Superhero Detective Series (Book 4): Hunted

by Brasher, Darius

  The big bouncer reluctantly tore his eyes away from Shadow. He motioned me to spread my arms and legs. Starting with my torso, he did a quick pat-down of me. I saw him continuing to check Shadow out from the corner of his eye. It was an honor to be present at love’s first blush. I did not know if I should have been insulted that the man seemed to assume Shadow and I were not together romantically. Perhaps he thought Shadow was out of my league. Or maybe he did not think a white guy like me could possibly be with a black woman like Shadow. Racist. Maybe I should have let Shadow go ahead and punch him in the throat.

  The bouncer frisked me all the way down to the bottom of my pants, bending over to do so. I was glad I had put my gun in the back of my pants rather than in an ankle holster. The bouncer stood up straight again. I thought I was out of the woods.

  “What are you doing later tonight?” he said to Shadow. “I get off work at two. Maybe I can buy you a drink or something.” I had a feeling the “or something” would be horizontal in nature. As he spoke, he absently patting me down again around my waist. He started to reach around towards my back and where the gun was located. Crap.

  “Maybe I’ll take that pat-down after all,” Shadow suddenly said. Though Shadow did not seem to move at all, her breasts were thrust forward, as if in presentation. The bouncer froze, his eyes widening at the sight with his hands almost touching my concealed gun. He grinned lecherously. His hands fell away from me. He started to reach for Shadow with his hands clawed, like he was about to pick up cantaloupes.

  “Knock it off, Amos,” the other bouncer said before Amos actually touched Shadow. “You know we’re not supposed to mess around with the customers. The boss will be pissed.” Amos stopped, frowning in disappointment.

  “I was just kidding around Jim,” he said. His eyes and the now prominent bulge in his tight pants said otherwise, though. Amos asked us for our IDs. He barely glanced at them. He was too busy looking at Shadow like he was a dog and she was a meaty bone. Mine could had said my name was Adolf Hitler and I did not think Amos would have noticed or cared. I paid the twenty dollar cover charge for myself. Shadow did not need to pay. Ladies got in for free. Sexist.

  Amos stamped our wrists. His hands lingered on Shadow’s arm, almost caressing it.

  “Remember, I get off at two,” he said to her.

  “When I come find you, you’ll get off at two all right,” Shadow said. She giggled coquettishly, looking like a flirtatious coed chatting with the school’s quarterback. The bouncer leered at her. He opened the door to the club with a slight flourish. Shadow walked in, her hips moving provocatively in an exaggerated fashion. I quickly walked in behind her before the bouncer could shut the door in my face. I think he had forgotten I was even there. Now I knew how wallflowers felt.

  “How come you never talk to me like you talked to that bouncer? I asked Shadow once the front door of the club was closed behind us. I had to speak almost in her ear with a raised voice to be heard over the thumping bass of the song that was playing. It was so loud it made my teeth vibrate.

  “Because I’m not trying to distract you from finding a hidden gun when I’m talking to you,” Shadow said. The flirtatious schoolgirl was gone. If I had an Oscar handy, I would have given it to her for Best Actress in a Supporting Role. I thought about the effect Shadow’s outfit had on the bouncer.

  “I guess you were right about there being some weapons that are older and more effective than guns and superpowers,” I said. “You think maybe I should start wearing a skintight outfit?”

  Shadow stepped back and regarded me contemplatively.

  “No,” she concluded. “Some weapons should remain holstered.”

  The inside of Spread Legs smelled like cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and depravity. The interior was dimly lit. Maybe it was to make it harder for the patrons to see that the contents of their wallets were being emptied. There was a large rectangular main stage on which a busty redhead wearing clear high heels and nothing else writhed and contorted around a vertical metal pole like she was possessed by a demon. Every chair around the stage was filled with men who were transfixed. Maybe they were mesmerized by the redhead’s dance moves, but I doubted it. It was more like they were mesmerized by her heaving breasts and other jiggling body parts. From time to time one of the men would rouse himself enough to toss a bill at the woman’s feet. She was surrounded by a small ocean of currency. If I ever decided to switch to a more lucrative career, perhaps I should try stripping. I was not as anatomically gifted as the redhead, though. But, could she shoot the wings off a gnat at seven paces like I could? We all have different gifts.

  As we watched, the thumping song the redhead was dancing to came to an end. My ears were grateful.

  “Give it up for the beautiful Mercedes!” came the voice of an invisible announcer over the club’s sound system. Why did every strip club announcer have the same fake, exaggerated voice? A smattering of applause rose as Mercedes bent over, her breasts dangling as she collected her discarded clothes and the money that had been flung onto the stage. She walked off the stage, passing a shorter woman with darker skin who looked like she had stepped out of the pages of Arabian Nights. The darker woman was dressed like a genie, though I suspected not for long. “And now, welcome to the main stage the jewel of the Middle East, the exciting and exotic Chanel!” came the announcer’s voice. There was applause and a few hoots and howls. As a new song started playing, Chanel started to shimmy and shake.

  “Chanel doesn’t sound like a Middle Eastern name to me,” Shadow said. “First Mercedes, now Chanel. Ever notice a lot of strippers seemed to be named after luxury cars and perfumes? Why is that?”

  “Perhaps it’s aspirational,” I said.

  In addition to the main stage, dotting the room were several smaller, circular stages with metal poles running through the center that extending to the ceiling. Most of those circular stages were occupied by dancing women of various races, hues, and states of undress. Most of the women were rail-thin, but a few were voluptuous and fewer still were what my grandmother would have called healthy. Some had tattoos and piercings; the skin of others was as clear as the day they were born. Regardless of the type of woman you were into, there was a woman here who would suit your fancy. It did seem as though most of the woman had breast implants, though. It was not typical for Mother Nature to create women with waists the size of my thigh but with breasts the size of my head. There was probably more saline in the ocean than there was in Spread Legs but, if so, it was a close thing. Topless waitresses wearing only thongs flitted about the room, their hands full of trays laden with beverages and food.

  Shadow saw me studying the women walking around and dancing on the stages.

  “See something you like?” she asked.

  “I’m looking for clues. You never know where you might stumble onto one.”

  “Your devotion to duty is admirable.”

  Truth be told, though I liked looking at naked women as much if not more than the next person, I found strip clubs in general and this one in particular depressing. I was looking at the women’s faces more than I was looking at their bodies. Despite the erotic motions their bodies were making, their faces mostly looked bored with a hint of sadness. Regardless of the side of the stripper pole you were on, you tended to not see the best humanity had to offer in a strip club.

  Shadow and I made our way towards the back of the club. The stairwell to Brass Knuckle’s second floor office was in one of the back corners of the club. As we threaded our way through the quivering flesh and the appreciative crowd, I glanced at Shadow from time to time. Despite the fact I had known her for years, I had no idea what her sexual orientation was. It was not as though we hung out on Saturday nights braiding each other’s hair and giggling over cute boys or girls. I was looking for a hint of interest or disgust at all the naked flesh. I saw no such hint on Shadow’s face, though. She merely looked around like a tourist visiting a zoo. The same faintly amused look that was usually on he
r face was there. I supposed I would have to figure out in which direction Shadow swung some other time. Maybe she did not swing in any direction. Perhaps she reproduced asexually. Maybe one day a Shadow offspring would leap fully formed from her head, the way Athena was said to have sprung from Zeus’ head. I would not have been surprised.

  “You having fun yet?” I asked Shadow.

  “Not yet. But the night is young.”

  We passed by a series of booths on our way to the back of the club. It was even darker here than in the rest of the club. This was the area reserved for VIPs. Each booth was mostly cloaked in darkness; the people in them could see out, but it was mighty hard to see in.

  “Goddamn girl! How much to get a taste of that dark meat?” came a voice from the booth we were passing on the right. A pudgy white hand extended out from the booth. Like a car accident I was watching unfold in slow motion, the hand fondled Shadow’s breast. I moved to slap the man’s hand away. I was too late. Moving almost faster than my eye could follow, Shadow grabbed the man’s wrist, lifted it up, and twisted. The man howled. He tried to stand. As casually as if she was taking the first step up a flight of stairs, Shadow raised one foot, planted it on the man’s chest, and pushed him back down into the booth, pinning him to the back of it. The man let out a sound that sounded like a combination of a smothered yell and a slashed tire. I stepped closer to the booth and the man, hoping to prevent Shadow from hurting him.

  Now that my eyes had adjusted to the darker area, I could see the man in the booth. He was maybe in his fifties, and thin but with a prominent belly. Skinny fat. He had a fringe of grey-black hair that ringed the back of his head, as if gravity was making his hair slide down his skull. He had on dark suit pants, a light blue dress shirt, and a loosened tie. A plain gold wedding ring was on the hand of the arm Shadow held in her vise-like grip. The man looked familiar. The woman who lifted her head out of the man’s lap did not. She was blonde, busty, and had on a black thong but nothing else. A black halter top was in a messy ball next to her in the booth. She had the same hardened yet bored look the other female workers in Spread Legs had. Her red lipstick was smeared. A bit of spittle dripped down her chin. The man’s pants were unzipped. His small but erect pink penis poked out of the fly of his pants like a blind mole rat. It was coated with spit and flecked with red lipstick. It did not take a miracle of deduction to figure out what the woman had been doing in the man’s lap.

  On the table the booth surrounded were several glasses, all of which were empty except for one right in front of the man. Bourbon, from the look of it. There was also a line of white powder on the table next to the glass.

  “Let go of me you crazy bitch!” the man rasped to Shadow. He clutched with his free hand at her foot planted on his chest. It had as much effect as him trying to move a sequoia. Shadow ignored him. She looked as peaceful standing on one leg as a stork would.

  “What’s your name?” Shadow asked the woman.

  “Lexus,” she said. Shadow’s eyes quickly cut over to me, as if to say See? about our earlier conversation about stripper names.

  “This guy paying you to blow him?” Shadow asked Lexus.

  “Naw,” Lexus said. “I was told to give him a freebie.” Lexus seemed to be unfazed by what was unfolding in front of her. Her eyes were glassy and her pupils were too big, even if the dim lighting were taken into account. She clearly was high or drunk or both. I could hardly blame her. I would have to be drunk and high to go down on this slimeball too.

  “Well, what’s your usual rate?” Shadow asked.

  Lexus told her in a slightly slurred voice. Her voice was deeper than I would have expected. Though she looked to be barely out of her teens, her voice had a lot of miles on it. The amount she quoted did not seem like nearly enough to fellate this tool. Then again, I was pretty finicky about what I put into my mouth.

  “I’ll give you double that,” Shadow said. “Half for the blowjob, half to leave the booth and keep your mouth shut. Truman, my hands are full. Please pay the lady.”

  It was time to put an end to this. Though we were in a darkened area and no one in the club was paying any attention to us, that could change any moment. “Don’t make a scene. Let the man go so we can do what we came here to do,” I said.

  “No one is going to make a scene. I just want to have a chat with my handsy new friend here about how he shouldn’t go around touching people uninvited,” Shadow said. The man tried to yell, no doubt to get the attention of the bouncers that were dotted around the perimeter of the club. Shadow moved his arm up sharply. The man yelped in pain. Shadow shushed him like he was a colicky baby.

  “If you try to yell again, I’ll rip your arm off and gag you with it,” Shadow said. She said it conversationally, as if she was telling the man it was raining outside. The man quieted down, though he still moaned quietly. “Truman, I asked you to pay the lady. Take it out of what you’re paying me.”

  I was anxious to get this whole thing over with so we could move on to talking to Brass Knuckle. I knew when Shadow got a bee in her bonnet about something, it was usually easier to just go along with her than to argue. So, I pulled out my wallet, took out some money, and handed it to Lexus. She quickly counted it. Apparently I did not look as trustworthy as I felt. She then grabbed her top, slid out of the booth, and tottered away in her high heels without a backward glance.

  “Now that we’re alone,” Shadow said to the man, still holding his arm and pinning him to the back of the booth with her leg, “let’s talk about how you are supposed to treat a woman.”

  “Let go of me,” the man rasped. His voice was not as slurred as it had been before. It was amazing how fear and pain could sober a person up. “Don’t you know who I am?”

  “Sure I do. You’re the guy who touched me without asking first.” He was not only that as I had realized by then why the man seemed familiar to me. I had never met the man before, but I had seen him on the news plenty of times. His name was Tom Selant. He was a former Astor City Councilman and current Maryland state senator. His position explained why he had been allowed by the club to get a blowjob from one of its employees while using drugs. As I had told Shadow outside, the club was normally careful to strictly adhere to the law as Brass wanted to continue to have a legitimate business to wash his dirty money in. But, rank had its privileges. Selant no doubt scratched Brass’ back in the form of favorable legislation and leaning on overzealous cops that were disrupting Brass’ business. In return, Selant got to do things in Spread Legs a normal customer would never be allowed to do. You could not run a big illegal operation like Brass’ prostitution business without greasing the palms of some government officials to look the other way. I guessed Selant’s was one of the many palms being greased. I glanced down at his exposed penis. His palms were not the only things being greased.

  The last time Selant had run for re-election, he had done so on the platform of family values and being tough on crime. He had pushed through several drug laws that had resulted in numerous non-violent drug addicts spending the best years of their lives in prison. Despite Selant’s public stance on family values, I did not think it likely Lexus was Selant’s wife. Nor did I think the powder next to Selant’s drink was sugar he had been using to sweeten it. They said politics made for strange bedfellows, but hypocrisy and politicians were old lovers. Or perhaps Selant was behaving this way so he would know what to condemn next. It warmed my heart to see a public servant take his duties so seriously.

  “So here’s the thing,” Shadow said to Selant who was grimacing in pain and breathing with effort, “you got to cop a feel. Nothing in life is free. You got something from me, now I get to take something from you. What shall I take?” Shadow tapped her upper lip thoughtfully with her free hand as if she was deciding what flavor of ice cream to buy. She suddenly brightened. “How about one of your fingers? I get to take from you something you used to grope me with. Poet justice, yes?” Selant’s bloodshot eyes widened as what Shadow said penetrat
ed his skull. “The only question is which one do I rip off. Because I’m nothing if not fair, how about you decide? Tell me which finger is your least favorite, and that’s the one I’ll take.”

  Selant struggled to get loose from Shadow’s grip, to no avail. He was pinned down like an insect in a bug collection. His eyes were wide with fear. He looked over at me, as if seeing me first the first time.

  “Buddy, you gonna let her do this to me?” he asked pleadingly.

  I sighed. “No,” I said. “Shadow let him go.”

  Shadow acted like she did not hear me.

  “You don’t have a least favorite? “Very well, I’ll pick one at random. Eeny, meeny, miny moe,” she started to chant, tapping the fingers of Selant’s trapped hand with her free hand.

  “Let him go Shadow,” I said again. I knew I could not pull her off of him. She was too strong. I could shoot her, but because of her bullet-resistant bodysuit, I would have to shoot her in the head and risk killing her. I was not going to kill Shadow over a turd like Selant. I had to stop her somehow though.

  “Catch an asshole by the toe,” Shadow said, still tapping Selant’s fingers in time with the rhyme she was reciting.

  “Do something!” Selant pled of me. I had already started gathering my will, triggering my powers to begin the delicate process of preventing oxygen from dissolving into the water content of Shadow’s blood. Done correctly, it would knock her out. Done incorrectly, it would kill her.

  “If he hollers, don’t let him go,” Shadow said in a singsong voice.

  Selant tried to scream. Shadow pressed her foot even harder into his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs. The attempted scream came out as a low gurgle.

  “Eeny meeny miny moe.”

  Selant’s free hand strained at tugging at Shadow’s ankle. It did not budge an inch. I tried to move faster to knock Shadow out, but Shadow’s biochemistry was different than that of an ordinary person’s. I smelled urine. Selant was peeing himself. The stream of urine arced up from his penis, soiling his shirt.