G-Men: The Series (11 page)

Margo noticed the change in my demeanor almost immediately when I got into the chair. Maybe it was the new dance costume, and the bright red nails. Or maybe, it was when I requested she use longer lashes for tonight and do up my green eyes in smoky dark grey shadows, with black liner and no glitter.

“It looks like someone has plans for tonight,” she remarked, pulling my brown locks up on top of my head into a long ponytail. “Maybe Garnet will have something to say about that.”

I looked at her reflection in the mirror. Our eyes met.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Margo?”

“Just seems to me that the both of you may be hot after the same dude, that’s all.”

“And your point would be?”

“The point is, I like you, Diamond. I like you way better than Garnet, but you’re outta your league if a bitch fight’s on the horizon over that biker.”

“What biker?” I asked, innocently.

“Don’t play me,” she said. “Garnet’s rough and she’s ruthless. And the bottom line is, she’s been here longer than you. Janine doesn’t like fighting amongst the girls. If push comes to shove, you’re out honey and Garnet’s in. Ain’t worth it, darlin’.”

I gave Margo a prize-winning smile.

“You’ve done a beautiful job on me, as always, Margo,” I said, pressing $40 into her hand. “Thanks.”

I heard her call after me as I went into the lavatory. “She left here with him last night, Diamond. I just thought maybe you should know.”

I was glad the door to the bathroom had shut behind me once her words had sunk in. My legs immediately turned to jelly. I sought refuge in one of the stalls, her words continuing to reverberate in my mind over and over again.

I felt my stomach knot up with a feeling that wasn’t familiar to me. It was a mixture of anger, jealousy, and a little bit of hurt and disappointment thrown in for good measure. I had no reason to feel those things. I had no right to feel those things. Slate was nothing to me. I was nothing to Slate. I needed to stop allowing insane distractions to keep me from dealing with the real issue: my disaster of a marriage, better known as the big lie.

I dabbed at the corner of my eye with a piece of toilet tissue. I refused to let this bit of news cause me to ruin the awesome make-up job that Margo had just completed. I managed to regain my composure and finished up in the bathroom.

My first number out was a request from one of the regulars that came in to the club. His name was Joey, and he was a nice enough guy. He’d never activated my creep radar. He was a lonely, married guy in his early forties, not too bad on the eyes, either.

The tune he selected was “Feeling Good,” by Michael Bublee. It was a slower tune, with an almost “striptease” beat to it: a very bold and sensual arrangement.

Once I took the stage, I saw Slate sitting with his biker buddies at the next horseshoe stage. This was perfect.

I slowly danced over to Joey, using the music to move my body sensually as I went to the pole in front of him. I did a slow fireman’s spiral around the pole, arching my back so that I could feel the tip of my ponytail hit my scantily-clad ass.

I did a slow, seductive climb and hitched my leg around the pole, arching my back as I twirled downward in front of him. I left the pole and danced seductively over to the edge of the stage where Joey sat, his eyes glued to my cleavage and crotch. As I rolled my hips provocatively, I raised my right leg up parallel with the bar, and allowed myself to spiral slowly around it.

I noticed from beneath my nearly closed lashes that I had Slate’s attention. He’d stopped in mid-sentence to gaze over at me.

I licked my red lips for Joey, dropping down to kneel in front of him, and presenting him with an unobstructed view of my pushed-up breasts. I did a side roll, sweeping my outside leg around so that I was now in an outstretched position on the stage, my torso less than a foot away from Joey’s face.

As the song ended, I could feel the heat of Slate’s stare on me. I loved the fact that he was bothered. I could feel his vibes from the next stage over.

I smiled at Joey. His eyes had widened in pleasure at my slow, sensual dance for him. He licked his lips, smiling back as I blew him a kiss. I whispered I’d meet him at table six in the back as I left the stage. I heard some loud applause along with the usual cat whistles as I descended the steps and went behind the curtain.

Pearl was up next.

“Wow,” she said, “you’re a hard act to follow tonight, girl. Give the rest of us a break, huh?” She was smiling at me.

“Thanks, Pearl. You’ll do great, as always,” I assured her as the music started and she was announced.

I made my way out the side entrance to the main floor and was immediately greeted by a scowling Slate. My first instinct was to simply walk by and ignore him, but that would only prove to him that I was jealous or trying to make him jealous, which was the truth. I quickly decided another strategy was in order.

“Hi, Slate,” I greeted with a smile. “I don’t think Garnet comes on until later.”

“What the fuck did you think you were doing out there?” he hissed, not bothering to hide his anger.

“What I’m paid to do, baby. What’s it to you?” I asked, putting some heat in my voice.

“Dancing like that’s going to give you more than you bargained for around here, Diamond. You need to take it down a notch.”

“Joey seemed to like it,” I snipped, starting to walk away. He grabbed my arm, spinning me around.

“This isn’t a game, Diamond. This is for real. You’re bringing way too much attention to yourself and it’s not safe to do that in a place like this.”

“I think I can take care of myself, Slate. But thanks for worrying.” I saw Ethan approaching at the same time Slate did.

“Don’t be stupid, Diamond,” he snapped, before walking off.

I nodded to Ethan that everything was fine. His touch had electrified me. He had an astounding effect on me and I’d be damned if it didn’t piss me off.

I found Joey waiting for me at table six with my usual glass of club soda. We chatted for about ten minutes, and all the while I was thinking of Slate and what he’d said to me. Maybe this had nothing to do with jealousy. Maybe it was something more ominous than that. Now I was bothered by what almost seemed like a warning.

^{chapter 12}

I was counting my tips from Thursday and tonight. I’d brought in a little more than seven hundred dollars. I had dressed in my street clothes and was waiting for Ethan to walk me to the bus stop. Slate had hung around the club for a while.

I noticed he hadn’t acted interested whatsoever when Garnet came in before her late shift. I found that a bit puzzling. Perhaps the sex hadn’t been that good for one of them. He was gone by the time my shift was over.

Ethan came up to where I was standing at the door, shrugging his jacket on.

“Let’s do it,” he said, opening the front door for me as some bikers were on their way in.

“I swear to fuck, I wish Janine would ban all of them from this place. They don’t fucking pay me enough to put up with the shit that always seems to be going down with those fuckers. It wasn’t enough they got the former ‘Diamond’ hooked on coke and Oxy.”

“Come on, Ethan, you know she had a choice in that, don’t you think?”

He shrugged, pulling a Marlboro from his chest pocket and lighting it. Ethan didn’t mind doing bus stop detail with me because it gave him a smoke break.

“Lilly was young, impressionable, you know?”

“Lilly?”

“Yeah, that’s her real name: Lilly. She’s only twenty-two. It’s pretty fucked up. She got all starry-eyed over Slash. He’s like the local chapter’s ringleader. He’s pushing forty, man.”

“Yeah, that’s way old,” I said with a sigh.

“It is for a twenty-two year old from Sioux City, Iowa. She had “daddy” issues, I guess. Her old man threw her out when she turned eighteen. She has brains, you know? She was trying to put herself through community college while working here. Then she gets involved with Slash. He turns her on to coke. She says it helps her stay up for school and then work, just another tragedy waitin’ to happen. She falls one night at work and fucks up her ankle. That’s when ole Slash turned her on to Oxy. There was no turning back after that,” he said, taking a drag off of his cigarette.

I started to ask Ethan which one was Slash when we were interrupted by a male voice behind us.

“Diamond, can I walk you the rest of the way to your stop?”

Ethan and I both turned to see Slate standing behind us. I knew Ethan was ready to spout off. Something told me that wouldn’t be a good idea.

“Ethan, it’s okay,” I said, touching his arm. “Slate’s a friend.”

“Humph,” Ethan replied, not bothering to hide the contempt in his voice. He hesitated, torn about leaving me with a biker that he obviously despised, like all of the rest of them.

“Really, its fine,” I assured him with a smile.

“If we don’t see you again, Diamond, I’ll let the cops know the name of the scum you called a friend.”

With that, he turned and headed back to the club.

I was looking at Slate now, taking in his tall, strong build, the tightness of his jeans, his expertly polished boots, and black leather jacket. He’d changed his earring. It was now a dangly skull with crossbones. How appropriate.

“Can we talk, maybe get a coffee?” he asked.

His hands were hooked in the pocket of his jeans; his weight was shifted to one side and he had a slight slouch going on that I found totally sexy in a James Dean sort of way. His eyes were intense.

“This is the last bus --”

“I can take you wherever you need to go, Diamond. I can give you a ride home, wherever that is, or I can take you to the Park and Ride.”

My head immediately snapped up to look into his eyes. He’d followed the bus to see where I’d gotten off. Why? He saw the alarm in my eyes.

“Relax,” he said. “I admit it. I followed the bus on my bike that night to see where you went. I was worried you were undercover. It’s instinctual for someone like me.”

I eyed him warily. How much more did he know?

“I saw you get off the bus at the Park and Ride. I kind of figured it out for myself.”

“Figured what out? Did you follow me?” I asked him, narrowing my eyes.

“I didn’t have to,” he said with a shrug. “I told you, babe, I’m instinctual.”

I looked up at his gorgeous face.

“Your old man doesn’t know that you dance, right?”

I nodded and remained silent.

“He probably thinks you have another type of job, maybe waitressing at some greasy spoon, or working the at some dive bar near the Park and Ride. I’m betting he doesn’t know the kind of tips you’re pulling in, does he?”

I nodded my head again, confirming that he was on target.

“I’m guessing you’re tucking that money away, probably saving up a little nest egg to get away from the violent bastard.”

I didn’t respond as my bus was coming, and I moved toward the curb. I didn’t know why he wanted to talk to me or what he really had planned, but it wasn’t worth the risk of being front page news the following day for having been found in some ditch with my throat slit.

“Wait,” he said gently, taking my hand.

I was forced to look into those smoldering bold eyes. “I really don’t mean you any harm, Diamond, just a cup of coffee and some conversation, please?”

My mind raced for what to do. If he was telling the truth, he hadn’t waited around to see me leave the lot in my Mercedes. Therefore, he hadn’t followed me home. He didn’t appear to pose an immediate risk. There was a purpose to his wanting to talk to me. I was curious about that. I looked up and nodded at his expectant gaze. He waved the bus on by.

This was it. The choice had been made. I was at Slate’s mercy. I only hoped that my instincts about him posing no danger to me were on target.

I turned from him, searching the parking lot we had just traipsed through and both sides of the street.

“Where’s your bike?”

I looked up into his amused eyes.

“It’s almost December, Diamond, and its freaking cold out. I have my pick-up.”

I followed to where he was pointing and saw a black Ford Ranger pick-up truck parked by the curb. It wasn’t brand new, but it certainly wasn’t a clunker either.

We walked over to the truck, and he pushed his remote, unlocking the doors. I headed toward the passenger side, expecting him to open my door for me. He was circling around the bed of his truck to get into the driver’s side.

Once we were inside the cab of his pick-up, he instructed me to fasten my seat belt.

Really, Slate?

“So, where do you want to go for coffee?” he asked, glancing over at me.

“Seriously?”

He gave me a puzzled look. I almost wanted to laugh but thought better of it.

“I’d rather have a drink.”

“I didn’t know you drank, Diamond. I’ve only ever seen you have club soda.”

“That’s because I’m working. I’m off work and I’d like a drink. Somewhere not seedy, please.”

“You’ve got it, babe,” he replied.

He pulled his pick-up truck into a small, neighborhood-type bar about a mile-and-a-half from the club called “The Crystal Pistol.” It wasn’t as seedy as most of the clubs around it, only because it didn’t draw a young, rowdy crowd, mostly a group past fifty that were, thankfully, un-rowdy at this point in their lives.