The punks stopped in front of the stage and leered up at China as she slid her ass up along the pole. The skinny little rat-faced one beckoned with a crooked finger for China to come over to the rail. She looked off balance as she danced up to him. She leaned down to hear what he was whispering. His hand shot out and slid up her leg, two fingers stroked her G-string. Shock flitted across her face. I started to push off from the bar but Turaj caught my arm.
“Let it be, they’re good guys,” he said, not meeting my eyes. The skinny punk stepped back from the stage sniffing his fingers and laughing to his huge partner who only returned a stone stare. Whoever had worked them in the lap room hadn’t come out yet. The girls always beat the men out of there, if the guy still had some cash they might come out on his arm, if not they ran for the dressing room to smoke or drink or do whatever it took to wash away the feeling. I moved quickly but without hurry toward the lap room. The bouncer’s strut is a trick of moving rapidly without drawing attention, from the belt up you have to look like there isn’t any place you need to be, while you move your legs fast.
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.