Dead Soon Enough: A Juniper Song Mystery (21 page)

When the song ended, she pulled her swimsuit back into place and ceded the spotlight to the next performer. The smoke changed color, and the new girl started dancing while the old one collected her tips from the floor. I felt a pang of vicarious embarrassment until I recognized the thoughtless, nonchalant look on her face. She could have been picking up photocopies, staring at a spreadsheet—this was just her job.

I was nearing the end of my drink when a stripper came to my table. She was thin with big implants that stuck out from her body like a couple of softballs. I couldn’t tell her age or ethnicity—she could’ve been anywhere between twenty-five and forty, and was either Latina or Asian, possibly mixed. She was wearing a burgundy bra and matching panties, with a garter belt holding up fishnet stockings. Her shoes were enormous and silver.

“Are you having a good time?” she asked, standing over me.

“Yeah,” I said, floating an uncomfortable smile.

“Is this your first time here?”

I nodded and took another sip of my drink.

“You have to get a dance, then.” She touched her top lip with the tip of her tongue.

“Maybe later,” I said. “I just got here”

“Okay,” she said, winking and fluttering one hand. “I’m Melody, if you want to find me later.”

I sat still through a few more songs, but no more strippers came to offer me a lap dance, though there were at least six on the floor, working the room. They were more diverse than I thought they’d be—ethnically, sure, but in body type, too. The girls were all tall in their towering heels, but some were still taller than others. Most of them were thin, but some had guts and cellulite that they carried with as much unself-consciousness as they did their topless breasts. There was variation in these, too—Melody hoisted one of the only pairs of obvious implants, and the natural ones ranged from small and perky to ponderous and baggy. If I’d come wearing lingerie and a lot more mascara, there was no reason I would’ve stood out, as long as I didn’t try dancing.

I’d never really known a stripper, and I wondered who these women were, where they’d come from. The only ones I ever heard from were the blogger types, whose essays on the sex industry sometimes made it onto my newsfeeds. They were all white and middle class, stripping to pay for law school, or to supplement their freelance writing careers. There was one girl in the room who looked like she might write feminist think pieces in her free time—she was white and skinny with her unenhanced breasts tied in a simple blue bikini.

The voice came back over the PA to announce that private rooms were available for purchase in half-hour and hour-long slots. Spearmint Rhino seemed too corporate to be an actual bordello, but I had to wonder what exactly went on in a private room between stripper and patron for a whole hour.

Then it occurred to me, I could use some privacy with one of the girls.

I was here for information, and any number of people in the room might have been able to help me, but I knew that not all of them would. I wondered who I should approach, given what I wanted. I could probably win some sympathy from an NPR-listening sex-positive stripper. But if bribery was part of the plan, I knew my money would talk louder to a girl who wasn’t taking her clothes off as part of some adventure.

I waited for Melody’s turn onstage, then I left my seat for one of the ringside chairs. There were about twenty of these seats, and only two others were occupied, on the other side of the stage. Melody was dancing in front of the men who occupied them. She knelt on the stage and bounced her tits, pulling them toward her neck. Then she licked one of her nipples, a feat that I would’ve guessed physically impossible, like tickling yourself, or biting your elbow. One of the men flung a single dollar at her knees and she eyed it slyly, her expression bold and flirtatious. But underneath her fluttering lids and vixen’s smile, I thought I saw a flicker of contempt for the men who came to leer and drink and part grudgingly with their singles. I had a feeling a few bills would go a long way with her.

She noticed me as soon as she was back on her feet. She gave me a huge smile then got down again on her hands and knees. She crawled toward me across the stage with her back arched, her ass in the air.

“You came,” she said happily, as if I were a school friend who’d shown up to see her band play at a bar.

“I did,” I said, trying and failing to match the breadth of her smile.

She leaned off the stage and dipped herself over me, trapping my head and her breasts in a smothering fort walled by her long hair. When she got up again, she stared down at me and giggled.

“Are you a lezzie?” she asked playfully, displaying a tongue stud with her languid “L.”

“Not really. Are you?”

“Sometimes.” She smiled, pleased that I’d asked. “I like when girls come in here,” she said, speaking just loud enough that I could hear her over the PA system. “Usually better than the guys.”

“Do girls ever take you to the private rooms?”

“Sometimes.”

“How much does that cost anyway?”

“Half hour or hour?” She tried to keep her voice sexy, but I could sense her counting cash in her head.

“Half hour, let’s say.”

“For you?” She winked. “A hundred bucks.”

That was more than I liked to pay for an interview, but I didn’t think I’d get much out of Melody while she was onstage. I guessed I could get a lap dance instead, but the averted awkwardness would be worth the extra cost in Rubina’s money.

“What if I just want to talk?” I asked, already resigned.

She stopped moving for a second. “There’s no discount,” she said. “And if you want me to talk you off, that’ll definitely cost extra.”

I leaned back with my hands up. “I promise it’ll be easier than that.”

“I’ll get you after my dance,” she said, winking again. I threw five singles on the stage and she moved back to the other side, where the men stared at her hungrily. I finished my drink and ordered another while she danced the rest of her song.

She came to get me as promised, and led me through a hallway that glowed with red-and-amber light and shadow. She opened the door to a private room, and I followed her in with the expectant obedience of a john.

The VIP room had the same cheesy aesthetic of the rest of the club, with both walls and sofas decked out in faux tufted leather. Mirrors paneled the walls, reflecting us back to each other from every angle.

She closed the door behind her and started dancing to a loud, fast-paced song. The room was hardly less frenetic than the main area.

“Melody, I’m Song,” I said, trying to interrupt her before she pushed me down and landed in my lap.

A mirthful smile splashed across her face. “Like two peas in a pod,” she said, winking.

“I was wondering if you could help me out with something.” I tried my best to match her flirty carriage, not quite in amplitude but with a friendly tone.

“That’s what I’m here for, Song.” She made a sound with her tongue like she was snapping gum and put her hands on my waist.

“It’s kind of a straight-girl problem,” I said. “You can just sit down if you want. Those shoes look like they hurt.”

“They’re not so bad.” Still, she sat down, maintaining a posture that pushed out her chest. “But thanks.”

“I’m here about a guy, actually. You may have seen him around here.” I stayed standing and watched the pep drain out of her as she relaxed out of her sex-kitten persona.

“Oh, I can’t talk about other customers,” she said. Then added, “Are you a cop?”

I shook my head but resented that she was smarter than she let on. I sat next to her, trying to abandon any airs of authority. I swiped nervously at my nose. “He’s someone I’ve sort of been seeing.”

“I can’t rat out customers to their girlfriends either, babe.”

“Just humor me for a minute, please? We have half an hour, and I must be cuter than most of the guys who come here.” I gave her a pleading smile and touched her wrist, lightly.

“You can tell me about your boy,” she said.

“His name’s Enver Kizil,” I said. Then I paused and stopped myself from describing him like a perp. “I call him ‘Envy,’ actually, because I’m the envy of every other girl in town.” I didn’t have to will myself to blush. I was ashamed of that one.

She laughed. “That’s cute.”

“Honestly, he’s not that much to look at. He’s really hairy, kind of paunchy, and he has eyes like this.” I pulled down on my cheeks to mimic Kizil. “And he’s short, too. I can’t wear heels when I’m with him. Definitely not like yours.”

“You’re tall, though.”

“I guess. He’s probably about my height, but he might even be an inch shorter.”

She narrowed her eyes, picturing the man I described. “Does he have black hair?” she asked.

I perked up and let it show. “Yeah, he does.”

“And he’s like, Armenian or something?”

“Turkish. So you have seen him, huh?”

She wrinkled her nose and snorted a little as she giggled. “Yeah, I think so. If he’s who I’m thinking of, you can totally do better,” she said.

I agreed but frowned instead. “He’s a good guy.”

“Oh, no offense,” she added, though without particular concern.

“Anyway, things are getting kind of serious, but I don’t know if I should trust him, or trust myself with him. This might sound lame, but I’ve just been burned before, you know?” Melody looked like she probably would know.

She tilted her head and gazed down at me with hard sympathy. “This might sound funny coming from me, but it could be that you date guys who are straight-up regulars at strip clubs.”

I tightened my face into a mask of misery. “Is he a straight-up regular? I was afraid of that.”

“I’ve seen him around, definitely.”

“Like today, for example?”

She thought about it for a second, then conceded with a nod.

“Have you spent any time with him?”

“I guess I might have given him a lap dance, but I can’t be sure.” There was a note of guarded apology in her voice, and I decided that would work to my advantage.

“Does he just come here to look at girls? Like alone?”

“Let me think.” She leaned back on her elbows in a pose that required too much flexibility to be comfortable. “I see him alone sometimes, I’m pretty sure. Almost everyone here seems to come alone at least sometimes. But I’ve also seen him with another customer a few times.”

My senses sharpened in a way that told me I was getting somewhere. “A friend?”

“Sort of. Maybe a business associate.”

“What makes you say that? Have you heard them talking to each other?”

She bit her lip. “Yeah, a couple times.”

“Are you a good eavesdropper?”

“I don’t have to be. Men don’t lower their voices around me. I’m just furniture with tits and a nice ass.”

My mind raced ahead of me to vast revelations, conspiracies caught whole in Melody’s consciousness, waiting to be plucked free.

“What kinds of things do they talk about?” I asked, keeping my voice curious but calm.

“Like money stuff, I guess.”

My heart sank at the shrug in her voice.

“Have you heard them mention a lawsuit? Or a girl named Nora?”

She narrowed her eyes and thought for a few seconds, nodding in the end. “That sounds right.”

So much for perfect recall. I switched my line of inquiry. “This guy, is he like Enver’s boss or something?”

“Yeah, I think so,” she said, sounding slightly more sure of herself. “It seems like he’s the one in charge. He always pays, too.”

“Do you know his name?”

She shook her head. “He doesn’t really talk to us girls.”

“Was he here with him earlier?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“What’s he look like? I’d love to say hi.”

“Like, short and kind of busted. Not even sure his mother would call it handsome.”

The door swung inward with a sound that rose over the steady thump of music. We both started and looked up, and I felt more exposed than I might have with Melody in my lap. It didn’t help that she looked petrified.

A man stood sneering in the doorway. He was short with an average build and a creepy set to his facial features. He wasn’t hideous, exactly, but his eyes bulged, the better to see you with, and his white teeth glinted, the better to scare you with in a dark, dark room.

“You can’t be in here,” Melody said gamely. I knew we were both wondering the same thing—whether this man had been listening at the door, catching every word despite the music and noise of the club.

“You’re mistaken,” he said, advancing into the room as the door closed heavily behind him. “I’m the highest paying customer here. I can come and go as I please.”

He walked over and stood between us, looking down. Everything about him was a little bit unctuous, from his thick cologne to his flashy suit to the precious wet-tongued way he delivered his accented English. He looked at me like I was naked under his boot.

He turned to Melody and bent down to hook a thick finger into her bikini top at her sternum, the back of his hand mashed carelessly against her breasts. “Melody, yes?”

She received the insult of his touch with a steadiness I had to admire. I knew she wasn’t unaccustomed to strange men’s hands, but I doubted her average customer was this overtly threatening. Her well-used smile grew stiff on her face. “That’s my name,” she said. “What about it?”

“You’d better check in with Mr. Olson,” he said. “This is your last day here.”

She snapped up to stand next to him, stumbling on one of her heels. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s been informed that you’ve been giving out information about customers.”

“To me?” I asked, as innocently as I could. “She hasn’t told me anything.”

“That’s right,” she said, indignant.

“Go plead your case,” he said. He reopened the door and waved her out. She glanced at me with a mix of nerves and anger she didn’t have time to process, then left.

He sat down right next to me as the door closed us in together. His cologne seemed to grow more aggressive, engulfing me in a concentrated musk that smelled, more than anything, like an oncoming headache. I had an urge to place my palm over the top of my drink.