He studied me and my driver's license before nodding toward my hand. I limply extended my arm for him to push a rubber stamp onto my hand. I winced as he dug the ink into my skin, but I wouldn't let him see my reaction.
The bouncer moved aside, but not before he pulled a cigarette out of his back pocket and lit it with a match from a book donning the club's signature logo. "'Ave a good night," he said with the cigarette hanging between his chapped lips.
I pulled the door toward me and stepped inside the Hens' Den.
Immediately a cloud of cigar smoke billowed out of the door, enveloping me in its bitter wake. Electronic music blared from the outdated sound system. I could feel the bass deep in my chest. Apart from the smoke, the scent of cheap, flowery perfume and even cheaper beer permeated the air. I could barely see except for the lights illuminating the girls on stage.
The stage was smaller than I'd expected. Although, seeing as how I'd never been to a strip club before, I didn't know what to expect. There was a single metal pole stretching from the ceiling to the wooden floorboards of the stage. An old disco ball hung only feet away from the pole. My eyes scanned the stage. I couldn't help but stare in awe as a woman with bare breasts danced on the pole and swung around it with ease. The woman's burgundy hair reached the small of her back while her stage makeup transformed her into an otherworldly person. I squinted, trying to see if I recognized her, but I couldn't make her out.
At least a dozen men camped out at high-top tables around the stage. Most of them had a drink in one hand and a cigar in the other while a stack of bills lay scattered on their tables, ready to hand out. A shiver shimmied down my spine. Sure, everyone's gotta make a living, but couldn't these women do something besides dance for these eager men, husbands, and fathers? These girls were someone's daughters, sisters, mothers.
However, I pushed these thoughts from my clouded mind. Judging the suspended woman with a cheetah G-string wasn't why I came to the Hens' Den.
"You need something, sweetie?" a shorter woman asked. Her breasts were at least twice the size of mine, and she wore a pleated plaid skirt.
"Vodka tonic, please," I said. "Make it a double.”
She winked. Before the server turned away, I glimpsed several bills stuffed into her bra. I assumed these girls brought home more in one night than I did in a whole week on the force.
Nelly's “Hot in Here” turned on while I seated myself at a booth near the back of the bar where I could scan the crowd from a distance. Did any of these men know Callie? Could her murderer be in the room at this very moment?
The dancer with the burgundy hair collected her bills from the stage, but not before blowing a kiss to the ogling men who studied her intently.
The server returned with my cocktail in hand. She wore oversized Ray-Ban eyeglasses, definitely giving off a sexy schoolgirl vibe.
"Here you go, sugar." She set down my drink with a smile.
"How much?" I asked.
She bent close to me. Close enough for me to breathe in her sugary perfume and feel her warm breath against my neck.
"Twelve dollars," she spoke into my ear.
I pulled out a twenty-dollar bill from my back pocket and handed it to her. "Keep the change.”
Before she turned away, I beckoned her closer. "Can I ask you a question?”
"Sure, but it might cost ya." She giggled. "I'm just kidding. What's up?"
Hoots and hollers erupted near the stage as two dancers embraced each other, their tongues dancing together. Copious amounts of singles and fives landed at their feet. I forced myself to pull my gaze away.
"Did you know Callie Jacksun?”
The server's smile faded. "Yes, she used to work here.”
"I'm a friend of hers," I said quickly, noticing her sour expression. "I'm just wondering if you know who could have hurt her? Any rough Johns around here?”
She stood abruptly and held her tray flat against her chest, just below her name tag, which read “Rose.” "Are you a cop?”
I sipped my drink, wrinkling my nose. I gestured toward her once more. "Not right now.”
The schoolgirl server turned on her heels, but I reached for her forearm, grazing my fingers against her soft, supple skin. "I just want to know what happened to her!”
Rose stalked toward the bar. She whispered into the bartender's ear as both women glared in my direction. My shoulders slumped as I leaned against the back of the black, sticky booth. I'd blown it. If only I hadn't been tipsy, I could have had more tact.
I stayed in the booth and sipped the rest of my drink. Hopelessness washed over me like a high tide under a full moon. At one time, I'd been a damn good cop on my way to making detective. I had a fiancé and my whole life ahead of me. Now, here I was sitting in the back of a strip club watching other women make money and move on with their lives. I remained frozen in the past—a slave to distant memories.
I gave up, scanning the crowd for Rose to redeem myself. She probably finished her shift or hid, not wanting to talk to a former police officer. I tipped my glass back, feeling a few drops of vodka tickle the back of my tongue.
Glancing at my phone, I saw that midnight had already come and gone. It was time to go back home before my mom noticed I was gone.
As I stood, a tall, busty woman strode toward me, also carrying a drink tray. We made eye contact, which didn't break until she reached my table. She handed me a single shot glass atop a napkin.
"Here, this one's on me," she said, turning to leave before I could speak.
I gazed around the club, not spotting anyone looking in my direction or paying me any attention.
Why not?
I tipped the shot glass back, knowing the Fireball would soon warm my blood. For a moment, the room spun. I sat down and closed my eyes, taking five deep breaths before I gazed at the club before me again.
The napkin on the table caught my eye. I looked down to see it wasn't a plain napkin, but it had words written in pen across it.
Tomorrow. 10 am. Night Road Bridge.
When I looked up to glance around the room, Rose stood at the exit to the Hens' Den, watching me read her note before she slipped out the door and disappeared.
Fourteen
That night, I tossed and turned for hours on end. By the time I got home, the clock had neared two in the morning. Visions of Callie and her unknown attacker filled my mind and pushed out any other thoughts. Did Callie feel any pain before she died? Did her killer make it quick? Or drag it out, torturing her?
During my time on the force, I witnessed more gruesome crimes and acts of evil than I ever cared to talk about.
We busted one man after his infant daughter was reported missing. We eventually got a lead that the man killed her. Apparently, he had nosy neighbors along with a propensity for carelessness. It turned out that while high on meth, he gave the girl a bath and tried to dry her off in the oven.
It took every ounce of self-control not to lose my shit on the scene and kill him myself.
I wished that was the worst of it, but when it comes to humanity, men were the cruelest of beasts.
Around four in the morning, I relinquished any idea of falling asleep. Instead, I crept out of bed and inched toward the corner of my room. There, I used my fingers to feel for the loose floorboard I'd opened and closed countless times throughout my teenage years. I pressed down, and the opposite side of the board curved upward like a teeter-totter. I pulled it out of the floor to reveal a tiny cubby hole and my secret hideout.