by K A Kron
I rummaged through my closet, looking for an outfit that would make me look good in front of Ali, in case she was at the bar tonight, and make Adam wish he had never fired me. It was hard to impress a gay man, and I thought about his reaction more than Ali’s as I carefully matched clothes to shoes. After roughly twelve wardrobe changes and a half hour on hair and makeup, I was ready to go. And, if I did say so myself, I looked smoking hot.
As I walked into Ice House, Oliver turned toward the door and gave me a slow smile, followed by a loud catcall. He leaned across the bar and kissed me, his eyes wild with a combination of booze and excitement.
“Riley, wow, you look amazing,” Oliver said.
Adam turned from a customer, and I could see the dark circles under his eyes. His skin looked paler than I remembered, and Adam looked like he had packed on another ten pounds since I was fired.
“Yeah…unemployment seems to agree with you, honey.” Adam’s tone was less harsh than I would have expected, and his eyes were soft. He cocked his head and looked past me at the growing crowd. The three of us were silent for a few seconds, until Adam finally spoke.
“Want a job?” he asked.
“Oh, God! Yes! She definitely wants a job. Whoo Hoo!” Oliver was dancing behind the bar and shaking with apparent happiness.
Adam gave him the look. “She hasn’t said yes yet, you goof.”
“Yes,” I said.
Adam broke into a wide smile and took off his apron. “Okay, great. Oliver could use some help tonight.”
I was taken aback, as Adam moved from behind the bar and handed me his apron.
“Wait. Now?” I asked.
“Now.”
“Maybe I should run home and change. I’m wearing five-inch heels,” I said.
Adam exhaled loudly. “Oh, please. Switch shoes with me, then. Just hurry up and get your ass behind the bar. If I have to serve one more of these monkeys, I’m going to strangle someone.”
I looked down at Adam’s Doc Martens and realized for the first time that we had the same size feet. Which either meant that I had really big feet or Adam had really small…feet. He caught me grinning at the realization and snapped.
“One fucking word, Riley, and you’re out the door on your ass.”
I snapped to attention. “Aye, aye, sir. No problem, sir.”
Oliver collapsed behind the bar in a fit of giggles, and Adam turned toward him with a scowl. “You too, Skippy. Shut your pie hole.”
Adam unlaced his shoes and tossed them toward me. He was serious. I shrugged and slipped out of my shoes, my toes instantly thanking me. I slipped on the Doc Martens, and they fit perfectly. The miniskirt-boot combination was a little odd, but no one would see me behind the bar anyway, except Oliver.
As Adam examined my Jimmy Choos, Oliver intently peered over his shoulder. Cripes, I thought. It had been a tactical mistake to wear $400 shoes in front of a bunch of fags. I should have known they would notice.
“Oh, those are nice,” breathed Oliver, touching the heel.
Adam held the shoe up to the light. “Are these a knock-off? They cost a fortune. Damn, Riley. Are you stealing from the register?”
“What? No! Don’t be ridiculous. And those are just a good fake. I got them at the flea market last weekend.”
Oliver, of course, wouldn’t shut up. “No, Riley. Those are real. Look at the bottom and the…”
I shot him a look. “Focus! We have customers in dire need of alcohol. Let’s get to work, boys.” I clapped my hands to break Adam and Oliver out of the haze the shoes had caused and jumped over the bar. As I started taking orders, I saw Adam slip the heels on out of the corner of my eye. With a little wiggle, he sashayed his furry self across the bar and into his office. I could only imagine what he and my shoes were doing behind a closed door.
Oliver and I worked the crowd, and we soon slipped back into our old routine. I saw him smiling at me every so often, and I caught him around the waist and gave him a hug on my next pass to the register.
“Missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” he said. “Adam has been a mess since you left, and he fired all three of your replacements within a day of hiring them. He’s been in a foul mood because he has to work the bar.” Oliver shot a look toward Adam’s office and whispered, “He’s been a real girl. No offense.”
“None taken.”
As the night went on, I noticed that the crowd seemed small for a Friday and asked Oliver if the bar seemed emptier than normal.
He cut his eyes toward Adam’s office before answering. “Yes, Adam is having problems with that new bar, Immortal. The owner is really aggressive about taking our customers. Some of our regulars have been in here, talking about how great Immortal is. Everyone is pretty worried.”
“I didn’t think Immortal was doing that well. I’m surprised it’s having such an impact.”
“Yeah. I have some buddies who have been there, and the scene is a little different. If you have money, you can buy whatever you want. It’s a cornucopia of sleaze, apparently.”
“Like what?” I asked.
Oliver shrugged. “Booze, drugs, sex, gambling…. If you want something illegal, Immortal is the place to get it. Adam is trying to hide it, but we all know he’s worried about profits. We can’t keep losing business.”
I smiled at Oliver, “Well. Maybe I can see about that.”
Chapter 34
At the end of the night, really the wee hours of a new day, I wrestled my shoes back from Adam and headed home. I had been so focused on the bar that I’d forgotten all about my new home entertainment system. I was wired—too much stimulation, I guess—so I sat down at my desk and pulled out multiple laptops, connected to the additional monitors, and saw the live feed from everywhere. I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to cover everything, but I had a hunch I might be able to convince Charlie to help me.
Everyone, it seemed, was sleeping but me—oh, and Tommy. He was cruising through some computer sites, holding his head. Poor guy. Guess those gadgets I had planted were working nicely on his brain. I decided to have a little fun. I pulled up a mirror of his screen, as well as his credit card information, and went shopping on Amazon on his dime, watching his reaction as he received a confirmation e-mail. I think Tommy was a little more than pissed when he checked his bank account and found a lot more than that purchase had come out recently. It was just about empty.
Tired of playing with Tommy, I buzzed through the time I had missed, fast forwarding and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, which was good and bad. I slipped into my sleeping pants and a T-shirt and crawled into bed, out as soon as my head hit the pillow.
I jolted awake at the sound of Ali’s voice in what seemed like five minutes later. In an immediate panic, my tired, dazed mind knew that the monitors were still set up and that it was going to be ugly trying to explain them to Ali.
I jumped out of bed and headed to the living room, ready to explain, when I realized that I had left the sound on as well as the video. When everyone was asleep there had been no sound, so I didn’t think about turning it down when I went to bed. I stared at Ali, at her dads’ house, chatting away with them, no clue that I had totally invaded their privacy. I relaxed and watched the screens for a little while, hoping that the conversation did not steer around to include a discussion of me. I hadn’t thought of that. Talk about mind reading. That could be potentially unpleasant.
I turned my attention to Tommy’s screen, only to find he was not in his bed either. I scanned the building, but he was gone. Crap! Some investigator I was. I played back footage and found him actually putting on his uniform and leaving for work. Really? I looked at the clock and found that it was after ten. I guessed his schedule had changed and he was now working Saturday routes.
Sighing, I padded over to the cold coffeepot and filled it with water and got out the necessary ingredients to wake up my brain. I stared at the multiple screens, none of which were doing anything to keep my interest. I looke
d over at my stack of books and scanned the room, my shoes from last night thrown by the couch. I had agreed to work again that night, and by doing so, I realized that my free time was no longer so free.
For the rest of the morning, and most of the afternoon, I studied both my books and the screens in front of me. I got restless, and even though I knew I should take a nap, I knew I couldn’t close my eyes right now. I headed out, not sure exactly where I would end up but enjoying the drive. I decided, without realizing it, that I was heading to Highlands. Turning down Chris’s street, I stopped short, pulling over quickly. It was her, just getting into the Audi. I guess I didn’t think that Chris would be back in her house this quickly, but then, why not? Drug dealers usually have multiple connections and make bail easily.
I followed her from a distance. Chris didn’t know my vehicle, but she was probably more aware of her surroundings than most people, due to the possibility of being jacked. She either had a large sum of money or drugs or both on her most of the time.
It dawned on me that she was headed to the new bar. I decided to take a chance and follow from the front, arriving minutes before her. I circled around to the back lot and parked near Chris. As she started toward the bar, I made a beeline in her direction, my head down, pretending to be in a texting blur on my iPhone. My path took me right in front of Chris, and I heard her calling my name from behind.
I smiled as I turned, but not for the reason she probably assumed. “Hey, how are you? It’s been a while.”
“I’m doing good, Riley. How are you? Are you thinking about working here?” Chris asked.
I looked around the lot. “I hadn’t really thought about it. I really just came by to check it out.”
Chris also looked around. “If you are interested, I’d be happy to have you.”
I was confused. “What do you mean? Are you managing the place or something?”
She laughed, not offended that it hadn’t even dawned on me that she was the new owner.
Stunned, I tried to pick my jaw off the ground. “This is your place? I had no idea. As a matter of fact, I really didn’t know what kind of job you had.”
She waved her arms around. “I’ve always been kind of an entrepreneur. It was time for a new business venture.”
I knew it was time for a new business for her, but I was pretty sure that the old business was still alive and kicking and would continue on its path of destruction with the bar as a front. I thought about the rumors circulating about the drugs and other illicit things happening there. I knew how hard it was to get near a big or bigger fish, to stop some of these things, and I suddenly had an in.
“I don’t know. I’m kind of enjoying not working.” I made a big deal out of looking at my watch. “I’m actually running late for something else, so I might come back another time and check it out.”
Chris smiled and shrugged. “Sounds good. Just come by when it’s convenient and see me. The job offer is always open.”
As I walked away from her, I resisted looking back and couldn’t help but think I should have gone in, since that’s why I came in the first place. I got the feeling that it would be better to check the place out either when it was very crowded or very empty.
Chapter 35
I spent the early part of the week researching Immortal and wondered how Chris had afforded to start the business by herself. Even with a thriving drug trade, it was difficult to believe Chris was funding the bar without assistance, despite her claims to the contrary. After a few minutes, I discovered that Chris had been lying, yet again.
To be fair, she was only partially lying and did indeed own a small portion of Immortal. The majority of the business was being fronted by a guy named Colin Miller. After running Miller through a variety of legally and illegally accessed databases, I discovered he was a major player in the nightclub business. Miller was forty-one, unmarried, and had made a fortune peddling sex and drugs out of the back rooms of Vegas clubs. Miller had recently diversified and extended his network of businesses to Denver, Chicago, and New Jersey. Immortal had been operating for less than a month but was experiencing record crowds, even on the traditionally slow weeknights. Denver was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise city during the work week, and for Immortal to have lines out the door on a Tuesday or Wednesday was moderately fishy, at best. I suspected Oliver’s theory was correct and Immortal was offering more than alcohol and strip trivia contests. No wonder Adam was concerned.
That evening after class, I drove to Immortal and parked in the back lot, facing the service entrance. The back of the building was completely blacked out, save for a lone bulb over the metal security door. From the building permits and blueprints I had studied earlier, I knew that the bar was a two-story historic building made of brick, featuring decaying electrical and plumbing. With the influx of rotating ownership in the Downtown Denver bar area, renovation after renovation had left the building a hodgepodge of rooms that violated every fire code in the books. The blueprints showed stairwells that went nowhere, rooms that made little sense, and a cellar that would make a vampire proud. In short, it was a tactical nightmare. Given the complications of the building and the high probability of getting lost should I enter the maze of rooms, I had taken the precaution of downloading an interior map onto my phone.
I exited the car and walked the long way around the lot to the front, where the line stretched halfway down the block. I made my way to the back of the line, examining the patrons as I went. They were mostly young guys in their twenties, dressed for a night of clubbing. The occasional pair or group of females was also present, and they were also dressed to kill. Luckily, I had grilled Oliver on the dress code, which seemed to consist of “less is better,” and felt confident that my skirt was short enough and my heels high enough to gain entry.
I waited until a group of women my age stepped into line and slid into the back of the pack, betting that a single female would draw more scrutiny. The bouncer at the front door eyed my outfit and deemed it just passable, with a sigh and a shake of his head. Undaunted by the gay fashion review, I paid the outrageous cover charge and stepped into the entryway.
Oliver’s description hadn’t prepared me for the sight. The foyer opened to a series of hallways, with the main thoroughfare leading to a dance area. I avoided the spider web of hallways in favor of the main stage, pushing my way past other patrons milling about.
The main area was divided into male and female sections, with the standard stripper poles. Dancers were moving back and forth in time with the music, and I could see patrons near the front enjoying the benefits of lap dances. The female strippers were attractive and seemed to fit the required criteria of extra skinny, long hair, and big boobs. The men were tall, muscular, and almost as beautiful as the women. Although I had seen my share of beautiful people overseas, I took a few minutes to appreciate the scene before I moved toward the bar to grab a beer.
The female bartender gave me the once over, and I wondered if I could be thrown out at any moment by failing an employee inspection. She, I noticed, was wearing a bikini and patent leather boots that came up to her thighs. It was a good look on her, but I wasn’t sure I could pull it off, even on my best day.
“Corona,” I said, in reply to her silence.
“Nine dollars.”
My raised eyebrows got me nothing, and I remembered that I was in the bar for a specific reason. I would have to figure out how to turn a nine-dollar beer into a taxable expense.
“I had hoped for more than a beer for nine bucks,” I said, laying a fifty on the bar. I cocked my head toward the blonde and flashed a winning smile in her direction.
She offered me a smile in return and counted the menu off on her French-manicured nails. “Poker and blackjack are in rooms one and two.” She waving her hand toward a back wall. “Craps and roulette are on the opposite side.”
I glanced at the back wall, my face impassive.
“Crystal and coke are free, as long as you are playing at the tables
, as is the alcohol.” the bartender gave a shake of her blonde mane and smirked in the general direction of my beer. “If you want sex, just tell me the number, and I will have a room upstairs set up for you.” She glanced at her wristwatch and added, “But you better hurry—the rooms were almost completely reserved the last time I checked.”
I was confused.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch all of that. Numbers?”
“Numbers,” the bartender repeated, as if I were slow. “Honey, pay attention. Anyone who is available for sex has a number. Staff have black and white numbers, and you have to pay for them. Customers have red and white numbers and are free, except for the room rental,” she threw back her head and laughed. “Sometimes it’s a toss-up on which is better. If you see someone you like, just let me know.” As the blonde leaned forward across the bar, I noticed a black button with the number nineteen in white pinned on the bikini top, which was holding a very nice set of breasts. Focus, I thought, focus.
“Hey, do you want your own number?” She held up a pack of numbered red-and-white stickers.
“Um, not yet. Let me look around a bit first.” I left the fifty on the bar and raised my glass to the bartender as I moved toward the back of the room.
Now that I knew about the numbers, I couldn’t help but notice them on nearly everyone. Red-and-white-stickered boys were close to hooking up in plain view in the middle of the bar, and I spotted a few women ogling the black-and-white pins of the wait staff. Unless I was mistaken and it was some elaborate stage act, the dancers on stage were openly having sex with one another. Hedonism at its finest, I thought, snaking my way through the crowd to the back of the bar.