Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  “Let’s hear it for Sugar,” the D.J. announced, and with that, Charlie broke away from the man who sought to hold her for too long.

  “I’ll see you later, baby,” he whispered so only she could hear him.

  With a final wave, Charlie grabbed her shed clothes and hurried back to the dressing room. She didn’t have much time until she’d be called into the VIP area and requested for a private lap dance or two. Taking a quick drink, she tossed back a tablet of Ecstasy and shrugged into her fitted satin and lace corset and short skirt that showed the edges of her ass. She wore the clothes without reproach.

  “Great show, Charlie,” Summer, dressed in a revealing cowgirl getup, whispered and rushed toward the stage, where the rock anthem had been replaced with a country-pop mashup.

  “Alrighty Charlie, table 3 wants a private dance,” Maureen interrupted. The den mother at the club kept an eye on everything that went on out on the floor. Her auburn hair was in ringlets around her smooth face. Charlie guessed Maureen was in her fifties, but she didn’t look a day over forty and fit in perfectly with all of the plastic Barbies and Kens who worked her stage.

  “I’ll be right there,” Charlie said, trying to catch her breath.

  “Who was the man talking to you out there?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Charlie shrugged.

  “You know our deal, Charlie dear. Do I need to remind you?”

  “There is nothing to remind me of.” Charlie tried to quash her anger. With the drug in her system, she only thought of one thing.

  Surviving.

  Other girls had disappeared for less.

  4

  Blue eyes cracked open, taking in the eerie flickering light and grimy bathroom. Black mold lined the tiles. Her lips chattered from the coldness of the vat filled with ice, mingling with blood and water. Pain coursed through her petite body.

  Hearing scurrying feet and deep voices coming toward her, she turned her head toward the old wooden door as it creaked open. A lone figure’s silhouette stood before her, draped in scrubs, face masked, “Sorry Veronika, it seems that you have more we need.”

  With a syringe in hand, she watched the needle plunge into her arm.

  “What is it?” she muttered, waiting for the high to hit her system.

  “Propofol and Lorazepam.”

  The feel of a cold slab quickly replaced the icy vat. With hands tied down tightly to the stainless steel table, her ankles strapped with zip ties that cut into her delicate skin, panic should have overwhelmed her, but the drugs caused her to lose her instinctual fight. He’d promised her five hundred dollars and an eight ball of crack.

  Her addiction wouldn’t let her fight or second guess them.

  As her eyes started to close, the light’s buzzing lessened, and she felt the tug of her flesh parting. Turning, she saw the gleam of the blade as it was raised and then carved into her flesh. The warmth of her blood spread onto her abdomen. Tears gathered into her drugged eyes.

  As they closed, hope’s happenstance and her smile filled with the promises of a second chance slowly faded until all that remained was a lifeless shell of a beautiful woman who had deserved more than death’s untimely sting.

  5

  “If the cops come, we are going to be fucked three ways to Sunday,” Shane said. From his viewpoint on the sidewalk, he watched the two men waiting in the van puff and deeply inhale. Otto stood outside, waiting with the white utility van behind him. Thick white smoke began to fog up the windows.

  “I told the dumb asses that, but they wanted to hot box it,” Otto joked.

  “What is this place,” Shane asked. His gaze shifted to the old warehouse in the distance.

  “Remember what I said, Shane, we ask no questions,” Otto said jumping into the van.

  Shane stepped out of the cool air and into the van, and the smell of a fresh blunt, tobacco mixed with marijuana, wafted to Shane’s nose. He squirmed in the leather seat and tried not to inhale too deeply, rolling down the window and coughing.

  “Looks like someone doesn’t like the good stuff,” someone said.

  “If you mess up our job for tonight,” Otto countered, “I’ll make sure that’s the last smoke you two idiots take.”

  Turning the key in the ignition, Shane steered toward the unpaved road, which cut through large plots of tall grasses. An aged water tower rested above, as if it were a welcome sign to an undiscovered location.

  After backing up into the loading dock area, Shane waited in the driver’s seat while Otto eased out of the vehicle.

  The two men seated on benches in the back of the van stayed quiet, too quiet for Shane’s liking. His unease spiked, hearing the uncomfortable clicking of one of them switching the safety on and off of the handgun and muttering words about flying dragons, skeet, and such.

  Shane grabbed the clipboard from between his seat and the middle console and began to look it over. Snippets of German floated toward him.

  Three cartons? Something was needed?

  In the rearview mirror, his eyes darted from side to side watching the armed men with their assault rifles walk the perimeter, while Otto continued to discuss something with a man dressed in a white lab coat. He saw his friend’s hands open and close, gesturing up and down; it was almost a typical conversation as Otto spoke with his hands constantly in motion.

  A nervous tick or something.

  Shane continued to act like he was staring at the page instead of listening. But whatever was going on, he didn’t know and couldn’t figure it out. There was no evidence of any junkies being serviced, and the man in white appeared to be more in the field of medicine than in chemistry.

  And so far he’d been unable to get any answers.

  Shane tried not to let his overcuriousness show, but he needed to know what they were moving.

  He’d watched enough movies to know how such ended, and nothing said cop like interrogation. This trip was different from the prior ones. Previously, all they’d done was pick up a package and leave. Of course, the drugs—black tar and cocaine—were then packaged in different containers, and Otto always returned rubbing his nose. But not this time.

  Otto returned and hopped back into the van. His pupils were not dilated, and his calm demeanor wasn’t hyped up, unlike if he’d snorted something.

  “These sons of bitches don’t have everything ready, so we will have to wait.” Otto leaned forward and retrieved a cigarette from the glove compartment, then leaned back in his seat.

  When he wasn’t high, Otto seemed more like the kind father who everyone from the old neighborhood would know, the man who was always glad to lend a helping hand. He appeared gentle and genteel, hiding behind his wiry light brown hair and ever-present smile.

  “I’ll tell you what this place is.” Lighting his cigarette, he inhaled. “Listen. During World War II, Richmond somehow believed the German soldiers would come pummeling the city to ashes and that they’d start with the airport. What better way to divert a potential threat then to build a decoy, right?”

  “This is the lost city?” For the fact that many didn’t know it existed, it was a prime location for shady dealings in the dark.

  A horn blew and Otto jumped out of the van again, only to shortly return. “Time to load up boys.”

  Glancing in the rearview mirror, Shane watched a forklift moving a pallet filled with the wooden crates toward the van. Each was stamped with Par Avion.

  As if he’d swallowed a lump of expended lead, reality sunk in: whatever was in those crates wasn’t drugs and was meant to leave the area. The stop in the lost city was only the beginning.

  6

  Although Shane grew up in Richmond, specifically in the suburb of Henrico, he had known little about the area outside of his community until he’d been forced to learn about it. After leaving Elko Tract and hitting Williamsburg Road, he followed Otto’s directions, finally landing on Airport Drive.

  After Shane drove around the bend, Otto said, “Pull over in th
e parking lot there.” The parking lot was unmanned, with only a little light to provide some illumination within the inky darkness of night.

  Shane pulled in where directed—next to a white van, which was the same make and model of the vehicle he was driving.

  “All right y’all, time to go,” Otto said. He turned to Shane. “Make sure you grab your things. We’re not coming back.”

  “What about the stuff in the back?”

  “All you have to worry about is leaving the keys under the visor.”

  Shane turned to do just that and felt all eyes on him, as if to ensure he would indeed cooperate.

  Tonight he’d lose the trail of what he’d tried to discover, but whatever it was, he couldn’t risk throwing the entire operation off.

  Exiting the vehicle, he headed toward the driver’s seat of the lookalike; his head swiveled, looking around for any outlying movement.

  “What are you looking for?” Otto asked.

  “Just not comfortable about this.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Orders are orders and if you want to be a part of this, you have to get comfortable without asking questions. You really don’t want to know the answers.”

  Shane nodded his head in agreement to Otto’s statement and opened the van door.

  He wanted to challenge that assumption but couldn’t. He wanted to stay there and wait to see who would claim the vehicle. Instead, he stepped inside the van and took a seat. He’d tell command about it all, the truck, the license plate number, and the suspicious activity, but the details of the shipment would have to remain a mystery, at least until he found a way to figure it all out without blowing the cover he’d built up.

  7

  “Come on man, you’re going to have a wonderful time here,” Jesse told Shane. The two men were a complete contrast in appearance. Jesse, tall, athletic with more of a Scandinavian frame towered over Shane, who was more muscular and stout.

  “Why are you bringing me here?”

  “It’s part of checking on the girls. Where else am I supposed to take you? Tonight we are homegrown and in the Ville. You need to see some of our talent, and there is no other place to go than the Passionate Lai.”

  With Richmond overflowing into the surrounding counties, even Mechanicsville was starting to feel the pinch, with the Ville losing its homegrown aura and being considered an extension of the capital city.

  When Shane walked through the glass doors and heard Def Leopard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me, he stared at the woman on stage. For one moment, everything cleared and he watched as she stood there and gyrated on beat to the music. Her moves enthralled him; she shimmered like a diamond under the strobe light, and as she slid up and down the pole, her hands gripping onto it, his breath caught. He stared unabashedly at her, hypnotized.

  He knew that body.

  Emotions slammed into him.

  Images of the last time Shane had seen her flashed before him. He could almost catch a whiff of her fresh skin and the scent of her strawberry shampoo and hear her unadulterated laughter. For one small moment, he remembered her smiling up at him and her curvy frame a perfect fit, as if they were carved from the same stone. He knew about the mole next to her belly button and the small birthmark on the base of her skull—places he’d kissed and caressed, tasted and touched.

  “Like what you see, brother? That’s Sugar.”

  “Sugar?” He knew that wasn’t her name. No one could hide the beauty of Charlie under another name. Although she’d remained his secret during the last couple of years, a time of his being off the clock, seeing her there, he wanted nothing more than to tell everyone else to get the fuck out and then rip down a curtain and wrap it around her scantily clad body. Back then, she’d worked at the family’s bakery. He couldn’t help but wonder how she’d moved from there to the stage. What had happened while he was away that made his pure angel fall into the hands of sinful men?

  “Do you want me to send back for her?”

  “No,” Shane answered too quickly.

  “That means yes,” Jesse said and smiled from ear to ear. “She is just your type.”

  “Come on, the other guys are already at the table waiting.” With that, Jesse walked away leaving Shane to continue to stare at the woman who sparkled.

  8

  At table three, Charlie smiled. Off the stage, she tried to hold onto her stage persona. To share the vision of whom they saw her to be. Sugar. Sugar was sweet. She didn’t have a care in the world, and she loved nothing but a good time.

  Approaching the table, she saw a group of men dressed in jeans and T-shirts. Closing the distance, Jesse rose and leaned toward her.

  “Sugar!” Jesse said. “We’re celebrating, and I need you to show my boy, Shane, here a good time, a really good time. Can you do that?” His hand fell down on Shane’s shoulder, clasping it.

  She’d loved him with everything she had, and in the end, it hadn’t been enough.

  She stood straighter, peeking between her fake lashes. Shane Sterns was the last person she wanted to see while covered in body glitter. She’d not seen him since that night in the Northern Neck, where they’d gone to celebrate away from the city lights by the Rappahannock River. She still remembered his touch and then waking to find him gone. Three years had passed, and instead of being the woman of his dreams, she was covered in cheap glitter, still flawed, still stuck, and still in love with a man who had left her without a trace. Shane had never known how much it had cost her to share that one night with him.

  How much it still cost her.

  Her heart ached, an aching she had never gotten used to. Her breath was shallow, and as if someone had driven a spike through her temple, her head suddenly hurt. Seeing him was worse than picking off a scab; what was thought to be a healed wound now bled again. All of the pain came back with a vengeance and bitch-slapped her.

  Every smell, every season, every part of that damn town reminded Charlie of him, her husband, and the dashed dreams that never became a reality. In a nanosecond, the life they were supposed to share flashed before her—the picket fence, the children running around playing in the yard, and her being the mother she always knew she could be.

  Instead, motherhood had been ripped away, and Shane remained a dirty secret that she’d told no one about. No one knew about their private rendezvous, the whispered promises, and their love.

  As he sat there, all she wanted to do was to be close to him again, to have a chance to make things better, to feel his hands caress her one more time. Maybe she’d been pining away too long. Since Shane had been gone, something was missing. While her sentiment swelled, so did her anger.

  Wiping her sweaty hands through her hair, she pasted on a smile and moved forward, tossing her tangled tresses over her shoulder.

  “Shane,” she yelled as she rushed to him, with outstretched arms. Consequences be damned, she’d promised herself one thing if she ever saw him again. Balling up her fist, she raced to his grinning face, pulled back her arm, and punched him in the nose with all of her pent-up rage. As her fist connected, she felt the cartilage give, breaking.

  “Whoa there, Charlie,” Otto, seated at the table, interjected and grabbed her arms from behind her.

  “I guess I deserve that,” Shane said grabbing his nose, now bleeding onto his white T-shirt.

  “You son of a bitch,” Charlie spat. “You deserve that and more!” She wanted to say more, but with Jesse standing there, she couldn’t.

  “Not here,” Otto said. “You two take it back there.”

  Silently, she stomped out of the view of the guests, feeling the curious glances and stares on her back. Every step amped up the pressure in her chest.

  It all should have faded, like all other bruises and hurt. Time was supposed to make it better. Yet, his disappearance had stripped her of her dignity, and seeing his face brought it all back a million times worse. To say her life since then had been rough would be whitewashing it, simplifying it. He’d brainwashed her with hope
and then disappeared, leaving her with nothing but desperation.

  Everything she’d held within, the secrets she kept, had poisoned her being. He’d pissed on her adoration. Shitted on her existence for his greater good.

  And for that, she wasn’t sure if she could forgive him.

  Once Charlie was in the confines of the office with the door closed, unwanted tears threatened to spill. Charlie’s body shook with a silent fury as her fist continued to ball up, release, and ball up again.

  “You better have a damn good reason to be here, Shane. You made it clear that I wasn’t worth your time when you ran off.”

  “It wasn’t like that. I guess I owe you an apology.” He looked away, looking everywhere except at her.

  “You left me. There wasn’t a call, a letter, not even a goddamn postcard, smoke signal, or text message.”

  Shane took a step closer, closing the gap between them. He smiled and reached to touch her shoulder. “I know I’ve been an ass, but I came here for something else. I didn’t know you would be here.” His voice was laced with false sincerity. “I know it’s a shock for you to see me, but what happened between us was eons ago. I mean, I’m sure you landed on your feet. Look at you now.” She watched him leer at her. Did he really expect her not to say something, do something?

  Balling her fist up one last time, she moved to hit him again.

  “Only one shot, dear, anything else, and you’ll have to pay for it. So tell me, how much do I get for my money?”

  Charlie ripped her arm out of his grip. “I’m a dancer, taking care of me and. . . .”

  “What the hell happened to you? You were better than this, and here you are. But you can’t make a whore into a housewife, right?” The revulsion made his face contort.