Kicking the Habit

by Kari Lee Townsend

  When Rocco had called him earlier, it had been to give him an update about the mayor. Turned out the mayor had been blackmailing the senator’s father, after all. Both their phone records showed numerous calls back and forth, and the mayor’s bank account revealed regular deposits of checks from Old Man Sloan. But Ace still didn’t know what the mayor could be holding over Sloan Senior’s head.

  Ace had decided to give Cece some space earlier because he knew she was hiding something. After she’d blessed the senator’s office, he’d had Rocco check the place out again. Her fingerprints were everywhere, but he still hadn’t found anything new. Because the warehouse had turned up empty, Ace figured whatever she’d found, she still had. When she’d mentioned a strip club called Woody’s, he knew exactly what he had to do.

  He’d made an excuse to leave but had never actually left her place, and sure enough Cece went snooping again. So much for her counseling skills; his reverse psychology had worked like a charm, and she had no clue he had followed her. But now, she’d been in the club for a good fifteen minutes.

  Well, hell.

  He climbed out of his truck and headed into the club. Scanning the inside, he saw a sea of men and the gaudily dressed women, and his jaw hit the floor. Holy Christ, he had to find Cece now. Pushing his way through the crowd, he searched for the nun with no luck. Until he heard someone say the new dancer Sister Spanky sucked, and he looked up at the stage.

  “No fucking way,” Ace muttered.

  “No shit, right?” some guy next to Ace said. “The outfit’s totally lame, and I haven’t seen anyone dance that bad since the losers back in high school during the eighties.”

  Slap, slap, clap, clap, double-fist, double-fist, over, over, under, under, double-thumb, double-thumb. Cece’s hands moved at the speed of light, and her smile was so wide and stiff, her face looked like it would split in two at any moment.

  “Jesus, what the hell is she doing?” Ace asked.

  “That would be a really crappy version of the Hand Jive,” another guy chimed in. “I mean, who still does the Hand Jive, anyway?”

  Ace ignored him as he tried to figure out what the hell she was doing up on that stage. She gave up on the Hand Jive and started jerking her body about in short, choppy moves as though she were a robot. Apparently not what the crowd had in mind, judging by the sounds of their booing.

  Ace could see the worry on her face as she moved into another dance. Holding her arm at the elbow, she sliced the air like a meat cutter on crack as she pivoted back and forth, and back and forth. For God’s sake, she looked like a damn sprinkler, twisting about as she watered the stage.

  Ace wasn’t a religious man, but he couldn’t help uttering, “Please, God, make her stop.”

  “Dude, I already tried that. It didn’t work,” another man chimed in.

  Ace just kept watching, thinking, Doesn’t she have a clue? She was working the crowd, all right. Working them into an angry frenzy as the boos and catcalls grew louder and more negative. It was like a really bad reality show. You knew it stunk, but you couldn’t look away.

  A sheen of sweat glazed her forehead as the colorful lights reflected off her face. He couldn’t blame her for being nervous. Her last move hadn’t produced any better results. Next, she held her arms shoulder-width apart out in front of her as she bounced and pivoted slightly to the left and right.

  Someone in the crowd yelled, “You’ve got to be kidding me. Not the Shopping Cart. Who taught you how to dance, Sister? A grocery store manager?”

  She smiled bigger, which Ace hadn’t thought possible, and quickly transitioned into yet another dance. What the hell was this one supposed to be—the Lawn Mower? Her goddamn arm was going to fall off if she kept pulling that imaginary rope so hard.

  “I got something you can pull, Sister!” another guy in the crowd yelled.

  Cece immediately let go of her imaginary rope and turned sideways as she moved into a dance even Ace recognized: Michael Jackson’s Moonwalk. She pushed off the toe of one foot while sliding the other backward across the stage, then switched legs and repeated. She even added her own twist of flapping her arms at her sides.

  “Christ, don’t improvise, doll face. Ya look like a fucking loon about to take off, and it ain’t pretty!” someone else yelled.

  She quickly dropped her arms and faced the loud, rumbling crowd, looking desperate. For a minute, Ace didn’t think she was going to do anything but stand there; then she suddenly thrust her hands out in front of her and clenched them into fists. Bringing them into her chest and then away, she started a pumping motion.

  That’s it? Ace wondered, hoping, but oh, no; he couldn’t be that lucky. Apparently, she wasn’t done. She lifted her knees up and down and slid her feet back and forth as though she were marching in place. “What in God’s name is that supposed to be?” he mumbled more to himself, but the guy next to him must have heard.

  “Where have you been for the past couple decades? It’s the Running Man, and not a very good one.”

  Ace glared at him. “Do you wanna live through this decade?”

  The guy held up his hands and walked off, saying, “Well, excuse me, but it’s true. Who doesn’t know the Running Man?”

  The crowd cheered wildly, and Ace looked at the stage to see what had them so excited. He clamped his jaw tight and gritted his teeth. Cece had no idea that a woman with breasts that size had no damn business doing the Running anything!

  She paused, her face registering her shock at finally winning the crowd over, then her mouth twisted into a beaming smile. Oh, Christ Almighty, the crazy fool! he thought, as Cece started running even faster, her bouncing girls keeping pace with the rhythm of her feet.

  Little did she know that she wasn’t the one the crowd had gone wild over. A group of strippers had slipped on stage behind her and looked as though they were trying to help her get the crowd riled up by demonstrating their own unique dance moves. The dirtier they danced, the crazier the crowd became, and … good freaking God!—the faster Cece ran.

  The crowd started chanting, “Strip! Strip! Strip!”

  Cece stopped running. Her cheeks flamed crimson, and her expression screamed horror, but she didn’t flee.

  That only spurred the crowd on even more. They repeated, “Strip, strip, strip!” adding, “Take it off, Sister!”

  Cece closed her eyes for a minute as if she were channeling something or someone, and then she squared her shoulders and raised her chin a little. With eyes still closed, she started swaying sensually to the music. Ace swallowed hard. She might not know how to dance, but she sure as hell knew how to move.

  Her palms toyed with the hem of her sweater, slowly beginning to slide it up and down her stomach, exposing more and more bits of silky bare skin. When Ace caught a glimpse of her belly button, he clenched his jaw, not knowing what made him angrier: her for being on that stage or him for reacting to it.

  “Oh, hell, no,” Ace grumbled, shoving his way through the throng of lust-crazed idiots. When he reached the edge of the stage, he whistled sharply. “Hey, Sister Spanky, I thought you weren’t a nun anymore.”

  She jerked in his direction, her eyes springing wide. “Ace? Oh, thank goodness! I mean, how did you know where to find me?” she yelled above the crowd, a flash of relief crossing her face before she masked it and straightened her shoulders.

  “Come closer, and I’ll tell you.”

  “Just so you know, it’ll cost you double for a private session,” she said, obviously still playing her role as she sashayed to the side of the stage, attempting to look sexy while salvaging her dignity.

  Yeah, not gonna happen.

  She’d moved way past that point when she’d started those hideous eighties dances. If her sister could see her now, she’d be horrified. Although that last bit, when Cece had started her sexy striptease, had definitely been pole worthy … and that pissed him off even more. He waited until she was at the edge of the stage and then grabbed her hand and yanked her do
wn over his shoulder.

  “Eeeek!” Her makeshift habit fell to the floor as she hung upside down, giving a new meaning to the words “bottoms up,” and the crowd roared with laughter. “What do you think you’re doing, you … you … caveman!” She wrapped her arms around his ribs and held on tight.

  “I’m saving your scrawny ass.”

  “You go, you Cro-Magnon warrior, you!” the Amazon woman who’d announced Cece shouted.

  Cece squawked but didn’t let go. “I don’t need saving, and you so aren’t getting a private session now.”

  “I don’t recall asking.”

  “That’s right, dude, play hard to get,” someone else shouted. The music still boomed and the lights continued to flash, but the dancers weren’t dancing. Ace knew the entire club was focused on the scene unfolding before them. He needed to get Cece out of there before someone did something stupid.

  “Then why are you taking me out of here?” Cece asked. “I was just getting close to—uh, to having a good time.”

  “We’ll talk in my truck about what you were doing.” He started to walk.

  “Wait—my bag.”

  Ace turned around, scooping up the black scarf Cece had dropped. “Hey, Blondie,” he shouted to the dancer on stage, who was wearing a set of wings, a halo, and little else. “Trade ya. Wanna toss me Spanky’s bag?” He held out his hand with Cece’s scarf in it.

  “Wanna spank me for it?” the dancer asked.

  “Sorry. I kinda got my hands full now.” He swatted Cece on the ass, and she let out a yelp.

  “Lucky girl,” Blondie shouted back as she tossed Cece’s tote bag at him.

  He caught it, threw the scarf up on stage, and then turned to march out the doors. Only one guy had the nerve to try to stop him, but Ace just barked, “Back off, pal—this one’s mine!”

  “How dare you! I am not yours, Detec—”

  Ace swatted her harder.

  “Stop doing that!” she snapped.

  “Then stop talking,” he ground out.

  Seconds later, he pushed his way outside and stepped into the night. The doors closed behind him, muffling the crowd’s cheer of “Stick it to her, baby!”

  “You can let me down now, Detective. You’d do well not to touch my hindquarters again, or I’ll make sure Granny sticks it to you and puts a real tail on yours, you big oaf.”

  Ace just grunted. “You do that,” he said, but he didn’t let her down until he reached his truck and deposited her safely inside. He stared straight ahead for a full minute before finally saying, “What the hell were you doing up on that stage, “Sister Spanky”? I can’t believe you were actually going to take your clothes off.”

  “Relax, Detective. I wasn’t going to take all of my clothes off. And if you must know, I was there doing some research for my new client. I wanted to gather information so I would be better equipped to counsel him,” she said as though she’d rehearsed it a hundred times. Probably had.

  “Are you that hands-on for all your clients?”

  “Maybe.” She looked down at her lap. “This is all new to me.” Her eyes met his, and she sighed. “I am trying to do what is right, Detective. To help the people who need me in the best way I can. Is that so wrong?”

  “Helping people isn’t wrong, Sister. Withholding evidence is wrong, not to mention illegal. And putting yourself in danger is just plain stupid.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, I just tried Charity’s Tae Bo tape the other day. I’m sure I could defend myself if the occasion presented itself.”

  “Tae Bo? Yeah, that’ll stop a bullet,” he snorted.

  “Why did you follow me, Detective?” She shifted in her seat.

  “Because you’re too stubborn to realize someone wants you dead—”

  “I told you I will not cower in fear,” she interjected.

  “—and because I knew you were hiding something.”

  “Well, then I guess you wasted your time tonight.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. I did some checking on my way here. Senator Sloan was a frequent visitor to this club.”

  “Well, that’s hardly front-page news.”

  “No, but I’ve got something that is headline worthy.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Didn’t you notice how big those women all were?”

  “Well, yes, but models and dancers tend to be tall. There’s nothing unusual about that.”

  “They were really built too.”

  “Oh, believe me, I did notice that. Made me decide to up my Tae Bo routine first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “And every single one of them had an Adam’s apple.”

  Cece blinked rapidly. “So, what are you saying, Detective?”

  “I’m saying that Woody’s is not a strip club. It’s a drag queen club. Which means …”

  She sucked in a breath. “Oh, my Lord in heaven above!”

  “That’s right, Sister. The senator wasn’t a ladies’ man; he was a man’s man. Looks like Senator Sloan was batting for both teams.”

  Chapter 8

  “Come in, Mr. Parker,” Cece said, as she stepped back and welcomed her first client into Cece’s Counseling Clinic the next morning. A gust of cool autumn air blew in through the door as the large man stepped inside.

  “Please, Sister, call me Benny,” he said in a deep voice, a bead of sweat trickling down his dark cocoa-colored cheek, despite the cool temperature outside.

  “Only if you call me Cece.” She smiled, trying to put the man at ease. “I’m not officially a nun since I didn’t take my final vows.”

  “I heard.” He nodded. “Gotta say you look different without your hat thing and black dress.”

  “My habit and robes? Yes, so I’ve been told.” She self-consciously touched the loose bun at the back of her head and adjusted the front of her soft-gray cotton skirt and sweater set. She’d worn black and gray for so long, it would take time before she was comfortable adding color, except for her toes of course, but she wasn’t ready to tell anyone about that yet. “Follow me to the sitting room. We’ll be more comfortable there.”

  Benny Parker was a big, bald bear of a man. He owned Benny’s Brewpub on Salvation Lane down the street from Millie’s Diner. Ace had had a fit when she’d told him she was officially opening her clinic today and who her client was. He’d busted Benny on drunk and disorderly conduct a couple of times.

  Ace didn’t trust the man, but Cece believed that all people were inherently good if you just gave them a chance. Because the detective had refused to budge on his ridiculous vow to stick to her like a bad habit, she had banned him from her clinic and ordered him to stay put in her apartment upstairs.

  She was smart enough to fear the warning shot she’d received at the senator’s abandoned barn, but she wasn’t a coward. Scared or not, people needed her, and she intended to do everything in her power to help them. Including the senator, no matter how much the detective disapproved.

  “I think it’s great you opened this clinic, Sis—uh—Ms. Monroe—I mean, Cece.” Benny cleared his throat. “Not all of us are comfortable opening up in church.” He sat down on the brown couch, swiping his baseball cap from his head and setting it in his lap.

  “Would you care for some coffee, Benny?”

  “Sure.” He nodded, looking relieved for the extra minute to calm his nerves.

  She took her time making his coffee from the small, open kitchen. The downstairs consisted of a kitchen, a bathroom, a living room, and a small bedroom that she was using as her office. Once, the house had been divided into two apartments, which worked perfectly. She’d kept the upstairs apartment as her own and turned the downstairs apartment into her clinic.

  The house was fully furnished and donated by the town. She’d had some money set aside from when her parents had died that she hadn’t touched over the past nine years, so she had enough to get by for a while. Word got out that she didn’t plan to charge people for her s
ervices, as she wasn’t an actual therapist.

  She was an ex-nun who knew right from wrong and good from evil; that was all, but that seemed to be enough. Sometimes people just wanted to talk to a good listener. People had responded to her new calling, and her calendar had filled with appointments. Most people insisted on leaving donations in support of the whole concept.

  Cece handed Benny his coffee and sipped her tea as she sat down in a chair across from him, with a coffee table between them. “So tell me, Benny. What seems to be troubling you these days?”

  “Well …”

  A series of footsteps sounded above their heads.

  Benny’s dark brown gaze shot to the ceiling, and he frowned. “What was that?”

  “Nothing. You were saying?” Cece waved off the noise and gestured for him to continue.

  He fidgeted with the hat in his hands and stared at the table while he talked. “So, I’m this big guy, and I own this brewpub where, I admit, things can get a bit rowdy.”

  More footsteps sounded above them, followed by a loud crash.

  Benny’s gaze locked onto hers. “No disrespect, Sister, but that’s not nothing,” he said suspiciously, and she could already feel a psychological wall creeping back up between them.

  Darn Detective Jackson!

  “I’m watching my grandmother’s dog for her. I am so sorry. I promise that this will never happen again. Try to ignore it and please continue.”

  He studied her closely. “Let me be clear. Mayor Evans said just because you weren’t a nun anymore didn’t mean our confessions wouldn’t be confidential, same as Senator Sloan’s was, if you know what I mean. Can I count on you?”

  Her spine stiffened. “I know exactly what you mean, so let me be clear. Mayor Evans might have donated this building, but I assure you this business is mine, and I decide how I run things around here. First off, I don’t take confessions. What happened with the senator’s confession was purely an accident. However, I do plan to adhere to a certain code of ethics. Anything you say to me in confidence during one of our sessions shall remain in confidence. Is that clear enough for you, Mr. Parker?”