The music rattled Kenny’s rib cage as soon as he set foot inside The Rat’s Tail. He followed Step as the skinny closeout king made his way through the maze of tables, drunkards, and topless dancers. Kenny’s eyes were as wide as saucers as his attention bounced from tits to tits.
A DJ roared out in a deep mountain drawl that the drunken patrons should make some noise for Candy as a meaty redhead dressed in a pink rain slicker took the stage. She made horse-like strides around the circular platform and gyrated in time to the heavy thumping beat.
Much to Kenny’s dismay, Step passed all the entertainment and made his way to the back of the club, the manager’s office. A giant man with a waist that surpassed his height sat behind a pressed wood desk. He chomped on a short, spent cigar and placed bills in stacks in front of him according to their denomination. When Step and Kenny entered, the giant man’s hand automatically reached for a pistol he kept in a secret cubby underneath his desk. The tension drained from his face when he realized who the two men were.
“You almost bought a lead salutation, fuckers.”
“Not the first time,” Step said. “Gunner here?”
“Ain’t seen him.”
“Who’s the redhead onstage?” Kenny asked.
“Candy.”
“That her real name?”
“Shit if I know,” the giant man said. “You got business with Gunner?”
“You could call it that,” Step said.
“Boss business?”
Kenny peeked over his shoulder and got a glimpse of the now-naked Candy strutting to the music. “Why don’t she go by Red? I like that name for a stripper.”
“It ain’t Boss business. This is off the books, so to speak,” Step said.
“You think she’ll mind if I call her Red?” Kenny asked.
The giant man shrugged. “Call her what you want.” He shifted his attention to Step. “This can’t be Boss business unless’n I get a call. Ain’t no call come through. Me and Boss got an agreement.”
“It ain’t Boss business. I just need to have a talk with Gunner. His woman working tonight?”
“Which one?”
“Whichever one he keeps the most company with.”
“That’d be Dreama.”
“She here?”
“She’s in The Bubble Room with a fella. Been in there awhile.”
Kenny leaned his head back as he tried to keep Candy in his line of sight. “Could put Red and Candy together. That’d be a fine name, too.”
“Why you so hung up on Candy’s name?” the round man barked.
“ ’Cause it just don’t make sense, is all. There’s a million and one Candys dancing in clubs. There probably ain’t near as many Reds. I bet I could walk to the end of the Earth without ever running into a stripper named Red Candy. I just think she ain’t distinguishing herself enough. Those kinds of things concern me.”
“Well they ought not,” the round man said. “It’s a waste of concern.”
“Ima have to talk to Dreama,” Step said.
The round man sighed. “Fine, but be quick about it. She don’t get paid to answer your questions.”
Step and Kenny moved back out onto the floor and headed to a hallway off the entrance to the club. Four rooms lined the hall bathed in red light: The Jiggle Room, The Hump Room, The Grind Room, and The Bubble Room. The two closeout kings made their way to the last door and threw it open without knocking.
“What the shit…” a man said as he scrambled off the black vinyl couch. His heavily stained flannel shirt stopped just below his bellybutton, exposing a flabby, pale, hair-covered midriff.
Dreama, a dark-haired victim of unfortunate cut-rate plastic surgery, screamed and tried to hide herself in a corner of the tiny room, tripping in her stilettos in the process. Her head bounced off the wood paneled wall and she fell to the concrete floor croaking out cries of pain.
Kenny pushed the customer back down on the couch. “You’ll get your time back, fella. Just hold your pecker.”
Step knelt beside Dreama and examined her head. “You’ll bruise up, but that’s about it.”
She sat up and Step helped her to her feet. “What the hell you boys doing?”
“Come to find out where Gunner is,” Step said.
Kenny looked at the thin woman with the fake tits and salivated at the sight of her in a black fishnet bodysuit. “That ain’t a practical outfit for this drafty old room.”
“There’s practical and there’s profitable, honey,” Dreama said, rubbing her sore head.
“Gunner,” Step said, snapping his fingers. “Where’s he at?”
“I ain’t seen him in two days.”
“Where was he two days ago when you saw him last?”
“Right there,” she said, pointing to the couch.
“They make that outfit for smaller gals?” Kenny asked. “Got a date, and in case it leads to a couple more, I’d like to get her one of those. She’s tiny…curvy, but tiny.”
“It’s one size fits all.”
“Fits all? That don’t make no sense. Ladies ain’t all the same size—”
“Kenny!” Step shouted.
The chubby closeout king bowed his head and stepped back toward the door.
Step sighed. “Gunner say where he was headed?”
Dreama shook her head. “Said he was filling in for a guy. Had to take a trip up north.”
“North?”
“A day’s drive. He was pissed because he felt like he was being cheated on the gas money.”
Step nodded and handed Dreama a twenty.
She took the money and sneered. “You know I bumped my head, right?”
Step handed her another twenty.
“I’ll bruise up. You said it yourself.”
He handed her one more twenty.
She smiled. “You’re a classy man, Step Crawford.” He was about to leave, but she stopped him. “That gal of yours didn’t show up for work tonight.”
“She didn’t?”
“Ain’t answering her phone, neither. There’s talk she’s to be fired.”
Step hesitated and then said, “That ain’t gonna happen. Tell your boss I’ll check on her.”
Dreama shrugged.
Step moved past Kenny and exited the room.
Before pulling the door shut, Kenny said, “Ima call you later and get the name of that fits-all shop. Might be they got fits all for tiny gals, too.”