Jack the Stripper

by Jennifer Macaire

  Jack frowned.

  “What is it?” Dee stopped.

  “I don’t know if I can do that. I have a huge scar on my chest.”

  “Let me see.”

  Jack pulled his T-shirt up. “It goes all the way across, and then there is one that goes down.”

  “Holy shit.” Dee looked taken aback.

  “It might freak out the clients. They’ll think I’m a monster.”

  Dee stared at the scar and his face suddenly brightened. “I have the greatest idea. We’ll blow them away.” He hopped off the stage and clapped Jack on the shoulder. “We’ll call your act, ‘The Monster Bash,’ and you can do it to that new remake of the song, ‘The Monster Mash’. It’s really creepy, and kind of disco. But it’s almost Halloween, and I want to do a theme party. All right? Say you’ll do it. I’ll show you how. It’s a cinch.” Another thought seemed to occur to him. “You don’t mind taking all your clothes off in front of an audience, do you?”

  Jack thought about it for a minute then shook his head. “No.”

  “Great, that’s great. What’s your last name, by the way? I have to start drawing up some posters.”

  Jack hesitated. “Severn. My name’s Jack Severn.”

  ****

  Security specialist Brianna Henley was always in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had a knack for that. It had started when she was born in the back of a taxi cab, and had continued throughout her life. You’d think, she mused, I’d get used to it. But most people didn’t have a talent that tried to get them killed every few days. All she could do was try to be prepared. But it was hard to be prepared for a gun stuck up your nose.

  The mugger had taken someone’s purse and was just opening it, intending to go through it when Brianna came around the corner. She shouldn’t have been there. The alley was deserted and the rain had started to fall harder. She’d just stuck her head around the corner on a hunch. She had to stop listening to that voice in her head, she thought, as the mugger glanced up, saw her, did a double-take, and snatched a gun out of his sweatshirt pocket.

  “Get the fuck outta here,” the mugger said, pointing the gun at her face.

  Brianna didn’t argue. She stepped back, slipped her own gun out of her side holster, and ducked behind a handy dumpster. The mugger, wanting to make sure she’d beat it, stuck his head around the corner of the dumpster.

  They should know better than to do that, thought Brianna, as she put her gun back into her holster and nudged the fallen mugger with the toe of her shoe. She'd given him a mighty whack with the butt of her gun. As she watched, a huge lump grew on his temple. The mugger moaned. Interesting how some people bruised easier than others, she thought as she took her cell phone from her pocket and dialed Jeffrey at the police station. While she dialed she unzipped the mugger’s jacket and frisked him. He was skinny, with a flabby stomach. Her lips curled. Knocking over little old ladies for their purses didn’t build up much muscle. Jeffrey answered and she shifted the phone to her other ear.

  “Hi, it’s me, Brianna. I found someone unconscious at the corner of Livingston and Domino Street.” She examined the mugger’s wallet. A raindrop hit it. “Name, Brett Washburn.”

  “Right.” Jeffrey paused. “You wouldn’t happen to know why he was unconscious, or tell me why you preferred to call me, and not an ambulance?”

  Brianna laughed. “I don’t want to get involved. If my name gets around I’m toast in this business. Come and pick him up, I’ll hang around and make sure he doesn’t disappear. He took some lady’s handbag, and I bet you’ll love being the hero that brings it back intact.”

  “You know me so well,” he said with a chuckle.

  She hung up.

  Brianna could picture Jeffrey at his desk, leaning back in his chair, his long legs crossed, his handsome face crinkled in a wide smile. Her downfall had been that smile. They’d worked together for almost two years. Then Brianna had cracked. She made a pass at her partner. Her very happily married partner. He refused, of course. But it meant she couldn’t work with him any longer. She left the force.

  It wasn’t easy working in a man’s world. She had to be tough, she had to compete. Men were always competing. And most guys didn’t like to lose. So, she had to compete, and make sure she didn’t win at the same time. She sighed. She had to get a boyfriend, maybe that would reconcile her with men. A shiver ran through her. No, there was no way. No way, no how, not yet.

  She’d had a normal life for a while. After she left the force she’d gotten her bodyguard license and set herself up in her apartment overlooking the docks. Office and living quarters. A river view. And she’d found herself a boyfriend. He was younger than her by about three years. A nice kid. A college student, an architect major and handsome as all hell. They hit it off right away, had terrific times together, had started talking about getting serious, and her normal life ended when he died within three months of meeting her.

  Jeez, why start thinking of him now? She’d been to a shrink for a year now and it still didn’t make any sense. None of it did. One minute they were dancing together. The next minute she was on the floor, and there was blood ...

  “Arrrrrgh.” The mugger groaned and tried to sit up.

  “Not a chance,” said Brianna, giving him a shove with her foot. “Down boy.” She hunched a little closer to the brick wall to get out of the rain. The weather was typical end of October. Gray, rainy, cold, and depressing. She hated October. It was the month her boyfriend got killed, and the month the Heart Taker, as he called himself, had made headlines.

  Most all policemen hate October. If you ask them, they’ll tell you October and December are the cruelest months of all—April doesn’t even come close. And Halloween was just a week away. Brianna shivered and looked bleakly out at the rain hitting the blacktop. All the weirdoes would be out that night. And somewhere, among them, was the sickest one of all. The Heart Taker. A monster who ripped his victim’s hearts out and left a poem in their place.

  What had her boyfriend’s been? Roses are red, violets are blue. I need a heart, so I’ll take one from you.” The mugger groaned again, but Brianna ignored him. Headlights and a blue, flashing light came toward her. She didn’t wait around. As soon as the car stopped, she ducked around the corner onto the main street. The full force of the rain hit her, lashing her face and drenching her clothes. Almost instinctively she pushed the nearest door open and walked in.

  She looked up, realized where she was, and nearly walked straight back out again, but the warmth was intoxicating, and besides, the place had completely changed. It wasn’t a discotheque anymore. A purple neon sign saying “The Purple Dee” hung over the bar. The sign featured a man with a naked torso, dancing. Brianna’s interest quickened. The place had changed, and it reeked class and fun. Royal purple velvet. Chandeliers. A small stage. Was that a pool room through those swinging doors? Nice. Her muscles relaxed a fraction.

  She looked around. Just coming off the stage was a blond man with a striking, sharp-edged face, and waist-length blond hair. He buttoned up his shirt as he stepped lightly down the stairs, intently talking to someone whose back was to her.

  The blond man made a gesture, and she heard him say, “You don’t mind taking all your clothes off in front of an audience, do you?”

  The man in front of him shook his head. “No. I’ll do the audition, no problem.”

  Brianna chuckled as she approached. He better not mind. This was a burlesque strip club, judging from the sign over the bar. She’d love to see the audition. She’d love to watch the show. The young man had broad shoulders and dark, tousled hair. Just what she preferred. She hoped she could get something to drink though. Something strong.

  The blond man said, “Great, that’s great. What’s your name, by the way? I have to start drawing up some posters.”

  The dark-haired man hesitated, and then said, “Jack. My name is Jack Severn.”

  Brianna missed a step and nearly crashed to the floor. All at once th
e air seemed too thick and a strange buzzing sounded in her head. She shook it hard. No. She must have misheard. He’d said something else. But then he turned and looked at her.

  The bottom dropped out of her world. Things got a little tricky then. She couldn’t seem to remember how to breathe. Black spots danced in front of her eyes, and her chest ached and ached.

  “Jack?” she whispered. Somehow air got back into her lungs. She found she was sitting on the floor. She looked up. He was standing over her, his face dreadfully ashen.

  “Brianna? Is it you? Brianna?”

  “Yes.” She started to shake. “Who are you? Is this some kind of joke? What’s the punch line?” she asked. “What’s the punch line?” She kept asking that as the black spots in her vision got bigger and bigger and she keeled over. It wasn’t, she reflected, an altogether stupid question.

  Chapter Three

  Murder on the Dance Floor

  Another bit of memory slammed into Jack when he saw Brianna. It was like remembering a car crash. Things came back to him in bright bursts of light and sound. He knew her. As soon as he saw her freckles, wide, honey-brown eyes, and shoulder-length, wavy auburn hair, he remembered her name. That was all he could remember. But it was enough. He’d been dancing with her too. That was the part that slammed into him. Dancing—and suddenly a blinding pain worse than anything he could have imagined ... then death.

  There was the light, the feeling of peace, the dizziness ... and then nothing. Absolutely nothing until that morning when he woke up. He thought of all that as he stared at the woman sitting on the floor. She stared back and babbled something about a joke and a punch-line before slumping over.

  Dee shook his shoulder, none too gently. “Who the hell are you?”

  “My name is Jack Severn and I died here,” he said, looking wildly around. Things were beginning to sink in. The feeling of being in a bad dream persisted though. There was nothing but numbness in his limbs and a sort of cotton-wool stuffiness in his ears. “I died here. I really did. And now, for some reason I’m back.” He clutched at his chest. Now he knew what was missing. The sound and feel of his heart pounding in terror. That stillness iced his limbs.

  “I don’t believe it.” Dee reached behind him, groped for a chair, and sat down hard.

  Brianna opened her eyes and sat up, her color coming back in patches on her cheeks. “Believe him, buddy.” She let out a huge breath and shook her head. “Even though I don’t believe it either.”

  Jack got down on his knees next to Brianna. “What happened to me?” He wanted to hear that nothing happened, that he was imagining it all, and that he’d wake up in a minute. Maybe she’d tell him it was all some sort of elaborate joke.

  “You were murdered right here, on the dance floor.”

  That was not a very funny joke. “I mean, what happened to me now? Why am I back?”

  She looked at him, her eyes full of terror. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  “I don’t believe it,” said Dee.

  Jack hated the look in Brianna’s eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I would never hurt anyone.”

  She blinked tears back and sniffed. “I know. It’s just such a shock, that’s all.”

  A thought occurred to Jack. A cop. Brianna used to be a cop. His memory moved in jerks, like a cranky car that kept stalling. But things were coming back to him. What did she do now? He wasn’t sure. But he was sure she’d told him she’d once been a cop. “Didn’t you work with the police?”

  “Not anymore, but I still have close ties with them.” She rubbed her eyes and sniffed. “Why?”

  “I want you to find out who killed me.”

  Brianna frowned. “Everyone knows who killed you. A mutant serial killer. He’s struck several more times since you were killed. Each time he does the same thing. He rips out the victim’s heart and leaves a love poem in its place.”

  “Oh.” Jack thought about that. It didn’t seem right to be resuscitated and come all the way back to find out it wasn’t for revenge. “So he’s in jail now. I thought maybe there was a reason I was here ...” His voice trailed off. He’d had some bad days in his life, but nothing could beat this.

  “He’s not in prison.” Dee still looked like he wanted to puke, but his color was slowly coming back. “No one can catch him. No one knows who he really is. He’s a god damn mutant, able to move faster than the speed of light.”

  Great. He was some sort of living dead who’d been killed by a mutant. Jack’s depression deepened. As if to drive home the point, a clap of thunder shook the building and another sweep of rain pounded the roof.

  Brianna heaved a sigh. “Can you go get me a towel or something? I think I peed my pants.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that.” Jack got to his feet and looked at Dee, who waved toward the bar.

  “Over there.” He took Brianna’s hand and helped her up. “My name’s Dee Martin, by the way. This is my club, ‘The Purple Dee.’”

  Brianna nodded. “I’m Brianna Henley. Security specialist.”

  Jack found a towel and gave it to Brianna. His hands shook, but he knew why. A mutant serial killer had ripped his heart out. He still didn’t remember much. He didn’t push it. Too much too soon. Somehow he knew that it was a survival thing. He’d rather not remember getting killed anyway. The memory of the blinding pain was there—but it was numbed. What he remembered best was the light. And light was not the right word for it. It was more than just light—it was somehow mixed with sound and touch, and emotion and with love. It was as if love had become something you could see, hear, and feel. That’s what it was. Thinking of the light focused him and calmed his tortured spirit.

  “Jack!” He jumped. Brianna waved her hand in front of his face. “Are you OK?”

  “I think so,” he answered. After a pause he added, “I have to tell you that I don’t remember very much.”

  “Tell us what you do know,” she said. He liked her voice, low and yet vibrant.

  “My name. Your name. This place. Dancing ... that’s about it. I’m not sure who I am or who you are, really. I woke up in my coffin and it was like a bad dream. It’s still like a dream.”

  Jack went over and sat down on a barstool. He fiddled with a saltshaker and toyed with a napkin. “I don’t know who I am, or what I did before I ... died. I don’t know if I have family, or where I used to live. All I knew is that I had to find something missing, and now I know what is it—I have to find my heart and stop the killer.”

  Brianna stood in front of him and put her hands on his knees. “I met you at the outdoor market on a Sunday. You were on a bike, and you ran into me when I stepped off the curb. It wasn’t your fault. It was crowded and someone shoved me from behind. Anyhow, we hit it off and started to date. You invited me to this club one night. It was a disco then, and not very cool, but I thought what the hell.” She shrugged. “Wrong place, wrong time.”

  “I still can’t believe it.” Dee went behind the bar and took three glasses out. He poured three shots of whiskey and drank one. The others he set in front of Jack and Brianna. “I think we should call the cops. And a doctor. And the National Geographic. Or the Enquirer. I saw an article about a zombie once in that magazine. I bet they would know what to do.” He poured himself another drink.

  Jack’s shoulders sagged. It seemed unreal. Dead. No heart. Removable limbs. Numbness. “Maybe the Enquirer isn’t such a bad idea,” he said.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Brianna downed her drink and held her glass out to Dee. “More.”

  “I can sell my story as an exclusive scoop.” Even to his own ears he sounded maudlin.

  Dee said, “What about the police?”

  Brianna shook her head. “It will just get too complicated. Let’s wait a while on that.”

  “And no doctors either.” Jack shuddered.

  “All right. No doctors. But hold on. I have an idea.” Brianna snapped her fingers, making Jack jump. “What about a voodoo queen? I he
ard about one. I’ve got a friend who saw her, and she said she’s pretty amazing. Let me call my friend and ask for her address.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Dee.

  Jack looked at his glass, undecided, then picked it up and sniffed at it. His zombie nose didn’t pick up a scent. He put the glass to his lips and tipped it, letting the warm liquid slide into his mouth. Damn. Hardly any taste. He drank some more. Maybe there was a faint taste now, coming back. He held his glass out and mimicked Brianna. “More.”

  After he’d done that four more times, he was starting to think he might be tasting something. “More pleash.” Hmmm. Not bad. He tried to put the glass down and somehow missed the counter. The glass bounced twice and rolled under the stool. Luckily it didn’t break, but it had been half full. Or half empty. However you wanted to look at it, thought Jack glumly.

  “I think you have had enough to drink,” said Dee. “Are you still interested in the show? Because I don’t have anyone lined up and I really need to get someone. I was serious about the Monster Bash. It will be a great Halloween idea. I’ll get the music ready and find a costume for you. I’ll teach you the moves, it’s dead easy. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say ‘dead’. I mean, don’t worry, anyone can do it ...”

  He was talking too fast. Jack couldn’t take it all in.

  “Hush you two, I just got through to my friend.” Brianna held up her hand for silence. “Katie? It’s Brianna Henley. Listen, I need your help. What was the name of that voodoo queen you saw last month? Mamie Hoya? Where does she live?”

  Jack frowned. Who? Mamie Hoya? Now Brianna was saying something about voodoo and zombies. He gave a little hiccup. A zombie. He’d never thought he’d end up as a zombie. He seemed to recall wanting to be a fireman when he was a kid. He tried to remember more about his childhood but came up with a blank. He tried to concentrate but kept getting distracted by Brianna. She looked adorable. He hoped they’d done more than just dated and go dancing. She hung up and frowned at him. “Katie said to just drop in on the voodoo queen. Says we don’t need an appointment. What do you say, Jack? Want to come with me?”