Danny turned to see several spotlights gathered on an empty podium with a pole in the middle and dark-red curtains behind it. People started shoving each other as they surged towards the stage, eager for a better view of the night’s main attraction. The walls and floors began to shake with a bass line so penetrating that Danny felt almost violated by it, and moments later Krystal emerged, slinking through the curtains and strutting into the spotlights wearing a Stetson, cowboy boots, a holster hung from a belt on her hips, and black-and-white cowhide underwear that was so skimpy the cow probably didn’t even know it was missing.
The men roared and whistled as Krystal approached the pole. One of them lunged for her leg as she passed and got a solid kick to the face for his efforts.
“That’s my girl,” said Vesuvius with fatherly pride.
Danny had only ever been to one “gentlemen’s” club before. It was shortly after he’d started working with Alf, when one of the brickies invited everybody to his stag party. The event was supposed to be a pub crawl, and that’s what it was until the sambuca started flowing and somebody suggested going to Sunset Boulevard, a notoriously dodgy lap-dancing club. After calling Liz and clearing the idea with her (he was hoping she wouldn’t let him go, but she seemed to find the idea of Danny in a strip club hilarious), Danny reluctantly tagged along. He had no desire to stuff money he didn’t have into thongs of women he didn’t know, but he’d only been working on the site for a couple of weeks by then and he didn’t want to be remembered as the only person who left the party early.
The entrance fee included a free lap dance, which Danny didn’t want, so he donated his ticket to another member of the group, who in turn gave it to one of the girls and informed her that Danny was the rightful beneficiary. Before he realized what was happening, a bony teenager with straight blond hair and eyes that were darker than a Whitechapel alley planted herself in his lap. Not wanting to cause offense by asking her to unmount him, and physically unable to remove her without risking a pummeling from the bouncers who seemed almost eager for somebody to break the no-touching policy, he awkwardly endured the lifeless two-minute shuffle, his eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling while the girl jerked around on top of him, her hands on his shoulders and her gaze flitting between Danny and a grim-faced man who watched her from the corner. When it was over and he sheepishly tipped her, bypassing the garter she presented and handing her the money directly, the girl barely cracked a smile as she slid from his lap and climbed onto the next person the man in the corner jabbed his finger at. The whole experience was about as erotic as a trip to IKEA, which was where Danny would have rather been, even though he hated IKEA. As for the girl, she looked like she’d prefer to be bungee jumping without a rope than grinding away in the laps of strangers, but as Danny watched Krystal working the crowd, he couldn’t help but notice how much fun she was having. She wasn’t dancing for the men who were elbowing each other for the chance to cram her boots with their mortgage payments and children’s tuition fees. She was dancing for herself, and they were paying her to do it.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Vesuvius. Danny knew precisely what he meant. Krystal wasn’t just performing. She was psychoanalyzing, scanning faces, observing body language, profiling personalities, identifying weaknesses, searching for voids that needed filling, pressing buttons that were rusty with neglect, playing people against one another. She could trick the room’s most frugal man into reaching for his wallet by simply paying more attention to the man standing next to him. She could pluck the last tenner from a poor man’s hand and still somehow manage to make him feel rich. She could make the biggest loser in life feel like he’d won the lottery with nothing more than a well-timed wink, and when she saw Danny across the room and flashed him a fleeting smile, even he experienced a warm fuzzy flutter that lasted until she finished her performance and joined him at the bar.
“I thought you promised to leave me alone,” said Krystal. She took a thirsty gulp of the water that Vesuvius handed to her.
“I have something I think you might be interested in,” said Danny at the same moment that Fanny walked past. She shot him a dubious glance. “And, no, Fanny, it’s not what you think.” She smirked and disappeared into the cellar. “It’s this.” He unfolded the flyer and slapped it onto the bar.
“What am I looking at?” said Krystal, staring blankly at the piece of paper.
“Battle of the Street Performers. Winner gets ten grand.”
“Thanks for stating the obvious, Danny. I mean, why are you showing it to me?”
“Because I’m going to enter,” said Danny.
“Good for you.”
“And I’m going to win.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“Because you’re going to help me.”
“Oh yeah?” she said. “By doing what exactly? Murdering the other contestants?”
“By teaching me everything you know.”
“In four weeks?”
“Yeah. Well, three and a half.”
“Have you been drinking?” said Krystal. She turned to Vesuvius. “Has he been drinking?” Vesuvius shrugged.
“I’m serious,” said Danny. “I think we can do it.”
“No, Danny, we can’t.”
“We can split the winnings. Fifty-fifty. Straight down the middle.”
“It’s not possible.”
“Yes, it is. You just divide ten by two, it’s super easy.”
“No, you muppet. I mean there’s not enough time.”
“Okay, how about sixty-forty?” he said.
“Danny, it’s not about the money, it’s—”
“Fine, seventy-thirty, but that’s my final offer.”
“You still owe me a hundred quid!” she said.
“Plus the hundred quid, obviously.”
“Danny, I’d help you out if I could, really, but you’re not even close to competition level and there’s no way in hell you’re going to get there in the next few weeks, even if we practiced twenty-four hours a day. If I was you, I’d forget about the contest and focus on perfecting the simple stuff I taught you.” She threw her empty bottle in the bin and adjusted her cowhide bra. “I need to get back to work.”
“Wait!” said Danny as Krystal turned to leave.
“Sorry, Danny.”
“Look, just hear me out for one second. Please.” Krystal sighed and gestured for him to finish. “I have a son. His name is Will. He’s eleven years old. He was in the car with my wife when she died and he hasn’t spoken a word since. Literally, nothing, so it’s fair to say he doesn’t need any more problems in his life, which is why I haven’t told him that I lost my job, and I certainly haven’t told him that I’m now a full-time fucking panda bear. He still thinks I work on the building site and he still thinks we can pay the rent, but we can’t, and in four weeks’ time my nasty bastard of a landlord is going to evict us, but not before he breaks whatever part of my body he deems to be my favorite, because that’s the kind of nasty bastard he is. And the only way I can stop that from happening is if I win this competition. I know it’s a long shot, and I know it’s almost certainly hopeless, but I’ve got to try, because if I don’t, I am well and truly fucked. So, please, help me. I’ve never begged for anything, but I’m begging you right now.”