enough for his pulse to slow and a bit of reason to settle into his booze soaked brain. Slowly his hand dropped out from his jacket.
“You tink I’m ghetto poor?” he said. From his pocket, he took a wad of singles and tossed them at the stage. Lupita looked stunned as the bills fluttered down at her feet. “Mon, I could buy and sell your white trash ass like dat.” He snapped his finger in my face. I shot him a quick smile. “You tink dat funny?”
“No, I think it’s true.”
“Dat’s right,” he said puffing up his chest. “I don’t need this place with all its crazy bitches.” He said for the room to hear and walked out. As the door slammed behind him, I nodded up to Lupita. She moved back into action, pressing her breasts together and swaying her full Aztec hips to the beat of the pulsing Cee Lo Green tune. The men all turned back to the stage, as if the moment had never happened. I thanked God for tits and their amazing power to make men forget.
“Always a party.” Piper said as we leaned back against the bar.
“Got that right.” I said downing a quick shot. I almost never drank on the job, but strange times called for strange ways. Turaj raised an eyebrow as I reached over the bar filling my shot glass again, but I withered him with a cold glare. We hadn’t spoken two words since he sold me out to the cops. I found I could almost stomach the son of a bitch when I didn’t have to talk to him.
“Do you know what we should do?” Piper asked.
“Get drunk, get naked and forget this whole sad mess?”
“Freak. No, about Kelly, we should have a send off for her, here at the club. That’s it, that’s what we’ll do. Sundays are dead anyway, Uncle Manny will close the place if I ask real nice. Toast a glass, kick some ass and say goodbye. You in? Would that make you feel better?”
“Yeah, sure.” I lied again. Nothing would make me feel better. But she was right; the moment did deserve to be marked. If a tattoo and a bunch of strippers in black was the best we had to offer, it would have to do. Kell would have gotten a kick out of it, the idea of all her backstabbing co-workers coming together to mourn her.
CHAPTER 4
I woke Friday with a head full of dread. Even Angel and Bruiser’s game of battle bots couldn’t make me smile. At noon after three beers and a couple of Tommy burgers that against my better intentions I shared with Angel, I rode down to the county morgue to retrieve my friend. It was hard to believe that all that was Kelly fit in a small plain brown cardboard box. Lowrie had been true to his word, they let me take her ashes without question.
Back at the house I poured myself a little more Scottish anti depressant. I set the box on the kitchen table and cranked up U2. Bono was singing again about that girl packing a bag to a place we’d never been, a place that had to be believed to be seen. “Come on Kell, what do you want me to do?” I asked the box, but no answer came. One thing I was sure of, a cardboard box with a county morgue form on the side wasn’t going to cut it. From a cupboard over the sink I found an old cookie jar in the shape of Marilyn Monroe, one of the club girls had given it to me for Christmas a few years back. It had a screw top and sealed with a fat red rubber gasket, meant to keep cookies fresh, it would serve to keep Kelly’s ashes safe until I could sort out what to do with them. It seemed like a fitting container, Norma Jean and Kelly Lovelace had both been small-town girls caught up in a life they didn’t understand. Both had been ogled by men. Men too blinded by their beauty to see that the real magic was inside. And in the end, they both died alone. I cleaned the cookie jar out and poured Kelly into it. Then I took Angel down to the panadería and bought some pan dulce from an ancient Mexican woman. Her granddaughter wanted to play with Angel, so I let her off her leash. Giggling and yapping they ran around the bakery. The old lady and I
“You tink I’m ghetto poor?” he said. From his pocket, he took a wad of singles and tossed them at the stage. Lupita looked stunned as the bills fluttered down at her feet. “Mon, I could buy and sell your white trash ass like dat.” He snapped his finger in my face. I shot him a quick smile. “You tink dat funny?”
“No, I think it’s true.”
“Dat’s right,” he said puffing up his chest. “I don’t need this place with all its crazy bitches.” He said for the room to hear and walked out. As the door slammed behind him, I nodded up to Lupita. She moved back into action, pressing her breasts together and swaying her full Aztec hips to the beat of the pulsing Cee Lo Green tune. The men all turned back to the stage, as if the moment had never happened. I thanked God for tits and their amazing power to make men forget.
“Always a party.” Piper said as we leaned back against the bar.
“Got that right.” I said downing a quick shot. I almost never drank on the job, but strange times called for strange ways. Turaj raised an eyebrow as I reached over the bar filling my shot glass again, but I withered him with a cold glare. We hadn’t spoken two words since he sold me out to the cops. I found I could almost stomach the son of a bitch when I didn’t have to talk to him.
“Do you know what we should do?” Piper asked.
“Get drunk, get naked and forget this whole sad mess?”
“Freak. No, about Kelly, we should have a send off for her, here at the club. That’s it, that’s what we’ll do. Sundays are dead anyway, Uncle Manny will close the place if I ask real nice. Toast a glass, kick some ass and say goodbye. You in? Would that make you feel better?”
“Yeah, sure.” I lied again. Nothing would make me feel better. But she was right; the moment did deserve to be marked. If a tattoo and a bunch of strippers in black was the best we had to offer, it would have to do. Kell would have gotten a kick out of it, the idea of all her backstabbing co-workers coming together to mourn her.
CHAPTER 4
I woke Friday with a head full of dread. Even Angel and Bruiser’s game of battle bots couldn’t make me smile. At noon after three beers and a couple of Tommy burgers that against my better intentions I shared with Angel, I rode down to the county morgue to retrieve my friend. It was hard to believe that all that was Kelly fit in a small plain brown cardboard box. Lowrie had been true to his word, they let me take her ashes without question.
Back at the house I poured myself a little more Scottish anti depressant. I set the box on the kitchen table and cranked up U2. Bono was singing again about that girl packing a bag to a place we’d never been, a place that had to be believed to be seen. “Come on Kell, what do you want me to do?” I asked the box, but no answer came. One thing I was sure of, a cardboard box with a county morgue form on the side wasn’t going to cut it. From a cupboard over the sink I found an old cookie jar in the shape of Marilyn Monroe, one of the club girls had given it to me for Christmas a few years back. It had a screw top and sealed with a fat red rubber gasket, meant to keep cookies fresh, it would serve to keep Kelly’s ashes safe until I could sort out what to do with them. It seemed like a fitting container, Norma Jean and Kelly Lovelace had both been small-town girls caught up in a life they didn’t understand. Both had been ogled by men. Men too blinded by their beauty to see that the real magic was inside. And in the end, they both died alone. I cleaned the cookie jar out and poured Kelly into it. Then I took Angel down to the panadería and bought some pan dulce from an ancient Mexican woman. Her granddaughter wanted to play with Angel, so I let her off her leash. Giggling and yapping they ran around the bakery. The old lady and I
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