Page 28 of Hoofin’ It

“Anytime, baby.”

The next time my parents sent me into a nightclub, I’d remember to ask what type of nightclub before going in. When I thought of a nightclub, I thought of dancing, loud music, and a lot of inappropriate hip grinding. I found the hip grinding, but it involved a lot of scantily clad women on the laps of appreciative men ready to part with their money. Fifty dollars got me in the door, and within five minutes, I doubted I’d ever feel clean again.

Unfortunately, to get to the bottom of the sex trafficking operation and find Sally, I needed to get my hands dirty. With a thousand dollars burning a hole in my wallet, greasing the wheels wouldn’t be a problem, assuming I remained calm.

Strip clubs weren’t illegal. Prostitution wasn’t even illegal. Forcing girls to work in strip clubs or as prostitutes, however, was extremely illegal and fed sex trafficking rings. I should have realized the type of club it was before I’d gotten inside, but I avoided the places as a general rule.

I was oddly disturbed I’d been to more brothels than strip clubs, but my work in Chicago had required me to visit them on occasion. It bothered me the Chicago brothels were more classy and discreet than the Des Moines club. I hadn’t been expecting to grease the wheels by paying girls to dance for me. I headed straight for the bar, one of the few places the strippers and lap dancers avoided. I disliked drinking on the job, but I browsed the selection of alcohols, my gaze settling on an old bottle of Scotch.

The barkeeper looked me over, strolled closer, and asked, “What can I get for you?”

Asking for a double of the barkeeper’s best Scotch might cost me a fortune but would send an important message about my money and my willingness to spend it. I braced for the damage, put my credit card on the bar, and ordered. Unlike me, the barkeeper was dressed like many of the clients, blending the strict formality of a black suit with a splash of color in the form of a bright red tie.

He looked down his nose at me before selecting a bottle from the top row and snagging a whisky snifter. “How do you want it?”

“Whatever you feel is best to bring out its true potential.” Some Scotches needed a few drops of water to make them bloom while others went down better neat. My answer earned me the hint of a smile. After pouring, he dribbled a few drops of water into the glass.

He took my credit card to the payment terminal, and while he swiped, I dug out a twenty for a tip. Then, satisfied I’d begun the process of securing the barkeeper as a new friend, I paid more attention to my drink than to him.

He did the Scotch justice, and I savored the way the whisky’s smoke and peat tones partnered with a faint floral sweetness. When the barkeeper returned my credit card, he lingered.

“You know your Scotch.” I lifted my snifter in a salute. “You have my thanks.”

“You’re a new face around here.”

“On an extended vacation, so I thought I’d take a drive across the country, get out and see the world, maybe meet a girl worth settling down with.” I paused, glancing in the direction of the many scantily clad women working the men scattered around the tables and booths. “Take in the scenery.”

“How are you liking the scenery so far?”

I chuckled, making a show of looking over the women. Many of them were pretty and delicate, perfect targets for sick perverts on power trips. I hated myself for noticing them, for knowing some—if not all—might not be working the club because they wanted to. “This is the nicest place I’ve been to in a while.”

Hating myself for the truth wouldn’t change anything.

“You’ll find the girls are friendly. We have a new one starting tonight. She’s a bit shy, but if that’s the kind of lady you’re looking for, arrangements can be made. She might not be the greatest dancer yet, but if you’re looking for some conversation, she might do.” The barkeeper nodded towards one of the alcoves deeper in the nightclub.

The dim lighting did a good job of obscuring the young woman occupying the booth, who wore the same barely there style as the women working the tables. Her blond hair was tied into a messy bun, and her attention was fixed on her drink as though she hoped to find salvation at the bottom of her glass.

“And how much is this conversation going to cost me?”

The barkeeper’s grin turned sly and lecherous enough I tensed. “Got some proof you’re not from around these parts? We’re going to have a bit of a party later. I might be able to get you in. Consider it a gift from one Scotch lover to another.”

I pulled out my wallet, made a point of tilting it so the barkeeper caught glimpse of my cash, and pulled out my Illinois driver’s license. Thanks to my lost eye, I’d gotten a new one—one clear of evidence I’d once been a police officer.

“Ah! Now Chicago’s a hopping town. There are some damned fine girls there.”

“Sure are,” I agreed. “I just thought a change of scenery would be nice.”

Resting his elbows on the bar, the barkeeper leaned towards me, tapping my license on the polished wood. “Here’s how it works. Since you’re a first timer, seven hundred gets you a good bottle of Scotch and the girl’s company for the rest of the evening. I’ll send the pair of you up to the VIP lounge. Relax, take a load off, enjoy your conversation.”

The way the man put an emphasis on conversation implied I’d be doing most of my talking below the belt. Since there was nothing illegal about buying an expensive bottle of Scotch and talking to a girl who wore the equivalent of a skimpy bikini, I pulled out my credit card and handed it over. “What kind of bottle will fifteen hundred get me?”

The barkeeper’s grin widened. “The best drink of your life with the bonus of a ticket to a show you’ll never forget.”

Chapter Nine

The barkeeper gestured to one of the club’s bouncers, took down a full bottle of aged Scotch, a thirty-year single malt if the label was to be believed, and nodded towards the girl alone in the booth. A man with enough muscle to go toe to toe with my father approached, grunted, and gestured for me to follow him.

“You’re exclusive for the night,” the bouncer informed the woman, and her eyes widened. “Take him upstairs to a private booth. Someone’ll bring your drinks.”