JW - Part 2

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.