He trudges up the road to the strip club. It’s behind the gasoline alley just off the freeway. Blacked out box in a big gravel lot. Big bright sign, though. Way up high to light the way from the freeway. Cowgirlz. Lap Dances. Buffet.
Steve was right. It doesn’t open until two. But Jezebel told him that they get the buffet going for the girls just about noon. Perk of the job. All the shitty meat you can handle.
There’s a couple shitty cars parked around the side. Dancers’ for sure. Nice truck parked next to them. Bartender’s, no doubt. Catering van backed up around the side.
Two bikes parked out in front. Real nice. Proper characters. One-percenter club stickers on the battery boxes.
The door’s unlocked, so he heads in.
Jezebel’s sitting with two other girls back by the stage, waiting for the caterer to finish loading up the trough.
“Hey!” the bartender barks at Ahab. “I told ya already! Fuck off!”
“I know, man. I just need a word with her. Jezebel! We need to talk!”
“Outside! Last fuckin warning, deadbeat!” the bartender yells at him before turning to Jezebel: “Roxy, get him the fuck outta here! Last warning!”
Jezebel takes him out the front and then around the back. There’s a proper hangout there. Medieval-looking iron fire pit. Pallets stacked up for fuel. Nice propane barbecue. Extra twenty-pound propane tank with an asphalt torch for getting the fire going. Or whatever else. Big old sofa against the wall. Patio chairs around the pit. The ground is littered. Cigarette butts, vials and baggies, syringes, used rubbers, broken glass, and shell casings.
Party central.
Jezebel’s angry.
“What the fuck? I told you to wait for me! They are gonna fuck you up!”
“I have to move the car. The guy at the shop’s had it with me there.”
“So, put him off! Or do I have to do that too?”
“That’s it. Give me the keys,” he says, attempting forceful. Failing.
“So you can do what? You can’t come here. Tank’s almost empty anyways. Where are you gonna go? You got money for gas?” she laughs. Evil.
“You know I don’t. So give me some.”
She laughs harder. Her eyes full black.
“Give me my fuckin keys!” he shouts.
A man’s loud voice right behind him interrupts:
“Hey! Shitbird! Aint you been told already?”
Two bikers out the back door of the club. Both big. Proper dirty.
The elder one yanks Jezebel behind him by her elbow. Almost throws her into the sofa.
The younger closes on Ahab.
“She—” Ahab starts.
The punch to the mouth interrupts him. It’s a long left jab with a good snap at the end. The biker slides to the left to change his angle as he lunges into it. For a big man, he moves like a rattlesnake.
Ahab manages to put his hands up. It doesn’t matter.
The bikers tune him up.
Once they get him down, they kick him around a bit. Nothing excessive, though. Just a light jog.
The elder biker, his weathered kutte riddled with patches, puts on the finishing touches. Four stainless steel devil head rings on his left. A matching set that link up tight when he makes a fist. No rings on his right. That’s his hammer. He just uses his left. Crouching overtop to deliver a few short, accurate punches. Opens up Ahab’s face a bit with the rings.
When he stands up and pulls his buck knife from his belt, Jezebel intervenes:
“No, that’s enough, baby,” she says as she slips around in front of him. Once he’s recognized her, she closes on him and slides both her hands under his kutte. One goes up to tweak a nipple through his shirt. The other slides down to his belt buckle.
“Just let me get him outta here, baby. Then I’ll go with you. You. You’re first. I’ve seen you watching me. I know you want me. However you want it, baby. Okay?”
She looks up into the elder biker’s eyes and bites her lip. Puts her hand on the wrist of his knife hand and moves it back to the sheath. He consents to be moved, and slides the knife home. Raises his hand up and holds his index finger up over her wide eyes.
“Get him outta here, then. I see him again, he disappears. And I’ll be very disappointed in you. You understand me, woman?”
“I understand, baby.”
“No. You don’t. You don’t know me. You don’t wanna know me like that.”
She nods. Reaches with both hands to lace her fingers around his hand. Leaves his index finger pointing out through hers. She pulls it down to her and kisses her way up that finger from its base to its tip. Gentle little kisses with her perfect lips.
“You don’t know me,” she breathes. Husky. “You don’t know what I like. I might be little, but I am a devil.”
“Oh, you surely are. Well, you treat me right, and I’ll treat you right. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
She lets his hand go and stands at attention to salute him.
He laughs.
“Good. Get him the fuck outta here. I’ll be right here waiting.”
The elder biker steps away from her. Pulls out a lighter and a little steel pipe. Looks to the younger biker, who’s still standing overtop of Ahab, ready to start kicking.
“You stay with her,” the elder says to the younger. “See to it she takes this garbage out. Then you bring her back. Either of them try shit, ye bring both of them back here to me.”
The younger biker nods.
“Thank you, baby,” Jezebel says to the elder.
He ignores her.
With the breather Jezebel has bought him, Ahab is able to roll over and get to his feet without any help. Not that any was forthcoming. Once he’s upright, Jezebel grabs him by his pinky finger and twists it to drag him to the road. She hurts him doing it.
The younger biker shadows them. Not too close, but close enough. His right hand stays behind in the small of his back. Ready.
At the road, Jezebel pauses just a second to hiss into Ahab’s ear:
“You wait for me this time. Asshole.”
She turns on her heel and strides around the younger biker, heading back behind the club. The biker nods at her and lets her pass. He stands fast, staring hard at Ahab.
“Keep walking. You come back; it’ll be the knife. And it won’t be quick, neither.”
Ahab tips his brow to the biker and trudges back to Steve’s.
At the shop, he takes a moment to make sure no one’s in the office before sneaking into the toilet. Cleans himself up in the sink as best he can.
As far as these things go, they didn’t rough him up too badly. He did put his hands up, but he never swung. And he didn’t go down easy. From men like that, taking a deserved ass-kicking well usually earns you just enough respect.
His face is ugly, though. And it’s going to get uglier before it gets any better. Swelling up around the bloody divots left by the rings.
He cleans up the sink and slips back out.
In the car again.
He lays back in the driver’s seat and rests. Just for a minute, though. There’s shit to be done. And the clock is ticking.
It is under the passenger floor mat. His secret project.
It was a ten-inch nail he found somewhere. Thick. Now sharpened to a wicked point on a little chunk of broken off concrete. Done on the sly. Always leaning forward in the seat, looking out. Hands down between his knees, scraping away. Ready to stash the nail and concrete under the seat.
Not that he needed the caution, out here all by himself amongst the other cast-off rusted hulks. She hasn’t been paying him much mind these last few days. Dropping by the car once a day to bring him a few smokes along with a greasy bag of yesterday’s buffet leavings.
But old habits die hard. And it never hurts to do things right and keep your skills sharp.
The shank’s point is ready. A short cutting edge is coming along. Its handle is a half roll of electrical tape wrapped round and round into a ball at its base. Fills up the middle of his palm in a fist. It’s a solid piece. In the joint it could easily go for a carton or two.
He walks back to Cowgirlz. The two bikes are still out front. The other vehicles just as they were. Catering van is gone. They made good their escape.
This time he walks all the way past the club on the far side of the road. Crosses over to loop back. Slips down the other side of the building. No parking on this side. No room for it. Just an alley-width gap between the club and the neighboring warehouse’s razor wire fence.
From the litter on the ground, this area seems to be where the clientele slip out to do their dirt. No used rubbers here, though. Because of course there aren’t.
There’s a big stack of old kegs at the back corner of the building on this side. He creeps up to peek around them at the firepit lounge.
Just like old times, this.
Inside.
He always had a knack for this part. Getting his ass kicked and then coming back to finish things with a shank.
The three of them are still there. Because of course they are.
Party central.
Jezebel is on her knees blowing the elder biker, eased back in the sofa.
The younger is standing back, watching. Smoking. He’s got his back to Ahab, so he can keep his eye on the back door and the usual approach from around the front.
They have laid out an old floor mat for her to kneel on. Treat him right, and he’ll treat you right.
Ahab watches her for a moment. Getting himself ready.
This is not her best work. Mechanical. Uninspired. Still, she is a pro, and her basic service is well more than good enough.
That’s enough now. He’s ready.
He comes around the kegs, angling right up behind the younger biker.
Jezebel somehow senses him coming. He can tell by a subtle shift in her posture.
The elder groans loudly. She must have done one of her special little tricks to draw all his attention to her in this critical moment.
“Dirty girl,” murmurs the younger, laser focused on the porno show.
Right behind him, Ahab thinks for a second to go into the right ear, Abe Reles style. Decides against it. Too woozy. Better to be sure than to risk all by showing off.
He comes over the younger’s left shoulder with his left, smacking his palm into his windpipe. Pulls his head into the shank. Drives the nail up into the base of the skull at the back of his neck. Right to his knuckles. Eight inches of steel into the brain.
The younger drops, seizing up with a strangled gasp.
It’s going to take Ahab a second or two to get over him to the elder. This could be a problem.
The elder’s eyes open wide in alarm. He flares up and begins reaching inside his kutte.
Then he screams. Smashes his hand into the side of Jezebel’s head, knocking her down.
Ahab’s on him. Stabs him in the neck. Grabs his face with his left, driving his thumb into his eye. Two more fast jabs into the neck. Then three more into the chest.
Ahab raises up off the dying elder. The younger is planked in the dirt. Seizing. His face a rictus.
They both won’t take long.
This is done.
Jezebel pushes herself up. Spits the elder’s glans onto the ground. Smiles up at Ahab.
Bloody teeth. Eyes full black.
“There you are,” she says. Voice dripping honey.
She stands up. Smooths down her hair. Spits blood and wipes her mouth.
They watch the two bikers die.
“You called it, buddy,” Ahab mutters to the younger.
Jezebel feels around under the elder’s kutte, where he had been reaching. Pulls out a snub-nosed revolver.
She unslings her purse from over her shoulder. Had it on her this whole time. Ready to go.
What a woman.
She unzips the purse. Tosses him his keys. Puts the pistol away.
“Get the car. Stay on the road. I’ll come out right away,” she says.
He nods and heads back around the kegs to go out the same way he came in.
She starts going through the elder’s pockets.
He goes and gets the car.
Muse Vassal 