By teols2016
| Author Notes |
The first installment of a new novella.
Characters: "Jersey"/Paige Miller: a freshly-graduated journalism student, blogger, and Las Vegas stripper. Matt: a bouncer at the Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge nude club. Feedback, especially recommendations for additions/subtractions/revisions are always welcome and appreciated. Enjoy! |
By teols2016
The bouncer, Kurtis, opened the side door for her.
"Good night," Paige said with a smile.
A stout man with a military hairstyle, Kurtis nodded in return. Paige set off down the alley and turned onto the sidewalk. Another long night down. Unlike twenty-four hours earlier, no big-time celebrities tonight. But, the tips were still good and plentiful.
The Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge did make sure the dancers felt safe and respected. Too bad they couldn't do anything about these dancers bad-mouthing one another. Tonight, Paige was reduced to slipping out of the dressing room when two of her co-workers began gossiping about another dancer and her leaving early due to some vague medical reason.
"She just disappears and management's fine with it," one was saying as Paige was able to flee. "We have to stay and practically break our ankles for these perverts."
Apart from her tattoos, Paige's biggest expense was her car. The green Mini Cooper was fairly new when she drove it off the lot and she could envision herself as Charlize Theron in "The Italian Job." Maybe she'd drive through the streets of Los Angeles someday. The Los Angeles Times was a respectable publication and certainly on her list of desired employers.
The car was parked in a garage a few doors down from the club. It was a safe place for staff and customers to stash their vehicles during their fun and the club's bouncers had a clear line of sight from the front doors to the garage entrance ramp, so the short walk there was safe even during the Witching Hour. Unbeknownst to the patrons, the Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge was a part-owner in the garage and the dancers got a discount on parking rates. It was the club's management who insisted on improving the garage's security. The cameras they put up would have caught the van which raced out as Paige approached the entrance, in case the police might request evidence of the driver's erratic maneuvers. Paige doubted they would. The van was already gone anyway, and she saw no signs of any physical harm it'd have done.
Everything was quiet as she entered the parking structure, not unusual for 2:00 in the morning. She looked forward to going home, soaking in a hot bath, and crawling into bed.
She walked up to the second level and stopped to fish her ticket out of her purse. Pulling out the small slip of paper, she noticed a sedan standing about twenty feet from her with its interior light on. The garage was dark and this light glowed like a candle in a jack-o-lantern. This effect had to be draining the car's battery. Knowing that, if anyone tried to harm her, they'd never make it out of the garage, Paige went to have a look.
The sedan's rear door was open. Paige approached it. Getting a clear look inside the car, she gasped and recoiled.
Lying across the backseat was a body. The long, purple hair suggested the person's identity, but nothing else helped. The face was a bloody mess and the torso and thighs were covered in cuts and bruises. There were no clothes to be seen. There was something in the corpse's mouth, but it too was covered in blood. The scene was something out of "Silence of the Lambs."
Paige screamed, turned and ran. Her cries echoing throughout the garage, she made it ten feet before her foot caught on something. Though she was now wearing sneakers, she was unable to keep her balance and fell forward across something. She managed to throw both hands out to break her fall and keep her face intact. Looking back, Paige saw it was the dark shape of another body. Blood now visible on her legs thanks to the dim lighting, she screamed again as running footsteps approached.
* * *
Stripping on stage for strangers was far different than disrobing in the back of an ambulance. But the crime scene tech collecting her clothes as evidence was understanding and professional about it. Paige was not subject to a thorough visual examination this time. She did receive a gray t-shirt, black sweatpants, and plastic flip-flops to replace her previous attire. A paramedic also treated the scrapes she'd sustained on her hands when she fell.
Stepping out of the back of the ambulance, she was met by Los Vegas Metropolitan Police detectives John Baxter, whose gray hair and widening beer gut suggested he was close to retirement, and Kyle Connors, who was probably only a few years older than Paige. They'd introduced themselves earlier but said they'd wait until she changed out of her blood-stained clothes before taking her statement.
"Did you know the deceased?" Detective Baxter asked after she'd finished recounting the gruesome discovery as well as her immediate prior whereabouts.
Paige thought about the purple hair. Her friend liked hair dye like she liked tattoos.
"I think her name's Britney Gloucester," she said. "I don't know though. What happened to her face?"
"How do you know her?" Detective Baxter queried, his tone gruff and no-nonsense.
"We work together at the Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge. I can't tell if it is really her though."
Paige didn't notice a reaction from either detective. She wondered if they'd already deduced the body's identity. She hadn't noticed a purse or wallet in the car, though her glimpse had been brief. Maybe they had portable fingerprint scanners like the cops on TV. Britney did have a record for using a stolen credit card.
"The injuries are severe," Detective Connors said, speaking in a gentle, almost soothing, tone. "Your friend was violently attacked."
Remembering the cuts, bruises, and blood, Paige retched.
"Did she have a problem with anyone?" Detective Baxter asked. "Anyone give her trouble?"
"We get the occasional customer who gets too handsy," Paige replied. "But the bouncers quickly put a stop to it. I can't remember anyone specific."
"Nobody with a grudge?"
Again, Paige couldn't think of anyone specific, though she was sure a few men in Vegas weren't happy with Britney. The two women wanted to someday have lives beyond the Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge ... they just differed as to how they intended to get there.
"No," Paige told the detectives.
Detective Baxter nodded, flipping his notepad shut.
"We'll be in touch," he said and stepped away, his younger partner following without a word.
* * *
Since she couldn't retrieve her car while the garage was being treated as a crime scene, Paige was driven home by a pair of patrol officers, who seemed to have a need to remain silent. She entered her apartment and double-checked her locks before sinking down onto her couch and crying.
Britney Gloucester was the closest thing she had to a friend at the Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge. Performing under the stage name "Violet," she was as popular with the customers as Paige, and probably a little more daring as to what she was willing to do during private dances.
Paige knew the woman, not much older than her, was looking to hook a husband whose finances could preclude her from ever having to work again. She seemed open to pursuing any strategy to accomplish this and Paige suspected she'd had sex with some customers on the premises, something frowned on by the club's policy and outright forbidden by Nevada state law. She'd once tried to dissuade her friend, reminding her of the legal consequences, but was dismissed.
"We work in a nude club," Britney had argued. "We are literally completely naked. These guys can see everything. They want to bone us, so why not let them if it's worth it for us."
She'd been reeling in a plastic surgeon at the time and Paige knew her warnings would do no good. She gave up after that conversation. Now, she wished she'd kept trying. Maybe Britney would still be alive, as would the garage attendant, who was stabbed to death near the car, probably for coming to her aide when she was attacked.
Paige turned on the television and went into her kitchenette to find something to drink. Not hungry, she listened as a news anchor recapped the Carson City grand jury's declining to indict Governor Roofus Clemons on some sort of fraud charge earlier in the week. Prior to entering politics, the governor ran a successful contracting firm in Washoe County. Some said he'd had a hand in constructing a quarter of all buildings in Nevada. For decades, rumors and circumstantial evidence suggested he'd made some shady deals and developed nefarious connections which now influenced how he ran the state.
Many people thought this case would be the end of Governor Clemons's political career and ambitions. Now, they were saying the grand jury's decision was his "saving grace which no one saw coming."
"Many have suggested that this makes Governor Clemons's as Teflon as notorious figures like John Gotti," the news anchor was saying.
Pointing out the continuing lack of any signs of wrong-doing on his part, Governor Clemons was already reiterating his plans to run for the Senate in two years. The news media were kind enough to replay these clips again and again.
"I've built a successful business and a life I am proud of," the governor had said in a press conference. "I just want to do the same for all people of Nevada."
Paige had never been interested in politics. She found some wine coolers in her fridge and took one back to the couch as the topic switched to the story of an unnamed woman found murdered in a Las Vegas parking garage. She switched channels, trying to find something else to watch. She knew Britney's murder would be saturating the news for the next few hours, at least until people woke up and had a chance to absorb it. She sighed, wiping tears from her eyes. She took a sip from her wine cooler and set it on the coffee table, its light wood matching her gray, upholstered couch about as well as a pink top went with a mauve skirt. Taking a deep breath, she retrieved her laptop from the shelf beneath the table. She opened it, pulled up Google Crome, and navigated to her administrative view of Jersey's World.
The blog's topics normally ranged from new costumes and shoes she'd tried out to advising on strip club etiquette to sharing the names of her favorite drinks. Tonight, Paige wanted to write about something different. She opened a new textbox and positioned her fingers for typing.
But, no words came. After a few minutes, Paige closed her laptop and set it aside. Maybe it needed to sink in further first.
* * *
Paige couldn't imagine going to work the day after Brittney's murder. Management seemed to have the same idea, or maybe the police influenced their decision. The Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge was closed until further notice and cops were perhaps conducting court-approved perusals of the club's records and grilling management in the hunt for suspects.
Despite not wanting to work, or even leave home, Paige felt restless. She wanted to do something. Perhaps not go out and solve Brittney's murder, but anything had to beat loafing on the couch and thinking about it. Finally, she set up her laptop and pulled up her blog to write a new post.
Dear readers,
Jersey here.
I'm sure this blog has given you an insight far beyond what you've ever gotten for free on less Savery sites. Tonight, I want to talk about something which you may not really think about: the women. No, not thinking about us in that way.
We're more than the flesh you see on stage or pay to feel grinding against you. I normally don't comment on other dancers, but tonight is different. Tonight, I lost my friend.
I'll keep her real name to myself out of respect for her and her family, but you all know her as "Violet" from the Topaz Gentleman's Lounge. I've known her for as long as I've danced there and I was the first to find her body tonight in that parking garage ...
Like you, I've seen more crime shows, drama and reality, than I could ever count. But, finding a body, any body, is far different from anything you've ever seen on TV. It's horrific, and it is even worse when that person is a friend.
I feel a small sense of relief that the LVMPD seems to be devoting plenty of resources to solving this awful crime. I should pause to note my friend wasn't the only victim. A Good Samaritan coming to her aid paid for his kindness with his life. I hope, for everyone, that this is a case which is solved with the first forty-eight hours. I'm not sure I can wait longer than that. I also don't know what I'd do if it got to that point. All I know for sure is I miss my friend.
| Author Notes |
Now we have the stripper and the murder.
Characters: "Jersey"/Paige Miller: a freshly-graduated journalism student, blogger, and Las Vegas stripper. Kurtis: a bouncer at the Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge nude club. "Violet"/Brittney: fellow stripper and murder victim. Feedback, especially recommendations for additions/subtractions/revisions are always welcome and appreciated. Enjoy! |
By teols2016
Like most high-end nude clubs in Las Vegas, the Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge had many private rooms which were furnished as bedrooms, complete with queen-sized beds. No one ever slept in these rooms. They were meant to afford customers the opportunity to lie down as their chosen dancer performed and ground up against them, making fantasies come true. As long as no actual sexual activity took place, no laws were being broken. And, the club's motto was "The most fun you'll have with your clothes on." They had to deliver on that promise.
Jersey was in one of these private rooms, horizontal and face down on a middle-aged executive of some sort, moving her body in rhythm with the music. Her customer, who'd been too shy to interact with her much in the club's main room, was now moaning with pleasure. Anyone who didn't know better would think Jersey and the executive were actually having sex. The fact one of the parties still had on all their clothes might dispel this notion.
Jersey kissed the executive's neck and then pressed her nose against the woman's auburn hair, inhaling deeply. She then lowered her lips next to her ear.
"Hmm," she moaned in her husky voice, thrusting her pelvis in time with the music. "Lavender."
The executive, who initially hadn't moved, was now living in the moment, trying to touch every bit of Jersey she could reach. Jersey encouraged the exploration, wondering if the woman would have an orgasm or if her head would explode. The former sometimes happened. She had yet to witness the latter ... small favors.
This customer had paid for a three-song private dance. Knowing all three songs by heart, Jersey had long perfected her routine and its conclusion. Just after the final note, she smoothly rose off the bed. The executive still lay there, catching her breath. Jersey checked her hair and makeup in a nearby mirror, pretending not to notice the customer casting admiring glances at her bare derriere.
Finally, the executive rose from the bed as well. She pulled her dark suit jacket back on and fished in her purse, pulling out three twenty-dollar bills and pressing them in Jersey's hand.
"Thank you," she said with a smile.
Jersey was definitely "gay-for-pay," but she knew how to sell herself so this wouldn't be obvious. She'd dared to give a woman a lap dance for the first time fourteen months ago, back in Reno. Since then, she'd entertained about a dozen women, a small number considering she gave private dances to at least a dozen men per night.
Jersey watched the executive leave, wondering what kind of life she was going back to. She'd seen the thin, gold band on her finger and doubted her spouse was also female. Out lesbians were not as nervous as she'd been at their first meeting a little while earlier. No, this woman was spending one evening living a dream the rest of her life denied her. She was probably from out of town.
Jersey went back into the dressing room and secured her tip in her locker. She then grabbed a bottle of water and began taking large gulps. Pretend-screwing was hard work.
She'd taken a week off after Britney's murder. She then couldn't stand staying home anymore and had been back at work for another week. Much as it did for its customers, the Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge was able to take her away from the real world, if only for a little while at a time. She still missed her friend.
The Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge's management lived without fresh profits for three days before the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department was convinced the club held no clues to Britney's murder. Patrons were once again admitted about two seconds after the last cop left.
Jersey's blog post about Britney's murder had gotten one hundred thousand hits in less than a week. Reporters began calling the club, hoping to interview Jersey. At least one press man had come in person, but she'd been too busy and he was ejected when a bartender recognized him. Jersey had made it clear in a follow-up post she wouldn't give any interviews. The club's management, though delivering some minor admonishment for her blogging bringing them this sort of attention, nevertheless cooperated with her wishes. After all, one of their dancers was a victim in a rather sensational murder on property they did own.
Jersey cast a longing look around the dressing room, empty at that moment. In how many workplaces would it be acceptable to spend your break chatting with your equally-nude friend. Neither of them were interested in each other that way, though they sometimes performed together on stage for the same reason Jersey gave private dances to women. Even split fifty-fifty and accounting for the club's cut, the tips were enormous after such shows. With Britney, Paige truly experienced and appreciated the phrase "make it rain." She never wanted to hear those words again.
"There you are," someone said.
Jersey turned to see a waitress by the door to the large dressing room.
"What's up?" she queried.
"We've got a whale," the waitress replied. "Management set him up in the back and he requested you. Says he saw you on stage earlier."
Jersey knew she couldn't refuse this. A Whale in the back meant not just a VIP, but a Very, Very Important Person. They probably hadn't needed to enter via the front doors, instead being ushered in through a separate, private entrance few people even knew existed.
"Any idea who it is?" Jersey asked, curious. She drank the rest of her water.
"No clue," the waitress replied. "Young guy. He's got a couple of friends with him."
The Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge did not admit anyone under twenty-one and security was good about spotting fake IDs, but this still left delicious possibilities. Young guys generally came with trust funds or similar sources of spare cash, and they were more careless with where the money went. Earning a thousand dollars within the next hour was not out of the question, and Jersey was already factoring in the club's cut, applicable to any funds received which exceeded a hundred bucks.
"Let's go," she said.
* * *
The "bac" of the Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge was an ultra-private suite for the wealthy and powerful. Jersey had been back there a few times, sometimes alone and sometimes as part of a group of requested dancers. She'd once entertained a member of the Presidential Cabinet there, needing to sign a confidentiality agreement beforehand. She could still draw a chuckle from the memory of how nervous that aide had been when asking her to sign the document while trying not to be obvious about staring at her body.
The suite was two stories. Upstairs resembled a skybox, like those found at most sports venues, giving the VVIP patron an unobstructed view of the dancers on stage through one-way glass. Many dancers speculated it was the only space in the club where customers got away with masturbating during the shows.
The first floor consisted of two rooms. One was furnished like a den while the other was a bedroom, both meant for private dances. The suite had its own bar, restroom, and bouncer, leaving no need for its exclusive occupants to mingle with the "commoners" in the rest of the Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge.
The bouncer assigned to keep an eye on the suite was always stationed at the end of the hallway leading to this special domain. Tonight, that bouncer was Matt. Jersey smiled at the burly, now-retired cop who was her favorite among the security staff. He gave her a nod in return.
A young man was waiting at the entrance of the suite. Jersey thought he looked familiar, but she couldn't place him. He smiled as she approached. He definitely looked college-age and Jersey smiled back, trying to determine how to best separate him from his money.
"Come on in," the young man said. "He's waiting."
Wondering what that meant, Jersey followed him into the suite.
Another young man was sitting on the couch in the middle of the room. He too looked familiar, though Jersey couldn't recall specifics about him either. He also looked both surprised and happy to see her. She figured this was due to her already being naked. He'd probably missed her show earlier.
Sitting at the bar off to the side was a third young man. He was tall and dark-haired with fine features and Jersey definitely recognized him. Simon Clemons, son of Nevada Governor Roofus Clemons and a senior at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas.
"Hey there," Simon said, taking a gulp of his drink.
Jersey remembered. Five months ago, she and Violet were brought to the suite for this same group. It'd been after one of their faux-lesbian shows. Violet took the governor's son into the bedroom while Jersey had entertained the young man now sitting in that same spot on the couch. She could not remember his name. The third man, the one who'd greeted her tonight, hadn't gotten a dance and hadn't seemed disappointed as he drank and watched that night.
"Evening, gentlemen," Jersey said, gazing at each of them in turn. "What would you like?"
"Nick here is now twenty-three," Simon said, gesturing at the man on the couch. "Think you can show him a good time in the bedroom?"
He gestured at the nearby open door.
"Sure," Jersey agreed. She walked up to Nick and held out her hand, the shooting star visible on the inside of her forearm. Nick seemed dumbstruck.
"You ready," Jersey queried with her best, sultry smile.
Unable to speak, Nick nodded and rose, taking her hand. Jersey figured, even with having Simon Clemons as a friend, he was not often led into a bedroom by a naked woman, let alone a knockout.
They walked into this bedroom, where she guided him backwards until he had to sit and then lie on the bed.
"Just relax and enjoy," she said, mounting him so her lips were an inch from his. "Let me wish you a Happy Birthday."
She reached towards the nightstand, on which a small remote was mounted. Without needing to look at the stationary control, she pushed the largest button and music began playing. As Nick wrapped his arms around her, Jersey began to move, her body riving and gyrating against him.
"That's right," she encouraged, feeling him trace the outline of Saturn on her lower back, the ceiling-mounted mirror helping him stay on the lines. "Have fun. Explore."
Nick moaned as she nuzzled his cheek. As Jersey began a series of staccato thrusts, he rubbed her back. She emitted a well-timed subtle moan of her own.
Nick was breathing heavily as he moved his hands up and ran them through her hair. For a moment, Jersey feared he'd discover she was wearing a Whig, but he seemed to miss this fact. Her brunette hair was money well spent.
Nick was staring at her and Jersey thought she detected more than lust in his eyes. Could he have developed a crush on her since their last meeting? She did come to the suite tonight because she'd been requested.
Jersey had been on the receiving end of customers' infatuations before. Engaging them while naked had its risks. One man stalked her because he believed she'd become his girlfriend after one conversation about his passion for planes. He was at the club for all her shifts for two weeks, always requesting her and getting angry when she was with another customer. He was arrested for assault after punching a bouncer who came to eject him.
Jersey doubted this kid would be a threat. He was thin and definitely shy. He'd be happy with the memories she created. She found his puppy-dog crush a little endearing.
The song finished and Jersey got up as smoothly as ever. If they had a stronger connection than anyone else, she couldn't tell. Nick was still sprawled on the bed, much like all her satisfied customers. The difference was the applause.
Jersey looked towards the door to see Simon Clemons standing there, clapping and grinning.
"Very nice," Simon said, coming closer. "What you've got in looks, you match with technique. And, let me tell you that you are quite something to look at."
His eyes roaming over her body, he stepped up to Jersey and slapped her rear. Jersey took a step back.
"You ever give really private parties?" Simon asked, licking his lips. "I can make it worth your while."
Jersey shook her head.
"I don't do that," she said.
"Shame," Simon said with a shrug. "I went with your friend for a while. Gotta say ... Getting in her from behind and seeing that long, purple hair ... it drove me crazy. It was easy to show her a good time."
He surveyed her again. Jersey cringed at the reference. He had to be talking about Britney.
"I don't think I could imagine what it would be like with you," Simon continued, stepping closer again. "That body art, from any angle ... that's gotta be an experience."
"I don't do that," Jersey repeated.
"I could make you squeal. I always had to shove something in the other girl's mouth or she'd wake up the whole neighborhood. The ball gag was her preference, and whom am I to deny a lady's needs."
Alarms blaring in her head, Jersey flashed back to the garage. She could see Britney's brutalized body. The sedan's entire rear was covered with her shredded clothes, blood, and hair. There had been something in her mouth. Jersey was now sure she knew what it was. She studied Simon.
"I really don't do that," she said in the most confident tone she could muster. "If there's nothing else, I'd like to leave, please."
Simon nodded.
"Sure," he said, stepping out of her way. "I'll thank you on Nick's behalf. I think he's still trying to recover. A testament to your excellent skills, I'd say."
He smiled as he watched her leave the suite.
* * *
Paige got dressed and claimed to have a headache to get permission to slip out a little early that night. As she drove, she reflected how Britney had used a similar excuse the night she was murdered. What had her real intentions been?
Using her phone, she found the nearest police station as the sun rose. She hurried inside, startling the officer behind the desk in the lobby.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
Fishing in her purse, Paige found Detectives Baxter's and Connors's business cards. She slapped them down on the desk.
"I need to speak to one of them," she insisted. She had no idea if either worked in this specific building. But, it was the closest to the crime scene.
The officer looked at the cards.
"Take a seat," he said, waving at some nearby chairs.
Supposing this was a good sign, Paige sank into a chair in the middle of the row. For the first time she could recall, she was not tired after a long shift.
* * *
Almost an hour later, Paige was led into a gray interview room, which only had a table and four chairs. A few minutes later, Detective Baxter, the older, gray-haired cop from the garage, entered.
"What can we do for you?" he queried.
Paige wondered if it was possible for him to sound any less interested about receiving an actual answer to his query.
"I'm here about Britney's murder," she said.
"Britney?" Detective Baxter asked.
Paige was stunned.
"She was murdered in the garage," she said. "Someone raped and murdered her."
The police had since disclosed that evidence on Britney's body suggested sexual assault.
Detective Baxter nodded.
"I know who killed her," Paige said.
"And who would that be?" Detective Baxter asked. His tone indicated his doubt about her having solved this crime.
Paige took a deep breath, knowing how crazy she might sound.
"Simon Clemons," she said.
"The governor's son?" Detective Baxter asked.
"Yes. He came to the club tonight and said something to me. I think he did it."
"What did he say?"
Paige recounted the encounter at the club, not glossing over any details. She was not ashamed that she took her clothes off and ground against people for money.
"There was a ball gag in Britney's mouth, right?" she asked.
"Yeah," Detective Baxter said. "Doesn't prove anything though."
"What? How many people walk around with those in their pockets?"
"In your line of work, I'm sure there are a few."
Paige gritted her teeth.
"He knew about it though," she pointed out.
Detective Baxter shrugged.
"According to you, he admitted to being in a relationship with her as well," he countered. "He could have known it that way."
Paige couldn't calculate the odds of Britney being in a relationship that involved a ball gag and being killed by someone different who also had this handy. She'd known a woman who liked those and admitted her own distaste for the fetish a while back.
"Simon Clemons isn't clean," Paige said, trying a different approach. "That freshman swimmer at UNLV. Last year, she accused him of stalking and raping her."
It'd been a minor news story the previous year. Many had hoped the governor's son would be arrested.
"He was never even charged," Detective Baxter pointed out. "The school didn't even find enough evidence to do anything. Like your friend, that girl had three boyfriends."
Paige worked to digest this.
"Did you know your friend was pregnant?" the detective asked.
"What?" Paige asked. "No."
"She was carrying a fresh bun for about two months."
Paige was both happy and upset to hear this.
"There's your motive," she said. "The Clemons family has money. Britney was in a relationship
with Simon Clemons. When she found out she was pregnant, she probably told him and demanded financial support. How would it look in the media if the governor's son impregnates a stripper?"
"You're still fishing," Detective Baxter said, beginning to sound exasperated. "We've already found five other men who your friend was trying to seduce. She was fleecing everybody for cash."
Paige wouldn't admit that this was all probably true. Britney had been determined to snare a rich husband.
"I'm not going after a governor's kid without a lot more proof," Detective Baxter said. "Come back when you've got something that won't waste my time."
Paige worked hard not to cry. She'd expected some skepticism, not outright dismissal.
"Oh," Detective Baxtor said, turning towards the door, "I wouldn't be repeating all this if I were you. Slander is a serious matter and the governor has plenty of money to finance a hefty lawsuit on behalf of his kid."
| Author Notes |
Characters:
"Jersey"/Paige Miller: a journalism graduate, blogger, and Las Vegas stripper Matt: bouncer at the Topaz Gentlemen's Club "Violet"/Brittney: fellow stripper and murder victim Simon Clements: son of the Govenor of Nevada Detective Daxtor: Las Vegas detective assigned to the murder Feedback, especially recommendations for additions/subtractions/revisions are always welcome and appreciated. Enjoy! |
By teols2016
Needing Coffee, Paige found a Starbucks with a drive-thru window. She didn't need the caffeine, but she wanted to give her jaw a reason to unclench. After getting her cup of java, she drove to a nearby shopping center and sat in her car, drinking and fuming.
She considered going home and reliving her encounter with Detective Baxtor for the benefit of her readers. The LVMPD would be less than appreciative of this gesture, but they had it coming. This so-called investigator had to have gotten some kind of higher-up's approval to not work so hard on Brittney's murder.
But, blogging would just be synonymous to venting at this moment. Paige wanted to be more productive. She pulled out her phone and got onto the Internet. She didn't like composing lengthy blurbs on the handheld device, but searching wasn't writing. And, in about half an hour, around the time her coffee cup was empty, she was sure she had what she needed. Starting to sweat, she turned on her car, including its air conditioning, and headed south.
* * *
The seventh-largest state in the country, Nevada had seventeen counties, if one counted Carson City. Each county was huge. Clark County, home to Las Vegas, was about the size of New Jersey, which had twenty-one counties.
But, the city of Henderson was only about a half-hour-long drive from Vegas. Given Paige was making the trip as the sun was rising to her left, she wasn't encountering horrendous traffic.
Nestled alongside the McCullough mountain range in the southeastern corner of Henderson, the five-hundred-plus-acre campus of Nevada State University was first and foremost home to a liberal arts school with an emphasis on education and nursing programs, along with some related fields. Paige navigated to the school's fitness center. As far as she could tell, the relatively-new university did not have a swim team, even though the administration touted exciting plans of expansion in every imaginable way. Still, there was a pool, and Paige knew some habits were hard to cut out of one's life. She parked near the front doors and waited, leaving the air conditioning running this time. It was 7:38 am.
She didn't have to wait long. Just after 8:00, a petit girl with short red hair emerged from the fitness center. Fatigue setting in, Paige almost fell out of her car in her rush to react. Good fortune came when the girl looked at the minor commotion.
"Are you okay?" she asked, not coming over.
"Yeah," Paige replied, catching her breath as she held onto her car door until her legs got back underneath her. "Are you Kate Sanger?"
"Yeah," the girl replied, her eyes narrowing. She looked ready to run and Paige raised her arms, revealing her bare hands.
"I'm a friend," she said. "I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes."
The girl remained suspicious.
"Talk about what?" she asked.
Paige didn't want to say why out in this parking lot. There were a few people around.
"Could I buy you a coffee somewhere?" she proposed. "It'll just take a few minutes."
Kate Sanger still looked less than convinced.
"Please," Paige said. "I'm a friend."
Kate Sanger studied this stranger.
"There's a coffeeshop just outside the main entrance," she said. "Joey's You can't miss it. It has a giant, tacky coffee cup covering half its roof, but the coffee's pretty good. I'll meet you there in half an hour."
* * *
Team or no team, Kate Sanger was a swimmer. So, coffee soon included two hefty breakfast sandwiches. Paige never batted an eye as she picked up the tab. It wouldn't even make a dent in her savings.
As she ate, Kate studied the tattoos on Paige's forearms, the latter having put on a V-neck t-shirt. Paige supposed this was mere curiosity. From what she could tell, Kate hadn't even gotten her ears pierced.
"So," Kate queried between bites, "what did you want to talk about?"
She'd eyed the homemade business card Paige had slid across their table a couple times. The same card, identifying its creator as a journalist, had landed Paige some good internships during her studies in Reno.
"UNLV," Paige replied, deciding to get to the point.
Halfway through her first sandwich, Kate set it back on her plate. She didn't look ready to bolt, but her appetite wasn't the same.
"How did you find me?" she asked in a small voice. She wasn't perceiving Paige as an outright threat, but her guard was raised.
Paige explained her methodology.
"Your picture was on UNLV's swimming and diving roster last year," she described. "You were a freshmen."
Kate nodded, not meeting Paige's eyes now.
"There were three girls who weren't in the roster this year," Paige continued. "One has a Facebook wall full of photos from studying abroad in England this semester."
She considered how to be delicate about saying the other remaining female absentee was less than attractive ... certainly not appealing to the likes of Simon Clemons. She didn't need to come up with a way.
"Do I need to guess what regarding UNLV?" Kate asked, still not looking at her.
"Simon Clemons," Paige said in a low voice. No one was listening, but she wouldn't risk it.
Kate looked up at her.
"He did it again, didn't he?" she asked.
Paige nodded.
"Worse," she added.
"Someone you knew?" Kate asked.
"He killed a friend of mine," Paige replied. "I'm pretty sure they were in some kind of a relationship."
"She probably did something he didn't like. He doesn't take 'no' very well."
Paige took a deep breath.
"You don't have to tell me what happened," she said, "but I want to know what he did afterwards. You transferred here for a reason."
Kate nodded, on the verge of tears.
"He took so much," she said, breathing heavily. "My dignity ... my sense of trust ... my reputation ... my relationship ... my hair ..."
She touch the short red strands to the left of her face. Paige remembered the longer hair she'd had in her team photo.
"I left UNLV because of him," Kate continued. "I had it all. I could have gone to the Olympics in L.A. in twenty-eight. My coaches were going to help me do it. But ... I had to get away."
"Because of him," Paige said.
"Yeah," Kate said. "I guess the school was supportive, but there was just no evidence ... definitely no one from the party who could support my claim. The D.A. declined to prosecute. I wish I hadn't gone back to my dorm and showered right after. I didn't even say anything until two days later. One of the coaches pressed me, saying I'd been acting odd and he was worried."
Her wet eyes were heavy with regret.
"I had to get away," the petite redhead said. "After I told, I saw him everywhere. He and some cronies who thought he was cool to be around. They always smiled and waved, but it was anything but friendly. He had power over me and he knew it."
She pounded a fist on the table.
"He had power over me and he enjoyed it," she said, her voice no angry.
Paige waved off a curious waitress.
"I lost so much," Kate said. "At least I can still work towards becoming a teacher here. He wasn't able to take that."
She looked at Paige again.
"You said he killed your friend," she said. "Do you think he would have killed me if I'd stayed and fought back?"
Paige didn't want to think about the possibility. She already felt closer to this young woman.
"I want to take him down," she said. "He's arrogant, and arrogance leads to mistakes. There's a way to connect him to the murder."
Now, Kate looked curious.
"What do you want from me?" she asked. "I want to get him. I want to look him in the eye in a courtroom while I tell everyone what he did to me."
Paige leaned forward. It was time to share a little more about herself.
* * *
Dear readers,
In my last post, a few weeks old now, I told you about my friend, Violet, who was brutally murdered in a parking garage here in Vegas. First, the outpouring of sympathy you have shown is nothing less than amazing. It's good to know we're not just alive to be ogled.
I have a suspect, one the LVPD isn't taking seriously. Simon Clemons, the sole offspring of esteemed Nevada Governor Roofus Clemons. Now, would I throw such a name out there without having proof. Of course not. Libel is a real thing.
It's very simple. Simon Clemons is used to getting his way in every aspect of life. So, when anyone goes against that mindset, he is not a happy person. And, of course, anyone weaker than him is in a real bad position. Women are in a particularly vulnerable position if on his wrong side.
You are hopefully recalling that rape accusation made against him at the University of Nevada in Las Vegas last year. Well, that young woman is standing up and saying he did it, and I believe him. She rejected his advances and he didn't like that. My friend put him in a position he was not happy about and look what happened. It's called evolution. Every show about a serial predator has used that term.
Plus, Simon Clemons said somethings to me about the murders which he'd have no way of knowing. Remember, I found the bodies. The next folks who came to the scene were some security guards, followed by the police and first responders. So, when would Simon Clemons have learned such specific details? The police are withholding many of them until the case is closed. So, he would have had just one opportunity.
I don't think the prosecution can rest its case just yet, but this merits further investigation. And I'd like to leave that to the professionals. So, dear readers, please help me to convince these professionals. Let's get justice for all.
* * *
Jersey had never seen a Karaoke Night like this. For one thing, the audience wasn't participating. It was the Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge trying new things again, usually to great success.
For this occasion, the stage was equipped with powerful, almost-invisible mics, enabling the dancers to take off their clothes while singing songs of their choosing. Among the more frequent lyrics belted out were Lenny Kravitz's "American Woman," B2K's "Bump, Bump, Bump," Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me," and, of course, Nelly's "Hot in Herre." A song about a woman being encouraged to disrobe just couldn't be skipped.
Most of the dancers' singing wasn't too bad, but the majority still wouldn't make it far in a venue like American Idol. Thank God the point was to make the act of undressing unique.
Jersey was in a minority for this event, wanting to be a bit more subtle in her choice of music.
Her post outing Simon Clemons as a murderer, now two days old, had gotten attention. Social media had exploded with links to her blog, followed by demands for an investigation. As of yet, the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department had not seemed to take an interest. Management at the Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge weren't commenting. When asked about the accusation, the Clemons family, speaking through a mouthpiece from the Governor's office, said they weren't dignifying it with a response. As for Paige ... she'd said her piece. She wasn't responding to follow-up requests of any kind.
"And that was April singing 'Body Talks'," the DJ said over the speakers. "Give her a big hand."
The applause was enthusiastic, though April's surgically-crafted E-cups were the focus of the audience's adoration.
"Next up," the DJ continued, "we have the lovely Jersey performing 'Embraceable You'."
Jersey received a strong round of applause as she walked on stage. If she had any supporters of her blog in this crowd, she couldn't tell. Wearing a blouse, skirt, and her usual high-heeled sandals, she was well-covered. But, the people knew what she had to offer and they wanted to see.
The piano soon began playing.
"Embrace me," Jersey began, waiting until the end of this first line to undo the top button on her blouse. Someone whooped, but she wasn't fazed.
Having practiced her act at home over and over, she took her time, moving across the stage as she sang and alternated between revealing more flesh and running her hands over her own body. Occasionally, she bent forward over the stage's rail towards the customers who'd paid extra for the privilege to sit so close. With her blouse partially open, she watched them try to decide whether to ogle her bra-clad breasts or her tattoos.
Jersey wasn't the club's best singer, some of her colleagues doing this in professional venues, but she knew she had enough talent for people not to cringe. The husky tone she used when talking to them worked during this rendition. It was part of her constant effort to make this an experience rather than just the sight of a woman undressing. People paid more for the experiences.
Sure enough, the audience began encouraging her to undress faster, some trying financial incentives, but Jersey ignored this. She knew she had them hooked. No one was going to walk out because she was a slow stripper.
By the song's halfway point, her blouse was unbuttoned to her midriff and she'd let her skirt fall in a puddle around her ankles. About twenty seconds later, the blouse joined the skirt.
Tips had been appearing on stage from almost the beginning, but more bills were materializing now that she was clad in only her bra and G-string. The spotlight prevented Jersey from seeing much beyond the stage, but she saw a good portion of what she'd be taking home tonight. And, she still had the possibility of earnings from private dances to come.
She slid a hand behind her back and unhooked her bra, but kept its cups pressed against her breasts with her other hand. As she continued crooning, she slowly peeled the fabric away, letting the garment gracefully flutter down onto the stage.
Beginning the final stanza, Jersey grabbed the rail and propelled herself over it, planting her feet on the back of the chair of a bewildered but quickly-pleased customer. She smiled and stroked his cheek with her calve. This was the sales pitch, letting him and everyone in the club know how much, and possibly more, she was willing to do for them.
After a few seconds, she propelled herself back on the stage and discarded her panties as the song came to a close. Despite her only being naked at the end, the emerging applause indicated that was fine.
"And that was Jersey with 'Embraceable You'," the DJ said right on cue. "Give her a big hand."
The audience happily obliged as Jersey began gathering her clothes and earnings.
| Author Notes |
Characters:
"Jersey"/Paige Miller: a journalism graduate, blogger, and Las Vegas stripper. "Violet"/Brittney: fellow stripper and murder victim. Simon Clemons: son of the Governor of Nevada and prime suspect in the murder. Kate Sanger: college student who had an unfortunate prior encounter with Simon Clemons Feedback, especially recommendations for additions/subtractions/revisions are always welcome and appreciated. Enjoy! |
By teols2016
Jersey knew she hadn't been the best that night, some of the other women having also put a lot of consideration, effort, and practice into their performances, but she was up near the top. Not long after finishing, she was in a side office with a manager, wearing a robe and counting the money, surrendering the club's cut. Between the currency she'd collected from the stage and what was left in tip baskets being marched through the club by servers, she ended up with just over three thousand dollars for her four-minute routine. Making notes on his computer, the manager promised to hold it in the club's safe and give her a check for that amount at the end of her shift. Jersey knew she'd have to find an ATM as soon as she left.
The consequence of the stellar performance was that her legs ached like crazy. Downing a couple Advil's, she accepted a colleague's offer of an ointment containing Hemp Extract. It was all-natural, so she saw no harm in it.
She was rubbing the cream into her calves when a waitress entered the dressing room. This one wasn't carrying a basket.
"A whale's requested you," she said. "Management set him up in the back."
Jersey was conflicted. The three thousand in the club's safe already represented one of her best nights ever. Were she to give a few private dances and chat with a few more customers, she could probably pile another five hundred to a thousand on top of that. However, going to the suite in the back had all kinds of possibilities, including doubling her earnings. Still, her legs were screaming. All the workouts in the world couldn't have prepared her for what she'd already done on stage tonight.
Then again, the suite had no stage. Since this whale hadn't requested otherwise, she'd enter in just her sandals as usual. The best case scenario was she could sit and talk with the evening's occupants. If she had to perform lap or bed dances, at least she'd be off her feet. She could weather that.
"Tell them I'll be right there," she said, continuing to rub the ointment into her legs.
* * *
Kurtis was the bouncer on duty for the VVIP suite's entrance tonight. He and Jersey never spoke much and he gave her a single half-nod as she walked by tonight.
No one was waiting at the door for her. Jersey entered the suite with the best smile she could muster despite being sore and tired.
"Good evening," she said and froze.
Simon Clemons was sitting on the couch. His friends, Nick and the unnamed third man, were at the bar. Simon Clemons was grinning.
"Come on in," he encouraged, waving her towards him.
Jersey took a few cautious steps forward. Simon Clemons reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her towards him. He guided her right onto his lap, her knees ending up on either side of him.
"Easy," Jersey admonished, trying to sound playful.
"Sorry," Simon Clemons said, putting his hands on her hips. "You're probably still sore. That was one heck of a performance you gave out there earlier. We watched it from upstairs."
Jersey wondered if he was being sincere as he stared at her breasts.
"Thank you," she said, testing the theory.
"Nick's been raving about you," Simon Clemons said. "I had to try you out for myself, especially after you shared your thoughts about me."
Jersey glanced over his shoulder at Nick, who looked away. Simon Clemons reached up and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him.
"Give me a dance," he whispered in her ear. "You don't have to do anything fancy, but please bump and grind a bit."
He relaxed his grip and Jersey began grinding her thighs against his. She gave him her best smile as she pressed her breasts against his chest. Simon Clemons smiled back, though his expression offered no comfort.
Jersey could soon feel his erection and hoped she wouldn't have to remind him that intercourse was not going to happen with her.
"Very nice," Simon Clemons commended as she danced on his lap. "I'm glad we can still get along so well."
"What do you mean?" Jersey queried.
"I said something that shocked you. I saw it in your face right before you left. Something about your friend, right? Don't make me read your own words back to you."
"It's hard to get over a friend dying."
Jersey hoped this would satisfy him and she kept dancing. Simon Clemons's headshake extinguished that hope.
"People don't run to the police about such things," he said.
Jersey froze. Simon Clemons smiled and gestured at his unnamed friend at the bar.
"Brad's father is a big booster for the LVPD," he explained "He has plenty of friends with badges and hears all the gossip. Believe me, a stripper coming in and accusing the governor's son of murdering her stripper friend ... that kind of thing gets around. Of course, she then blabs on the Internet. That does not help anything."
He reached up and pinched Jersey's nipples.
"Ow!" she cried. "Don't do that."
People were allowed to touch her breasts during lap dances. They were not allowed to pinch her.
"I'm out of here," she said, rising from Simon Clemons's lap. She didn't need his money and she was sure he wasn't dumb enough to try and harm her with club security so close.
She noticed movement out of the corner of her eye and then felt someone behind her. Before she could turn around, that someone grabbed her wrists and wrenched her arms behind her back.
"Let go!" Jersey cried.
Simon Clemons's grin was malicious now. Reaching between the cushions, he pulled out something she couldn't see and rose from the couch as well. Jersey was about to say something when he shoved the ball gag into her mouth. He then grabbed her hair and pulled until the adhesive she used gave up. Her brunette Whig came off. Paige cried out, but the gag muffled most of the noise.
"A blonde, huh?" Simon Clemons asked, stroking her long, honey-colored hair. "You do a good job hiding it."
He looked down at her crotch and legs.
"Ironic that your friend was a brunette," he continued, giving her wig a final glance before tossing it into a corner of the room. "She id like those hair colors."
He wrapped the ball gag's strap around Paige's head and buckled it. With that secure, he smelled her hair and then moved his face close to hers.
"Do you want to know if I killed her?" he asked. "I mean, you seem pretty sure already, but who doesn't love a confirmation, right?"
Paige thought about lying and indicating she didn't want to know. Maybe she'd have a shot at getting away. But that seemed unlikely. She was firmly held and, looking at Nick at the bar, realized Brad was her captor and the young man with a crush wouldn't be her savior. He was looking down, avoiding her gaze.
"I did kill her," Simon Clemons said, touching Paige's cheek. "We were having a good time until she got pregnant. She said the kid was mine and demanded money ... lots of money. She wanted to be set up for life. Either that or she'd start talking to reporters. So, I shut her up. She probably wouldn't have been a good mom anyway. I mean, using your unborn kid as blackmail ... what kind of person does that?"
Paige kicked out at him, but Simon Clemons easily dodged this.
"Easy," he said. "I mean, I like your fight, but it can cause problems for you. You're going to have to die. It's up to you whether you go easy or hard. Here's a tip ... your friend decided to go hard."
Paige flashed back to the sight of Britney's mutilated body. Then, there was a knock on the door.
"See who that is," Simon Clemons barked at Nick, who rose without a word. He opened the door a bit to look out and then opened it wider to reveal Kurtis.
"Everything okay in here?" the bouncer asked, looking at Paige.
"Yeah," Simon Clemons said. He paused and then grinned.
"You know what?" he said. "We could use another set of hands. We've got time. I say we each take a turn in her before getting her into the van."
Kurtis shook his head.
"That wasn't the deal," he protested. "I'm an information broker, nothing more."
Paige remembered Kurtis had been the bouncer on duty at the employee exit the night Britney was killed. He was probably a lookout and alerted Simon Clemons if anyone besides Britney left the club. Most of the dancers and other staff parked in that garage. With Kurtis's help, Simon Clemons was able to escape before Paige got there. Kurtis probably requested the assignment to watch the suite tonight, when Simon Clemons came back to eliminate a potential witness. There was that private entrance.
"I'm changing the deal," Simon Clemons snarled at the bouncer. "Get in here and shut that door."
Without a word, Kurtis obeyed. At Simon Clemons's instruction, he replaced Brad and took hold of Paige's wrists.
"Get her down on the floor," Simon Clemons directed. "We don't have that much time."
Paige rived and kicked, but it was no use. Brad and Kurtis got her down on her back, where she continued wriggling without effect.
"Get her legs," Simon Clemons continued, very much in charge of this assault and kidnapping. "Spread them wide. And, try to keep those sandals on her feet. They look absolutely divine."
Avoiding a painful impact with her flailing limbs, Brad and Nick got hold of her ankles and pinned them down. Nick refused to look at her while Brad seemed indifferent to the imminent gang rape.
Simon Clemons stepped between Paige's legs and crawled over her. Paige kept wriggling.
"Keep fighting," Simon Clemons said as if it didn't matter to him. "It'll be more satisfying for me."
He squeezed her breasts and then her pubic mound. Then, he slid a finger inside her. Paige gasped, her mind flashing back to the last customer who tried to do that. He was now sitting in a cell. Would Simon Clemons go to prison as well? Would she live to report him?
"Tighter than I thought," Simon Clemons remarked, his finger probing inside her. "She'll be fun."
He looked at his lackeys.
"I go first," he said as though this weren't obvious. "Then Nick because he likes her so much, and then Brad. Kurt, you want a go?"
"No," Kurtis replied in a gruff voice.
Sensing weakness in his resolve, Paige tried to look at him. She wanted to meet his eye and maybe appeal to his remaining decency to stop this. He did not look at her.
"After we're done with you," Simon Clemons said, "we'll take a trip out to Henderson. Doesn't take much brainpower to know you talked to her. I always keep track of my conquests and I never appreciated her accusing me of rape. Maybe we'll leave your grave open until we can toss her in as well. Either way, they'll never find you both. This state's got a lot of desert."
Knowing she had seconds left, Paige fought as hard as she could, screaming through the gag. That all came to an end when Simon Clemons slapped her.
"I like a fighter," he said, "but there is such a thing as pushing it. Watch yourself."
He reached down and undid his belt. He unbuttoned and unzipped his pants.
"Your friend did like me," he said. "Now, I'm going to show you why."
Desperate, Paige fought again.
"Jesus," Brad muttered, working to keep his grip on her leg.
Nick then lost his grip. Thinking quickly, Paige got her free leg between Simon Clemons's limbs as he began pushing down his kahkis and boxers. She thrust her knee up as hard as she could, not stopping as she felt resistance and heard a tearing sound, followed by a mix of a dull thud and a squelch.
By contrast, Simon Clemons's scream was animalistic. He tumbled backwards, his hands flying to his groin. He landed in front of the couch, groaning.
The others were so startled that Paige was able to wrench her other leg and arms free. She scrambled to her feet, feeling pain and seeing blood on her leg.
"Get ... her," Simon Clemons said through gritted teeth. He was in a lot of pain and Paige could see blood pooling between his outstretched legs, staining his torn kahkis.
Hearing a whining noise behind her, she whirled around to see Kurtis aiming a taser at her. She moved right before he fired, her leg screaming, and the darts hit Brad. The young man fell with a thud, riving uncontrollably for several seconds. Nick couldn't move or speak and Simon Clemons just groaned.
The seconds Kurtis needed to recharge his taser seemed to take an eternity. As he took aim again, Paige looked around to see where she could go.
Just then, the door opened and Matt entered. Seeing the scene, he charged Kurtis, tackling him just as the other man pulled the trigger. His shot went wide and these darts hit the wall.
Both bouncers hit the ground. The taser slipped out of Kurtis's hand. It slid across the floor. Paige sprang forward, despite the pain in her leg, and grabbed it. Meanwhile, Matt got back to his feet and kicked his colleague twice for good measure. Kurtis moaned but didn't move again.
Having no idea how the taser worked, Paige aimed it at Nick, who was still frozen in place.
"I wouldn't move if I were you," Matt advised, coming over to Paige. "She'll use that thing. I'm sure of it."
He looked at Paige.
"You okay?" he asked.
Recognizing he was perhaps on her side, Paige nodded.
"Hold still," Matt said. He reached into her mouth and pulled the ball gag out. He then unbuckled the strap around her head.
"Give me that before you hurt the wrong person," he said, gesturing at the taser she was still pointing at Nick.
Paige froze. She wasn't ready to relinquish it yet.
"How did you know to come here?" she asked. Bouncers didn't regularly wander around. They all had assigned duties and posts.
"I'd just escorted a rowdy drunk out of here," Matt explained, his tone indicating patience. "I was coming back into the main room and I noticed Kurtis wasn't at his post. I figured he'd gone back here to deal with a customer. I came to see if he needed help. Didn't think I'd walk in on this."
He looked around at the still-prone Kurtis, the semi-conscious Brad, and the groaning Simon Clemons.
Paige nodded and handed him the taser. Matt really was on her side. No wonder he was her favorite bouncer.
"Police first," Matt said, reaching for the cell phone on his belt. "Then, I'll get management down here."
Paige nodded. The pain in her leg finally too much to bear, she sank onto the couch and began to cry.
* * *
Four ambulances left the Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge that night, by far a record for the establishment. Before, paramedics had only been summoned once in the past decade for a dancer who'd fallen off the stage.
At Matt's behest, Simon Clemons, Kurtis, and Brad were surrounded by police officers by the time the medical convoy arrived at Mountain View Hospital. Two more officers were assigned to protect Paige when she arrived. Uninjured, Nick was taken to the nearest police station. His injuries being minor, Kurtis was soon discharged by an emergency room doctor and taken there as well.
Paige was given a private room to be examined and recuperate. Her police escort stood guard at the door.
She learned her aim during the fight had been good, her knee colliding with Simon Clemons's scrotum while tearing his khakis. His zipper had been in the way and that caused further damage while also biting into her skin and damaging the ligament around her knee. She was given a cane and a regiment of physical therapy she'd have to complete upon her discharge.
While HIPPA rules prevented any confirmations, rumors soon flew through the hospital, speculating that Simon Clemons would lose one or both testicles. After a Clark County Assistant District Attorney arrived and began collecting statements, the topic of these rumors turned to the possibility of him ending up on Death Row. Governor Clemons's assets were more political than financial.
It turned out Nick began confessing not long after arriving at the police station. He and Brad helped Simon Clemons ambush Britney in the parking garage after he'd lured her out of the club with a text indicating concession to her terms. They then served as lookouts while he raped, tortured, and sodomized Britney in the backseat of her sedan. Brad stabbed the garage attendant to death when the man came to investigate the sounds of the struggle. Though he too had a knife and used it that night, Simon Clemons instead strangled his extortionist to death when he got bored of making her suffer for blackmailing him.
As the sun rose, the story was on every news channel. The Clark County Sheriff and District Attorney held a joint press conference in time for morning commuters to hear on the radio. Both said little and promised a thorough investigation and swift justice. Governor Roofus Clemons's office offered no comment and some political rivals were already speculating his son's actions might be a new avenue towards his own downfall.
Though she gave a statement to an officer as well as the eager Assistant District Attorney, Paige still had to speak with Detectives Baxter and Connors. They arrived in her hospital room around 10:00. Detective Connors looked worried and Paige gave him a grateful smile. Detective Baxter looked annoyed, tired, and/or constipated. He'd probably retire after this case.
"Can you tell us what happened tonight?" he requested in a neutral tone. "Start from the beginning."
It took over an hour and a half for Paige to again recount the entire series of events which occurred in the private suite of the Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge. To his credit, Detective Baxter took as many notes as his partner and didn't try to argue against anything she said. By the end, both men's pads seemed to be full.
"You might want to lay low for a while," Detective Baxter advised in the same neutral tone when Paige finished. "Governor Clemons may have plenty of enemies, but he's also got plenty of friends. It's only a matter of time before your name gets dragged into the spotlight with this thing."
Detective Connors nodded in agreement
Paige only nodded back at them. She was probably done with the Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge anyway. For one thing, no one wanted to see a woman taking off her clothes while supporting herself on a cane, even if that was a temporary accessory.
But, more importantly, she didn't see it the same way anymore. She'd felt safe stripping because the club kept its customers from going too far. Now, one of its bouncers had tried to aide in her imminent rape and planned murder. Yes, Paige held her own against her assailants and Matt had come to help, but the trust was still broken.
Paige figured it was time to move on from disrobing for profit and focus on her journalism career. She had money saved, so she could go a couple of months without a job. It was time to put Jersey away, though this would require one final blog post. She deserved a proper "farewell."
She'd apply everywhere, looking for a fresh start in a place where people hadn't had a chance to ogle her. It wasn't like non-club patrons ever saw her face. She'd take a job she would wholly enjoy. And, she would find someone whom she could fully reveal herself to when she wanted to.
It would all take time, but Paige was ready for the journey. Pushing a few stray strands of her honey-colored hair out of her face, she turned her head and stared out the window at the available slither of Vegas skyline.
| Author Notes |
That wraps up another novella.
Characters: "Jersey"/Paige Miller: a journalism graduate, blogger, and Las Vegas stripper. Matt: a bouncer at the Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge. Kurtis: a bouncer at the Topaz Gentlemen's Lounge. "Violet"/Brittney: fellow stripper and murder victim. Simon Clemons: son of the Governor of Nevada and prime suspect in Brittney's murder. Feedback, especially recommendations for additions/subtractions/revisions are always welcome and appreciated. Enjoy! |
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