Pole Dance

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  Dale and Jake exchanged a look as Jake seated himself across the desk from Ram.

  He took the top folder that Ram had set in the middle of the desk. Opening the first, he saw a picture of a woman with her head turned, arms crossed over her head but with her trousers down to her knees and her top and bra lifted. The picture showed the initials 'W o B' carved against the beauty of her stomach.

  Swallowing thickly, Jake asked hoarsely, "So?"

  "We've identified the body as Tracy Collins who worked at your club until about three months ago."

  Jake looked again at the photograph and connected the wavy dark blonde hair, winged eyebrows and denim jacket as Tracy's. She had been beautiful, a tall stately headliner, working the pole, building a following until she had been caught flashing body parts that the club wasn't permitted to have on display. When pressed before having her escorted out, Tracy, face blackened by the tears of her mascara, explained that her mother had been diagnosed with cancer and she needed the extra money to help pay the astronomical medical bills. And Jake knew from experience that those 'private glimpses' were usually worth three to five hundred per flash. Which didn't matter, though, since they were so heavily regulated since being a 'Breasts Only' club.

  He pushed the folder to Dale who took a quick glance at the picture before slamming the folder closed.

  Jake moved to the second folder and cringed as he recognized Abby, one of the club's second best on the poles from six months ago. He was able to see her, through the vines and stems of her impromptu grave, recognizing her signature zebra print vest and camouflage green mini-skirt though they, too, were pulled up to expose her privates. The 'W o B' was carved into her belly being center and front in the frame of the picture.

  Abby had been let go due to a failed drug test which she had tried to laugh off, contending her latest man was a druggie and she was getting the drugs through the exchange of body fluids. Jake knew better after seeing track marks in between her toes that were exposed in their final interview. Legs crossed and top, swinging foot exposed in her platform flip-flops, Jake had seen the marks and had, without reluctance, handed over her final paycheck. Flipping her hair, Abby had given him the glare that in any other circumstance would've caused flames, but had finally given way and stomped out the Club's door.

  "When'd you find her?," Jake asked on a thick voice. He was passing the folder to Dale, who held up a hand, signifying he didn't want to look, touch or go anywhere near the folder. One glimpse of one file was enough for Dale. Jake could relate.

  "Two weeks ago, Buddy," Ram answered softly, knowing that this had to be hitting the co-owners hard, as both Jake and Dale were very involved in the lives of their employees. "We're thinking that she was the first."

  "First? So, these aren't chronological?"

  Ram slowly nodded, not sparing words. "They're just your girls, Jake."

  Jake hesitated over opening the last file knowing, without being told, that it was going to be the hardest folder yet. He moved the other viewed folders to the far left of his desk and propped his elbows on the edge, fitting this last folder between his bent elbows. He slid his eyes to Dale, who's skin had taken on a decidedly green tint, before moving his eyes back to Ram.

  "This gonna hurt worse than them?," he asked with a glance to the other folders before raising his golden eyes to meet the dark brown ones of the Chief.

  "Know this is tough, Buddy, but its gotta be done," Ram replied on a whisper while holding Jake's gaze.

  Jake slowly peeled back the front cover of the report, steeling himself against the grainy photograph that he knew he would see inside. His eyes fell on the glossy print, his eyes glazed and deliberately unfocused to avoid any recognition. But, as human as the next person, his eyes zeroed in and recognized the dark layered hair of Pam, his former waitress turned dancer. Her face was turned away from the camera and, like the other two, had her hands posed above her head. Her striped top and lace-edged bra were pulled above her breasts while her jeans were tangled with her lace panties and were pulled down to above her knees. There it was again. The 'W o B' carved into her stomach.

  "Pam's been with us for over four years," Jake swallowed thickly raising his eyes to Ram, "She was newly promoted to dancer at her request," His eyes flowed again over the grainy picture.

  "Aw shit," Dale growled before shooting to his feet and running to the small office bathroom.

  "We found her last night," Ram was following Jake's eyes as he took in the photo. They both ignored the sound of Dale's retching. " Just like the others, she was found behind a dumpster."

  "But, she hadn't been let go," Jake said firmly. "She hadn't been fired or given notice. She had just been promoted to dancer."

  "I know, Buddy," Ram said on a sigh. "She was just one of Fuego's girls."

  There was more than a few seconds of silence which was only broken by the sound of running water and the toilet flushing from the corner bathroom.

  Both Ram and Jake's eyes followed Dale's unsteady progress as he slowly took his former seat next to the police chief.

  "Jake? You notice that all of these girls worked for you and Dale, right? And that all of them have been murdered?" Ram hated having to mince words but recognized that there was a vested interest in each of the folders that he had brought.

  "So how can we help?" Jake asked after a couple of beats through the tense silence, though his glance had cut to Dale before settling on Ram's face.

  "I need a list of your female employees, especially the dancers going back from a couple of years ago to present," Ram said softly. "I need addresses and emergency contact info as well." Jake nodded but Ram could tell by his stillness that he was still caught up in the grisly photos he had seen. Feeling the need to speed the investigation up, he continued. "And we need that list as soon as possible."

  "Sure, no problem," Jake's first look was to the shaking and pale Dale before replying as Dale seemed to pull himself together. Jake closed the folder on Pam slowly and without looking at the picture again. He didn't need to look at the pictures again since he knew that visuals would stay in his head for a long time. He stacked the folders and handed them back to Ram.

  Dale stayed silent but his eyes moved back and forth between Jake and Ram as each of them spoke but with kept drifting furtive glances to the pile of folders as each of them nodded their heads towards the folders as they spoke.

  "Couple of other things. We're gonna have a presence in the club, undercover, so we can keep an eye on things. This sick fuck strangles them then carves the 'W o B' on their bodies," Ram explained then shot his eyes towards Jake, then Dale before letting the rest of his knowledge fly. "And we've found semen in the cuts. This sick piece of shit beats off on their dead bodies." Ram shook his head in disbelief. "We've tried running the DNA but we're not getting any hits that match, plus the tests coming back show that the semen is from different people. Which makes no fucking sense at all."

  Ram spoke to his clenched hands that seemed firmly embedded in the desktop before muttering. "In other words, Buddy, we got shit."

  There were more than a few beats of silence after Ram spoke.

  "You think having a cop in the club will help?" Dale asked finally joining the conversation. His voice felt wrong speaking after his weak reaction to the first image.

  "What I think is that I need to investigate every angle on this. Which means we'll also need to interview you both and all your male staff. We'll need to look at clients, too. Do you keep logs on the lap dance booths?"

  "We have the credit card receipts but, if they pay in cash, there's no record outside of the security films," Dale explained on a swallow, his mind still filled with the grisly images he had seen both right side up and upside down.

  "Does the credit card receipt list the dancer's name?"

  "No, they don't. But there will be some reference on them from now on so we can tie the client to the girl," Jake replied glancing at Dale who nodded his agreement.

  "That would
help going forward," Ram replied taking out a small notebook and pen. "Do you know the names of any of the regulars that made a point of being in the club when Tracy, Abby or Pam were on?"

  At Jake's glance, Dale just shook his head to signify the negative.

  "Unfortunately, no. Probably get a lot more info on that side of the business from the people that work the floor. Typically, though, don't have regulars for the dancers like Pam. Ones on the poles sure seem to develop a following," Jake explained.

  Really? Didn't know that." Ram made a note before continuing. "We'll be interviewing the current staff as well as the people that have worked here the last couple of years. So I'm thinkin' the list you need to provide has to be for everyone, not just the dancers, that worked for you in the last couple of years."

  "Would copies of their applications work?" Jake asked as he tried to follow Ram's line of reasoning. "I don't know how we can identify clients, though."

  Jake watched as Ram slumped down in his chair, extending his long legs and shoving both hands into his hair before he laced his fingers on the top of his head.

  "What if we tried researching credit card receipts for the times each girl was on and see if there are any customer overlaps?" Dale suggested.

  "What if our fuckwad paid in cash?" Ram shot back.

  "Still it's a start, right?" Dale insisted.

  "I'll get photocopies of the applications to you. Dale will pull the timecards and credit card receipts. May take some time to do, though. That gonna be okay?" Jake watched as Ram scribbled in his notebook.

  "The sooner, the better, Buddy," Ram said catching Jake's eyes. "The sooner, the better."

  Chapter Eleven

  My steps slowed when I walked home from my last class and saw a large Sleep Warehouse truck parked at the curb. It had been a long day made longer by my lack of sleep in Jake's bed last night.

  One of the men from the truck was ringing the bell by the front door of my house.

  "Can I help you?" I asked coming up the stairs.

  "Looking for Caitlin Tomas," stocky workman said, looking me up down. His hand reached up to smooth the few remaining hairs on his crown back into place as he re-tucked his shirt into his trousers. "Have a delivery for her."

  "I didn't order anything," I said looking back at the truck and then reading the patch over his pocket that identified him as 'Ernie'. "Listen, Ernie, I didn't order anything from Sleep Warehouse so there's nothing to deliver."

  Looking down at his clipboard, Ernie ran his stubby finger down the list until he stopped and pointed to my name. "Here it is, right here. Caitlin Tomas. One queen-size, sleeper deluxe with frame. Ain't that you and your address?" Ernie peered up at me convinced that his paper didn't lie.

  "That's me. That's my address. But I didn't order anything," I said repeated, even more confused but starting to get an inkling of who ordered the bed. My confusion was quickly morphing into something else. And that something else was really not good.

  "Well, doll face, you got a new bed even if you didn't order it. The paper says so. Under special instructions it says to remove the old bed, too. Oh wait, what's this? Says client may get upset but bed cannot be returned. Ha! Ain't never seen that on a delivery sheet before!" Ernie turned away from me and yelled, "Mario! This is the place! We gotta take out the old one first!"

  He turned back to me. "You gonna let us in or what?"

  I unlocked the big door and then my apartment to allow Ernie and Mario access, although I was so angry, my movements were jerky and I could feel the scowl on my face. While the deliverymen were toting, lifting and angling the large mattress and box springs into my tiny space, I was on the porch, pacing and fuming. Finally, I dug out my cell to call the heavy handed Neanderthal that was trying to take over my life.

  "Who do you think you are, huh?" I yelled into the phone after listening to his short greeting, "I didn't ask for a new bed. I didn't want a new bed. I don't have ROOM for a new bed!" I could hear my voice becoming shrill. "It's too much, Jake! I can do this on my own! I don't want or need to have you take care of me!" I disconnected the call and stood seething. Both Ernie and Mario were giving me a wide berth as they completed their delivery, shooting each other looks each time they passed me on the porch.

  Hesitantly, Ernie approached me again with clipboard in hand. "We got it in but, I gotta tell you, girlie, it was a tight squeeze. You ain't got much room to walk in, but the bed's in there." He swallowed loudly before continuing, "Miss, if you could just sign right here--"

  "I'm not signing anything," I said quietly, deadly.

  "It's just to show that we delivered the set to you, okay? Not that you ordered it or even like it, but that we delivered it, all right?" Ernie shot a look to Mario before turning back to me. "We can't leave, girlie, until we get a signature."

  I glared at Ernie as I practically ripped the clipboard out of his hands, found the appropriate line and scribbled four words. I shoved the clipboard at Ernie before turning and slamming the front door and then slamming into my apartment.

  "Hey, Mario, she signed her name as Daffy Duck. What does 'under duress' mean?" I could hear Ernie's voice coming from the porch.

  Ernie wasn't kidding or even exaggerating about how much room the queen size bed took up in my tiny bedroom. I stood at the doorway and realized there was maybe a half a foot on just one side of the bed to walk around. The only way to get into it was by crawling up from the bottom. I'd never be able to shut the bedroom door since it was wedged open by the huge mattress. Luckily, my closet had sliding doors, but I could sit on the bed and now make my wardrobe selections. Actually, I was gonna have to sit on the bed to get to my clothes and shoes.

  This just kept getting worse and worse.

  Wait!

  Where'd they put my dresser?

  I finally found it shoved into my tiny kitchen which I' m sure was done just to get it out of the way in order to make room for the bed. As I just stood there in shock, wondering how I was ever going to get it out of there and where I was going to actually put it when I was able to move it, my cell phone rang. I glanced at it, still clutched in my hand. 'Jake Calling'.

  I ignored it and let it go to voicemail as I searched for my nightstand. Ah! Found it shoved in the open floor space of my bathroom.

  Great.

  My bedroom was filled with bed, my kitchen was filled with dresser and my bathroom was filled with nightstand.

  I, however, was filled with rage.

  *.*.*.*.*

  Jake made another note on his iPad as Aaron, the Office Manager for D & J Accounting spoke regarding the upcoming move. There were so many things he and Dale had not considered when they bought the building that had more floor space to house that particular business and Jake was more than a little annoyed that he and Dale hadn't considered the fact that the move would be made in the month before the tax filing deadline. Tax filings comprised thirty percent of the annual revenues for the firm and the only available times to make the move was in the middle of the night or on a Sunday, the only day they were closed.

  Jake felt the vibration of his phone tucked in his left back pocket as another call was received. He had switched the phone to vibrate after the third call had interrupted the meeting. Even the usually unflappable Aaron had shot Jake a dirty look at the musical intrusions.

  As the meeting concluded and Jake closed the notebook which was now filled with fourteen new 'to-do' items, he checked his phone as he moved to the Kia. He scanned the list of received voicemails and saw the most recent was Caitlin. He opened it with a smile of anticipation in just being able to hear her voice.

  But his smile soon faded as he listened to her message. The end of it found Jake moving quickly through the traffic congestion of early afternoon to get to her at her place as soon as possible. His girl was pissed and had no qualms at letting him know it. The worst of it was that she was probably justified and Jake knew he was going into a war zone that he unthinkingly created, much like the lack of considerat
ion he and Dale had shown regarding the accounting agency move.

  He had tried calling her but she didn't pick up and he knew that he couldn't just leave a voicemail, not when she was this fuckin' wound up.

  Jake pressed hard on the accelerator hell-bent on getting to his girl as fast as possible.

  *.*.*.*.*

  I heard a loud pounding at the outside door which I couldn't ignore. I angrily stabbed the release button and waited to open my front door until he knocked. Then I flung it open, saw it was him and slammed it as hard as I could. The bastard managed to catch the heavy door with his foot and I only turned back because I hadn't heard the satisfying slam of it closing in his face.

  "Darlin'…" Jake began.

  "Don't you 'Darlin' me, you low-life piece of shit!" I yelled as I stomped down the hall away from him throwing my words over my shoulder. "Get out of my house!"