Kill Jill (8 page)

Five Days Earlier.
Davis, Kentucky, Friday Night.
Jack Tallow, a.k.a. Jack Russell
Jill Whittaker, a.k.a. Emma Wilson

The entertainment reporter called Favors Strip Club an institution.

So’s Eddyville State Prison
, Jack thinks, entering the worst club he’s ever seen.
This place isn’t a dump
, he decides.
It’s a shithole, gone to seed
.

The reporter wrote, “The bar, a full-service oasis, caters to the hottest women you’ll find in any club.”

Jack agrees the women are hot. So are the men. But only because the air conditioning system is woefully inadequate.

He grabs one of several empty seats at the bar.

Bartender says, “What’ll you have?”

She’s…female, Jack decides, though he wouldn’t put money on it. He orders a scotch, nods at the woman who quickly grabs one of the two empty seats beside him. The cute brunette in shorts and tank top who’s definitely female.

She says, “You read the write up.”

“I did.”

“And?”

“The reporter should be arrested for fraud,” Jack says.

“I know, right?” she says. “He’s working off a debt.”

“He must’ve owed a lot.”

She smiles. “Still, it worked.”

“How so?”

“It got
you
here.”

“Once.”

“Once might be enough.”

“That sounds promising.”

She says, “I’m glad you found us. Even though it’s not your type of place.”

He looks around. “What sort of place do you see me in?”

“Air conditioned. Elegant. High class call girls.”

“Call girls?”

“I’d think so.”

He studies her body a moment. “You’re a dancer?”

She nods. “I’m the new girl. Lace.”

“Lace?”

She nods.

“You’re not a lap dancer.”

“I’m not?”

“I mean, you seem…ah—”

She waits him out, daring him to say it. Finally, he does. “You seem a little old for lap dancing. No offense.”

“I’m thirty.”

“I hope you didn’t take that wrong. I think you’re extremely attractive.”

“That’s actually more offensive than calling me ‘a little old.’”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. But like you say, older women are attractive.”

“And that’s insulting because?”

“Younger women are cute. Adorable. Gorgeous. You’re calling me a pocket book instead of a hand bag.”

“I believe I said extremely attractive. I didn’t say that to upset you.”

“I’m not upset. I’m just being honest about my age. And you’re right.”

“About what?”

“I’m not a lap dancer. I’m a stage stripper.”

Jack looks her over again and says, “Doesn’t fit.”

“What doesn’t?”

“You. In this place. Stripping.”

“What should I be doing?”

“Raising your kids. With a wealthy husband. In the suburbs.”

“A trophy wife?”

“Yes. And that’s a compliment.”

“So we’re both out of our element,” she says.

“You’re sure about that?”

She laughs. “I’m not sure about anything, mister. That’s why I’m here instead of where I ought to be. The question is why are you reading reviews about a place like this?”

“Never hurts to meet new people.”

She extends her hand. “In that case, what’s your name?”

He takes her hand, shakes it. “Leather.”

“Leather?”

He nods.

“That’s a bullshit name,” she says.

“So’s Lace.”

“It’s my stage name.”

“Then I guess we’re Leather and Lace,” he says.

“I don’t like it.”

“You won’t like my real name much, either.”

“Try me.”

“You first.”

“I’m Jill. Jill Whittaker.”

“Jack Tallow.”

“Tallow?”

“Uh huh.”

“Tallow, like the stuff in soap and candles?”

“Tallow’s actually rendered beef or mutton fat. But yeah, they make soap and candles from it. Or used to, anyway.”

She laughs.

He says, “I can go back to Leather if you like.”

“No. I like Jack Tallow.”

They look at each other a minute. Jill says, “We should do it!”

“We should?”

“Wouldn’t it be funny if we did?”

“
Funny
? That’s not the word I’d choose.”

“Where’s your sense of humor?”

“I’m sorry. What are we talking about?”

“Going up the hill, of course.”

“Excuse me?”

“The nursery rhyme? Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water?”

He shakes his head and says, “For a minute I thought you were offering me sex.”

She locks her eyes on his and says, “If I were, how much would you pay?”

“I wouldn’t pay for sex,” Jack says.

“Ever?”

“No. But I’m generous.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means if I had a girlfriend who needed a thousand bucks for a new refrigerator, or tires for her car, all she’d have to do is ask.”

“Sounds like the same thing to me,” she says.

“Which proves you’re not a district attorney.”

“Good point. Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Could a thirty-year-old mother of two be your girlfriend?”

“If she looked like you, she could.”

Jill smiles. “And if someone who looks like me happened to be interested, how would she let you know without appearing to be a slut?”

“She’d say yes to a real date.”

“You mean like dinner and dancing? That kind of date?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Well, you’ve surprised me. This is a first.”

“Does that mean you’re interested?”

“I don’t get off work till two. That’s pretty late for dinner and dancing.”

“We could wait till your day off.”

“Three problems with that idea,” she says.

“Tell me.”

“First, the club prohibits us from dating customers, and I need this job. Second, I spend my days off with my kids.”

“And third?”

“My car needs tires right
now
.”

“Three solutions,” Jack says. “First, I’m not a customer.”

“You ordered a drink.”

“I haven’t got it yet. When it comes, I’ll send it back. Second, you’ll hire a babysitter. My treat. And third—”

He reaches into his suit jacket, removes a bank envelope, and places it on her lap.

“For me?” she says.

“You’ll need tires to drive to the restaurant. When’s your day off?”

“Sunday and Monday. But Sunday’s reserved for my girls.”

“Monday then,” Jack says.

“You’re trusting me to show up?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“What if I don’t?”

“I’ll have to find a new girlfriend.”

Jill thinks it over a minute. “You haven’t asked for my address.”

“You’ve got daughters. You can’t give your address to a guy you barely know.”

“Good point. Which restaurant did you have in mind?”

“Le Pirouette.”

An angry look darkens her face. “What the fuck’s going on here?”

“A dinner invitation. But you seem upset, somehow.”

“Look,” she says, “we both know what this is. If you want to dress it up and call it a real date, I’m fine with that. But don’t give me a thousand bucks and ask me to meet you at a swanky restaurant like Le Pirouette.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’d have to spend half the contents of this envelope on a dress to wear. And I can’t tell you how badly I need every nickel. And more.”

Jack removes another envelope from his pocket, places it on her lap. “Perhaps this will help you buy a suitable dress.”

Jill takes a deep breath, holds it, then sighs. “I don’t wish to appear ungrateful…”

“But?”

“A five hundred dollar dress is an extravagance. An indulgence. A waste of resources.”

“Not to me.”

“Why, because you’re rich?”

“Because I’d love to see it on you.”

“And perhaps off me, after our date?”

“I’d be lying if I said no. But that will be entirely up to you.”

“Can I keep whatever’s left over after buying the dress?”

“Of course. This is a gift, not a payment. No strings attached.”

She eyes him carefully. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“For lack of a better word? Slumming. Does it make you feel powerful to toss this type of money around? I’m supposed to what, swoon over you? Could you possibly be more pompous or arrogant?”

“I thought it’d be fun for you. Thought you’d enjoy buying a nice dress, getting your hair and nails done, going somewhere special for dinner.”

“You make me sound like Little Orphan Annie. Like I’m some country bumkin who’d be lucky to get a date to the flippin’ Pancake House.”

Jack notices the cocktail straws stacked in a glass tumbler on the counter. He grabs one, bends it in half, straightens it, then gives it a final look before saying, “Are you always this difficult to date?”

“My dates are pretty straight-forward, as you might expect, based on the way I came onto you earlier.”

She looks around the room a moment, then turns her focus back to Jack. “I’ll admit it’s a generous offer,” she says. “And you’re showing a lot of respect.”

“But?”

“But there’s something in your attitude that annoys the shit out of me.”

“What is that, do you suppose?”

“I don’t like being talked down to, Jack. You’re no better than me.”

“I agree.”

“Just because you’ve got money, doesn’t make you better.”

“Who said it does?”

“Your condescending attitude says it. Why are you doing this? You want a fuck? I’ll
sell
you a fuck. For
half
what you’ve tossed in my lap.”

“Is that all you want? A fuck?”

“That’s what’s honest. And it would prevent me having to get all dressed up and tell my kids their mom’s going out on a big date at a fancy restaurant with a rich, handsome man.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

“Oh, fuck
you
!”

“Excuse me?”

“Like it’s a big surprise. Like you haven’t heard it every single day of your pampered life.”

“Pampered?”

“I don’t want my daughters wasting a second’s worth of hope on a dream that’ll never come true.”

“What dream? I don’t understand.”

“Of
course
you don’t! That’s the problem when you dress the truth up in fancy clothes.”