Bombshell (Devlin Haskell 4) (6 page)

The locker room door opened
wider
and a couple
of the Hustler’s began to roll
in. I twiddled around for another few minutes hoping for a cheap shot that never happened
and then
Jimmy led the two of us out.

“I know
,”
he said
,
as we leaned against the wall outside the locker room, “after a while I don’t even notice they’re naked I’ve seen so much of it.”

“They weren’t” I said, disappointed.

The remainder of the afternoon proved to be just as exciting. The Hustlers
returned to the hotel,
had lunch
,
and
then adjourned to their rooms to watch soap operas or whatever they did. I bu
sied myself sitting in the locker room back at the auditorium
reading a brochure about things to do while in
St. Paul
. Half the things to do turned out to be in
Minneapolis
, I did note that assault by frenzied dancers at the Dew Drop was not listed.

At six-twenty the
team was loaded on the bus
with t
heir luggage and dro
ve back
into
downtown
St. Paul
. I was napping on a bench when they arrived.

Chapte
r Nine

Even downstairs
in the
bowels of the auditorium
,
standing
outside the locker
room y
ou could hear
the crowd overhead.
Not a roar, but a constant hum. I was waiting wi
th Jimmy in the hallway. H
e’
d escort the team out to the track
and
remain
with them
out there. I’d post myself in the locker room
,
again
,
until they returned at halftime.

“So far so good,” Jimmy winked.

“That’s why I make all the big bucks, this excitement,” I said.

“Any time now, gentlemen,” some sort of official called down the hall in our direction.

Jimmy nodded and knocked on the locker room door. A moment later the Hustlers began to roll out. On wheels a number of them were my height or taller. I nodded at anyone who made eye contact.
During practice
earlier in the day they wore sweat pants and
grungy sweat shirts
. This was a far cry.

The
y
had black and pink stripped
stockings
pulled up to the knees
over fish net hose. The uniform was black, a sort of sleeveless one piece that formed into really tight hot pants.
There were
pink
letter
s across everyone’s
ass
that
read
‘Stay-Up
’. Emblazoned r
ed and yellow flames
shot
up their thighs. The
ir
names
, printed in pink, Gothic style
script,
ran across their shoulders
.

Harlotte Davidson was in the lead.
Her make up was a bit on the severe side, eyebrows penciled to an
arch, rouged cheeks, hot pink
eye shadow that drew to a point som
ewhere off to
the side of her face. Ruby red lips outlined with a darker red. Not what I usually liked
,
but sexy in a different sort of way.

“Good luck,” I said.

“Thanks,” she
shrugged
and smiled back.

Emma was close behind her, rolling her shoulders
back and forth
.

“Good luck, Emma,” I said.

She grunted back
, but
never looked at me.

“All right,” Jimm
y called, “just like always
follow me, stay close, let’
s go.”

They rolled out of the hallway and I could hear the growing roar of the crowd as they skated into the auditorium.
I waited for a minute or two, then knocked on the locker room door. When I didn’t hear anything I opened the door and called into the room.

“Anyone in here?”

All I heard was the crowd
overhead
and the unintelligible voice of an announcer. I walked in
to the locker room
and sat on one of the benches. I l
ooked around at t
he
individual
locker areas
. It was and wasn’t like
other locker room
s I’d been in. The s
inks and showers
were
at the far end,
white hexagona
l tile on the floor with glazed brick walls.
I thought I could hear some water dripping,
all
that
seemed to
fit.

I heard the national anthem playing overhead.

Maybe it was the various
frilly
lace items hanging
from hooks, or the fact that the room
smelled reasonably nice. Maybe it was the thousand dollars worth of hair care products on the upper shelf of each locker
area
. I don’t know, there didn’t seem to be that sense of
abandoned litter and
trash so common in men’s l
ocker rooms. I’m not sure any of the girls
in here would ever get snapped with a wet towel or have their clothes stolen while they were taking a shower.

I heard the crowd roar overhead and more muffled announcer commentary. The bout must have started. There was a big part of
me
that wanted to watch Spankie and the Bombshells take o
n Harlotte Davidson and the Hastings Hustlers
. Instead I was down her
e guarding a locker room full of
woman’s
underwear.

I thought about stealing all their towels, maybe adjusting the showers so they just sprayed cold water.
Then thought maybe it would
be a better idea if I didn’t play the clown for once and
just made sure they got out of town without an incident.

Overhead t
he crowd
continued to
r
oar
.

I think I may have dozed off
,
again,
but I couldn’t be sure. Either way
,
I jerked my head up just as the door opened
and
a number of red faced
,
sweaty women rolled into the locker room.

“Bloody h
ell,” someone screamed and flung a helmet across the room.

“We’re getting our bleeding arses handed to us,
” another
shouted.

I figured it was probably inappropriate to ask how things were going.
The place suddenly took on that familiar locker room smell.

“I’ll kill that redheaded American bitch,” Emma growled,
rolling in the door. She shoved one of the girls aside,
repeatedly
slammed her helmet against the ci
nderblock wall, then
turned and glared at me, the only American in the room.

“Dev,” Jimmy called from the door.
“Join me out here for a bit.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I headed for the door, giving Emma a wide berth.

She glared at me as I retreated to the safety of the hallway.

“How’s it going?” I asked Jimmy once the door closed b
ehind me. I had to talk over the cat fight
coming from in
side
the locker room
. Y
ou could hear the girls swearing and screamin
g
at one another on the other side of the door
.
It sounded like they were about to kill one another.

“
Seems to be going our way at the moment
,” Jimmy shrugged.

“You kidding? God, I’d hate to be around if they were having a bad day.”

“Just letting off some steam.”

“Could have fooled me.
”
I said.

“They’ll get over it.”

I recalled my daydream about hid
ing in the
locker room and jumping out when they were all in the shower. They’d do more
to
me
than just cut off a finger.

“Anytime now, gentleman.” The same guy called down the hallway
a few minutes later.

Jimmy
knocked on the locker room door,
and
then called, “It’s time ladies.”

After a moment t
he
girls rolled out, lined up
behind Jimmy
just like before
,
only
now
they were
a lot
sweatier.

“Good luck, Fiona,” I said to Harlotte.

“The crowd really likes me,” she said, then
smiled and shrugged back.

I nodded at a couple of other girls, Emma was about four women back. She did not look happy. I decided to give her a dose of my personal charm.

“Good
luck, Em
…”

“Piss off, Yank,” Emma grabbed me by the neck
, spit on me and shoved me
against the wall.

I pushed
back
against her b
oobs with both hands.
It was just a reaction
not
hing
intentional.
She rolled
backwards into the
wall,
then charged
right
back at
me and gave a Karate kick.
I
tried to block the kick by grabbing her leg and pulling
it past me, forgetting she was on wheels.

Her eyes widened when her supporting leg rolled out from underneath her and she shrieked as she went down, bouncing her head off the concrete floor. Fortunately she was wearing her helmet. A
s she hit the floor a large loud “Uff
” came out of
her
mouth
. She laid there, eyes wide as I stood over her still holding her ankle.

A number of her teammates screamed. Jimmy turned round to see what the commotion was. Harlotte rolled against the far wall, mouth open and eyes wide.

“Are you men
tal? What the hell are you do
ing
?
” Jimmy screamed
.

Clearly I wasn’t thinking.

“For God’s sake, let her go, you stupid bastard, let her go,” he screamed.

I let go of Emma’s ankle and it dropped to the floor like a lead weight, eliciting another “Uff,” when it hit the concrete floor.

One of the ladies hit me over the head with her helmet, someone else kicked me with her roller skate and
suddenly
things went black.

“So let me get
this straight, Miss Felicity
Bard, all one-hundred-and-seven
-
pounds of her and
on roller skates
,
asks you to please not bother her
. And you decide it would be funny to fondle her
?
Squeeze her breasts?
Then when she reacts
, attempts to fend you off,
you turn the thing into a full blown assault, that about right?”

We were in the security o
ffice of the auditorium, a
cinderblock room
painted grey
and
devoid of
any
windows or personality. There was some sort of a hand written manning roster taped to the wal
l next to last year’s calendar.

I was sitting on a desk chair with wheels,
my hands handcuffed behind me. A
fat guy in a matching grey uniform sat on the edge of the desk leaning over me. He was a
s
ergeant named
Wayne
, according to his nametag, and he had been
reading me the riot act. I knew he was
a s
ergeant because his iron—
o
n patch read Security Sergeant.

Detective Norris Manning leaned against the wall behind him, arms folded,
eyes sparkling,
enjoying the show. He occasionally cracked his gum and
never stopped smiling
.