Three, Two, One (321)

by JA Huss

  “They do,” Aldo laughs. “There’s a party of bigwigs here tonight. Been here all week. Everyone feels it. Like something is happening.”

  JD claps him on the back as we pass into the club. “Thanks for the heads up.”

  We make our way down the long hallway that leads to the main dance floor. This place is an old Catholic church that went up for sale during the recession a few years back. It got snatched up, remodeled, and turned into party central for the city’s goth crowd.

  It’s creepy as all fuck, especially this week, since Halloween is tomorrow. It’s decked out like Satan’s lair.

  We make our way to the VIP section and the guy at that checkpoint, Sinclair, just unhooks the red velvet rope as we approach and lets us pass. Now we make our way upstairs, where the choir used to belt out hymns.

  It’s filled with topless women serving drinks, men in suits fondling them, and a lot of security. “What’s up with them?” JD yells, leaning in so I can hear him over the thumping bass. He points at the bouncers standing in front of one of the private rooms.

  “No clue. But we’ve got enough mystery on our hands. So let’s stay out of it, no matter what.”

  “Fine by me,” he shouts back in my ear. “I’m gonna go down and find our contract. You gonna stay here?”

  I gesture to my clothes. JD’s wearing jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black leather jacket with the Public Fuck logo on it that glows under the UV light. “I’ll watch from above. Get her down below and I’ll shoot with a zoom from above.”

  This is how we set the mood of the shot. This cybergoth shit on Thursday nights isn’t always our thing, but when it is, we make the whole thing seem sinister. It’s easy enough. The stained-glass windows, upside-down cross on the ‘altar’ directly across from the VIP boxes, and the tolling bells give it enough atmosphere for a horror movie. Add in all the fluorescent dreadlocks, platform boots, and glowing outfits, and you’ve got Dracula Goes to a Space Rave.

  JD makes his way through the crowd, looking for our girl. It’s early still, but she was told what time to be here, so I help him scan from above. Tonight’s contract is a girl who’s been watching us do this for a few weeks. Somehow she got a hold of our schedule, because she turned up at every gig for a while there. Just hanging back, watching. JD saw her the very first night, but back then, we weren’t having problems getting the girls to show up. So he left her alone for a while.

  Now we are. So he approached her a few weeks ago and gave her the speech. Testing, contract, ID, waiver of liability, and, if they are one of the girls we will use for the upcoming Public Fuck website, a non-disclosure agreement.

  But this one isn’t for Public Fuck. She’s fetish shit. That’s why she’s dressed up in a pink tutu with white lace stockings, ripped in all the right places. Her cyberlocks are in a variety of glow-in-the-dark colors, and she’s got on a tight pink corset. I can’t tell from here without the zoom lens, but she’s probably got something painted on her face too. I take my phone out and text JD, letting him know she’s over by the east bar.

  He checks his phone, shoots me a thumbs up, and then makes his way over.

  “Your next victim?” A man leans down in my ear.

  I turn. The man is wearing a black suit and a collar like a priest. So he must be some kind of manager here. I give him the once-over. He looks familiar, but no one I recognize.

  “Contract,” I correct him. “We don’t deal in victims, only willing participants.”

  “Ah,” the man chuckles, again close to my ear, so I can hear over the thumping music. “Us as well.” He shoots me a smile when I look at him funny. But then he extends a hand and when I accept his offer, he leans in and says, “Father Gabriel.” And then he pans a hand down to the dancing crowd below. “My flock.”

  “Nice,” I say back. Father Freak is more like it. What do I expect though? He deals in fantasy, same as me. We’re all freaks in here.

  “How often do you film here, Ark?” he says, this time in a much lower voice, and much closer to my ear.

  I recoil a little, because I never gave him my name. It’s not hard to figure out who I am if you’re paying close attention. And it’s his club, so I guess he is. But to come right out and use that knowledge to unseat me is fucking rude.

  “Let’s talk,” he says, turning to walk away. He gives me one last smile over his shoulder and beckons me with a finger.

  “Fuck.” Now I know he’s management and he probably wants to ask me for more money. Ray warned me that once we took over our own business, the leeches would come out of the woodwork.

  I follow Gabriel to the back of the lounge and wait as he keys in a code to open a door. Inside is a stairwell. “Please,” he says, waving me forward. “My private area is above.”

  I do an internal shrug and start climbing the stairs. “I feel like we’ve met, but I’m pretty sure I’d remember you.” We enter the private box and I walk over to the far wall. It’s floor-to-ceiling glass that overlooks the entire lower level of the club. The music is only detectable by the thumping of the glass, so it’s essentially soundproof. “Huh. We’re up in the ceiling beams. I never realized this was here.”

  “Yes,” Gabriel says as he walks up behind me. “This is where I watch. And we have met, just under different circumstances.”

  I turn to him and he beckons me to a seating area. Just two chairs with a table barely the size of a dinner plate between us. There are two drinks waiting, but neither of us takes one. “What circumstances?”

  He smiles but something about this is off, so I don’t smile back. “Last weekend I was at Ray’s. I saw you from a distance. I was there trying to get your attention.”

  I squint, trying to think back.

  “The offer. To fuck my wife while I watched.”

  I can’t help myself, I belt out a laugh. “Jesus Christ. You are very blunt. And I guess I can stop thinking of you as a priest, since you’re clearly playing dress-up tonight.”

  He lifts his hands and shrugs, like I caught him in the act. “I’m not a Catholic priest. This was once a Catholic church, and the icons are deliciously sacrilegious in this club environment, so I couldn’t resist. However”—he pauses to shoot me another creepy smile—“I am a leader of a small religious sect.”

  Cult, is the word I hear in my head.

  “And since you and I work in the same business, I thought you’d understand.” Another pause so he can steeple his index fingers and press them to his lips. The gesture reminds me a little of Ray, but not in a way that sets me at ease. Father Creepy here studies people, picks up on their mannerisms, and uses them to influence. It’s an instinct more than anything. But I didn’t make it this far into the job by not listening to my instincts. “Perhaps even find a common ground.”

  “What does any of that have to do with fucking your wife?” If he wants to be blunt, I can be blunt.

  The creepy smile and stare continues for a few more seconds, just to make sure I get it. “I need a third person in my relationships and they seem to find you desirable.”

  “They?”

  “I have just one wife. But we are a flock. The others are just as much a part of the inner circle as my first.”

  My mouth does not gape open like an idiot’s, but he’s stunned me. Me. The Prince of Public Porn has been stunned by a middle-aged man pretending to be a priest.

  I don’t react at all. I don’t flinch or lean back in my chair to show my revulsion. I don’t even smile and shake my head and play this one off as I plot a quick escape. I just sit there and take it all in.

  Because something is very wrong with this man. Something I really do not want any part of.

  “Mr. Ark?”

  “Father Gabriel,” I say back, buying myself another moment to collect my thoughts.

  “Are you interested?”

  I stare at him. His eyes are light brown. His hair is thin and mostly gray. His body is lean, his face long, his arms spindly. If there was a picture in the Urban D
ictionary for ‘dirty old man,’ then Father Gabriel is the spitting image.

  I shudder. “My answer is no, Gabriel. Like I told Ray, I’m not interested. I don’t need the money. I don’t need the beautiful girl. I don’t need anything, to be honest. And I’m sorry to cut this short, but I need to get back to my partner.”

  I stand up and give him a nod, and then turn my back and walk to the stairwell we came up.

  “Mr. Ark,” he calls out.

  I stop but don’t turn.

  “I can understand how you’d think you have it all. And I can understand how you’d think there’s nothing I can offer you that would make you change your mind. But I actually do have things you require. I have information you might be interested in.”

  I look at him over my shoulder. I get a feeling in my gut. A feeling that says keep going. Just walk the fuck out of here. But I know what he’s going to say. Somehow, some way, I know what he’s going to say.

  And I need to hear it.

  “Not specifically pertaining to you, of course. Since you’re an enigma. You’re the man who has no past. You’re the guy who steps off a bus, finds a business partner, and starts a porn empire under the protection of the reigning king, all in the span of a few months. You’re the untouchable one. So you’re right. I don’t have anything you need.”

  I turn to face him now.

  “But JD is an entirely different story.”

  My jaw clenches and my hands are making fists before I can stop the reaction.

  Father Sister-wives belts out a smug laugh. “He’s your Achilles’ heel, do you realize that? He’s the only one who can bring it all crashing down. And not because he has dirt on you. I really don’t think he does. No. He has this power over you because you give it to him. Because you love him, don’t you, Ark?”

  “Say what you’ve got to say.”

  “Your business partner”—Gabriel chuckles, like that’s funny—“has a big mouth. He’s been around asking lots of questions. Questions he shouldn’t even know to ask.”

  My mind races with the questions. Blue? Did he mention Blue?

  “We both know it’s better that he keep silent.”

  Not Blue. “He lost someone and he wants her back.”

  “He can’t undo the past.”

  “He just wants to set it right.”

  Gabriel laughs. “I think that’s a tall order. But perhaps…” His smile lingers, then falls. “Perhaps we could help each other out? Hmmm? Perhaps we could do a trade?”

  My eyes squint down at him.

  “I know where JD’s daughter is.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  Creepy smile all over again. “And I can deliver her. I can fix his heart. I can make him a new man. I can erase that year and make it all better.”

  “It was two years, asshole. Two years of hell for him. Two years of drug addiction and—” I stop before I let that last secret out. This guy doesn’t deserve to know JD’s shame. “It doesn’t matter,” I say, recovering. “Your offer makes no sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense, Mr. Ark. Because so many couples have asked for you now, I can no longer refuse them.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Children, Ark.” He says it like I’m one of them. “I’m a matchmaker for families who want to have a child, but are not able to conceive.” He waves both hands down his front as if the fake clerical clothing and white collar legitimize his role as cult leader, polygamist, and baby-seller.

  “You want me to get your sister-wives pregnant?” I’m stunned. So stunned I laugh. “And in exchange you’ll tell me which family you sold my best friend’s kid to four years ago?” I cross the room and grab him by the throat, pushing him back and slamming him up against the thick glass that separates us from the club below.

  His hands claw at his neck as I choke the breath out of him. The thumping of the bass against the window is the same as my thumping heart. “I’m gonna forget you just said that. I’m gonna forget you just asked me to fuck your whores so you can sell my children. I’m gonna forget that you exist, you piece-of-shit pervert. And I suggest you do the same. Stay out of my business. Stay away from JD. And stay away from me. Because the next time I see your face, I’m gonna blow it off your goddamned head.”

  I squeeze his pulsing jugular until his eyes bulge and he goes unconscious. And then I let him slump to the floor.

  “Fuck you,” I say. And then I spit on him, turn, and walk back down the stairs. No one pays any attention to me as I make my way back down to the dance floor. It takes me a few minutes to find JD, and that’s long enough for Gabriel to wake up from his very non-erotic asphyxiation, but no warning alarms go off. The music still bumps, the dancers continue their routines, the drinks never stop flowing.

  “JD,” I call out at the top of my voice. But it’s so loud he doesn’t hear me until I’m practically right on top of him. “Dude, we’re out of here. If cyber girl here wants to play, we’re gonna do it outside.”

  I roll the conversation upstairs in my head as JD explains the turn of events to whats-her-face. Do I tell JD? Do I tell JD that this freak said his kid might be alive and all I have to do is get some girls pregnant and he can have that information?

  Why the fuck would I do that? Seriously. So we can trade places? So I can spend the rest of my life searching for the children who were stolen from me?

  And what are the chances this guy is even telling the truth?

  No. It’s far more likely that Father Freak is full of shit. Everyone knows JD’s kid is gone. He talked about it for years. This asshole wandered in to something, put two and two together, and then made his move to get me involved in his procreation fetish.

  I’m not buying it. He yanked my chain pretty hard upstairs, but the longer I think about it, the less likely it seems.

  It’s bullshit, Ark, my inner voice says. Stay the course.

  I came to Denver for a reason, and this asshole is not going to derail me now.

  I can’t believe they’d leave me alone in here. If it wasn’t so stupid, it might be cute. I mean, I just confessed to Ark that I’m a reporter and everything about that guy says newsworthy secrets.

  After waiting thirty minutes—just enough time to be sure they won’t come back and check up on me—I head straight to his unlocked office. The first thing I see is the garment bag, still hanging on his suit rack. Zipped and unused. God, it feels like a lifetime ago that he bought me that outfit with the intention of taking me on a date.

  I walk over to it and feel the bag. It’s not some cheap plastic, it’s more like the kind of bag you’d use over and over again. It’s got some boutique store name on it that I’ve never heard of, so it must be local.

  He’s got a suit coat hanging behind the garment bag and a few of those blue ties dangling down as well. I’ve never seen him wear a proper suit, so I stop and picture it for a second.

  Ark is fucking hot.

  JD is hot too, but in a dangerous way, like he used to be the all-American hero, but then life shit on him and now he’s irreversibly damaged. The hot you feel between your legs when those blue eyes stare at you and you can’t look away. The hot that sends a chill up your spine when he takes off his shirt and those muscles ripple and stretch because they say, I’ll leave bruises before I’m done, so make sure you know what you’re getting into. The hot you desire, because he’s so full of testosterone, everything about him screams lust.

  Ark is hot in a very different way. Like he’s got all these compartments and he only lets you open one of them at a time. But you know, if you could just open two or three at once, you’d find something amazing. He’s the kind of hot that only comes in movies filmed in the dead of winter when everything is cold. Where the government is corrupt, the city is dirty, the characters shady, and the sex is nothing but a way to forget the fucked-upness of life.

  Both of them come with warning signs, and if I was smart, I’d get the hell away from them before the shit
gets complicated.

  But I can’t. For so many reasons, I can’t.

  I owe Janine. If she’s dead like Ark says JD’s girl is, then I need to know. Her story needs to be told. And if her baby is alive, then that baby needs to come home. That baby deserves to know who her family is. Needs to know that once upon a time her mother was so much more than what she ended up being.

  I owe her.

  I sit down at Ark’s desk and shake the mouse so the monitor comes on. And nope. Not locked. Which, if I was a suspicious bitch, I’d take as a signal that he knows I’m going to snoop tonight and there won’t be a single file on here with anything useful.

  When the desktop comes up, there are only three file folders to choose from. One is called In progress. One is called Completed. And one is called Blue.

  The satisfaction that I get from having him figured out evaporates when I double-click the file and images come up in a cascade of windows.

  What the fuck is this?

  I really expected a note. Hey, Blue, I got your number, you snoopy bitch. I’m normal, JD is normal. Now be a good girl and open your legs and wait for us on the bed.

  That note is not a bad way to go. I’m just saying.

  But that’s not what this is at all. These are the photos he was looking at the other day when I was in here. Beautiful, retouched photos. Black and white artsy photos that have the lights and shadows manipulated in such a way that you only see what he wants you to see.

  And they are not just of me, but all three of us. Dozens and dozens of them in the tub. Ark on one side, JD, with me in his arms on the other. The steam from the hot water obscuring our faces, but not the intentions of the people.

  Most of them are blurry, because he was using a long exposure time to capture the light bouncing off the mist in the air, and we were moving around. But there are enough in focus to fall in love with this newly discovered artist side of the strait-laced wannabe.

  “Goddamn,” I whisper. “Could you be any more perfect?”

  There are also several videos of that scene out on the terrace where they both had their fingers inside of me.