SLY: Kings of Carnage MC

by Nicole James

  North nods. “Her first night. Might be her last too. Sucks because her stage work earlier was good. She gets her head on straight, she could make it”—he lifts his chin toward her—“but her lap dance skills are shit.”

  I chug my beer and set it on the bar, then wait for her to finish with this guy. Before she tries to find another customer, I move in. She looks up and I jerk my head and motion her over with two fingers. She complies, still no smile on her face.

  “Yes, sir? You want a dance?” Her eyes drop to my cut.

  I shake my head. “You know who owns this club?”

  She points at my cut. “You guys do.”

  “That’s right. I need to have a word with you. Sit down.” I nod toward the bar. She takes a seat on a stool, and I move in next to her, leaning on an elbow. “This your first night?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What’s your name, darlin’?”

  “Like, my stage name?”

  I grin. “Sure.”

  “Jenna.”

  “Jenna. Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

  She beams. “Thank you.”

  “They call me Sly. I missed your stage act, but my brother said it was good.” I lift my chin over her shoulder to North. She turns and looks.

  “Oh, thanks.”

  “We were watching you give that guy over there a lap dance. Gotta say, babe, you’re heart didn’t seem in it.”

  Her face falls and she looks away. I take her chin and turn her back to meet my gaze. “It’s all about eye contact.”

  Her lips part, and I know she gets the message. I ask, anyway, just to ram home the point. “Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “See, darlin’, dancing is all about an illusion of intimacy with the customer, the desire for the unattainable, an implied message with just the right layer of fantasy.” She nods, and I continue, “There’s a lot of money to be made here, and the best money comes from attracting regulars. Let me tell you how to do that.” I gesture to a guy sitting in kind of an unapproachable spot. “See the guy with the skull hat. He’s sitting in that spot because he’s not really comfortable. Maybe it’s his first time in here. A guy like him with no strip club experience makes the perfect regular because he hasn’t gotten burned yet. Go talk to him.”

  “What do I say?”

  I smile at her naiveté. “Look, half the guys comin’ in here do it because something in their life is going to hell. Maybe he’s goin’ through a hard time, a bad divorce; maybe he’s spent some time locked up or lost his kid to his ex or he works a sixty-hour-a-week shit job he hates. Whatever. You just be real sweet, real patient, and show him a great time. Listen to him. Give him some heartfelt advice and take a couple shots with him. No more than two, understand?”

  She nods. “Okay.”

  “Ask him if he’s new, if he knows how this works. Guide him; tell him your menu, what we’ve got to offer, and urge him toward the VIP room.”

  She looks at me blankly and I decide I need to show her. I grab the hand of a passing dancer and pull her to me, whispering in her ear. She pulls back and smiles, her eyes moving to Jenna. “Sure thing, Sly. Watch and learn, newbie.”

  I let her lead me to a chair and I slump back. She immediately moves in, her hands stroking up my cut. “Hi, I’m Brandy. You look like you’ve had a long week.”

  “I have, darlin’, lot of stress. I just need to unwind. Relax a little, ya know?”

  “Sure do. So, gorgeous, you ever been in a strip club before?”

  I shake my head.

  “Do you know how it works?”

  “Tell me.” I keep my hands on the armrests.

  “Well, since it’s Sunday, we’re running a fifteen-dollar dance special that takes place right here in your seat. There’s absolutely no touching, and I leave my top on, or we can go against the wall back there, those are thirty dollars. I can give you a massage, they’re ten dollars a song. We also have private VIP rooms where the dances are way more intimate; we allow touching, and they’re really fun. Which do you think you’d want to do with me, sweetie?”

  “Think maybe we could just talk for a while?”

  “Sure, honey. I’d love to talk with you.”

  “Can I buy you a shot?”

  “I’d love that, thank you.”

  She glides her hand up my neck and toys with my ear. “Tell me about your week. What do you do?”

  “I’m an accountant.” I hear North snort with laughter.

  “Really? That sounds fascinating. Do you meet a lot of interesting people? I bet you know all their secrets.”

  “Some. You wouldn’t believe the tax cheats I’ve met.” I give North a pointed look, and he turns white.

  “Really, tell me about them? I bet they’d have to be stupid to try to get something past you?”

  I grin. “I like talking with you, Brandy. You’re sweet.”

  “I can be even sweeter. How ’bout we go somewhere more private, like one of the VIP rooms? I really want to be alone with you.”

  “You do? Okay, sounds great.”

  “I could get one of the girls to bring us a bottle of champagne. What’s your favorite brand?”

  “Umm … You choose.”

  “Great. Let’s go, handsome.” She pulls me to my feet.

  “Thanks for giving Jenna the demonstration, babe.” I lift my chin. “What do you plan to do with all the giant stacks of cash you’re about to make?”

  “I’ve got my eye on a new pair of Gucci shoes that are just to die for.”

  I roll my eyes. “Get back to work.”

  She winks at me and shakes her ass, glancing back over her shoulder as she walks away.

  I turn to Jenna. “See how it’s done. She was gonna rack me up for a VIP dance, maybe more than one, plus a bottle of expensive champagne. Some guys have been known to blow four figures on a girl in one night. You find yourself a regular—one like that guy in the corner could become—and you treat him right, he just might end up paying your rent every month. Understand?”

  She nods. “She was really good.”

  “No reason you can’t be too, Jenna. You got all the right assets in all the right places.”

  She beams.

  “You feel beautiful?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Ain’t no guessing about it. You are. You need to know it, to feel it, to believe it. If you do, and if you paste a smile on your face, even if you don’t feel it at first, you’ll make a fortune. I guarantee it. Just remember, customers hate jaded strippers. We indulge in fantasy here. They don’t want to hear about how hard your day has been, and they definitely don’t want to read it on your face. A smile makes you approachable to men. See, I’ll let you in on a little secret, Jenna. Pretty women are really intimidating to most guys.”

  “I bet not you.”

  I grin. “I said most guys. In fact, inability to talk to women is what brings most money customers into this club; so make yourself as easy to talk to as possible by letting your wall down. Just remember, eye contact makes all the difference. Connection makes a sale. But don’t get too touchy on the floor. Make him wait until he’s in the VIP room. Got it?”

  She nods. “Thank you.”

  I lift my chin. “Go make some money, girl. You got this.”

  She trots off with a smile.

  I sit back down next to North.

  He glances over at me, shaking his head. “You’re like a stripper shaman or some shit.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “No, seriously, where do you come up with that shit?”

  “What? It’s all true, ain’t it?”

  “Yeah, but why do you waste your time giving pep talks to these girls. They either make it or they don’t. She don’t work out, there’ll be another one through the door to take her place tomorrow.”

  “Come on, man. It only takes a few words to turn this one around and make her successful. Then we don’t gotta go through interviewing and hiring and all that bull
shit. It’s all about the money. She’s successful, we’re successful, right?”

  “I guess. I’ll leave that to you. Me? I kinda like that interview process.” He grins at me.

  “Until you’re ol’ lady came into your life.”

  “True.”

  “I gotta collect last night’s take and drop the deposit. You gonna be at the clubhouse later?”

  “Yep.”

  “See ya there.” I walk down the hall to the office in the back. On the way, I run into Candy. She blocks my path and slips her hands around my neck.

  “Hey, Sly. Haven’t seen you up here the last couple times I worked. How are you?”

  I pull her arms free. “I’m good, angel. Can’t talk, though. I’ve got things to do.”

  She pouts up at me, her eyes glazing, and I suddenly realize she’s on something. Candy’s drug of choice has always been cocaine. It’s either that or pills. In this line of work, we can’t really prevent it, but it causes us a lot of problems. You put that out on the floor, you’re asking for trouble, and it’s bad for business too. And when you put shaky girls together with sketchy guys in a strip club setting, very bad things are inevitable.

  “You okay, babe?”

  She shakes her head. “It’s Tony.”

  Tony—her piece-of-shit boyfriend. I know way too much about these girls’ lives, but in this business, it’s unavoidable, especially when I’m in here almost every night to make the cash pickup. You put twenty strippers together and there’s always some kind of drama going on in the dressing room, and sometimes out on the floor. On more than one night, I’ve had to stop a catfight. These girls can get competitive and catty with each other. Throw in the ones self-medicating, and it’s a shit-show.

  I lead Candy into the office and sit her in a chair as she bursts into tears. I drag another seat across the carpet to face hers, then sit with my elbows on my knees and lean toward her. It’s then when I see the bruises on the side of her face, though she’s tried to cover them up with makeup.

  “He hit you?” I’m suddenly fuming and ready to ride over and tear this guy a new one.

  She shakes her head, plucking at her fishnet stockings. “It doesn’t matter. It’s my fault. It’s always my fault.”

  “Babe, it’s never your fault.”

  She gives me a trembling smile. “That’s sweet of you to say, Sly. You’re always so nice to the girls here. Not like other people.”

  “What other people?” If some of my brothers are verbally abusing these girls, they’ll feel my fist to their face.

  “My family, my friends. They all treat me like dirt. They call me a whore. My own mother says no man will ever love me. And Tony, he calls me a slut, but he’s quick enough to take my money.”

  “Babe, that’s bullshit. You are not a whore.”

  She whimpers, trying to hold in her tears. “Sometimes stripping makes me feel like I need a shower on the inside, you know?”

  I hate the sound of hopelessness in her voice. “Sweetheart, look at me. If people you love are cutting you down, you don’t have a stripper problem, you have a boyfriend problem or family problems, understand? Your job doesn’t need to demean you, and if you feel like stripping makes you less of a person, you should quit. Now. Work one more shift, make it a money night, and call it a day.”

  “I can’t. I’m the breadwinner for not only me but my mom too. I pay her rent.”

  “That’s even more bullshit, then. Her cutting you down while you’re payin’ her bills is fucked up, Candy.”

  She nods, tears rolling down her face.

  “You know it’s a bad idea to do the blow, don’t you?”

  “I know. But it makes me feel better.”

  “That’s an illusion, doll. Doesn’t make things better. Makes ’em worse.”

  “It’s hard, ya know?”

  “Look, I’m gonna give you the same advice I give all the girls. Build yourself an exit strategy. Figure out what you need in the bank to walk out the door at the drop of a hat. If something changes tomorrow to keep you from ever setting foot in the club again, be sure you got that cushion you need to escape. This job is stressful and dangerous, and maybe it’s not the place for someone as sensitive as you. Get yourself a savings going, and use it to fuel your way out of this place. Only way you’re gonna save yourself.”

  She stares at me with big brown eyes. “I wish I had someone like you, Sly. You’d take care of me.” She drops to her knees in front of my chair, her hands sliding up my thighs. “I’d take care of you real good, Sly. I’d be so sweet to you.”

  I pull her hands free. “Babe, I’m not anyone’s hero. I’m all about the club and ain’t lookin’ for anyone serious.”

  “Please.”

  I shake my head. “There’s a nice guy out there, one who’ll treat you right. You just gotta start lookin’ in the right places, darlin’.”

  There’s a knock on the door, and I can’t say I’m not relieved. Aspen sticks her head in. “Am I interrupting?”

  North basically runs the place for the club, but Aspen’s what all the girls call the “house mom.” She takes care of everything dancer related. She’s also North’s ol’ lady, a former dancer he rescued from an abusive ex-husband. She’s a real sweetheart.

  “I’ve got the deposit ready, Sly.”

  I nod and stand, then jerk my head toward Candy. Aspen acknowledges it and steps in.

  “I got this, Sly.”

  “Thanks, babe. Oh, and Aspen?”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell North to make sure her boyfriend never steps foot in this place again.”

  “Got it.”

  I take the canvas bag from her and head to the back exit. Sabrina passes me on her way to the stage. She’s dressed in an elaborate belly-dancer costume that makes her look like some Marvel superhero goddess. It’s an outfit I know for a fact makes her a fortune every time she uses it in her act.

  I catch her around the waist and pull her in for a kiss. “Do me a favor?”

  “Another one?” She arches a brow, teasing. “I thought I did you several favors this morning.”

  I can’t stop the grin. “That you did, babe. Do me another. Take Candy under your wing, will ya?”

  “Are you joking?”

  “She’s havin’ a rough time. Won’t kill you to be nice to her, pass on a little sage advice.”

  “Fine, but you’ll owe me.”

  “I always deliver, don’t I?”

  “That you do. How do I look?” She twirls.

  “Killer. Knock ’em dead, hot stuff.”

  “I always do.” She sashays off.

  I chuckle and move off to the exit.

  It doesn’t take me long to drop the deposit and then ride out toward the interstate. I’ve got one more stop to make before I head to the clubhouse tonight. I pull into the huge blacktop lot of the Thermopolis truck stop and roll past a dozen big rigs. Twenty pumps and a travel center take up one side. A restaurant takes up the other. I park and walk inside the lit-up eatery. There’s an empty booth by the window and I slide in.

  A middle-aged waitress with short bleached blonde hair and too much makeup comes over with a pot of coffee. She’s tired-looking but still pretty, and I know she must have been a real looker in her youth. She turns the cup in the saucer right side up and fills it without asking. Then her hand lands on her hip. “You hungry?”

  “Ain’t I always, Ma?”

  “You look tired, Son.”

  “Not as tired as you.” I nod to the opposite side of the booth. “Take a load off.”

  She looks behind her. My gaze follows. There are only two customers at the counter, both already served. Another waitress is busy refilling the napkin dispensers.

  “I suppose I could for a minute.” She sets the pot down and slides in. “What have you been up to lately?”

  “Same old, same old.”

  She studies me. Her eyes drop to my cut, like they always seem to do when I wear it around her. I know what
she’s thinking before she even says it. We’ve been down this road a thousand times.

  “You deserve better. So much better.”

  “Don’t start, Ma.”

  “I can’t help it. Do you know how guilty I feel when I see you wearing that? This is not the life you were meant to lead.”

  “That life is long gone, and it ain’t ever comin’ back.”

  “It’s all my fault. You must hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you, Ma. Stop sayin’ that.”

  “I’ll never feel forgiven. Not until you’re living your life happy and in love.”

  “I’m happy.”

  She shakes her head. “You’re not. You could have so much more. You could have love.”

  “Ma, quit.”

  “I can’t help it if I want more for you. Have you met anyone?”

  I shrug. “I try.”

  “Do you? You ain’t gonna find what you’re looking for in the places you’ve been looking. You need a good girl. One who’ll see the kind of man you are deep inside.”

  “Maybe I’m not that man anymore.”

  “You are.”

  “You say that, but maybe I’m no better than the man I killed. Maybe I’m capable of being just as bad as he was.”

  “Don’t say that. Don’t you even think it.”

  “Why? Maybe it’s true.”

  “It’s not. You are nothing like he was. I pray to God every night, asking forgiveness for bringing that man into your life, Son.”

  “God doesn’t hear people like us, Ma. Don’t you know that?”

  “You shut your mouth. Take it back. Take it back, right now.”

  “Okay, okay. I take it back.” I study her. “You’re the one he abused, not me.”

  “If it wasn’t for me bringing him into our lives, you never would have had to defend me. You never would have done what you did.”

  “What I did? Go on and say it. I killed him. Don’t pussyfoot around on my account. I know what I did.”

  “You never would have been sent to prison, like you were. You would have had the life you were meant to have, the life you earned. You’d have everything you lost. Lost because of me.”

  I straighten in my seat and reach across the table to take her hand. “Ma, don’t do this. You’re getting yourself all worked up. People are starting to look.”