Death, Taxes, and Hot-Pink Leg Warmers

by Diane Kelly

  “I starred in several plays,” Bernice said. “Death of a Salesman. Mary Poppins. I was even featured as Maria in a production of The Sound of Music.”

  I’d seen the movie at least a dozen times as a girl. At the reference, my mind instantly brought up the scene in which the Von Trapp children performed their puppet show. Great. Now I’d hear yodeling in my head the rest of the day, while still mentally undressing Nick, of course. It made for a really odd imaginary striptease. If I ever actually saw Nick naked, though, I had a feeling I’d emit some high-pitched yodel-like sounds. Yodel-ay-hee-hoo!

  With the yodeling now going on in my head, my mental faculties were reduced to eighty-five percent, luckily still enough brain power to keep up with the conversation taking place in the conference room.

  Bernice went on to tell us that when dinner theater went out of style, the owners of the establishment tried running burlesque shows. That worked well for a while, but then it became clear the way to eke the most money out of the place would be to perform some simple mathematics—add some poles to the stage and subtract some clothing from the girls.

  “I’d danced topless in Vegas,” Bernice said, “so stripping wasn’t much of a stretch for me. I was their featured dancer for years. Brought in quite the crowds.”

  She was clearly proud of her career accomplishments. I had been proud of mine, too. Until the damned baseball bat, that is. Getting knocked out by a grandmother had been humiliating. Would I ever get over it?

  Bernice steepled her long, pink-tipped fingers. “The three men who owned the place back then took good care of us girls. They paid us a generous base wage, provided health insurance, tossed out any customers who got too handsy. We had quite a few good years.”

  How many? I wondered. Really, exactly how old was this woman? Forty-seven? Seventy-four?

  Bernice’s shoulders hunched slightly with tension. “Everything changed a year ago when the former owners decided to retire and sold out to a guy named Donald Geils.” She pursed her lips as if merely uttering the man’s name left a foul taste in her mouth. “Mr. Geils made a lot of changes. He reduced the dancers’ wage to the legal minimum, canceled our health insurance, and hired a bunch of thugs to work security. He even turned the employee lounge into a VIP room.”

  Nick and I exchanged glances. I had an inkling what went on in that VIP room. Very Icky Perverted stuff.

  “I’ve never been asked to perform in the VIP room,” Bernice said. “Only a small number of the dancers work the room and it’s by invitation only. The girls are very tight-lipped about what goes on in there.”

  Their tight lips might explain why they were chosen to work the room in the first place.

  Aaron chimed in now. “We’ve sent undercover agents to the club. So far, none have been granted access to the VIP room.”

  “Mr. Geils is very selective about which men he allows in there,” Bernice added. “Only regular customers with a lot of money to throw around are given access. He keeps a couple men from his security team stationed at the door at all times.”

  I pushed my brain’s image of a naked Nick aside and mentally filed away this information. “That explains the prostitution, but what about the drugs?”

  Bernice’s face clouded over. “As I’m sure you’ve guessed, I’m the most experienced dancer at the club.”

  “Most experienced” did sound better than “oldest,” didn’t it? While it seemed sad when people couldn’t accept their advancing age and enjoy what each phase of life had to offer, Bernice obviously enjoyed performing. What was wrong with making the most of it and extending her career as long as possible?

  Bernice leaned forward in her seat. “Some of the girls look up to me, ask me for advice. They think of me as their big sister.”

  Or their mother. Or maybe even their grandmother.

  “A few weeks ago, one of the cocktail waitresses, a girl named Madelyn, went through a rough patch. Maddie attended paralegal school during the day and was hoping to make a better life for herself and her daughter. She’d grown up in less than ideal circumstances and wanted more for her child.”

  Admirable goals.

  “Her boyfriend abandoned her and their two-year-old daughter and moved in with another woman.” Bernice explained that the errant boyfriend had paid no child support since he’d left. Between household expenses, child-care costs, and tuition, Maddie quickly found herself in dire financial straits. “Maddie had never planned on dancing,” Bernice said, “but she realized it was the quickest way for her to make the money she needed, a means to an end. She planned on quitting the club as soon as she finished school.” With her boyfriend gone, Maddie had to work more hours to make ends meet. “The poor thing became exhausted, came in with bags under her eyes, nearly fell asleep standing up at her pole.”

  Bernice went on to tell us that Geils’s henchmen had summoned Maddie to Geils’s office one evening when her performance had been particularly lackluster. “Maddie came out of the office acting like a new woman. She took the stage and spun around that pole like a tornado.”

  A knowing look passed between Christina and Menger. Christina cut her eyes to me and Nick. “Crystal meth’ll do that for ya. They don’t call it speed for nothing.”

  After that night, Bernice noticed that when Maddie showed up at work, her pupils appeared dilated and she seemed to have an excess of nervous energy. She became agitated and withdrawn and stopped speaking much to her coworkers. “She began working in the VIP room. Not long afterward, I saw her one night and she was acting very strange. She was jittery and paranoid, she even shoved me and accused me of stealing her tips.”

  Christina gave a knowing nod. “She was tweaking.”

  “Tweaking?” Nick repeated.

  I had no idea what the term meant, either. I could define cross-collateralization, debt leveraging, and uniform capitalization, but when it came to street drug lingo my knowledge was sorely lacking.

  Christina filled us in. “Tweaking is when a drug user has a bad reaction, freaks out.”

  Bernice blinked. “Well, whatever you call it, she got up on stage to dance, twirled around the pole a few times, and collapsed. I held her in my arms until the paramedics took her away. A few days later, when she still hadn’t returned to work, I asked Mr. Geils what had happened to her. He claimed he didn’t know.”

  Worried, Bernice had gone to Maddie’s house to see if she could find her. A neighbor told Bernice that Maddie remained in the hospital, undergoing treatment for a methamphetamine overdose.

  Bernice’s eyes grew misty. “Her daughter had been taken away by Child Protective Services.”

  My heart contracted. “That poor little girl.” She must’ve been so scared and confused. Suffer the children.

  Christina sighed. “People think they can use speed on occasion for an energy boost, but meth isn’t exactly like caffeine or an energy drink.” She explained how the drug affected levels of a brain neurochemical called dopamine. Dopamine acted as the brain’s reward system and was released during pleasurable activities such as sex and eating food. Methamphetamines caused high amounts of dopamine to collect in the brain, resulting in a euphoric rush. The subsequent depression when real life returned reinforced its use, leaving the user craving more. “It’s not a drug that’s easy to walk away from.”

  Bernice told us that she went to the hospital to visit Maddie but the girl refused to see her. “That wasn’t like the Maddie I used to know. She and I had been close.” Fortunately for Maddie’s sake, Bernice was persistent. “Eventually I was able to sneak past the nurses’ station and get to her room. Once she saw me, she burst into tears and told me she’d only used the drugs to stay awake on the job. She never intended to get hooked.”

  Christina cocked her head. “Did she say she got the drugs from Geils or one of his men?”

  “I asked,” Bernice said, “but she wouldn’t tell me where she got the drugs. She wouldn’t tell me what had gone on in the VIP room, either. But one thing was c
lear. She wanted out.”

  Though Madelyn had yet to finger Geils, it seemed obvious he had supplied her with the meth. When she’d overdosed, she’d been terrified Geils would do something to keep her from being able to talk to law enforcement or testify against him.

  “She was ashamed and scared,” Bernice said. “She doesn’t have any family, at least none that cares enough about her to help her out, so I used some of my savings to send her to a rehab center. She’s still there now. I managed to convince CPS and the foster parents to allow me to take her daughter there for short visits once a week. God willing, Maddie will stay clean and get her daughter back. She regrets ever trying the stuff. If she hadn’t been so exhausted she never would have taken drugs.”

  I’d probably never understand what drove Bernice to a career as a stripper, but one thing was obvious to me. Her heart was as big as her silicone-enhanced breasts.

  chapter three

  Moonlighting

  Aaron leaned forward and looked around the table. “Maddie won’t talk to law enforcement even though the district attorney offered her immunity. I’m hoping she’ll eventually break and agree to turn state’s witness. Until then, we’ve got to work on obtaining more direct evidence.”

  Nick cocked his head. “Why isn’t Dallas PD handling the drug case, too?”

  “The drugs go way beyond Dallas,” Christina said.

  The DEA suspected that Guys & Dolls, while making some sales locally, served primarily as a distribution center for meth on its way to dealers in Oklahoma. When a dealer in Oklahoma had recently been arrested by state troopers, the phone number for Guys & Dolls was found in his cell phone’s contact list. The cops probably wouldn’t have thought much about it if not for the fact that the address for Guys & Dolls had appeared in the GPS of another dealer who’d been arrested several months before. The local cops figured the two connections to Guys & Dolls had to be more than coincidence. Because they didn’t have jurisdiction beyond the Oklahoma border, however, they’d turned the case over to the DEA. Presumably a new dealer had taken over after the arrests. Who that new dealer might be was anyone’s guess.

  “There might even be multiple dealers,” Christina said.

  She went on to tell us more about the drug. Crystal meth, also known as speed, chalk, ice, and glass, was very popular, especially among the twentyish crowd. After a rash of explosions at meth labs in Oklahoma and the deaths of several law enforcement officers at the hands of meth producers and users, the Oklahoma legislature was the first in the country to enact laws restricting the sale of pseudoephedrine, the drug’s key ingredient. The impact was profound and the state’s illegal labs dried up virtually overnight.

  Unfortunately, the demand for the drug didn’t dry up with the supply. Colombian and Mexican drug cartels stepped in to fill the void, as did entrepreneurial East Texans who could easily and inexpensively manufacture the drug in trailers hidden in the thick and difficult-to-access woods of the Big Thicket.

  Our goal was to obtain evidence that Geils and his cohorts at Guys & Dolls were moving drugs, pimping out dancers, and cheating on their taxes. All in a day’s work, right?

  “What’s the plan?” I asked. I knew we’d be going undercover, but that was all I’d been told so far about the operation.

  Menger glanced my way. “Employee turnover has been high since Geils took over the club.”

  Not surprising. The guy sounded like an A1 a-hole.

  “I’ve already landed a job there, tending bar. The rest of you will apply for jobs, too. The club is looking for dancers—”

  “No way!” Christina said. “I am not shaking my boobs for a bunch of horny men.”

  Menger rolled his eyes. “Nobody’s asking you to.”

  Nick chuckled. “I might.”

  Apparently he didn’t want to live much longer. I kicked him under the table. He shot me a wink back, giving another to Christina, letting us know he’d only been joking.

  “They’ve got an opening for a cocktail waitress.” Aaron pointed at Christina. “That’s where you come in.”

  “Much better,” she said.

  “Nick,” Aaron continued, “you’ll apply for a job as a bouncer.”

  Nick cracked his knuckles. “I’m on it.”

  “What about me?” I owned a perky but small pair of breasts, 32As. Surely they wouldn’t expect me to take a job as a dancer. Besides, the only formal dance experience I had was a year of ballet when I was five. My parents still had the home video of my recital. I spent half my time onstage scratching my ass. Damn itchy tutu. And while I could mix up a mean batch of Nick’s mother’s peach sangria recipe, my mixed-drink repertoire was severely limited. I’d make a lousy bartender. “Will I apply for a waitress job, too?”

  “No,” Aaron said. “They’re looking for evening help in their cash office. That seems more up your alley.”

  Bookkeeping. No problem. The job would also put me in a better position to determine if there was any financial hanky-panky going on. The money trail often led to other evidence. My work could be critical to cracking the case. But I had to admit I was a little miffed they hadn’t mentioned the possibility of me dancing. My A cups were offended. I might not be able to fill a bra, but that had never stopped guys from trying to get in my pants. I suppose my unconventional, rebellious ways made them think that what I lacked in boobage I’d make up for in enthusiasm.

  “Once we’re inside,” Menger said, “we’ll try to get closer to Geils and his goons, the dancers, too. Whatever it takes to gather evidence.”

  We all stood to go.

  Bernice offered us a weak smile. “See you all at the office.”

  chapter four

  Alter Egos

  Nick and I returned to the federal building, running into Lu in the lobby. Our boss was no longer wearing the pinkish beehive wig I’d bought for her after she’d lost most of her hair to chemotherapy treatments. Though her natural hair had yet to fully grow back, it had rebounded remarkably fast. She was able to tease what hair she had into a puffy strawberry-blond helmet. No doubt her locks would be back to their full height in a few months.

  Though her hair was still in recovery, Lu had regained all the weight she’d lost and then some. She’d quit smoking and, as often happens, put on the pounds. Her purple polyester pantsuit strained at the seams.

  “How’d the meeting go?” Lu asked as we climbed into the elevator.

  “Good,” I said. “We’ve got a plan in place.” I told her the details as we rode up.

  She wagged a finger at me. “Be careful, Tara. Don’t let your guard down for one second.”

  As if I needed to be reminded. “I won’t.”

  The elevator opened on our floor and we climbed out. Lu’s secretary, a gray-haired, eagle-eyed woman named Viola, came up the hall with the day’s mail, sorting through it as she walked. An envelope slipped out of her hands and fell to the floor at our feet.

  “I’ll get it.” Lu bent over to retrieve the letter.

  Rrrrrrrrip!

  The seam holding the back of Lu’s pants together gave way, releasing an avalanche of cellulite-pocked sexagenarian butt cheek clad in white nylon granny panties.

  I didn’t want to look, but hell! It was like a train wreck. I couldn’t turn away from the spectacle.

  There was just so!

  Much!

  Ass!

  Lu glanced back over her shoulder. “Rats. This was my favorite pantsuit.”

  Nick raised a brow suggestively. “Now it’s my favorite.”

  Lu pointed the corner of the envelope at Nick. “Hush, you.” She turned the envelope on me next. “Round me up before you head to the Y tomorrow. I’m going to get myself in shape.”

  “Will do.” Exercise would do her good. Me, too. I’d been slacking off lately and if Nick and I were going to get naked together soon, I wanted to look my best.

  Lu turned to Viola now. “Find the heavy-duty stapler. I’ve got to fix these pants.”

  Nic
k and I headed to his office together to draft our fake resumes, enlisting the office tech expert, the cherubic Josh Schmidt, to help us create new identities and believable backgrounds for ourselves. Mine was fairly easy. I chose the name Sara Galloway since it was similar enough to my own to be memorable. I typed up my resume, listing my home address as that of a real apartment complex fifteen miles east of Guys & Dolls, though I provided a unit number that didn’t actually exist. I purported to be a freelance bookkeeper. My story would be that my largest client, the one that had been my bread and butter, was a plumbing-supply outfit that had fallen on hard times and closed its doors. Hence the reason I was looking for work. I dubbed the imaginary business Pappy’s Plumbing and invented a make-believe boss, Pappy Henderson, whom I listed as a reference.

  Josh had a slew of prepaid, untraceable cell phones at his disposal and rattled off the number of one of them for me to use for my reference. In case he wasn’t available to answer the phone when it rang, he recorded a greeting. “Howdy, folks,” he said in a thick Southern twang. “You’ve reached Pappy Henderson. Tell me who ya are and how I can reach ya, and I’ll give you a call back when the cows come home.”

  I frowned. “You laid it on a bit thick there, didn’t you?”

  Josh shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s so hokey they’ll believe it.”

  He had a point.

  For additional authenticity, Josh set up Facebook pages for both Pappy’s Plumbing and Galloway’s Bookkeeping Service and added reviews on Yelp.com. Though Pappy’s pipes sometimes leaked, my imaginary client said I did good work at a reasonable price. Thanks, Pappy!

  My new persona now in place, it was time to work on Nick’s undercover identity. He decided to use the same strategy I had with his new name, choosing one close to his real name. Mitch Platt. On his resume, he claimed to have served in private security for several years, most recently for an emerging indie rock band named Ruckus.