Beautiful, Naked & Dead (Moses McGuire) Read online

  The Lap Dance salon is a small back room lined with mirrors, floor to ceiling. It had six raised booths with chairs in them where men sit and get friction dances. Piper was sitting in one of the chairs, reflected on three sides by the mirrors. Her flame-red hair flowed down her back like a burning waterfall. She had on a tube top that was being stretched beyond the suggested limits of its elasticity, her muscular shoulders gleaming in the dim light and her long powerful legs spilling out of her silk tap pants. She’d been in the game long enough not to cry, but I could see the flicker of pain and fear behind her eyes.

  “What’d they do to my lil’ girl?” I said. She looked up at me, hesitating. “If you don’t tell me, I can’t fix it.”

  “God damn son of a bitch…the little pencil dick wants a grand a week or…” She didn’t need to finish it. Whatever they said they were going to do to her was ugly and painful. Had to be to scare a pro like Piper.

  “How much did you give ‘em?”

  “Two hundred hard-earned dollars… Bastard didn’t even pay for his lap dance… Will you do me one lil’ old favor?”

  “What’s that, baby doll?”

  “Cripple those sons of bitches,” she said, staring past me into space. Like a benediction, sealing the promise, I kissed her forehead and turned on my heels.

  Sunlight exploded pinning my pupils as I stepped out of the dark club and onto the sidewalk, I fumbled my shades on to protect me from the day. The two Armenian thugs were moving towards a ten-year-old BMW 740i. A skinny little thing in a leather trench coat and his muscle, a big boy, six foot and pushing 250 hard. Talk was out of the question, even if I wanted to, which I didn’t. Odds were even that the big boy could kick my ass if I gave them any slack. I ran full out, before they even knew I was coming I was in midair. I tackled the big boy from behind, catching his hair in my fist I let the momentum of my body weight drive his face down onto the hood of the Beemer. I heard a crunch that I knew was his nose breaking, and he let out a howl. Pulling his head up I smashed it down again, I could feel the muscles in his back loosen, he was going down. A sweep to the back of his knee sent him sprawling on the sidewalk where he lay holding his face, blood flowing through his fingers.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw skinny boy reaching into his jacket. In the two steps it took me to reach him, he had his gun out. It was an ugly Glock 9mm. He swung it up, aiming inches from my face.

  I froze, my expression going neutral.

  He stood in the street between the hood of the Beemer and the trunk of a rusted-out Chevy. “I’m gonna bust a cap in yo ass muthafucka,” he spat out, struggling to sound as Black as possible.

  “Do it, please. Come on, pull the trigger. Right here between the eyes.” I pointed at my forehead.

  “What? You whacked out?” he said, unsure of his position. It’s hard to threaten a guy who doesn’t give a damn.

  “Come on, don’t be a squid, pull the trigger. Pull it!” His eyes flitted off me and to his pal. That instant was all I needed. In one movement I lunged forward shoving his gun up, and him out into an oncoming Monte Carlo. The bass thud of his body against metal was mixed with the treble crack of a bone breaking. He bounced off the grill of the speeding car. For a brief moment he took flight, twisting like a broke winged bird up into the air before tumbling down screaming like a little girl. Thank god it was LA so the car just kept going. Grabbing hold of the scruff of his trench coat I dragged his skinny ass up onto the sidewalk, scooping up the Glock on my way. There are so many more guns than brains in this town. His left leg was twisted in a way nature never intended, and he was shrieking in pain. Looking down at this wailing little puke, all I wanted to do was pound his head into the cement, anything to get him to shut the fuck up.

  Luckily the big boy got my attention before I could act on my impulse to stomp. Coming around, he stood up looking at me, his face smeared red with blood. His nose was mashed flat against his face. His eyes were raging as though he was about to charge, then he saw the Glock in my hand. He relaxed, shrugging his shoulders and gave me a look that said it was my move, he’d live or die with whatever I chose. You had to respect him, he hadn’t been dealt the hand he wanted, but he was playing what he had like a man.

  “Get this piece of shit off my sidewalk,” I said in as neutral a tone as I could muster. My pulse was pounding, my adrenaline flying high. But this was no time for drama. Things can go ugly in the blink of an eye, and then these boys were looking at the long dirt nap and it’s a steel cage for the rest of my life. The big boy looked down at his squealing buddy, a little embarrassment showing in his eyes. Glancing up at me, he hardened.

  “You’re still trying to decide if you can take me, gun and all.” I said flat, “I know I would be. Fuck it kid, take a pass on this one. It ain’t pretty any way you play it.” I was hoping like hell he didn’t attack. If the 9mm didn’t stop him I wasn’t sure he wouldn’t rip my head off. No fear showed in his eyes. He just kept staring at me. Wherever he’d come up it was a hell of a lot rougher than the streets of Glendale. “Whatever you’re going to do, let’s get to it before the blues roll up and I’ve got to explain the gun, the blood, the bodies and this day goes from shit to diarrhea.”

  The big boy thought about it for a moment, turning the options over in his head, I could see the gears click away as his eyes bore into mine, searching for my weakness. He was a street fighter, and not one who was used to losing. “It’s over,” I said lowing the gun, giving him space to back down into. His shoulders relaxed, hiking up into another indifferent shrug. He moved past me, closer than comfortable, close enough to let me know he held no fear of an old bastard like me. Skinny boy let out a high-pitched squeal when dumped into the back seat of the Beemer. Leaning in, I slipped my hand into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Taking his driver’s license and a wad of bills, mostly hundreds, I tossed the wallet onto the front seat. I leaned my face close to him, tapping my finger on his forehead forcing him to focus on my eyes, with my other hand I covered his mouth silencing his whimpers. I spoke in almost a whisper. “You ever even think about my girls again, even a flitting fucking thought and I will find you.” I dropped the clip out of the Glock and kicked it into the storm drain. Ejecting the chambered round, I tossed the nasty plastic gun to the big boy and watched them drive away, wondering what the hell was wrong with the youth of today. Hell, when I was their age, I never would have let some old fuck get the drop on me.

  When I reentered the club Piper was on stage dancing to Billy Holiday’s “God Bless The Child.” Spinning around the pole, running her hands up over her fine natural double D’s, fingers dancing circles around her nipples, all the standard moves, moves she could do in her sleep, mechanical moves designed to draw your eye to her body and fill your reptile brain with the need to mate or at least throw dollar bills. The men watching didn’t notice the fear in her eyes. Ok, maybe they didn’t even notice she had eyes. She was parts, real live moving parts.

  The fight had cleared my head, and pulled my spirit up enough for me to remember Kelly and her call and her sweet face. I should have walked out then, but then I wouldn’t have been me. Stepping up to the stage I tossed two Benjamins at Piper’s feet. Looking down she smiled, her eyes going soft. Even the lonely men at the rail were impressed by the falling hundreds. She danced the rest of the song for me alone. Eyes on my face, it was a dance honoring her valorous hero. The mind may know it’s all a sham, but blood wants what blood wants. Watching her work her magic on the stage I knew where we would end up. My blood lust had turned to lust lust that quickly. Tits.

  Stepping off the stage, she took my hand and started to lead me to the lap room. “I can’t, baby doll, I have to find Kelly,” I said half-heartedly.

  “Mo, if you were ten years younger,” Piper purred, “You’d still be ten years too old for that girl child. Now drop the torch Cowboy, that one’s never going to give it up.”

  “It ain’t about that, Piper.”

  “Tell yourself any lit
tle lie you need to, but it’s always about that. You just want her ‘cause she’s not up there offering it. You think she’s your ticket to Straightsville. Now forget Miss Pure White and come show Momma what you got.”

  “I think she’s in trouble.”

  “We all were in trouble from those punks, but you handled that,” she said, keeping her grip tight.

  “Maybe later, she…”

  “You plan on banging her?”

  “No.”

  “Then she’ll wait. Lordy, lordy, lordy, part of you wants to stay. “ Her eyes flicked down to my crotch. “Is that for lil’ ol’ me?”

  I gave up my weak attempt to fight it and let her lead me into the shadows. I lied to myself, saying Piper was right, Kelly must have been afraid of the Armenians. Truth was, my erection was doing all the thinking at that moment. My blood was up and screaming for release. Watching Piper’s ass sway before me I couldn’t see a damn thing wrong with this deal.

  I told myself one more little lie and slid into the moment, pretending this time it would be different and I wouldn’t end up feeling more empty than when I started. Sitting on a metal chair surrounded by mirrors she slid down onto my lap while somewhere in the distance Nicki Minaj was singing about being the best. Rubbing her fine ass on my crotch she moaned in fake but convincing passion. Her hair against my face, her scent filling my nose, rose water hovering over hair spray and buried down below, just the hint of sweat. To the pulsing beat Piper swayed her full, soft, natural breasts across my face, tracing her cleavage across the hair on my chin. All the while her leg expertly stroked my erection through my jeans. Caressing her hands over my shoulders she felt my breathing slow.

  “My big strong hero… give Momma a little cream for her coffee.” Pulling her leg from between mine she smiled down at me, turning slowly around she bent over giving me a moment to look at her fine firm backside without her watching me. Sliding gracefully back, she sat onto my lap, fitting herself down around the bulge in my pants. Rocking her hips to the pulse of the music and the acceleration of my breaths, she ground her ass against my cock until I finally closed my eyes… let go… and came. Climbing off me, she smiled and kissed me on the cheek.

  “Thank you,” I said, “Consider your tab squared.”

  “What?” Her smile faded.

  “I took care of the punks, you took care of me. We’re even.”

  “You’re such a jerk.”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “Forget it.” She walked out, plastering her sultry there’s nothing I’d rather do than fuck you smile on as she cleared the doorway. I watched her ass twitch away into the shadows of the bar and wondered if I would ever give up trying to understand women.

  Staring into the mirror I had to ask myself who that man was. The scruffy red beard, four gold earrings in one ear, a Celtic knot tattoo on his neck, placed there to commemorate the love for a girl he no longer knew. The scar above the left eye from a broken beer bottle. And cold blue eyes, eyes that had seen too much for one life. The Viking heritage showed in the man’s body, he was built for wielding a battle-axe and pulling an oar. I wondered if that man in the mirror came into the club, would we be friends? Probably not, he didn’t look like he had many friends. I’d probably throw his trouble-making ass out on the street.

  After the rush of the battle and the bad sex settled, after staring at my face in the mirror for too long… Kelly’s face came into my mind. Her call was the reason I stepped into this mess in the first place. I came in looking for Kelly and wound up getting tossed a thank you lap dance from Piper. Life does have its ups and downs.

  With a guilty smirk, I stepped into the men’s room to dab the stain off my jeans. I wasn’t guilty about the lap ride, hell we were both consenting adults and I figure as long as the donkey didn’t die, what adults do behind closed doors is their own damn business. I did feel bad about leaving Kelly hanging while I got my nut off though. It was no way to treat a friend. Men can be jerks sometimes, just a fact. Any possible warm afterglow of the ejaculation was gone before I left the john.

  Dropping some change into the pay phone, I dialed Kelly’s number. I was rewarded for my effort with a busy signal. I dialed again but got the same irritating blatting tone. Why would the Armenians have threatened a waitress? She didn’t make the kind of cash the dancers did. When she called, Kelly had said she wasn’t who I thought she was. What did that have to do with the Armenian shakedown? Somewhere between the pay phone and the bar I decided I was going to have to go see Kelly, if only to stop my brain from thinking about it.

  Behind the bar Turaj’s eyes were in full flight, lighting on anything in the room but me. I slapped my hands firmly down on the bar top. Turaj gave a little jump then turned a sheepish grin on me.

  “You are one slick mother fucker, right?” I purred.

  “What? Moses my man, what are you thinking?”

  “That you are one slick mother fucker. How much were those Armenian pricks planning to pay you a week, for the right to scalp our girls?” He looked mock stunned.

  “I didn’t, they, I never saw-”

  “That’s it, just keep digging that grave deeper and deeper.”

  “Trust me, I don’t know those punks. What kinda man do you think I am?” A line of sweat was collecting on his weak brow.

  “The spineless kind. The kind that gets his rocks off holding power over these girls because they’d never give it to him willingly. That answer your question?”

  “Screw you,” he said with no conviction.

  “Hand me the phone, I need to talk to your uncle.” At this his mask of cool started to twitch.

  “Who’s he going to believe, huh? I’m his blood.”

  “Hand me the phone, we’ll find out.” What I really wanted to do was jump over the bar and turn him into a stain on the carpet. I guess he saw it in my eyes because he fell apart, his upper lip started to tremble, he looked down at his hands as though they held some mystic secret.

  “Here’s how it works, those fucks or any puke like them comes in here after our girls, you’re going to call me. And if you don’t, what do you think will happen?”

  “You’ll tell Uncle Manny.”

  “Beep, wrong answer. Forget about Manny, I’ll be coming for you. And I won’t be happy… are we clear?” He nodded ever so slightly, fighting to hold his face from completely falling apart. “All right bitch, I need Kelly’s address.”

  “No, no. If she wants to fuck you, she’ll give you her address, not me. You know the rules.”

  “I wrote the rules. Now get me Kelly’s address before I remember how pissed off I am at you.”

  “Fine, but you don’t tell her I gave it to you.” He scurried off across the club toward the office, glad for the excuse to get away from me. His head was down, and his shoulders sagged. Beating down a whipped dog gave me no pleasure, but screw him, he made his own lumpy bed when he climbed in with wanna be gangsters.

  “Did I ever tell you you’re my hero?” China asked, sidling up next to me.

  “Just doing my job, like everyone else here.”

  “What a man, what a man, what a mighty fine man.” She sang. Winding her small pale finger into a buttonhole on my shirt she pulled me close to her. The word had spread quickly that the Armenian tariff had been lifted. Looking around at the other smiling girls I knew I’d be offered enough free lap rides to keep me happy for days… If only that was what would make me happy. Maybe if I knew what happiness looked like I might know how to go after it. But, forty-three years on this miserable planet only taught me how to survive, not thrive. Every day I felt like just one more soldier trying to make it back to the world in one piece. If I was smart I would stay in the trenches, keep my head low and never play the hero. If I was smart.

  CHAPTER 2

  Kelly lived in a small 1950’s apartment complex clinging to the sheer green hillside above the reservoir in the Swish Alps. Silverlake, a trendy, oh-so-hip, gay community nestled in the steep hills betwee
n the gritty streets of Hollywood and the harsh reality of East LA. From her porch you could look down the sudden incline, past the Spanish tile rooftops to the shimmering blue water of the reservoir, water surrounded by chain-link and razor wire. Here in LA water was better protected than our children, I guess to some degree it was simple economics, one was more valuable than the other. Water turned this desert into a city, what had children ever given us?

  Walking past Kelly’s little red Miata, I climbed the stairs. The curtains of one of the ground floor apartments parted and a pair of rummy eyes surrounded by white hair watched me pass. If the old woman didn’t like what she saw, she didn’t say so. I knocked on Kelly’s door but she didn’t answer. A string of miniature Japanese lanterns hung above her door, and a hand-painted Mexican tin heart was tacked below the peephole. I knocked several more times, but the apartment was silent.

  Standing there on that peaceful afternoon, sunlight dappling down through a eucalyptus tree I started to feel a bit silly. A knight in rusted armor charging off to rescue a damsel who probably took her new puppy down to the dog park for a stroll. While sharing Chinese food in the dressing room she had told me about the puppy Angel, and how much she loved watching it play with the other dogs. Some breeder gave her a purebred Bullmastiff pup in the hopes it would buy his way into her shorts. She blew the guy off but kept the pup. She said the dog world was simple and pure, love without deceit. She didn’t have to say it, I knew she meant it was the opposite of everything around us. Strip joints act like they’re honest. Straight transactions, sex for cash. Bullshit. It’s all smoke and mirrors and denial and deceit. Every night the deal goes down all across America, and no one goes home with what they bargained for. Not the girls or the marks or dumb bouncers who think that just because they’re smart enough to see the crooked deal they’re immune to it.