Beautiful, Naked and Dead mm-1 Read online

  “You tink I’m ghetto poor?” he said. From his pocket, he took a wad of singles and tossed them at the stage. Lupita looked stunned as the bills fluttered down at her feet. “Mon, I could buy and sell your white trash ass like dat.” He snapped his finger in my face. I shot him a quick smile. “You tink dat funny?”

  “No, I think it’s true.”

  “Dat’s right,” he said puffing up his chest. “I don’t need this place with all its crazy bitches.” He said for the room to hear and walked out. As the door slammed behind him, I nodded up to Lupita. She moved back into action, pressing her breasts together and swaying her full Aztec hips to the beat of the pulsing Cee Lo Green tune. The men all turned back to the stage, as if the moment had never happened. I thanked God for tits and their amazing power to make men forget.

  “Always a party.” Piper said as we leaned back against the bar.

  “Got that right.” I said downing a quick shot. I almost never drank on the job, but strange times called for strange ways. Turaj raised an eyebrow as I reached over the bar filling my shot glass again, but I withered him with a cold glare. We hadn’t spoken two words since he sold me out to the cops. I found I could almost stomach the son of a bitch when I didn’t have to talk to him.

  “Do you know what we should do?” Piper asked.

  “Get drunk, get naked and forget this whole sad mess?”

  “Freak. No, about Kelly, we should have a send off for her, here at the club. That’s it, that’s what we’ll do. Sundays are dead anyway, Uncle Manny will close the place if I ask real nice. Toast a glass, kick some ass and say goodbye. You in? Would that make you feel better?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I lied again. Nothing would make me feel better. But she was right; the moment did deserve to be marked. If a tattoo and a bunch of strippers in black was the best we had to offer, it would have to do. Kell would have gotten a kick out of it, the idea of all her backstabbing co-workers coming together to mourn her.

  CHAPTER 4

  I woke Friday with a head full of dread. Even Angel and Bruiser’s game of battle bots couldn’t make me smile. At noon after three beers and a couple of Tommy burgers that against my better intentions I shared with Angel, I rode down to the county morgue to retrieve my friend. It was hard to believe that all that was Kelly fit in a small plain brown cardboard box. Lowrie had been true to his word, they let me take her ashes without question.

  Back at the house I poured myself a little more Scottish anti depressant. I set the box on the kitchen table and cranked up U2. Bono was singing again about that girl packing a bag to a place we’d never been, a place that had to be believed to be seen. “Come on Kell, what do you want me to do?” I asked the box, but no answer came. One thing I was sure of, a cardboard box with a county morgue form on the side wasn’t going to cut it. From a cupboard over the sink I found an old cookie jar in the shape of Marilyn Monroe, one of the club girls had given it to me for Christmas a few years back. It had a screw top and sealed with a fat red rubber gasket, meant to keep cookies fresh, it would serve to keep Kelly’s ashes safe until I could sort out what to do with them. It seemed like a fitting container, Norma Jean and Kelly Lovelace had both been small-town girls caught up in a life they didn’t understand. Both had been ogled by men. Men too blinded by their beauty to see that the real magic was inside. And in the end, they both died alone. I cleaned the cookie jar out and poured Kelly into it. Then I took Angel down to the panaderia and bought some pan dulce from an ancient Mexican woman. Her granddaughter wanted to play with Angel, so I let her off her leash. Giggling and yapping they ran around the bakery. The old lady and I smiled at each other. We didn’t speak the same language, but we both understood that watching a little girl play with a puppy made a hard life better, if only for the moment.

  Piper was the oldest woman in the club, the girls who didn’t look up to her at least respected her. So when she told them to show up for Kelly’s memorial, they did. All dressed in black, most of them tarted up in evening wear, with long slits up the legs and plunging necklines. Uncle Manny and Turaj both showed up in dark suits. I was touched, even Billy the D.J. put on a black tee-shirt. Manny brought a beautiful flower arrangement, we placed it on the center stage next to my Marilyn cookie jar. Billy lit it with a single spotlight, and he played a mix of Kelly’s favorite songs. Upbeat happy music, Beach House, Florence amp; the Machine, and U2, the band Kelly and I had shared a love of. Uncle Manny brought out a magnum of good champagne. He poured a glass for each of the girls, then stepped up to the stage. He was a short, round, balding man of sixty, his skin olive tan from working in his garden. Raising his glass he spoke in his high squeaky voice, a voice that never matched the gravity of his body, “Kelly was a good girl, always on time, never gave me any grief.” That was it. That was his eulogy. A couple of the girls got up to speak, Sasha liked the fact Kelly had never stolen any of her cigarettes, unlike others she wouldn’t mention.

  “I remember I came in one night, I had had a fight with my girlfriend and I was a wreck, and I had forgotten my make-up at home,” China said. “And Kelly handed me her purse and told me to take what I needed… she was always so giving.”

  “She watched Jessie for me one day, when my mom was in the hospital,” Lupita said, her dark eyes hid any emotion behind their pot-fueled glaze.

  “I’m afraid to even go home alone anymore,” Madison said through her tears. “This could have been me. There is still so much I want to do with my life, I still haven’t gotten my headshots done. I want to get an agent, and this happens. It could have been me.” A number of them mumbled agreement to this last statement.

  No one said anything personal about Kelly. No one really knew her that well. She had been a visitor in their life not a resident. I knew I should speak up but I had no words so I poured a tall glass of Jack, said a silent prayer and proceeded to get drunk. Turaj came up to me at the bar and started to speak, but before the words could come out I shut him down. “Don’t do it Turaj. Walk away.” He must have seen the danger in my eyes, looking down he moved to the other side of the club.

  “Do you have a problem with my nephew?” Manny asked, stepping in beside me and pouring himself a short shot of Jack.

  “He’s a weasel Manny, and if he wasn’t your kin I probably would have busted his ass a long time ago.”

  “His father, my brother gave his life so that I could make it out of Iran, did you know that?” Manny said looking out at the room.

  “No I didn’t.”

  “Family, honor, very important Moses. When we grew up we were very poor, had nothing. Grew up fighting in the streets my brother and I. Whatever we had we got and held onto by knife or by gun. In the last days of the revolution it was a running gun battle for the border. Get out with what you had. At a roadblock my brother drew fire allowing me to get our families across. He died in those sands so I could be here today. Did you know I have a son who is a doctor and a daughter who writes for the New Yorker, she says I am an exploiter of women. And Turaj, he dreams of one day following in my footsteps. I know he steals a little here a little there, but he only steals from what will one day be his, so what is the crime?”

  “What do you want from me, Manny?”

  “I want you to give him the respect you give me.”

  “Tall order,” I said, letting the amber booze flow down my throat.

  “I wish he was tough like you, most Americans are soft. It is my fault, I wanted to protect my children from the hardness I grew up with. But you must respect him. Ok?”

  “I’ll try, for you Manny.”

  “Good. Now I have to go home. Junie is waiting up, and after thirty years I know better than to keep her waiting long.” With a laugh Manny walked out of the back of the club. He was living proof that the American dream was alive and well. Turaj danced in jerky motions with Taylor, who had given up her grief and was now seeing if seducing the manager could get her better shifts.

  It didn’t take long before the wheels came off
the affair. It turned from a memorial to a wake to a party. I sank into one of the leopard print couches and let the room swirl around me like an Impressionist painting. The whiskey washed up and over me, leaving me beached on the couch in its warm glow. The room was all light and color, Florence Welch was singing Kissed with a Fist. The girls danced and laughed drunkenly. China pulled the new girl, Roxanne, into an embrace slipping her tongue into her mouth. Roxanne looked surprised at first, but she didn’t pull away. If I knew China, they’d be bumping rugs before the end of the night. Somewhere in the haze, a Marilyn Monroe cookie jar sat silently in a spotlight.

  “He looks so sad, don’t he look sad, Ronnie?” Lupita swayed at the blurred edge of my vision.

  “Pitiful baby, just pitiful.” Ronnie’s ebony form slipped up. Her face soaring high in the distance above me. They were both a step past tipsy, one shot shy of drunk.

  “Let mamacita make you feel better.” Lupita slid her soft fingers over my forehead.

  Ronnie giggled, filling my vision with the sloping valley of her cleavage. “I hate to see a good man down.” Swinging a leg over mine Ronnie sat on my lap, facing me, she started to gently grind to the beat. Lupita crawled onto the cushion beside me rubbing herself against me. Somewhere in my reptile brain the blood started to rush. “Give it up baby, you’re in Queen Ronnie’s house now.” She moved her lips close to mine, our whiskey-laden breath mingling in the tiny space between our lips. Looking deep into my eyes she rubbed her breasts against my chest. I could feel her thighs rub against me, pelvis against mine. Lupita was all over me with hands and body. Like that Hindu goddess with all the arms, I couldn’t tell where one woman stopped and the other started, but it all felt soft and good. The music changed and Sinead O’Connor was wailing out Nothing Compares To You. Past the blurred girls working to get my attention I saw the stage. In the spotlight I saw Kelly spinning around the pole. She looked down at me; a laugh rippled from her. Suddenly, my erection and desire were gone. I felt shame drift over me. This was my friend’s memorial. What was I doing? “Just people, doing people things.” I heard Kelly say.

  “What’s wrong mi amore?” Lupita purred in my ear, her hand fumbling on my limp member.

  “It ain’t you girl…I just… I don’t know. Maybe I’m just getting too old for this…” If they heard me they didn’t react. They stepped up the rhythm drunkenly laughing while they stroked me from all sides.

  “Off.” They both froze at the sound of Piper’s voice. She stood planted firmly in the swirling room. “I said off.”

  “Shit girl we weren’t doin’ nothin’.” Ronnie stood up, swaying on her feet.

  “We just want to make him happy,” Lupita slurred. “Tell her, Moses.” I reached out for words, but only found a thick tongued mumble.

  “Scram. Go on, I’m not playing.” Piper said shooing them off with a wave of her hand. Sitting down next to me she patted my thigh, looking out at the building debauch.

  “You wan’ a drink?” I fumbled the words.

  “No. I drink for boredom, tragedy I take straight up.” Drifting her fingers over my face she spoke quietly, “You’re going to be ok, you know that don’t you?”

  “Sure, I’m going to be fine.” Lying was getting to be a habit with me. I lay back into the cushions closing my eyes. I felt the room spin as I fell into warm silky blackness.

  CHAPTER 5

  Somewhere on the other side of the worst headache known to man I could hear the distant thunder of a leaf blower. I peeked out through puffed eyelids and saw crystals hanging in the window. This was not my home. This was not a home I had ever been in before. My mind felt thick, like I had pickled more than a few brain cells. I was clearly not up to the task of figuring out where I was. Above me, a brass and oak ceiling-fan spun in lazy circles. Piper leaned down into my field of vision. She was wearing an oversized Raiders tee-shirt. “Don’t look so nervous, it’s me.” Apparently we were in her brass bed. This scrap of information cleared nothing up for me.

  “How did I get here?” I asked, my voice sounded like a distant growl.

  “You said you wouldn’t survive unless I let you fuck me… I’m joking, Mo. Relax, your chastity is intact. I drove your useless ass home. Helped you stumble into my bed.” I let my neck muscles go, my head sinking backinto the pillow. My temples throbbed and my mouth felt like I had spent the night chewing on an old running shoe.

  Piper traced the scabbing tattoo of Kelly on my shoulder. “That’s going to be hard for us real girls to compete with.”

  “Not a lot of real girls lining up to compete with anyone for me. Maybe you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Christ, Moses, there were girls all over you last night, or were you too lost to notice.”

  “Ohhh… Did I get a dance from Ronnie?” Blurred memories flitted in and out of focus.

  “No, she tried but you shocked us all and declined. We may have to change your name to Saint Moses.”

  “That’s good.” She was gently stroking my hair while the world slipped away.

  When I awoke again, Piper was standing by the side of the bed, she had on a short Catholic schoolgirl’s skirt, knee high white socks and saddle shoes. Her cleavage spilled out of a Wonderbra as she leaned over. In her hands, a glass of O.J. and a bottle of aspirin. “Come on big guy, I need to get to the club, and you need to go home and shower ‘cause you be stinkin’,” she said with a laugh.

  “How come you look so good and I feel so bad.”

  “Maybe it’s youth, or maybe I didn’t try to drink the bar dry. Now take your aspirin like a good little Moses, and let’s roll.” I did as I was told, nothing I ever drank tasted as good as that O.J. Sitting up, my brain seemed to slop around in my skull. I was naked, my pants and shirt were folded and sitting by the side of the bed. Piper let out a laugh. “Don’t worry, I had my eyes closed when I undressed you.” I cocked an eyebrow. “Ok, I might have peeked, but fair is fair, I mean you’ve see all of me. Now I’ve seen all of your scar-tracked fine self. Now get dressed, or I’m going to be late,” she said tossing my clothes to me. In a show of false modesty she turned her back as I dressed.

  At the club, I retrieved my Norton and drove home with Marilyn tucked under my jacket. Back at my crib, Angel had lived up to her name, I had half expected to find the place trashed, but no. She had eviscerated a stuffed bunny but had left my furniture alone. We walked down to a taco stand where I had a bowl of menudo, Mexico’s sure fire hangover medicine. Walking home I felt like a new man. And the first thing the new man wanted to do was vomit.

  It had been nine days since I found Kelly. Nine days blurred with booze. Nine days of stuffing my feelings down into a tight little lockbox in my stomach. I poured myself a scotch, but when I rose the tumbler to my lips I saw Kelly’s face. “Mo?… I really need your help… They want… She um… My sister… well…you can’t hide…” She whispered to me, her eyes afraid. I set the tumbler down. What kind of a limp dick punk was I? Some bastard had raped and killed my friend because I’d been too fucking busy to check on her. And all I’d done since was to try and drink Scotland dry and hang my head like a broke neck weasel. I hated the face that looked back at me in the mirror, I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.

  I was down to only two options, gather my balls up and finally kill myself or find the freaks who had killed Kelly and make them pay. The numbness in my soul shifted, replaced by a building rage. An eye for a fucking eye, a tooth for a tooth.

  The rage felt clean and simple, blowing the cobwebs from my mind. Someone must be made to pay the price for the ride Kelly had to take. If the cops couldn’t find them, I would.

  I had two leads to chase down, one was the Armenians. I still had the skinny one’s driver’s license, his address was in Glendale. The other was the word “sister”. She had never talked about having any family, but it wasn’t the kind of word she would use for any of the club girls.

  I rode back to Silverlake, maybe Lowrie had missed something. Pulling off the crim
e scene tape, I let myself in. The bloodstains had all darkened to a deep brown. A line of ants climbed up the wall over her bed. I went through her dresser but found nothing. She had an antique dressing table with a round mirror. In her jewelry box, I found a tarnished little girl’s charm bracelet amongst the cheap costume pieces, rhinestones and paste worn to attract diamonds and gold. I picked up the charm bracelet, feeling the little shoe, the Golden Gate Bridge, the Scottie dog. I was sure they all meant something, each had a memory if only Kelly were there to decode them for me.

  I let myself in the back door of the club. The cleaning crew was busy vacuuming. Kelly’s locker was almost bare, a cute furry sweater she wore when the air-conditioning froze her out and a small makeup bag. Slipped into the lining of the bag was a postcard from the Cock’s Roost, one of Nevada’s many legal hot pillow joints. The postcard had a cartoon picture of a rooster surrounded by big-titted hens in lingerie. On the back was a Nevada postmark. It was addressed by hand in flowing purple cursive. The note read, “Kelly, all is swell, peachy in fact. I’m making mucho ducats, and if you don’t expect much from the guys you don’t get disappointed. For the first time in my life I feel that I am in control of my fate. I hope all is well with you… Write me! Cass.” It wasn’t much but it was all I had. My search turned up nothing else of any use.

  Back at the crib I cranked up a little Black Market Clash, I needed the edge. Four calls to different area codes in Nevada finally delivered a number for the Cock’s Roost. A woman with a thick sultry voice answered the phone, “Cock’s Roost, how can we pleasure you?”