The Bouncer

by David Gordon

  “Oh yeah?” Gio smiled. “How?”

  “You know, not so into feelings.”

  “What? What do you mean? You know you and your brother mean more to me—”

  “Yes, yes, Dad. I know you love us. That’s not what I mean. I just—You’re more, like, I don’t know, reserved. Private about things. And I can respect that.”

  “Thanks.”

  “That’s why as soon as the sex talk came up with Mom, she was all over me with books and videos, and I’m, like, afraid to even say anything, but I feel like I can talk to you and you will keep it just between us.” She eyed him carefully. “And not be weird.”

  “Of course, honey.”

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “So remember last week when my team had that victory party after we beat the Wildcats?”

  “Yes,” he said calmly, but thought, Holy shit, was she roofied? Attacked? If anyone gave or even offered her drugs, I will skin him alive.

  “Well, there was some kissing.”

  “You mean …”

  “Just. Kissing. Okay? That’s all. First base.”

  “Oh.” Gio felt his blood pressure ease. “Okay. Well, that’s fine baby. It’s a natural process of blossoming into, you know …”

  “Dad. Think about it. The party? My soccer team? It’s all girls?”

  “Oh.”

  “I mean, it was no big deal. We were all doing it, just joking around and just this once. But … I feel kind of weird about it now.”

  “Don’t feel bad …”

  “I don’t.” She looked at him, then down. “I kind of liked it.”

  “Oh.”

  “I mean, I only ever kissed one boy so far, Ethan Steinberg, playing spin the bottle at Lillian’s bat mitzvah, and I guess I liked that, too. I just—I’m asking … what if I turn out to be gay? What would you think?”

  Gio pulled into the lot. They could see some of her teammates on the field warming up, ponytails whipping as they bounced white balls from foot to knee to foot, or stretching on the newly cut glass-green grass. Others were getting out of cars, huge bags slung on narrow shoulders with their names written across them. He stopped, put the car in park with the engine running. He turned to her, smiling, and took her hand. “Honey,” he said. His phone buzzed in the console between them. A text. Nero, it said.

  “Do you have to get that?”

  “No. I mean not yet … Honey …”

  “Yes, Dad?”

  “I will love you with all my heart for as long as I live, exactly the way you are. Whoever you are. Or turn out to be.” He frowned. “That didn’t come out right.”

  “I understand!” She hugged him. “Thanks, Dad. I love you, too.”

  “Thanks, honey,” he said, really thankful. He hugged her tight.

  “And don’t tell Mom, promise? She’ll have me in, like, a group therapy session in a second.”

  “God, no.” His phone buzzed again. “Don’t worry about that …”

  “That’s fine, Dad, take your business call. I’ve got to go. And if you can’t get back in time just text me. I can get a ride with Rachel.”

  “Okay. Oh, and honey!”

  She twisted back, door open, one leg out. “Yeah, Dad?”

  “Until you get older, can you try, with girls … and definitely with boys, can you try to keep it, you know, let’s say above …” He considered. “… the neck?”

  “Haha, I love you, Dad.”

  She grabbed her duffel bag and jumped out the door, sprinting happily off to join her friends. He saw her hugging Rachel, the stocky blonde who got two goals in the last game. Was she the dyke? he wondered as he checked his phone.

  Problem, the text said. Truck. Meet me?

  “Fuck,” Gio said. He would have to fight traffic back the other way now. He texted back: Yes. Diner.

  Joe dropped by Circus City around five. It was a big place with a circus theme, obviously: the dancers on trapezes as well as poles, and peep shows in back made up to look like an old carnival. The club was open now but not busy yet, a good time to talk to the manager, a guy named Kit whom he’d seen around. And, yes, Kit was there in his office, door open, leaning back in his executive-style desk chair, chewing out some bartender in a bikini, bow tie, and red clown nose for being late. When he saw Joe in the doorway, he sent her back to work and waved him in. Joe shut the door.

  “Hey, Joe, good to see you. Have a seat. Please tell me you’re looking for a job.”

  “I don’t know. Do you still make your bouncers dress like circus strongmen?”

  “Yes. But, hey, my club’s still open, right? And for you, lap dances and drinks are on the house.”

  “Tempting,” Joe said. “But actually today I came by to ask a favor.”

  Kit sat up, his chair squeaking. “What kind of a favor?”

  Joe took five bills from his shirt pocket and laid them on the desk. “The kind where I give you five hundred dollars right now, and you don’t ask any questions. And then I give you another five later and you forget that this ever happened.”

  When Gio finally pulled into the diner’s parking lot, a long twenty-five minutes later, his guy Nero was waiting, leaning on the hood of his Caddy and smoking a cigarette, which he tossed when he saw Gio. He came and leaned in his window, stinking of smoke.

  “Gio, I’m sorry to bug you, but I figured you’d want to know. That truck full of knockoff bags, you know, Louis Vuitton, Gucci …”

  “Yeah? What about it?”

  “It got hit.”

  “Hit?” Gio frowned. “You mean hit hit, like hijacked?”

  “Yeah.” Nero reached for another cigarette. “Sorry.”

  That surprised Gio. He’d figured the cops had taken his truck—more pressure over the whole ISIS business—but robbed? People didn’t usually rob Gio. Gio robbed them, and even then they were polite about it.

  “Who was it?” he asked.

  Nero shrugged. “They wore masks. But Tony said they talked to each other in some language that could be Mandarin.”

  “Tony speaks Mandarin?”

  “No, but his kid is studying it in school. He wasn’t sure, though. It could have been Cantonese. Sorry, Gio.”

  “That’s okay, Nero.” Gio understood what Uncle Chen was telling him, loud and clear. It was a warning shot. Soon, he’d be at war with the Triads, a criminal organization as deep as his own, and even if the other Italians lined up beside him, it promised to be bloody and costly. And the best way to avoid it was to hand over his old pal Joe.

  23

  Three hours later, Circus City was in full force. Strippers twisted on poles and trapezes, and once every half hour there was a lion-tamer act where one girl in a top hat with a whip and stool chased around two other girls in kitty ears and tails. The bartenders and servers dressed like clowns, and sure enough, the huge bouncer was in a leopard-skin caveman thing. Joe had to admit he made it work for him, posing by the door, muscles rippling.

  Silly or not, the crowd loved it. Computer nerds, business guys, and car salesmen in loosened ties, construction guys, even a table of MTA workers—they were all here on Friday night, stuffing a big part of their paychecks into G-strings. Joe had left to get what equipment they needed earlier, then returned to set up, and Yelena had gone back to the dressing room to prepare, so by the time Shatz came in they were ready.

  As described, he was a quiet type, slouchy, a little overweight, crooked tie. And Clarence was right about the redhead thing, too. When the DJ announced that Ruby was coming out, and Yelena appeared in nothing but black stockings, black panties, a black bra, heels, and a red wig, Shatz was galvanized. He couldn’t look away. From where he was watching, in the shadows, Joe couldn’t even see him take a breath.

  You had to admit, she was definitely something to see. She must have been on some kind of gymnastics team back in Russia, or maybe all little girls took those classes over there. Anyway, she hooked Shatz like a trout and reeled him right in. When the DJ announced that Rub
y would be appearing in one of the peep shows in back, he got right up like a zombie and walked. Actually, a couple of guys did, and one was a bit closer than Shatz, so Joe had to accidentally spill club soda on him to give Shatz the lead. Shatz headed down the hall to the booth with a sign saying RUBY, parted the curtains, and went in.

  Inside, it was like an old freak show or house of wonders, with a stool and a fake wood door with a peephole at eye level. You bought tokens, ten bucks each, and fed them in the slot for five minutes. Shatz paid and pressed his eye to the hole. Nothing happened. He saw only blackness.

  “One moment please,” Yelena called out sweetly. “I’m not quite ready.”

  About ten precious seconds went by. Then the peephole opened and he saw her, posed with one foot propped on a chair. She moved and stretched, touching herself here and there, lifting her legs high in a balletic pose, then turning and bending again. She slipped the bra off carefully, and Shatz could hear himself breathe. Then, just as she was about to remove her G-string, the peephole shut. Token time. He eagerly slid another in. And she was back. Again she teased him, pulling the G-string up and down, letting him peek, then finally peeling it away, opening her thighs and letting him see. He was speechless, breathless, pretty much brainless, too. Then she spoke:

  “If you want, I can open this door and let you in. But no tokens. Twenty dollars cash.”

  Shatz understood. For each token the girls turned in they got only six bucks, the house taking four as its cut. If he gave her a twenty, then she kept it all. He nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see him and croaked hoarsely, “Okay.”

  She opened the door and he stepped through, as though through the looking glass. She plucked the twenty from his hand and, totally naked—well, except for shoes and stockings—she put him in the chair and eased herself onto his lap. He sat, petrified with pleasure, like a statue. She took his hands in hers.

  “It’s all right to touch me,” she whispered, and placed his hands on her ideally round, firm ass. “I like when you squeeze me hard.”

  So he did it, he squeezed her ass hard, and she purred, moaning softly, and her breasts were just barely brushing his cheeks when suddenly it all went wrong.

  “Hey! What the fuck is going on here?”

  It was some guy in a T-shirt and jeans, looking angry. He pulled Ruby up by the arm and grabbed Shatz by the collar. “Who do you think you are, trying to fuck my girlfriend?”

  “No! I’m not. I wasn’t. She said—”

  “She said what?” He turned to Ruby. “I warned you. This is it. You’ll never work here again. And you …” He turned back to Shatz. “Get the hell out before I break your neck.”

  Shatz fled like a rabbit dropped from a dog’s jaws. As soon as he was gone, Joe shut the fake wood door and removed the device that he’d placed over the peephole, while Yelena gathered her things. But she did not get dressed. They hurried out to the back storeroom where Juno was waiting.

  “Did you get the iris print?” Joe asked him.

  “Got it,” Juno said, pointing to the laptop screen, where an image of Shatz’s eye appeared. He’d downloaded it from the tiny camera whose lens had been over the peephole. “And now for the hands,” he said, turning to Yelena. “Careful,” he told her, picking up what looked like a flashlight. “Don’t sit or touch anything. Just put your hands up.”

  She did so, raising her arms above her head. Joe turned off the lights, and when Juno turned his black light on, the prints of Shatz’s hands appeared on both of her butt cheeks. The powder with which he’d dusted her before had taken the impression, invisible except under black light.

  “Perfect,” Juno said.

  “The prints or my ass?” Yelena asked, looking over her shoulder.

  “Both. Now hold still.” He took two sheets of clear, sticky glassine and pressed them gently over each cheek.

  “Are you going as fast as possible?” Yelena asked.

  “Just being thorough.” He peeled them off and checked. They held the prints. “Done,” he said.

  Yelena immediately removed the wig and pulled on her street clothes—normal underwear, jeans, a sweatshirt—while Juno collected his equipment. Joe went and handed Kit five hundred dollars, then took them out the back door to where the Volvo sedan was parked. They all got in. Joe drove.

  They went to a neighborhood bar in Yonkers where Don and Clarence were waiting in a back booth over beers. They looked up expectantly. Juno raised his arms in victory.

  “Terrific, terrific,” Clarence said, standing and shaking hands all around. “Any problems?”

  “Nope. Joe’s plan was smooth as silk,” Juno said, sitting backward on a chair. Clarence slid in next to Don, and Yelena and Joe took the other side.

  “What about me?” Yelena teased. “It was my ass on the line.”

  “You didn’t let me finish,” Juno went on. “Not even silk is as smooth as that ass. And I can testify, being the only one here to touch it.”

  Joe smiled at him. “You certainly took your time rubbing that fairy dust on her.”

  Juno shrugged. “Had to be thorough, man. We needed a good print.”

  “We’re set,” Clarence said. “Shatz will never make the connection. Even if the cops question him, he’ll be too ashamed to breathe a word about this.”

  “Sorry to miss the show,” Don said. “My compliments to you both.” He held out a hand to Joe. “Very clever, mate. And, like you said, no mess.”

  Joe smiled and they shook. “Thanks.”

  “And let’s keep it like that,” Clarence said. “If we stick to the plan we can do this whole thing without getting bloody. In and out clean. That’s why the client hired professionals.” He stood, a little stiff but managing without the cane now, and took out his phone. “I’ll let him know we’re on for tomorrow. You guys order a drink on me.” He waved the waitress over.

  “My ass, my choice,” Yelena said. “Vodka shots all around.”

  “Just coffee for me,” Joe said.

  Yelena scowled at him. “What’s wrong, old man? Maybe you are all brains and no belly.” She looked at the others. “Is that what you say in English?”

  Don laughed. “I think you mean no balls.”

  Juno grinned. “I was going to order a cognac. But I guess I’ll be having the vodka now, too.”

  “Fine,” Joe said. “Make that an espresso.”

  At the hotel, Joe tapped on the door between his room and Juno’s.

  “Yo!” Juno called out, and Joe walked in. Juno was perched on the edge of his bed playing a video game. He had it running on one of the monitors he’d bought for use in the heist. “What’s up?” he asked without looking away from the screen, where his avatar, clad in army gear, was shooting his way through a burning building.

  “When you get a chance I need some tech support in here,” Joe said.

  “Trouble with the equipment for tomorrow?”

  “I can’t get HBO on the TV.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Let me just kill these varmints.” He pressed a button and a projectile shot across the screen, scattering body parts and eliciting pathetic screams as it exploded. A moment later, the building crumbled and the screen filled with rubble. “Damn it.”

  “What happened?” Joe asked.

  “Roof collapsed.”

  Joe sat beside him, peering at the screen. “I think it was that pillar. In a compromised building, you can’t use an RPG so close to a weight-bearing structure. You should have tossed in a shock grenade to stun them, then just moved in and taken them out.”

  “You play, Joe? I’m impressed you’re a gamer.”

  “I was talking about real life.”

  “Right. Forgot about that for a sec.” He handed Joe the controller. “Here, check this out.”

  “What? Me? I can’t even get HBO on this thing.”

  Juno reset the game and a fresh avatar appeared, a superhero buff grunt in camo, dark-skinned and with a red headband holding up his Afro. “Now this is yo
u. And these controls are, like, shoot, run, jump, kick, punch. Easy.”

  Joe struggled to get his man through the door of a building. “Damn it, I think it’s broken.”

  “Nah, you’re just a little spastic. Maybe you’d feel more at home in a white body? I can change it.”

  “Fuck off.” Joe laughed, pushing Juno’s hand away, then made it into the building and opened fire on the figures inside. “How’s that? Better?”

  “Except now you just killed your own captain. This ain’t a Vietnam game.”

  “Does this thing have a PTSD flashback feature?” Joe asked, frantically pressing a button while his avatar jumped repeatedly and an enemy soldier shot him down. “Shit. My gun jammed.”

  “Nope, you were pressing the wrong button.”

  “Damn it.”

  “Have some patience.” He went to the counter and grabbed some drinks. “Have a warm grape Snapple and try again.”

  Joe stood. “Call me a snob, but I believe it should be served cold.” He grabbed the bucket. “I’ll get ice.”

  He opened the door but hesitated when he saw Yelena in front of her room, down the hall, with Don beside her.

  “Thanks, but no,” she was saying, wriggling free as he tried to wrap a beefy arm around her. “I will teach you to wrestle another time. But now I need sleep. Big day tomorrow.” She opened her door.

  “You’ll sleep so much better after another stiff drink,” Don said, moving in, his face close to hers. “And a bloody brilliant orgasm.”

  “I know.” Yelena smiled sweetly up at him. “That’s exactly what I am going to have, in my room alone,” she said, and slipped in, shutting the door. Joe took that as his cue and headed into the hall, swinging the bucket as he crossed paths with Don.

  “Evening,” he said.

  Don grunted and walked to his room. His door slammed.

  Joe got the ice, and when he returned, Yelena was watching him suspiciously from her doorway.

  “Joe …” she said. He paused. “Why were you peeping at me and Don?”

  “I was just getting ice. Me and Juno are having a Snapple.”