Page 31 of Carnival Queen

“That doesn’t look up to code,” frowned Miller. “A building that size should have at least four exits.”

“I’m not sure they give a shit about code or exits,” frowned Whiskey.

He looked around the parking lot, noticing the vast array of pickup trucks. Most were jacked up off the ground, duallies for hauling livestock or other equipment. There were two cars, both expensive European models that didn’t fit with the rest of the parking lot at all. Whiskey nodded toward them.

“Slash the tires,” he said to Vince. “We wouldn’t want the managers to go anywhere.”

The four men walked to the front door, where a large man stood sentinel. He had a sidearm attached to his belt that he would have been lucky to find if he needed it. Grossly overweight and obviously thinking his size would deter any would-be robbers or troublemakers, he barely glanced at the men.

“IDs,” he said.

“ID? Are you fucking kidding me?” growled Miller. “Look at the beard, you idiot. It’s more silver and white than brown.”

“Now, now, big brother,” smiled Antoine. “Forgive my brother. He’s anxious to relax this evening. As you can see, we’re clearly twenty-one.”

The man looked at them, finally staring at them thoroughly. He glanced at their muscular physiques. They had skintight shirts on that hid absolutely nothing. They might be old, but they were in damn good shape.

“Fine. Don’t touch the girls unless they say you can. That costs extra. If you do more than touch, it costs even more. If you sit near the stage, it’s an automatic five hundred bucks. Tip generously.”

“And how much of that do the girls get?” asked Whiskey.

“I-uh, I’m not sure,” he said, confused by the question. Whiskey just nodded as he opened the door. The bouncer looked at all the men, puffing out his chest. “Hey, one more thing. You start a fight. I get to finish it.”

“Oh, we’re looking forward to that,” smirked Vince.

It took them a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. There was a long stage stretching in a t-shape from the back of the building to the middle of the floor. White hot spotlights shone on three young women dancing around a pole. They wore thongs but nothing else as they gyrated against the cold metal.

“They look drugged,” said Vince. The others nodded, noticing their glassy-eyed appearance. Their heads were bobbing up and down, their shoulders slumped.

“I’ll get busy,” said Miller. “Don’t start without me.”

Whiskey headed backstage, staring at the man guarding the curtain. He looked him up and down, sneering at him as if that would make a difference.

“No visitors backstage.”

“Fuck you. Boss sent me to relieve you. He said you catch some dinner and be back in twenty.” He looked at Whiskey disbelievingly, then toward the bar, where a man nodded at him. Whiskey had no idea who the man was or why he nodded. He was just grateful that he did.

“Sorry. It’s the first time they’ve let me take a break in the middle of shit. Just don’t let any assholes back there.”

“I know my job,” said Whiskey.

The man disappeared out the backdoor, and Whiskey ducked behind the curtain. In front of him, young women in various stages of undress were either sitting on a worn fabric sofa or sprawled against a wall on the floor.

They looked up at him, completely disinterested at first. There wasn’t even fear in their eyes. Whiskey tried to ascertain if they looked as if they might be English-speaking or something else. There seemed to be a variety of nationalities in the room.

“Does anyone speak English?” he asked. He asked again in Spanish, then in French. They all just stared at him, glassy-eyed. “Shit.”

Peeking out of the curtain, he noticed that the three women on stage were about to be finished with their set. Holding out his hand to one of the young women, he wiggled his fingers.

“Let’s go. Time to leave.” She just stared at him. “Get. Up.”

Hey, dude, fucking hurry it up.

“Fuck this,” he said. He grabbed two of the girls and headed toward the back door while everyone was distracted with those on stage. Before he got out into the open, he pulled the fire alarm. That seemed to make the girls a bit more alert as they scrambled for the door, following closely behind him.

“How many?” asked Vince, walking toward him.

“A dozen and the three on stage. I think they’re all drugged.”

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