Page 16 of A Brother At My Back

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Zeb…

“Back again, huh?” the big bloke with the thatch of blond hair waved me forward and moved the tattered red velvet rope aside to let me in the front door.

“Ah, yeah. Duty calls.”

“Hey, man, a friendly, unsolicited piece of advice?”

I paused and looked up at the bulky bouncer for the titty bar and gave a nod. He twisted his mouth as if trying to decide how much or how little to say and finally sighed, saying in a low voice that was just between me and him, “Tiff is too good for this place, always has been. She’s meant for way better than this town has to offer. Not many girls in here I can say that about. Don’t treat her like a chore, get to know her, you might be surprised.”

I raised my eyebrows and nodded, “Good on ya, Bro. Thanks for saying so; I’m glad you have her back.”

“No problem.”

I thought about what ol’ Zeke had to say as I went through the door, his parting shot to me, “Get a seat by the stage, you made it in time for her last dance.”

I’d never looked at a protection job as anything but a professional gig before, even if I’d never quite done it professionally, as in been paid for it. I didn’t exactly watch big-money types in the traditional sense with their suits and high rises and their expensive gadgets. I’d watched the backs of my bro’s, and back home, a high-rolling gang boss or two. Something told me Dragon had other things in mind when he’d put me with the stripper, and I figured I would need to see how it played out. I knew if I asked him about it, he’d just raise his eyebrows and tell me to figure it out for myself.

The heavy electric of the song that was starting pulsed from the speakers and the announcer guy was saying something about some bird named Francesca. I dropped into an empty seat at the end of the stage, glad to take a load off after a night on my feet. Tiffany, all dolled up with a black lace mask covering her survivor’s mark, came strutting out onto the stage. I’d wondered how she handled that, and now I knew, but this wasn’t the girl with the tight shoulders, high-strung and throwing calculating looks at everything. She wasn’t trying to decide if the next thing she did was going to send the person she was around off, packing a sad.

No, this woman strutting out of the dark was the queen the song named her. This woman was mean as and I wanted to see her more often. The idea I’d had back at her place took root and started to grow when she started to actually dance, and the girl could dance. She slunk along the brass pole at the end of the stage and her lean body was poetry in motion.

She was fit, everything tight, flat, and toned. Her lightly-tanned body was slightly dewed with sweat. The way she moved had every man here in the bar dying of thirst and wanting to lick the beaded moisture off her skin. She was too much, and I settled back to enjoy the show while still keeping the other blokes around in sight and mind.

My attention to anyone but her kind of went out the window when she laid down on the stage. She arched her back provocatively over the edge and looked square at me. I stared back into her eyes and all I saw was an emptiness. A disconnect, like she was all inside her own head; in her own little world.

The music faded around me, my mind turned to the weeping, so much like singing, of so many of my people’s women that had walked this same sort of path back home. It broke my heart some, but then a spark of recognition lit deep in her brown eyes. I had to smile back when a smile curved her red painted lips and she arched further, one hand gripping the lush globe of one breast, the other drifting tantalizingly down her body, as she rocked to the beat.

She knew what she was doing, that one. I slipped my wallet out of my back pocket and held out a twenty; I’d intended to buy her breakfast anyway, on the way out to her place, which was out in the wops on the far edge of town. She rolled over onto all fours and leaned out, capturing the paper between her teeth and drawing back, moving with the music, back on her sharp heels in a flash and writhing elegantly against the pole. She had it. Raw sexuality, a confidence I wished she could wear as easily off the stage as she did on it. I mean, it was just begging to become a permanent thing, it just needed a little help along.

I have to admit, after our little display, the money came pouring in. All from the guys around us hoping for the same kind of attention. She winked over her shoulder at me, gathered her money, blew another guy a kiss, and moved backstage, and I had to grin. She’d pulled off about ten times the sex appeal of any of these other girls and she’d never even taken off her bra or panties.

Zeke was right, the girl was too good for this place, but it wasn’t my job to save her from herself. It was just my job to save her from a guy who might not even push it. I got up and drifted toward the back and she reached out from the curtains and caught my hand, drawing me back to the private rooms.

“Ah, what’s this?” I asked.

“A twenty buys you a private dance, I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Eh, nah, I just wanted to buy you breakfast.”

She stopped tugging me along insistently and turned, “A rain check then? Because I’m starving.”

I grinned, “Chur, me too.”

“You parked out front?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, meet me around back. I’ll be dressed and out there before you know it. I’d rather not run the gauntlet out front if it’s all the same.” She made a face. “Every one of them would try to take me home like a lost puppy.”

“Ah, yeah, they’re all having a hell of a piss up out there, ain’t they?” She blinked and I smiled harder, “A party, a hard one,” I translated.

She smiled and said, “Thanks for remembering,” and then she was gone through the curtains at the end of the hall. I went back out front and gave Zeke a nod.

“Headed around back?” he asked.

“Eh, yeah.”

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