
CHAPTER NINE
