12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Lucy

"Y ou're late, doll. You OK? I was about to send the police to your house," Peter says, his feet still propped on his desk. He obviously wasn't that concerned if he's lounging around like he's on a beach with a beer on a Tuesday afternoon.

"Sorry. I lost track of time. Lots to do that doesn't involve pasties or a pole." I plop in the rickety chair across from his desk. "You can dock me."

Peter finally puts his feet down and leans forward, peering at me over the old garage sale desk he bought for his office when he started the club. Fast food wrappers litter his desk, and the smell of fry oil hangs in the air. My stomach growls since I didn't have time for breakfast or lunch. I usually try to eat healthy, but I grab the brown bag in front of me, hopeful there are fries at the bottom.

I find a cheeseburger at the bottom of the sack. Peter must be saving it for later, but he raises an eyebrow and then nods, a silent invitation to it.

He may be a greasy pig on the outside, complete with slicked-back hair, unbuttoned shirt, and pinky ring, but he looks out for his family. Peter watches as I unwrap the burger and bite into it, practically swooning even though it's cold.

"What's going on with you and the sheriff?"

I practically choke on my bite, and I beat on my chest until the bite goes down. Peter hands me a small plastic water bottle from under his desk. "Nothing. Why do you ask?"

"Don't piss on me and tell me it's raining. I know you dated him in high school. Brought the bastard around and showed him off at every family event. Your prom picture with the guy sat on Mom's mantle. You act like I've never seen him before."

"He's a friend," I say, the words coming out like a mumble around the food.

"We thought he would be the one you married."

"It should have been him. All along…it should have been him," I admit. "Why are you curious? He nosing around when I'm not here?"

"Nah," Peter says, waving his hand. "He only comes when you're here, and don't act like I don't know there's more than dancing going on in that VIP room with him. It's why I asked if you were together. If anything, I was kind of hoping he'd be around more."

Interesting.

"Why?" I ask, tilting my head. Peter runs a tight ship but I'm surprised he wants the fuzz breathing down his neck.

Peter winks. "Come on, Lucy. You think I don't know drugs are coming through here?"

"If you know, why don't you stop it?"

"Murphy Beckett. Enough said. Not sure if a guy like me has the clout to stop him from doing something he really wants to do."

My dander goes up, and I set the burger down on its wrapper, suddenly not hungry. "Has he been threatening you?" Peter looks at me a moment, blinks, and then looks at the floor. "Never mind. I'll take that as a yes."

"I wouldn't say threatening." He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "He came in here yesterday and wanted to talk to Sheri. Said she was doing him a favor and to make sure she got access to a lot of VIP clients. Wanted her on the schedule more."

"Sounds like Sheri may be in on the drug smuggling. Is she being threatened, though?" I ask.

He shrugs and leans back until his chair squeaks. "Fuck if I know, but I value my dick and like it attached to my body. I also don't want any of my girls hurt. This place ain't much, but it's mine. Think you can talk to Sheri to see if he's working her over or has something on her?"

"Why don't you ask her?"

"Do people tell their boss what's going on as much as their coworkers? Besides, she doesn't know you're my cousin. I haven't told anyone. Did you?"

"Come on, Peter," I say, wadding up the cheeseburger wrapper with what's left of the meal and tossing it into the bag. "You know I don't claim to even know you half the time."

"She's more likely to talk to you."

"Fine, dickhead."

"There's the girl I used to play Scooby Doo with," he chuckles, putting his hands behind his head and kicking his feet on his desk. "I just want a clean operation here. I mean…as clean as a strip club can be. I don't need the feds busting me for some drug bullshit. I certainly don't need trafficking through here. I thought you could talk to Sheri and then see if that boyfriend of yours could come around more often. It may keep the girls and Murphy in line. It won't hurt to have it known there's a uniform here."

"He's not my boyfriend," I say, wiping my greasy hands on my cutoff shorts. It doesn't matter if there's grease on my hands. The dark denim is old and stained now anyway. I eye the brown bag I just discarded and think about covering my lap so Peter won't know how stained my pants are. I need to just throw these things away and buy something new, but dollar signs dance in front of my eyes.

"Sure, Lucy. I'll believe that when he doesn't come around with a lovesick look anymore."

***

I set my stuff on my vanity backstage and look around the dressing area. Nobody ever messes with me back here. I don't talk to anyone, though. That's always been who I am. I always kept to myself at work when I had a job in high school. I didn't want to be involved in work drama, even back then.

But maybe I should start talking to people. Asking around. Be friendly. I should get to the bottom of what Murphy has going around here once and for all.

I smile a cheesy smile at my reflection in the mirror and then slouch in my seat. My blush brush rolls across the wooden vanity and falls to the floor. I don't pick it up. Who am I kidding? I've been a quiet mouse with the other girls since I started here. I get in, get my makeup and heels on, dance, and go the fuck home. They won't buy a fake smile and a kind word from me. Not after months of radio silence.

It's still worth a try.

Two women I work with come in the back door and let it bang loudly against the wall. They scurry in with their own bags of food and large gas station drinks that I'm pretty sure aren't soda if the smell of vodka wafting out of them most days is any clue.

Some of us need a little help getting through this job. I don't judge.

"Hello," I say, and they look at each other slowly and then back to me. Yep. They definitely think I'm the antisocial freak of the club.

"Um, hi."

"Janice, right?" I ask the friendlier one. Her hair is sprayed so high that it reminds me of eighties hair. Dark eyeliner lines her eyes, and I wonder what she looks like without a fortress of makeup and regular hair.

"Coral for the stage," she replies.

"Right. Sorry."

"Why are you talking to us? Aren't you a narc?" the other stripper asks. I think her real name is Cheryl, but she goes by Bang on the stage. Like the guys will believe that's her real name. Her bright red hair is in pigtails, and she pulls her yoga pants off to step into her dance clothes for the evening. She kicks off her Pumas and sighs a little as she fishes her heels out of her duffle bag.

"A narc? Is that what you think of me?"

"Your boyfriend's the sheriff," Coral says.

"Why does everyone think he's my boyfriend?"

"Oh, honey, you've been doing this for three or four months, right?" I nod. "We've been here four times that. We know the look of the men that come in here and watch their girl dance. There's a look, and that man has it for you, doll."

"A look? You think he's my boyfriend because of the way he looks at me?"

"Boyfriend. Husband. Who cares? I don't know how you're involved, but that man is in love with you. He watches some of the other girls on the pole while he's working up the nerve to talk to you. His eyes rain hellfire when he comes in and you're dancing for another man. That hot sheriff squeezes his glass so hard when you dance for another guy, I think the glass will shatter. We're lucky to get a glance. He only has eyes for you. Now you're going to pretend he's not yours?"

I know Aaron still has feelings for me, but hearing other people describe it is surreal. They see. They hear. Something about that makes it more real. My heart flutters, and I'm not sure if it's nerves or because even my organs want Aaron Dwyer.

Holy shit. I want Aaron Dwyer. I've wanted that man since I was fifteen. I wanted to hold him at the class reunion. I want to hold him now. If I didn't feel so damn unworthy of a great man like him, I'd flip off my heels and head over there now.

I shake my head. "It's not like that. It's complicated. Have you seen Sheri around?"

"Nah. Haven't seen her. She's working tonight," Cheryl says. I refuse to call her Bang. "Why?"

"Just wondering if she's OK. I saw that creeper guy sniffing around her on my last shift. She looked scared." I'm totally making up bullshit and fiddle with my lipstick in my mirror so I don't meet their eyes.

"Are you talking about Murphy?" Cheryl asks, earning a nudge in the ribs from Coral.

Bingo. Obviously, Coral doesn't want Cheryl talking about Murphy.

I clear my throat. "I know Murphy's running drugs through here."

"Total narc," Cheryl whispers to Coral.

I set my lipstick down a little harder than necessary. This is backstage at a strip club. Going for most friendly can only get me so far. These women are hard, often traumatized people that can smell bullshit a mile away and have very little loyalty to people that aren't family or close friends they trust.

"You know what? You're right."

Both ladies stiffen.

"I'm not a narc, but Murphy burns my balls when he comes in. It pisses me off. Don't think I don't know he makes ya'll suck his dick without paying. I've seen him push Candy up against the wall and whisper something that made her lip tremble, but excuse the fuck out of me for being concerned. I also don't want him to pull that shit on me. So sorry to have asked for info. But I guess you want to take his shit, huh? Well, good for you, but I'm not going to do it."

Cheryl gives Coral a pleading look, and Coral shakes her head. "Nuh-uh," Coral practically grunts. "I'm not doing this. Too much at stake."

Once Coral stomps off to the bathroom, Cheryl stands in place, shuffling her feet and looking at the floor. "I don't want to get hurt. We're all just scared."

"Me too," I admit. "There seems to be a lot of guys around here that think they can do whatever they want to women and girls, and they use us for more than a good time."

"Murphy makes me sell drugs. Well, I don't sell them. I just hand them off and collect the money."

"Does he cut you on the profit?"

She shakes her head, and her pigtails swing against her face. "He says that my payment is living in peace because he can make it so that I have a rough time."

"What kind of rough time?"

She shrugs and sits at her own vanity seat. She stares at herself in the mirror for a bit but doesn't pick up her makeup or hairbrush. "He says he knows my landlord and can get me evicted. Says he knows people that can hurt my kids. I have twin boys. Third grade."

My stomach rolls. I dislike men who threaten women, but I despise them if they threaten kids. "What specifically?"

"He says he'll take my kids from the bus stop and find a buyer for them. He says twins turn a pretty penny." She turns to me, her eyes desperate. "Don't tell anyone. Please. I just, well, I just want it to stop. I want my damn kids safe. So I push his stuff. I slip buyers the package and then collect the money for Murphy. I swear to God I don't do it to hurt people. I just don't want to be hurt. If I tell Peter, Murphy will hurt my kids, and I'll be out of a place to live. Who would believe me if I tell the police or ask for help? I'm a stripper."

With what's going on, I know for a fact that the county sheriff would believe every word she said, but it's hard to reason with a cornered and threatened person who probably grew up distrusting authority.

She finally reaches for lipstick, opens it, and then sets it back down. Her hands shake so hard that she can't put it on without smearing it everywhere.

"Is Sheri into this too? Is she being threatened?"

Cheryl's eyes meet mine in the mirror. "I won't rat out another woman, especially if she has kids, but I've seen the way he treats her."

"Like what?"

"Worse than what I get. He forced her one night."

"Sex?" I ask.

She nods. "I heard her crying the whole time, and he slapped her around pretty good for making noise. He must have good dirt on her because, even after that, she runs drugs for him and has to give him some of her tips. So far, he hasn't asked for my tips."

"He's pimping her and running drugs. Has she been his all along? Is he putting women to work selling sex and has moved to strip clubs? It'd be a good way to leech off tips."

"I don't know. But if it comes to that, I'll run. Grab the kids and disappear someday. I know she has a kid. Toddler girl. Sheri's elderly mother watches her while she works, so an elderly mother is a liability, too. I'm sure Murphy has everyone threatened all the way around."