Dawn Patrol - Don Winslow [48]
That’s the bad news.
The good news is, if they’re protecting something here, it means that there’s something to protect.
He thinks about sharing that gem with Petra, then thinks better of it.
Anyway, she’s staring at the girls on the stage.
“Either of them do anything for you?” Boone asks.
“It’s fascinating,” Petra says. “Sort of the car crash phenomenon—you don’t want to look, but you can’t look away.”
Yeah, you can, Boone thinks, feeling his thirty-second curiosity clock running down.
The girl twisted on the pole is your stereotypical blond knockout with big hair and bigger boobs. She’s too attractive for the day shift and she knows it. But she must have done something to piss the manager off—shorted him on his kickback, refused to give him a blow job, or maybe she was just getting uppity and talking about moving to a better club downtown—and now she’s being punished by having to slog it out for the low-money losers in the afternoons. Now she’s working the salesman hard, hoping that he’s drunk enough to spring a hundred for a trip to the VIP Room so she can start earning her way back to nights.
The other girl is strictly day shift. She’s petite, her face really isn’t pretty, and she’s small-chested. Her best feature is her long brown hair, and she’s working it hard to make up for her other deficiencies. She has that look of a girl who’s been told by everyone everywhere that she just isn’t good enough, so she works her ass off making up for it. She works harder at being a better lay; she gets up early to make her latest boyfriend his breakfast; she bails him out of jail after he’s beaten her up. She’s the kind of girl who’ll end up doing bottom-of-the-barrel porn videos because some producer tells her she’s pretty.
She’s looking down at the stage, in her own world, grinding her hips to the music—but in reality, she’s moving to a private sound track of her own. She glances up and sees Boone, then looks right back down again as she turns, flinging her long hair across her back like a flogger, then looks over her shoulder at him again.
Sure enough, when the song ends and a new one begins, she dances off the stage, down onto the floor, and over to his booth.
“I’m Amber,” she says. “Would you like a lap dance?”
“Would you like a lap dance?” Boone asks Petra, aware that she probably thinks a lap dance is something they do in Lapland.
Amber turns her attention to Petra. “I find girls so sensual,” she says. It’s a rehearsed line and comes off that way.
“No, thank you,” Petra says, and Boone can tell she’s actually trying not to hurt the girl’s feelings.
Which is nice, Boone thinks.
“How about you?” Amber asks Boone. “Would you like a lap dance? Or, for a hundred, we can go into the VIP Room. Wouldn’t you like to have some private time with me?”
“Yeah, I would,” Boone says.
“You what?” says Petra.
“I’ll make you happy,” Amber says.
“Give me two hundred,” Boone says to Petra.
“I beg your pardon.”
“Give me two hundred dollars,” Boone repeats. “I want to go into the VIP Room.”
“Twice?”
“Just shut up and give me the money.”
Amber doesn’t react to any of this. She totally gets digging into her purse and giving her boyfriend money.
“It’s going on your expense account,” Petra says, slapping two bills into Boone’s outstretched palm. “You can explain to Alan Burke why you—”
“No worries.”
He takes the two hundred and follows Amber through the beaded curtain into the VIP Room.
35
The VIP Room has a line of easy chairs against one wall, kind of like an old shoe-shine shop.
Amber sits Boone down in one of them as the waitress comes in with a glass of cheap champagne. She hands it to Amber, who, in turn, hands it to Boone as she says, “You can feel my tits, but no kissing, and no touching below the belt.”
The belt? Boone wonders.
She starts to climb on his lap.
“You feel good,” she says.
Boone lifts her up by the arms and puts her back on the floor.
“Forget about the dance,” he says. “I want to ask you some questions.”
She rolls her eyes. “No, I wasn’t molested as a child. No, I’m