Shooting Dirty

by Jill Sorenson

  Janelle took a sip. It was cool and sweet and refreshing. Her mother wasn’t perfect, but she made a great cup of lemonade. She’d had a lot of experience at the task; life had given her too many lemons. Her first husband, Janelle’s father, had been bad. Her second husband, Janelle’s stepfather, had been worse.

  But they were both dead now. Only Janelle and Renata remained. Estranged survivors, facing each other across the table.

  “This is good,” Janelle said.

  “I made it for Jamie.”

  Janelle set her cup aside. “I had an admissions interview at Loma Santa Fe yesterday. It didn’t go well.”

  “Why not?”

  “I lied about my work history, and they checked into it. They’re a Christian college. I can’t imagine getting accepted.”

  “Can’t you go somewhere else?”

  “I hope so. There are programs in San Diego and San Bernardino, but I can’t afford to move right now. I’ll have to ask for some extra shifts at work, and pinch every penny for the next few months. I thought, maybe...we could stay here. With you.”

  Her mother was speechless.

  “Just temporarily,” she said. “Until I have enough money saved.”

  “You can stay here as long as you want,” Renata said. “You and Jamie are always welcome.”

  Janelle leaned back in her chair, trying to hide her disbelief. She’d been sent away when she was fifteen, and she hadn’t felt welcome since. But now wasn’t the time to criticize, so Janelle forced a grateful smile. Their relationship might be shaky, but her mother had just agreed to take them in. She’d always been willing to help out with Jamie. Janelle was relieved by her positive response.

  Leaving the trailer park was the right move. Jamie would be under constant supervision at her mother’s house. Janelle wouldn’t have to drive him back and forth, and she wouldn’t have to worry about another visit from that motorcycle club freak.

  Jamie wouldn’t be happy about the change. He was nice to his grandmother, and she doted on him, but he preferred the no-rules freedom of the trailer park. He liked his hoodlum friends at the rec center.

  She was in for another battle.

  Janelle finished her lemonade and left, thanking her mother with an awkward hug. The move would be difficult for Janelle, too. Her mother’s house was small. Janelle would have to sleep in the sunroom or stretch out on the couch. The thought of passing by her old bedroom every day filled her with a sick panic.

  As she drove to Vixen, she acknowledged that life would be easier if she had a man. Someone to help her pay the bills. A positive role model for Jamie. His Uncle Owen was great, but he only came by once a month. Owen had a girlfriend with a little boy of her own. The last time Owen had visited, he’d brought Penny and Cruz with him.

  Janelle could tell that Jamie had felt threatened. Maybe he thought Owen would forget about him now that he had a ready-made family.

  She parked and locked up her car, thinking of Ace.

  His card was burning a hole in her purse. She’d tossed and turned all night, imagining what might have happened if he’d kissed her instead of walking out. In her fantasies, his mouth had descended on hers, devouring her. He’d pushed her toward the bedroom and trapped her against the door, still kissing her. Then he’d gripped both of her wrists with one hand and stroked her to climax with his other.

  She’d touched herself in the wee hours of the morning, holding her wrists together as if they were tightly bound. She’d finally drifted to sleep after, only half-satisfied. It was difficult to play captive when you were all alone.

  Flushing at the memory, she strode across the parking lot with her head high. She really needed to get laid.

  She walked through the main entrance, nodding hello to the bouncer and the DJ. The place was almost empty, which wasn’t unusual for the early evening on a weekday. On weekends, Vixen was a madhouse, overflowing with raucous customers. Janelle made more money when the seats were packed, but she didn’t mind dancing for a small crowd. She liked dancing, period. She felt confident and powerful on stage.

  As much as she hated certain aspects of the job, performing at Vixen had made her a stronger person. She knew who she was in this setting. She knew exactly where the lines were, and how to stay behind them. There was no touching, no grinding, no nudity in the VIP room. Those professional boundaries were comforting.

  Unfortunately, not everyone played by the rules. Customers tried to grope her during most shifts. They exposed themselves to her on a regular basis. She’d seen some sad, sorry-looking penises. Men weren’t supposed to masturbate in the club, but they did. They jerked off under the tables and in the bathroom. One horrible night, a man had ejaculated in his hand and wiped it on her.

  The insults and abuses were too numerous to count. And they weighed on her, counterbalancing the sense of control she felt during her stage performances.

  Vixen wasn’t the best or the worst place she’d ever worked in. She’d done the rounds at all of the local clubs as a young, energetic dancer. Strippers often traveled from venue to venue, performing a week here or a night there. Porn stars were popular on the club circuit, and centerfold girls brought in big crowds. Most of them couldn’t dance for shit, but their fans didn’t give a damn.

  Janelle had never been a headliner, and she hadn’t enjoyed traveling. Some clubs were just meat markets, full of naked women on display. She’d done full-nude once and never gone back, despite the excellent tips. Burlesque clubs were friendlier, with a fun atmosphere and no lap dances, but they didn’t pay as well.

  For the past seven years, Janelle had stayed at Vixen. It was close to home, she knew the staff and she made decent money.

  That didn’t mean she was fulfilled by her work. She was almost thirty years old now, and a decade in the profession had soured her on men. She didn’t want to be jerk-off fodder forever. She longed for a normal life.

  A family.

  She’d never really had that.

  Instead of going backstage to get ready, she walked toward the office. She might as well ask the manager for those extra shifts now, before it got busy. The club owner, Chuck Finch, was a good man, but he rarely made an appearance these days. Vixen was run by his brother, Kevin, whose business skills were lax.

  The door was cracked open, so she rapped her knuckles against it and peeked in. Kevin was sitting at his desk, looking down at something. He seemed distracted, but he didn’t tell her not to come in. When she stepped forward, he groaned and held up a finger, indicating that he’d be with her in a minute.

  That was when she caught sight of a dark-haired head bobbing up and down on his lap. Smothering a gasp, Janelle beat a hasty retreat.

  Ugh. Jerk.

  She hurried away from the office, catching sight of the bartender and bouncer as she headed backstage. Their matching smirks told her that they knew what she’d walked in on. “Thanks a lot, assholes.”

  They both burst into laughter.

  “You could’ve warned me.”

  “No fun in that,” the bartender said, his eyes twinkling. He was handsome and nice, but Janelle had never looked twice at him. She couldn’t date any of the guys from work. They saw her tits and ass all night.

  She shoved through the curtains and took a seat at her station. There were eight lighted mirrors backstage with wooden stools and vanities. On weekends they had to share, and space got tight. Today she had the station all to herself. She arranged her makeup on the surface and began to apply it in heavy strokes.

  Within moments, she’d transformed herself from plain-old, down-and-out Janelle into sultry, glamorous, bombshell Jezebel.

  Chapter Six

  Ace went to Jigsaw’s motorcycle repair shop after work.

  Jared “Jigsaw” Jones was a former friend and a longtime member of Dirty Eleven M
C. When Ace left the club two years ago, he’d turned his back on a group of men he considered brothers. It was ironic that the only one he’d stayed in touch with, Wild Bill, was his enemy. Ace didn’t deal with Bill by choice, of course. He did it for Skye.

  Jigsaw glanced up from the motorcycle he was working on as Ace walked into the garage. It was after regular business hours, but Jigsaw was still there, elbow-deep in auto parts, his hands stained. Wiping them on a faded, red shop rag, he straightened. He was a lanky guy, about Ace’s age, with short dark hair and a full beard.

  Ace wasn’t sure how he’d be received here. Dirty Eleven members were allowed to retire at a respectful age, but they couldn’t just quit. Ace was an outlaw outcast, subject to beatings whenever he was spotted.

  Jigsaw’s craggy face broke into a grin, indicating that he had no hard feelings. “What the fuck is up, man? I haven’t seen you in forever.”

  Ace shook his hand. “I’ve been around.”

  “How’s Skye?”

  “Good,” he said honestly. Her speech issues weren’t improving, and he didn’t think the casino setting was the best place for her, but she was a healthy, happy little girl. Skye’s grandmother, Shawnee, took care of her.

  Shawnee was his main obstacle to getting custody. She blamed Ace for Courtney’s death, and she would never give up Skye by choice.

  “I heard you’ve got a little one,” Ace said.

  Jigsaw’s eyes clouded over. “Yeah. He just turned six months. Kendra moved out and took him with her.”

  Ace felt a pang of sympathy for his old friend. He knew firsthand how difficult it was to be separated from a child. “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah, it sucks,” Jigsaw said, frowning. “What can I do for you? Looking for a ride?”

  “I wish,” Ace said, glancing around the shop. He’d kill to have a bike again. It wasn’t the expense that stopped him. He associated riding with his old life. He’d given up drugs, alcohol, his cut and his bike after Courtney died. The austere conditions he’d set for himself were a punishment of sorts. “I actually wanted to ask you about Shank.”

  “What about him?”

  “Someone told me he busted his ankle monitor here.”

  “He did.”

  “Then what?”

  Jigsaw shrugged. “He left with his old lady.”

  “Where did they go?”

  “I don’t know. He took the back roads.”

  Ace followed his vague gesture. Dillon Road was nearby. It was a long straightaway leading into Desert Hot Springs. “Did the cops follow him?”

  “No, they followed me,” Jigsaw said, smiling wryly. “I put on my helmet and went the opposite direction.”

  “How long till they stopped you?”

  “Dude, they came on quick. Like, two or three minutes.”

  “What did you think of his old lady?”

  Jigsaw seemed surprised by the question. “I don’t know. She was hot. Not your typical hang-around type, but hot.”

  Ace nodded his thanks. “Let’s forget we ever had this conversation, okay?”

  “Sure,” Jigsaw said. He knew about Ace’s hitman reputation, so he’d probably keep his mouth shut.

  “Good to see you,” Ace said on his way out.

  “Anytime, man,” Jigsaw said. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  Ace climbed into his truck and headed down Dillon Road, keeping his eyes peeled. Shank had been acting as a police informant for a couple of weeks before he split. His girlfriend had been involved in law enforcement, as well. Ace had discovered that when he’d tailed her one day at Bill’s request. Ace hadn’t told Bill, but maybe Bill had found out. It did seem fishy that Shank had disappeared the same weekend two major players in White Lightning bit the dust. Both Gonzo and Dimebag had been secretly collaborating with Wild Bill.

  Had Bill sent White Lightning after his own nephew?

  Ace caught sight of an old Laundromat where he used to do drug deals. He pulled over on a hunch and entered the abandoned building. It was in a sad state of disrepair, every surface covered in desert grit. Although he didn’t see any evidence of recent activity, he found a single-use packet of lube on the floor.

  Not exactly a smoking gun.

  Ace walked back out, studying the area. It was remote and desolate. There was a cluster of hot springs resorts nearby. Private getaways.

  Gonzo and Dimebag had been discovered about ten miles away from here, on a dirt road out in the middle of nowhere. It was possible that they’d come out here looking for Shank, and hit a dead end. Literally.

  There was no way of knowing. Ace didn’t have a clue where Shank was. If Shank had killed both men and made it look like they’d killed each other, he was a fucking wizard. Ace wished he could do the same with Bill and Jester.

  Ace got back in his truck, no closer to solving the mystery. He had a visit with Skye before dinner, so he went home to get cleaned up. Then he headed to King’s Castle, Wild Bill’s new stomping grounds. Bill had bought the casino recently and it was massive. The complex had a music amphitheater and a movie theater. There was a shopping center inside. Restaurants, golf courses, gardens...you name it.

  With one purchase, he’d become one of the most powerful businessmen in the city. His ego and ambition knew no bounds.

  Ace met Shawnee and Skye in their usual location, by the outdoor fountain. They used to meet by the pool at the old hotel. The casino pools were nice, but too crowded with hotel guests. Ace felt out of place in his ragged cargo shorts and jailhouse tattoos. He also preferred quiet places with fewer distractions. So did Skye.

  He’d bought a pair of new swim trunks in case Skye pointed to the pools someday. He did whatever she wanted to do.

  Today she ran toward him with her arms outstretched. It always caught him off guard, but in a good way. She was so different from him, so open and unabashed in her affections. There was nothing better than her little arms around him. Nothing in the world.

  When they broke apart, she looked up at him with excited eyes. Tugging on his shirt, she pulled him toward the cobblestone path. There was a pond and a nature walk on the other side of the golf course.

  “You want to see the ducks?” he asked.

  She nodded and ran ahead, her honey-colored braids brushing her shoulders. At the fountain nearby, Shawnee pursed her mouth with disapproval. She was an attractive woman, tightly wound and brittle. “Those ducks have diseases.”

  He greeted her with a nod. “Shawnee.”

  “Encourage her to talk,” she reminded him. “She’ll never communicate if you let her get away with pulling and pointing.”

  He gave her a jaunty salute and followed Skye to the nature walk. Shawnee criticized him no matter what, so he ignored her instructions. It didn’t matter to him if Skye talked or not. He liked her exactly the way she was. According to the speech therapist, Skye had no problem with her hearing, her vocal cords or her brain functioning. She understood spoken language just fine. She just didn’t produce it.

  The speech delay could become a bigger issue when Skye went to school, or it might work itself out. They had the option of starting her on sign language, but Shawnee had refused. She was determined to unlock Skye’s voice.

  When Ace caught up with her, she reached for his hand and held on tight. His heart twisted inside his chest. He’d never loved anyone the way he loved her. He’d never been in love, not even with Courtney. He didn’t know if he was capable of it.

  Maybe he was emotionally delayed.

  They strolled down the pathway together, two misfits. When they reached the pond, they stood by the shore to admire the baby ducks. He hadn’t brought any bread today. He wasn’t sure it was good for them. A few weeks ago, they’d watched a noisy, naughty boy feed the ducks an entire loaf of bread. Two days later, there were se
veral dead birds floating in the water. The turtles that also inhabited the pond had been feasting on the carcasses. Skye had watched this disturbing scene with Ace, clutching his hand.

  Shawnee definitely wouldn’t have approved of that—but she’d never know.

  After a few minutes, Skye went to gather blossoms from a lilac tree. At first she tossed them into the pond, decorating the surface of the water. Then she gave him a handful and touched her hair.

  He tucked one into her braid. “How’s that?”

  She studied her reflection in the water and made the sign that meant good. He’d learned a few signs and taught them to her, unbeknownst to Shawnee.

  I love you, he signed, on impulse. She signed it right back, smiling.

  God. It floored him, every time.

  He hadn’t grown up without love. His mother had loved him, maybe as much as he loved Skye. She was the only relative he’d ever known. His father had abandoned them when he was about Skye’s age. His mother had disappeared ten years later.

  He’d been a strange kid, quiet and still. The experience of losing both parents at a young age had stripped away any hint of softness in him, like meat from bone. He was a loner and a people-watcher. A people-hunter.

  Skye’s love had found the last tender place inside him and taken root there, growing stronger every day.

  At sunset, their time was up and he had to deliver her to Shawnee. Ace wasn’t allowed unsupervised visits, so they stayed within shouting distance while Shawnee read a paperback or sent text messages on her phone. Today she got up from her chair by the fountain and strode toward them in her skinny heels.

  “Bill wants to talk to you,” Shawnee said, glancing over her shoulder. One of his paid thugs was standing there.

  “Okay.” Ace crouched down to Skye’s level. “I’ll see you Saturday, bumblebee.”

  Skye gave him a quick hug and a kiss. She didn’t linger, because Shawnee got annoyed when she acted clingy.