When I open the front door of the strip club, I’m greeted by a young woman I think is the person I’m here to interview. “Heather?” I ask.
“Yes. Great to meet you, Saint.” We shake hands and I show her the club before giving her some privacy to set up.
She reminds me of Briar—pretty face, great body—and she triggers my usual internal debate of how young is too young for my tired ass. Not in the pedo way ... but as a man freshly in his forties, is twenty-five too young? Thirty? The girls who hang around the club will literally bang any brother, but I’m not taking a nineteen-year-old anywhere near my room. Legal or not.
Halo? He’ll take a girl’s word for her age.
Niro is used to asking for ID at the tattoo parlor and can usually tell when they’re lying.
Personally, if they could pass for my daughter, they’re too fucking young.
Twenty minutes into the interview, there is no doubt in my mind. Heather is going to be a great acquisition to the club. She’s taken pole dancing classes, which—who knew—some women do as exercise. And she’s amazing at it.
A large body drops into the seat next to me, and I see Spark checking out the girl on stage. Shit, the very man I didn’t want to see. He tips his head in appreciation at Heather’s moves.
“College student. Wants a quick way to make cash with minimum impact to her studies,” I say. I emphasize the college student part, but it flies straight over Spark’s head.
King stands next to him, his eyes on her too. I know they’ve dropped the cash in the office for me to clean. I’ve recorded every dollar—how much illegal money they’ve laundered through the strip club. It disappears into the take with the bar bills and cover fees and private dances.
The accounting is on my laptop. But I haven’t submitted the evidence yet.
I want to say I don’t know why.
But I do.
“Body like that, she’ll cash in quick,” Spark says. “Put her on Friday and Saturdays, and she’ll make enough. She up for the private shit?”
I think about the girls in those rooms again and wonder if I should have panic alarms installed in them for emergencies.
“Says she is,” I reply. “Wants to graduate without any loans. Wanna give her a road test?” The sentence catches in my throat. But Heather knows why she’s here and what her limits are. I asked her about them, and she was candid. She enjoys sex, and if it helps her pay her bills, then she’s cool. And, honestly, I trust Spark not to do anything she doesn’t want, as he’s a believer in consent and safe words. With his Viking looks and long blond hair, he gets enough pussy without trying, so he doesn’t need to force anyone to do something they don’t want to.
I’m meant to ask questions about the drop. I’m meant to ask them how much it is. I’m meant to get them to talk about where it came from. But the words escape me. These two men are my friends.
I can’t do it.
“No, he doesn’t,” King says, slapping Spark’s shoulder. “We got important shit to do.”
“We do?” Spark asks. “Because my dick’s saying the important shit I got to do is up there flashing her cunt at me.”
Despite the tension gripping my chest, I can’t help but laugh. “I’ll get her number. Tell you when she’s in.”
I watch the two of them leave, then gesture for Heather to stop.
As she dresses, I put in an order to Vex for those alarms.
By the time she leaves, I’ve stepped into the alleyway behind the club, ripped off my wire, crushed it beneath my boot, and buried it in the trash of a neighboring establishment.
9
BRIAR
The back garden of Saint’s single-level home is derelict.
And if my pop were here, it would break his heart.Briar, he used to say,even cracks in the sidewalk can be home to flowers.
And he was right.
Pop’s garden was a riot of hues. Vibrant for as many months as he could eke out of the season. I think that’s why my design work is so good. My professors always commented on my color combinations.
