by Diane Kelly
“No way.” Nick let go of me and I fell to my butt on the mat.
I frowned up at him. “Thanks a lot.”
He reached down a hand and helped me up, giving me a pat on the rear. “Hit the showers, Holloway.”
Nick rejoined Eddie in the weight room, while Lu and I returned to the locker room.
I dabbed at my face with a towel. “That was quite a workout.”
“Let’s try the Pilates class tomorrow,” Lu suggested as she slid out of her leg warmers. “I’ve never worked out with a ball before. It sounds like fun.”
chapter fourteen
Hey, Big Spender
I pulled into the parking lot of Guys & Dolls and took a spot near the back. I noticed two delivery trucks parked near the receiving bay. The first was a refrigerated van labeled Michelson’s Meat and Seafood Supply. Could the drugs be coming in or going out with the meat shipment? Next to the meat van was a slightly dilapidated truck with a variety of fruits and vegetables pictured on the side. Although the logo on the truck’s cab read VALLEY PRODUCE—EDINBURG, TEXAS, the words on the boxes being unloaded read “Producto de Mexico.” I wondered whether any illegal productos might have been smuggled across the border, hidden among the innocent avocados and tomatoes.
The crowd at Guys & Dolls on Thursday night was noticeably bigger than it had been earlier in the week. Either the customers were getting a head start on the weekend or they were getting in one last hurrah on their business trips before heading back home to their wives and children for the weekend.
Justin Timberlake’s “I’m Bringing Sexy Back” played through the speakers. Donald Geils stood at the bar flirting with one of the cocktail waitresses, his pelvis moving along with the song’s throbbing beat. Ew. Don Geils wasn’t bringing sexy back. He’d driven sexy out to the woods and shot it in the head.
I walked into the dressing room, greeting the dancers and bouncers scattered about, and deposited my purse in my locker. Minutes later I joined Merle in the cash office.
“You’re just the girl I wanted to see,” he said, handing me a stack of envelopes to tally. “I’m a little behind.”
“Sara Galloway to the rescue,” I said with a smile, plopping into my chair and opening the first envelope to begin counting.
Geils stepped into the cash office shortly after I arrived. “Got the cash for Michelson’s and Valley Produce?” he asked Merle.
“Right here.” Merle handed Geils two unsealed envelopes that contained cash and a copy of the distributors’ invoices.
Geils counted the cash to make sure the amounts were correct and left the office.
Many suppliers of perishable food items required cash payments since there would be nothing of value to repossess if a customer’s check bounced, so the fact that Geils paid the deliverymen in cash wasn’t necessarily unusual. However, it would be fairly easy for Geils to slip some extra cash in with one of the payments.
Cash to cover the cost of crystal meth.
I stood from my seat under the guise of adjusting my chair, but glanced through our small window. Geils didn’t reenter his office. He walked out the main door and into the club. I supposed he could have extra cash tucked in his pocket, but I didn’t think he’d pull it out in front of potential witnesses in the club or kitchen.
Hmm …
Bernice came into the office for another foot rub at the end of her shift. Given that she catered to the early crowd, she wrapped up her day by seven-thirty or so. While Merle ran a loving thumb over her instep, I counted her tips.
“Seventy-eight bucks,” I said, holding up the stack.
Bernice sighed. “There was a time when my tips were three times that much.”
When was that time? I wanted to ask.
Merle began working on the ball of her foot now. “I didn’t see Bob out there tonight.”
“He’s back in the hospital,” Bernice replied. “The old ticker’s acting up again.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
As I put the cash in the safe, Bernice retrieved her shoes and stood.
“When are you going to be my girl, Bernice?” Merle asked, just as he’d done yesterday.
Just as she’d done the day before, Bernice put a hand on his cheek. “Someday, Merle. Someday.” She gave him another soft kiss on the forehead.
How long had these two been performing this daily ritual?
A commotion inside the club caught my eye. I stepped up to the glass. One of the bouncers had a dark-haired dancer by the arm, while another escorted a man out. The door leading from the club into the hallway banged open, and we could hear sounds of protest from the dancer as the bouncer banged on Geils’s door across the hall. More loud voices followed, primarily Geils’s, but I couldn’t quite make out the words.
I turned to Bernice and Merle. “What’s going on?”
Before either of them could respond, Geils stormed into the cash office, a wad of bills in his hand. He tossed them onto my desk. The bouncer hadn’t released his firm grip on the dancer’s upper arm and dragged her into the room, too.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Geils!” the young woman cried. “I promise it won’t happen again!”
Geils turned and raised his hand. For a moment I was afraid he’d slap the girl. Instinctively I stood, ready to help defend her if needed. In my peripheral vision, I noted Merle had also stood. Luckily, Geils seemed to realize there were several sets of eyes on him and that smacking the girl around would not be a good idea. Of course, I had to wonder what he might have done to her had there not been witnesses.
“You bet it won’t happen again,” he spat. “You’re fired. Get the fuck out of my club.” He turned to his goon. “Make sure she cleans out her locker and escort her out. Tell her boyfriend he better not show his face around here again unless he wants his own balls fed to him.”
Urk. My stomach churned at the thought.
Geils turned, poking a toothpick at me. “Count that money, pipsqueak. Make sure every cent is added to Tawny’s tips.” He turned to Merle and Bernice. “Give it a goddamn rest, Merle. Benice has no use for a gimpy old fart like you.” He gave Merle a thump on the head.
With that, the bouncer dragged the topless girl out of the office. Geils followed them out, slamming the door behind him.
Merle, Bernice, and I stood in stunned silence for a few seconds, trying to process what had taken place.
After a moment or two, Bernice leaned forward, putting a hand under Merle’s chin and lifting his face to look at her. “Don’t you listen to a word that man says. I happen to love gimpy old farts.” She gave Merle a fond smile and another soft kiss on the forehead before leaving the office.
Once she’d left, I looked at the wad of cash on my desk. “What was that all about?”
Merle returned to his chair. “Looks like Tawny was slipping her tips to her boyfriend so they wouldn’t be reported.”
A confusing mix of feelings swirled in me. I didn’t like to see the young woman being manhandled, but the fact that she’d been trying to keep her tips off the IRS radar didn’t sit well with me, either. Also, while I appreciated the fact that Geils seemed to be complying with his tax-reporting responsibilities, I didn’t like his heavy-handed tactics for managing the club.
Merle tossed back a mouthful of Crown Royal and announced he was going on break. He turned back as he walked out the door. “Page me if things get too crazy in here.”
“Will do.”
With Geils distracted by his wayward dancer and Merle on a break, I decided to seize the opportunity to peruse the club’s expense accounts. Knowing the security camera was aimed at my desk, I did my best to appear natural as—oops!—I knocked over my soda, spilling the last two ounces onto the desktop.
I grabbed the napkin the bartender had given me and did my best to sop up the liquid. Of course, I had to reposition the monitor so it wouldn’t be damaged by the moisture. I quickly turned it away from the camera’s line of sight before dropping the soda-soaked napkin into my wast
ebasket.
I sat down, maneuvered my mouse, and clicked on the folder named EXPENSES. Unfortunately, I found my way blocked by a screen instructing me to input a password.
Damn!
What password might Merle have used? I racked my brain and tried several. Merle. Vasilakis. Bernice. LaBerge. BerniceLaBerge. Heck, I even tried “gimpy.” None of them worked.
When Merle returned, I aborted my mission and logged back into the income accounts.
A few minutes later, a knock came at the door. I stepped over and peeked through the window. It was Christina.
When I opened the door, she handed me a stack of bills. A twenty lay on top.
“A twenty-dollar tip?” I remarked. “Someone must like you.”
She stepped over to the mirrored window and pointed. “The guy in the black suit. He works for one of those windmill companies in Iowa. He’s in town to negotiate some land leases.”
I checked the guy out through the mirror. He had dark hair with only a strand or two of silver, early forties if I had to hazard a guess. Nicely dressed and in decent shape. All in all, a fairly attractive man. Generous, too.
Could his cash flow be the result of drug dealing? Was he Geils’s supplier?
As he raised his glass to his lips, I noticed a gold band on the ring finger of his left hand. “Think his wife knows he’s here?”
“Oh, my naïve little Sara,” Merle said without malice. “None of their wives know they’re here.”
I quickly counted Christina’s—or should I say “Christie’s”?—tips. “Forty-three bucks.” I held up a bill on which a phone number and the name Justin had been written. “Need this number?”
“Not interested.” Christina’s lip curled in disgust. “The guy had BO like you wouldn’t believe.”
As she turned to go, Merle said, “Watch out for that man, hon. He’s bad news.”
Christina looked back over her shoulder. “Justin?”
“No,” Merle said. “The big tipper.”
She turned full around now. “You know something I don’t?”
Merle stared pointedly at her. “I know men who give big tips expect something in return, that’s all.”
Sexual favors, perhaps?
“Oh. Well, thanks for the warning.” Christina tucked her round tray under her arm and headed back out into the club.
I watched through the window as the man, in turn, watched Christina walk across the club. “Do you know him?” I asked Merle.
“No,” he replied, “but I know his type. Flashy, comes in here throwing money around. Next thing you know—” Merle stopped himself.
I turned to look at him. “Next thing you know what?” The big tipper wanted to show off his other big tip?
“Next thing you know I’ve got an assistant bookkeeper asking a lot of questions.”
It was my turn to shrug. “What can I say? I’m smart and inquisitive.” Not to mention that I’m also a federal agent fishing for clues.
“Being smart and inquisitive in this place can get you in a lot of trouble.” Merle limped over to the safe to stash a stack of bar receipts.
“As long as I’m bugging you with questions,” I said, “can I ask what happened to your leg?” It was probably rude of me to inquire, but my curiosity got the best of me. And, after all, Don Geils had already broached the subject with his “gimpy old fart” comment.
“Vietnam,” Merle replied. “I brought home some shrapnel as a souvenir.”
Merle was a veteran? I found myself even more incensed at Geils’s disrespectful treatment of the man. “I had no idea. Thanks for your service to our country.”
Merle lifted a shoulder. “It’s not like I had a choice. I was drafted.”
“Still.”
He poured two fingers of Crown into his glass, raised it in salute, and downed it in one gulp.
I had no idea how the man could drink like that on the job. “Doesn’t the alcohol make it hard to keep the numbers straight?”
“A little,” he admitted. “But it makes it a lot easier not to punch Don Geils’s teeth down his throat.”
We stared at each other in silence for a moment, then simultaneously broke into laughter. I found myself once again hoping Merle was not involved in any of the mess going on at the club. I was really beginning to like him.
I turned back to the envelopes in front of me. “If Geils is such an asshole, why do you keep working for him?”
“I’ve worked in this club nearly forty years. It’s like a second home to me. Besides, who’s going to hire a gimpy old fart like me?” He glanced out the window as Bernice, now fully dressed, walked to the front door. His eyes followed her as he spoke, his voice soft and wistful. “Besides, working here isn’t all bad.”
My heart broke for the guy. How long had he been pining away for Bernice? Twenty years? Thirty? Forty?
As I worked, I caught glimpses of the acts. Tonight’s performances included a woman who called herself the Snake Charmer. She was covered head to toe in tattoos and performed an erotic act with a six-foot python.
I rolled my chair to the window to watch. “Is that snake real?”
“Neh,” Merle said. “Health department wouldn’t allow it. Something about salmonella. It’s a darn good fake, though, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Seemed a lot of things around here were fake. Fake boobs. Fake snakes. Fake bookkeepers and bouncers and bartenders and waitresses.
When the Snake Charmer’s performance ended, we returned to our desks. The act of implied bestiality was followed by a trio of girls in red cowboy boots, straw hats, and denim shorts cut high in back to reveal several inches of butt cheek. Their act was a hokey, horny mix, during which one of the girls got down on all fours while another rode her around the stage like a pony. The act was simultaneously disgusting, disturbing, and ridiculous. Had these girls no shame? No sense of decency? No shorts that would actually cover their asses?
When I took a break later that evening, I noticed two members of the club’s security team posted at the door in the corner. My eyes scanned the room. The big tipper who’d been flirting with Christina was no longer in the main room of the club. The three Daisy Duke look-alikes were nowhere to be seen, either. They weren’t working the tables in the main room, nor were they in the dressing room. That left only one place for them to be.
The VIP room.
I wondered who was riding whom now.
I grabbed my debit card from my locker and left the dressing room, weaving my way through the club to Aaron Menger’s station at the bar. “Hi, Eric. Can I get a Dr Pepper?”
“Sure. Three bucks.”
I handed him the card, adding a dollar tip when he handed me the paper slip.
While he fixed my drink, I said, “The cowgirls seem to have disappeared.”
He slid the drink across the bar to me. “I noticed,” he said in a low voice as he ran a towel over the bar. “I also noticed my coworker sent a tray of drinks to the VIP room with a little something wrapped in a napkin.” He cut his eyes to indicate Theo.
Add the secret napkin stash to Theo’s relatively high cash-register receipts from the day before and I think we may have found at least one member of Geils’s drug ring. I’d keep a close eye on his receipts tonight, too, to see if they were suspiciously high.
I took the drink back to the cash office with me, holding it over my head while the bouncer at the office door gave me a cursory frisk. Back at my desk, I diligently worked through the stack of envelopes that had piled up during my break. Theo came in shortly afterward, handing me his tip jar and cash-register receipts. I dumped the tip jar out onto my desk, retrieving a quarter that rolled off the edge and fell to the floor. I pulled the stack of bills and credit card slips from the bank bag and shoved them into an envelope.
“Here you go.” I returned the now empty tip jar and bank bag to Theo.
“Thanks.” He left the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
I set to work counti
ng the funds Theo had brought me. While his tips were on par with those Aaron had brought in tonight, once again his register receipts contained far more cash than that of the other bartenders, at least seven hundred dollars more. Did some of those funds represent income from drug sales? I couldn’t be sure, but I suspected they did. I made a note of his take on my secret envelope.
Shortly before closing, I saw Christina’s big tipper weaving his way through the tables to intercept her by the bar. I couldn’t tell what he said to her, but he jerked his head to indicate the stage. Christina laughed and shook her head. The man said a few more words, then exited the club.
Shortly afterward, a trio of fists banged on the cash office door. I opened it to find the Daisy Dukes. Two of them had put their tops back on, but the third hadn’t bothered. I noticed she had a small silver hoop through her left nipple and fresh bite marks on her neck. I had a sneaking suspicion that the bite pattern would match that of Christina’s big tipper. All three of the women seemed oddly energetic after working such a long shift, and all three had pupils that appeared slightly dilated, too.
They told me their names and handed me their tips before heading back to the dressing room to change into their street clothes and collect their things.
I sat down and counted the first girl’s tips. Three hundred and eighty-six dollars. The second had earned just over four hundred. The one with the nipple ring and bite marks had brought in a cool grand.
What had gone on back there? I’d heard of a ménage à trois, but a ménage à quatre seemed awfully crowded. While the guy was having his way with one of the women, what did the other two do, twiddle their thumbs? Twiddle each other’s thumbs? I didn’t want to consider what other things they might have twiddled. Maybe they lay in a crisscrossing stack on top of each other like a game of naked, human Jenga. Or perhaps the guy told each girl what to do and when, like a game of sexual Simon Says. I had no idea. I’d never watched much porn.
I looked down at the wad of bills in my hand. It was dirty money, filthy money. Entering their earnings into the computer, thinking what the girls had done to earn it, gave me a queasy feeling.
