Extra Dirty Page 7

  As she approached the bar, she noticed a man in front of an impressive array of bottles. At first she thought he was sitting down, but as she got closer she realized he stood only about five feet tall. His lined face looked like it had seen at least fifty years, but his body was slim, a middle-aged man with the proportions of a young teen.

  “You looking for a job?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Are you the manager?”

  “Co-manager with my brother. He’s in the office,” the bartender said, jerking a thumb toward the lit hallway. “You got a residency permit? We don’t allow amateurs or tourists who just want a night’s thrill.”

  “That happen a lot?”

  “Answer my question.”

  She didn’t like his tone, but smacking him across the face wouldn’t help her solve the case. Ruby pulled out her residency card and showed it to him. “Yes, I have residency. I have a … part time job but I’m having trouble making ends meet. I did a little dancing back in the States.”

  “Where?”

  “A club called Rumors. In New York. Doesn’t exist anymore.”

  Actually, it’s a gay bar a friend told me about. The name sounds good though and I’m sure you haven’t heard of it.

  “Let’s go see my brother. We make all our decisions together.”

  The man walked around the bar, his steps making an odd clunking sound. When he got into full view Ruby saw he wore platform shoes that added at least two inches to his height.

  “Come on,” he said, snapping his fingers and heading for the back hallway.

  Ruby narrowed her eyes as she walked behind him. She didn’t like people snapping fingers at her.

  “My name’s Ruby. What’s yours?” she said by way of conversation.

  “My name doesn’t matter unless you end up working here, and then you call me sir.”

  Ruby felt tempted to give him a front kick straight to the back of the head, but decided against it. She had a job to do. Perhaps a good kicking would be more appropriate later on.

  The hallway led past several closed doors to an open one near the end of hall. The place smelled of disinfectant. The smell grew stronger as they entered a spacious office.

  The first thing she noticed was the grossly overweight man sitting behind a large wooden desk, tapping away on a computer.

  The second thing she noticed was the small stage complete with pole on the other side of the office.

  The walls were adorned with photos of strippers, most of them nude and some of them quite flexible.

  The man behind the desk continued typing for a moment before looking up.

  “What do we have here?” he asked, eyeing Ruby up and down like a rack of spareribs.

  “She wants a dancing job,” the short man said.

  “Mmm, nice. Really fit,” the man behind the desk said, still eying her. “Probably real energetic and can go the distance. You work out a lot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Got experience?”

  “I worked for a time in a club back in the States.”

  “I don’t suppose you have a letter of recommendation or some videos of your work?”

  “No, sorry.”

  Did strip club owners write letters of recommendation?

  The large man grunted. “What’s your name?”

  “Ruby. What’s yours?”

  “My name doesn’t matter unless you end up working here, and then—”

  “And then I call you sir. Yeah, I got it.”

  The manager grinned, showing bad teeth. “No, then you call me master.”

  That’ll be the day.

  “So could I, um, start tonight? I really need some money.”

  Ruby figured this would be the best way to get backstage. The only way she had been able to do that at The Tropical Twerker was because she was a familiar face, a neighbor. These guys didn’t look so accommodating.

  “Maybe,” the short man said, sitting in a chair beside the desk. She noticed it faced the little stage. “You have to audition first.”

  “Well, I kind of wanted to know the terms first.”

  “No base pay, just tips,” the short man said. “And you can earn a lot in tips here. You came to Caribbean Dreams because we’re the best. The club with the richest clients and the most modern sound system. Exotic dancers in the Caribbean Dreams family can build up a sizeable personal fortune while giving clients fond memories of their vacation.”

  Ruby suppressed a smile. He sounded like a promotional video.

  “So it’s mostly tourists?”

  “Yeah, and a few local high rollers,” the fat man said. “We advertise extensively overseas and online. Everyone who comes to the Bahamas has heard of us.”

  Ruby nodded. He was right about that at least. This place was famous. Too famous to get mixed up in abducting a client.

  At least not without a very good reason.

  Was Bridget more than she seemed? Working as a bartender, Ruby had learned that initial impressions can often be deceiving.

  Or perhaps these sleaze balls decided to have some fun with Bridget and things got out of hand.

  The way those two were leering at her, she wouldn’t put it past them.

  “Sounds great,” she said, forcing a smile. “Can I try a shift tonight?”

  The fat man smiled, wiped his lips, and shook his head. “You have to audition first.” He gestured toward the miniature stage on the other side of the office. “Show us what you got.”

  Ruby’s skin crawled. They expected her to dance in front of them? If she did that, she’d probably end up puking on stage. That would probably not make for a good audition.

  Ruby decided to probe for more information and delay an unpleasant experience. “Yeah, all right. Could I have a bump first?”

  The short man leaned forward, eyes glittering. “A bump?”

  Ruby shrugged. “You know. A line.”

  She did not expect the reaction she got.

  The short man gnashed his teeth. The fat one turned beet red. “We don’t allow drugs here! Get out!”

  Ruby raised her hands in a calming gesture. “Whoa! Whoa! Sorry. I didn’t know. At Rumors we did all sorts of stuff.”

  “You’re not at some penny ante club back in whatever hick town you come from,” the fat one bellowed. “We don’t want some washed up crack hoes working at our place. We got class!”

  Yeah, real class.

  Ruby wondered why they got so angry. Drugs were rife on the island, and they couldn’t be so innocent that they thought their dancers never took a little pick me up before a show.

  Oh, wait. They think I’m a narc. A foreign woman comes in here not looking or acting like a dancer, with no reputation and no videos of her work, and asks for some cocaine.

  Jesus Christ, Ruby. You’re a real amateur at this.

  Yeah I’m an amateur, Ruby thought, turning her anger from herself to Helen. I’m an MMA fighter and a bartender, and twice this month people have asked me to be a private detective. Why can’t the world just leave me alone?

  “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Ruby said, thinking quickly. She needed to save the situation pronto. This club was her only solid lead. “I have a special routine. Let me do it for you.”

  The brothers glanced at each other, uncertain.

  “Go ahead,” the fat one grunted.

  “But remember,” the short one added, jabbing a finger at her. “If we do hire you and catch you using drugs on the premises, you’re fired and we call the cops.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Ruby got up, crossed the room, and stepped onto the small stage. The whole scene repulsed her, but she couldn’t back out now. She made a slow turn, feeling their eyes on her like a pack of slugs, then stopped and faced them.

  She didn’t move.

  “Go on,” the fat one said.

  She stood perfectly still, not saying or doing anything.

  I’m not dancing for you two.

  “What is this?” the sho
rt one asked his brother. He turned to Ruby, “What is this?”

  “The start of my act,” Ruby replied, giving them a sultry smile.

  “It’s the worst beginning of a routine I’ve seen in thirty years in the business,” the big one grunted.

  “It gets better. I just keep standing here …”

  “Sounds like a thrill a minute,” the small one said.

  “… while members of the audience bid against each other to take off articles of my clothing. We split the take fifty-fifty.”

  Four eyebrows shot up. The brothers looked at each other.

  “Is that legal?” the short one whispered to the big one.

  “As long as they don’t fondle her, I think it’s OK.”

  “We should have her sign a waiver.”

  “Oh, definitely.”

  “She should dress a bit more innocent. Girl next door type.”

  “Maybe Catholic school girl?”

  “Nah, she looks too old for that. Maybe gymnast?”

  “Not enough clothing. We won’t make enough money.”

  “Good point. So girl next door. But young. Pastel colors. An ice cream cone she can drip on her tits. Too bad the hair’s so short, otherwise could put them in pigtails.”

  Ruby cleared her throat, annoyed at being talked about like she wasn’t there. “So do we have a deal?”

  The big one gave her a greasy smile. “But we haven’t done the audition yet.”

  “Don’t worry,” the short one said with a chuckle. “We’ll give you the tip, I mean a tip.”

  Keep dreaming, moron.

  Trying to look confidence and experienced, Ruby shook her head. “Oh no. I do it on stage with a bidding war. That way the price goes up. More competition for limited resources makes those resources valuable. Economics 101.”

  “Thanks, professor,” the short one said, looking disappointed.

  “Don’t worry,” she replied, looking him up and down like he had been doing with her. “Employees and management get to bid too. I might even give members of the Caribbean Dreams family a discount.”

  The short one mopped his brow and looked at his brother, cocking an eyebrow. The big one turned to her.

  “Lady, you got yourself a deal.”

  Ruby suppressed a shudder.

  What the hell are you getting into here? You seriously couldn’t think of a better way to infiltrate the club?

  I’ll just have to find out what I need before I’m expected to go on stage.

  Assuming I get the time.

  CHAPTER NINE

  That evening, on her way to The Tropical Twerker to do some investigating before her introduction to the world of exotic dancing at Caribbean Dreams, she made a phone call to Helen.

  “Any word from your friend?” Ruby asked, hoping to get thrown a lifesaver before diving into the deep end.

  “None,” Helen sighed. “Her phone is still not picking up. It must be turned off. Aaron is getting antsy. He called me all upset because someone tried to steal his phone this morning. Some woman pretending to be a resort employee. Asked all sorts of questions too. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  That last question came out more like an accusation.

  “That was me,” Ruby admitted. “I had to check that he was innocent of any wrongdoing.”

  “Of course he’s innocent! He’d never hurt her. And with you meddling about, now he’s worried sick.”

  Ruby frowned. This idiot thrusts her into this situation and now she’s making demands and getting angry? Ruby controlled her emotions and said as calmly as she could, “Generally in these cases it’s the spouse who is involved.”

  “You’re making it sound like she’s been murdered!”

  “That’s a possibility we have to consider. But you’re right. Aaron had nothing to do with it. Tonight I’m going to Caribbean Dreams, that strip bar you went to with the girls you picked up at The Tropical Twerker. I’ll ask around. I’ll also ask around at the Twerker and see if I can track down the girls you were with.”

  “Please hurry. It’s been 36 hours.”

  “I know, I know. But these places are only open at night.” Ruby didn’t mention the fact that Caribbean Dreams actually opened in the afternoon, because her “act” was due to go on at midnight when the crowd would be “drunk and generous”, as the brothers said.

  “God, I hope you find her. I’ve been frantic.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Ruby promised. She decided not to tell her about the stolen hubcaps. The poor woman had enough to deal with.

  Ruby was just pulling into the parking lot in front of The Pirate’s Cove, well before her shift was due to start. She needed to talk with Neville.

  While still early, a fair crowd was already well into the evening’s drinking. It hadn’t gotten crazy yet. No one was climbing the giant pile of Spanish doubloons with the treasure chest on top that stood in the middle of the room. For some reason people looked at it as some challenge comparable to ascending Mount Everest. She couldn’t count the number of times drunks had fallen off and hurt themselves.

  Reece hadn’t puked yet either, and there hadn’t been any fights.

  She could tell all this because Neville wasn’t bandaging anybody up and the bar’s usual smell of cheap booze and belches hadn’t been cut with the sharp tang of Reece’s digestive juices.

  Kristiano stood behind the bar, pouring some bottom-shelf rum for a Bahamian waiter who came here to be waited on for a change. Ruby looked at the cheap stuff he had ordered and curled her lip. She’d never drink that stuff.

  Well, unless she was truly desperate, or a cute guy was buying.

  But she was off booze, she reminded herself.

  “Hey, Ruby, what you doing here so early?” Kristiano asked.

  “I need to see Neville,” she replied, coming behind the bar and heading for the back.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Yeah.” No.

  Neville sat in his office, a cramped little room with walls covered in posters of pirate movies and a plastic skeleton dangling from the ceiling. He busily typed away at a PC that should have been replaced years ago, a frown on his usually buoyant features. His pirate hat was off-kilter, and his eyepatch was pushed up onto his receding hairline.

  Flynn the parrot sat on his perch nearby. He cocked his head as Ruby entered and screeched, “Drunken sailor! Drunken sailor!”

  “Hello to you too,” Ruby quipped.

  Neville looked up. “Oh, hey. Is it eight already?”

  “No, I needed to speak with you.” She gestured at the computer. “How’s business?”

  Neville grunted and leaned back in his chair. “Numbers aren’t looking good. We’ll be in the red for this month thanks to the bathroom repairs. Contractors are the real pirates.”

  “Will we be all right?”

  Neville nodded. “We’ll get through somehow. What’s up? You look concerned.”

  Ruby sat in one of the little plastic chairs in front of his desk. “I need to take the night off. Sorry for the short notice.”

  Neville laughed. “What happened? Someone get murdered again?”

  “Maybe.”

  Neville’s eyes bugged. “Bloody hell, woman, what’s the matter with you?”

  Ruby shrugged. “I seem to be a magnet for trouble.”

  “That’s putting it lightly. There’s nothing nasty in our dumpster, I hope.”

  “No. A couple of slumming American tourists came in here the other night. Then they headed over to The Tropical Twerker to snort coke and start their own amateur night. Then they picked up a couple of real dancers, went to Caribbean Dreams, and one of them went missing.”

  Neville stared at her a moment, digesting this. “And why are you helping them instead of the police?”

  Because I have a soft spot for idiots in trouble. I guess I relate to them. And it makes me feel useful, because I sure haven’t been useful in a long, long time.

  Plus it’s kind o
f nice one-upping the police at their own job. I solved one murder, and I sure as hell am going to solve another.

  Beats serving drunks every night before going home alone to act like one myself.

  “It’s complicated,” Ruby said.

  “Everything with you is complicated. Sure, take the night off. After saving us from getting shut down, you deserve a year off, not that I can afford it. Do you need any backup?”

  Ruby smiled, picturing this pot-bellied Englishman cutting a swath through pimps and drug dealers with his plastic cutlass. He’d try, though. That was the kind of friend he was.

  “I’ll be all right.”

  I hope.

  Ruby returned to the front room and headed over to where Javon sat alone texting and sipping on a beer. A young Bahamian who dressed like he was in a rap video, he looked up from his phone as she sat down with him.

  “How would you like to make an easy hundred bucks?” Ruby asked, sitting down across from him.

  Javon sucked his teeth. “I make that every ten minutes.”

  Yeah, right. If you did, those chains would be solid gold instead of gold plated.

  “As a favor to your favorite bartender?” she said.

  Javon cocked his head. “What are you up to?”

  “I need you to buy me a laptop. Midrange. With cash.”

  The pot dealer grinned, understanding coming to his eyes. “You getting more interesting by the day, girl.”

  “Will you do it?”

  “Sure.”

  Ruby handed over $800, plus an extra hundred for Javon. The dealer raised an eyebrow.

  “Tips getting better?”

  “No. That woman who hired me to find out who murdered her husband paid well.”

  Javon pocketed the money. “I’ll get it for you tomorrow morning.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ruby headed out the bar, waving at Kristiano and a couple of regulars. Zoomer leaped down from the rigging and put his furry arms around her neck.

  “I don’t think any Capuchin monkeys dance next door, buddy.”

  Zoomer hooted and together they headed down to The Tropical Twerker.