Author's Note: I own nothing. Nothing at all. Not even a little bit. So don't lawyer up.
Annie had forgotten how much this took out of you. Apparently, she was woefully out of shape for exotic dancing. She had put on a few pounds, but could stand to after her jaw was wired shut for a month and was just now getting back to her normal weight. Still, she could hardly able to get out of bed after the first day. Muscles she had forgotten she owned screamed for mercy as she stood under the weak stream of the shower in her little RV, trying to wash away all the grit and grime she felt was on her skin.
It was illegal to dance totally naked in the state of Wyoming. Not that it stopped most of the girls from doing just that. It was also illegal for anyone to touch her. Bouncers were there to stop that immediately.
She found the bouncers at The Last Ride a little slow for her tastes. Her first night, she thought one Cheyenne gentleman was going to throw her over his shoulder, haul her outside caveman-style and have his way with her. Finally, someone intervened and let him stay with just a warning.
It was all she could do not to walk out the door and not come back. If what Walt said was true, there was someone just across the road who would take her right back to Durant.
But, she kept right on grinding.
How noble. Blech.
The second night was a little better. She also noted the crowd was a little larger, more rowdy. For it not to be a weekend, it seemed odd. However, the owner – a surprisingly dapper looking older man named Frank Hodges that looked like someone's kindly grandfather except for all the almost-naked women hanging from him – informed her that she was the next best thing since electricity. Apparently being a professional dancer in Chicago had taught her more than most of the girls that drifted through this place ever knew.
Annie wanted to ask him if the same thing went for the five dead girls that used to work here, but she kept her mouth shut.
That was also part of the profession. You knew when to sass and when to smile seductively, shake your pretty ass and keep your lips shut.
If she wanted to figure out what was going on here, she better do the latter. And do it mighty well. She pretended to preen underneath the compliment as he patted her fondly on the hand and returned to the back office without a backward glance.
Annie wanted back there bad, but she figured she better learn the lay of the land first.
Next step: try to befriend the other girls.
And none of them would have it.
That's right. She should have remembered that. Strippers made cattiness into an art form.
One of the women, an older one by stripping 'standards' – probably closer to 30 than she'd want to admit – would speak to her. They made small talk between sets. Talked about where they were from. Where they grew up. How they got to this sad little crossroads in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming. . .
Annie noted that no one here ever talked about the future. It was too depressing.
Darla – Annie doubted that was her real name – offered her a cigarette, which Annie gratefully accepted. She needed something to do with her hands that didn't involve strangling the next ass hole that tried to corner her. "What's a talented thing like you doing in a backwater like this?"
Annie almost snorted at the word 'talent.' It didn't take all that much to take off your clothes and shake your booty. But to these women, it was all they had.
And it sure paid better than bartending.
Depressing, indeed.
Walt had told her to be honest. An elaborate cover story would backfire on them in a minute. Annie shrugged, taking a deep drag on the cigarette. "Had a bad run in with some guys in Chicago. He beat the shit outta me, got put in jail, and I ran." That pretty much summed it up right there.
Darla shook her head. "Men. Hell, we already know they're bigger and stronger than us! There's no use in illustrating it on our faces!"
Annie nodded in agreement. And she saw an opening to fish for information. "Like those girls they found over in Absaroka County. Poor things probably never knew what hit them."
"You've heard about that?" Darla studied her through heavily made up lashes, and Annie thought she may have overstepped her boundaries.
Hoping to show disinterest, she stood abruptly, putting out the cigarette in one of the overflowing ashtrays in the 'dressing room.' "It was in all the papers. Well . . . it's almost time for my next set." In fact, she could hear the crowd gearing up for it, chanting her name. The girl who just came off stage gave her a dirty look as she flounced by wearing nothing but a thong and a pink feather boa.
Darla shook her head. "Crazy bitches. They don't realize you have to stick together." She motioned towards the curtain. "Frankie called in the extra bouncers tonight. The lot of them should behave out there now. Not like last night."
Annie certainly hoped so. She took a deep breath and waited for her cue, the opening bars of some rap song blaring from the loudspeakers.
"You gonna take off that jewelry?" Darla motioned towards Annie's feet. "You don't want someone to snatch it off you."
She wasn't removing that thing if her life depended on it. Because it just may. "I never take it off."
Darla shrugged. It really didn't matter to her one way or the other.
The crowd apparently didn't realize they were supposed to be behave. She wasn't up there for one minute before one man jumped on stage and grabbed her roughly, holding her against his sweat stained shirt and grinding with her, much to the approval of the rest of the crowd.
The clubs in Chicago were a little more . . . refined. At least as refined as those kind of places got. She wasn't used to the rough and tumble set of the American West.
The guy was gone before she could shove him away from her. She wished the stupid music would shut up, so she could get her bearings.
"Are you OK?"
Annie looked up – even with her heels on - into the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. This man – he had to be way over six feet tall and full of muscles – peered down at her. All she could do was nod, the fear ebbing away.
The man turned around. "The rest of you assholes better settle down and just watch, or you'll be dealing with me!"
Probably due to his size – and the fact that the dude who had climbed onstage with her was still out cold on what was left of table – made all the other men almost nod their heads in unison in agreement. And they behaved the rest of the night.
Annie found him when his set was over standing next to the bar surveying the crowd. "Hey. Thanks."
He smiled at her and looked in his eyes, not at her chest. "No problem. I have a sister. I wouldn't want her to be pawed at like that."
Annie wondered what he would say if his sister was even on stage half naked. "Let me buy you a drink." She motioned towards the bartender.
"Oh, I couldn't. Frank doesn't like the boys to drink why we're on duty."
Never stopped the rest of them.
So, he had scruples. Interesting.
Annie took the whiskey straight from the bartender and slipped him a ten for the drink. He studiously put it in his apron. If Annie learned anything from her stint in Chicago, it was look after the little people. You could always use their help. "So, you're one of the part-timers I've been hearing about."
He looked a little embarrassed. "Yeah. It helps pay the bills. Trent Conyers." He held out his hand almost as if they were at a school dance, not sitting in a smoky, dirty bar full of half-naked women.
Annie took it and smiled. "Annie Groslowski." His hand almost swallowed hers whole. He certainly had the ability to cave a woman's head in. . .
"With your build, you should be doing it full time," Annie sipped the drink, welcoming the bite. She knew it sounded like a come on, but she had talked to all of the bouncers and half the kitchen staff, committing their names to memory for her report to Walt. None of them seemed any more threatening than any of the customers. Maybe less so.
He didn't seem to take the hint. "I'm going to school over in Billings, but I work as a stable hand at one of the ranches during the day. I can't work full time because someone has to watch my brother."
Now, this dude really had to be harmless. He had custody of his little brother for Christ's sake! "I thought you said you had a sister," she teased.
He shrugged. "I did. She was killed a few years back. Home invasion."
"Oh. I'm sorry, Trent." She meant it, too.
He shrugged, but he kept his eyes from hers. "She helped me look after Brent and stayed with him while I went to school. Now, I have to find someone."
"Brent and Trent. Your parents must have had a sense of humor."
He smiled. "We're twins. He's just a little . . . slow. Gets confused easily. You know. He's really smart and all, just not . . . well, socially." He shrugged. "I bring him up here with me sometimes. You know, during the day when this," he motioned towards the dancer on the stage, "isn't going on. He likes to talk to people, and it's kinda hard with him being cooped up in the apartment all day with no one but the old lady down the hall to talk to."
Brent wasn't the only one who liked to talk. She patted Trent absently on the arm. "You're a good man to watch over him like that."
"Well . . .he's my brother."
Annie looked around and realized for the first time since she'd arrived, not one of the drunk customers had approached her. Trent was a nice ally to have.
It took her another night to realize there was a back room where women did more than just dance. In fact, there was a whole lot that went on back there that Annie had no intention of participating in.
Frankie suggested it lightly one evening before the bar opened, but at Annie's reluctance, he said he surely wouldn't make her do anything she didn't want to do. And hadn't brought it up again.
Annie figured if he got a large enough cut, they may revisit this conversation.
She wished she could figure out what in the hell was going on out here, so she wouldn't have to talk about it ever again. But no one was walking around with an 'I'm a Killer' sign around their neck, so she continued snooping.
It didn't take long for the conversation to come back up. In fact that night, a familiar face walked in the door, smiling like a Cheshire cat when he looked at her.
Omar.
She was so glad to see a friendly face – even one that was obviously looking forward to seeing her sans clothing – she could have wept. Instead, she feigned disinterest as he sat in a dark corner and drank, watching all the girls as they completed their sets. Annie even thought she saw Frankie sitting with him at one point, but she was too busy trying to keep from busting her ass on stage to pay much attention.
Frankie called her to his office after she was done. She barely had time to throw on a flimsy cover.
He shut the door and sat on his desk, studying her. "I have a repeat customer out there. A real big roller. He . . . well he wants you to take a little time with him. Alone. Now, I know you said you didn't want to, but all the girls tell me he usually just wants a personal dance. It would mean a lot to me if you would consider it."
Annie knew who he was talking about. And she knew this was probably a very good idea. But, she didn't want to sound too eager after she was so adamantly against it earlier.
She pouted. "A dance doesn't sound too bad-"
Frankie sensed she was swaying. "He's a real gentleman, too, not like some of those beasts out there." Frankie made a distasteful gesture.
"Weeeelllll . . . what's in it for me?"
Frankie had to hide his grin. "I usually let the girls keep 40%, but for you, I'll go fifty/fifty."
In Chicago, she got almost eighty percent for visits to the back room, but she pretended this was a very generous offer. "Really? For fifty? I . . . I'll do it! For you Frankie!"
He beamed at her, pulling her to her feet with soft hands and kissing her on both her cheeks. "You're a peach! Go back there and wait, and I'll send him in!"
Well. That hadn't gone so badly.
Annie worked her way down the hall, anxious to hear if any of the names she had fed Walt had come through with any information.
When Darla grabbed her arm, she almost shrieked. "Jesus, Darla, you scared the shit outta me!"
"The back room already, huh?" Darla's smile was sad.
Annie shrugged like it was no big deal. "Frankie said it was some high roller."
"Omar. I know. He's had every woman in the building dance for him. He's alright. Not slimy like some of these guys." She moved in closer, her lips almost touching her ear as the music blared around them. "Just so you know, Frankie has a camera in there. He likes to tape these things in case . . . you know . . ." Darla looked at her apologetically.
So Mr. Frankie wasn't as squeaky clean as he seemed. But blackmail was a long way from murder. "Thanks, Darla."
She smiled, the lines around her mouth and eyes even more obvious before she wandered off.
The Back Room was actually was very . . . tasteful, if there was such a thing in a strip joint. There wasn't red velvet hanging from the walls in fine American West style, but the wood was shined to a gleam, a few animal heads regally guarding the place. There were a cluster of overstuffed leather couches surrounding a smaller version of the stage outside, each one with a large decanter of amber liquid next to it. It was certainly more intimate. And quiet.
Annie was just glad to see there wasn't a bed.
Pretending to be studying the décor, she scanned for a camera.
Nothing was obvious, but she wondered about those dead animal heads. There could be anything behind them . . .
The door opened and shut quietly behind her.
She turned to face Omar, who was smiling at her like the cat who caught the canary. "I've admired you all evening, you know. You're extremely stunning on that stage." He held out his hand. "The name's Omar. What's yours?"
So . . . Omar knew about the cameras. He was putting on a good show. Annie took his hand and smiled flirtatiously. "Annie. It's a real pleasure to meet someone with such good manners."
He pulled her towards him and wrapped his arms around her, pretending to nuzzle her ear. Annie played along, giggling appropriately. "The camera's in the deer head. There's sound, but don't talk loud or directly at it. I don't know if Frankie can read lips." He bit her ear playfully. "Let's see what my hard-earned money has bought." He settled in a plush chair that Annie noted had him facing away from the deer head camera.
This really kinda sucked. If there was a camera, she had to play along. She glanced around and spotted a radio hidden near the stage. Not knowing what to expect, she hit the 'play' button. Seductive music filled the room.
At least it was better than that rap mess they played out front.
She must have met his approval because after fifteen minutes, he had drained the half the decanter. He motioned for her to get off the stage, and she complied, eager to get on with their conversation.
It was easy to not think of Omar as someone she knew. That was something she learned early in this game – you compartmentalize it, or you go crazy. Besides, she was desperate for information. Ignoring her horror at having to face the man in the real world if and when she got out of here, she straddled him seductively, playing with his collar. She could practically smell the Scotch, even at an arm's distance.
Since he was facing away from the camera, he did the talking. Whispering was more like it. "They haven't found anything with those names you gave. Except for a blackmail list that keeps him in spending money, Frankie seems clean, too."
Annie tried not to frown as she twirled her fingers in his hair, laughing like he had just said the funniest thing ever. That's right. Yuck it up for the camera.
"Walt wants you to focus more on the customers. Maybe it's one of them. He said call him tomorrow with some more names."
That was going to be more difficult. First name basis with customers was rare in this profession.
Annie smiled, although inside she was screaming in frustration. She hadn't given him the names of the part-time bouncers that were being called in, but they all seemed harmless enough.
"Also, I have good news. Apparently, Frankie boy needs some help in the security department with all the crowds your fine ass has brought in here." He patted it for emphasis. "He's asked the help of the Cumberland County Sheriff's department for off-duty deputies to run security."
Well . . . that's not so bad. She'd sure feel safer.
Omar continued. "Of course, Wilkins admitted he may need some help. From outside departments. Like Absaroka."
Annie hoped her grimace wasn't that noticeable on the camera.
That's all she needed was Branch here.
Or Ferg.
She wouldn't think about that.
"More than likely, you can report directly to them."
Annie sighed, then tried to cover it up by nibbling on Omar's ear.
He chuckled. "You put on a good show, I'll give you that. Vic says she wants a copy of this tape, but I haven't figured out if she's going to blackmail you or me with it."
Good point. But the least of her worries now.
He leaned in closer to her ear. "And you better feed them something they can use and fast. I don't think Ferg has slept at all since you've been gone. The poor bastard has volunteered to sit in that damn junkyard and watch this place every night."
Annie froze. She had tried – oh, how she had tried! – to not think of him. She did alright as long as she was 'working'. She had to stay on her A-game and keep focused, even if she wasn't trying to find a killer at the same time. These people were like lions on an injured gazelle if they thought she had a weakness.
It was harder at night. When she didn't have anything to occupy her mind at 2 in the morning except for how lonely she was. How much she missed him. How much he cared for her, despite the fact he never said it at all. It was in his touch, his eyes. . .
And how much she cared. She knew she shouldn't, but she did. It went against what she had told him that night after Stan was killed. She wasn't ready for a relationship. He really did deserve better. The quintessential girl-next-door who went to church every Sunday, volunteered to feed the homeless and was a professional – not dancer. Hell, her only claim to fame at this point in her life was attracting crazies and being able to double Frankie's bank roll became of her 'talents'!
She couldn't even allow herself the luxury of dwelling on it, even late at night long after the last customer had left. It hurt too damn much. That would be a problem they would have to revisit if she got out of here.
Oops . . . when she got out of here.
"Smile for the camera."
Her expression must have matched her thoughts. She shook herself from her revelry and gave a half-hearted attempt at a smile.
He patted her on the cheek. "Poor lovesick fools. I think you're about as bad as he is."
She scowled openly at him now as he laughed uproariously. "Now, that's an eat shit look if I ever saw one!" He pecked her on the cheek and pushed her gently onto the arm of the chair. "Take care of yourself, girl."
Annie was left with nothing but her thoughts and an empty room. She reached for the almost-empty decanter and took a swig directly from the bottle.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"You look like shit," Vic plopped down at her desk.
Ferg knew that, saw it when he looked in the mirror this morning. So, he ignored her.
It had been four days since Annie had left.
That's how he found himself looking at time now. In days since Annie had put herself in danger.
Four long, miserable days.
Ferg didn't know what was worse. Sifting through piles and piles of information by day on these men who frequented or were employed by The Last Ride trying his best not to think about the ever-present danger she was in. Or watching the place at night through binoculars, knowing that every damn one of those men going in that place were watching Annie – his Annie! – strut around almost-naked on a stage, dancing for their enjoyment, their entertainment, their pleasure . . .
It was all Ferg could do not to tear into the place and haul her out of there.
Bad idea and he knew it. He was trying to prove to Walt he could do this. And to himself, too.
But it was damn hard to do it with minimal sleep.
He tried to imagine that he didn't know Annie. She was just another person who was assisting them with making this arrest. Never met her before in his life. Never tried to make her laugh or had her bandage his wounds or been kissed by her like he had never been kissed in his life.
He just couldn't do it. And he wasn't convinced he still wouldn't agree with everyone else that this was a good idea, even if he didn't know her. It just seemed . . . almost . . . like they were grasping at straws . . .
Walt apparently agreed with Vic's sentiment. He stood in the doorway to his office. "Ferg, can you come in here a minute?"
"Yeah, sure," Ferg muttered. Leaving all the papers where they lay – way too tired to care about organization at this point – he obediently went into the sheriff's office, flopping into the first chair he came to with a weary sigh.
Walt closed the door behind him and stood in front of his deputy, leaned on his desk, his arms crossed.
"Find anything on those names?"
"Not a thing." Ferg had a hard time keeping the bitterness out of his voice.
"It would be simpler if someone had come out of the paddock gunning for her. So far, she says no one in particular seemed to show her any interest." Except Omar. But Walt pretty much ordered the man to keep his comments about any part of Annie's anatomy to himself when Ferg was around. So far, Omar had behaved.
Ferg couldn't help but think that's what scared him the most. Whoever did this was not bold at all, but sneaky. And sneaky was the worst. Annie would put her guard down and . . .
For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick.
"You need to go home and get some sleep . . ."
"No!" Ferg's tone was sharper than he wanted, but he was having an extremely difficult time dealing in tact lately. He did try to speak in a calmer tone as he continued. "I'll be fine. Just let me keep looking-"
Walt interrupted. "It's my understanding that you have sat out there in that junkyard for three nights straight. Then come in here and did your regular duties with not so much as a nap. Go home. Get some sleep."
Ferg opened his mouth to argue.
"And that's an order, Deputy." Walt's tone said he wasn't going to take no for an answer. He rarely used it with his deputies. Let alone gave them a direct order.
Ferg knew he couldn't argue.
Well, he could. He just wouldn't win.
"I'm going back there tonight." His words begged to be contradicted.
He thought he noted the ghost of a smile on Walt's face. "I'd be disappointed in you if you didn't."
Ferg rose from the chair stiffly and turned to go, steadying himself on the back of the chair for a moment when a wave of dizziness overcame his senses for a moment.
He really was more tired than he realized.
"You want Vic to take you home?" the sheriff asked, clearly concerned.
"No. I'll be fine," he lied.
Ferg contemplated sleeping in his car. Or even in the jail like the sheriff often did.
Somehow, he didn't think Walt would go for that.
After he drove home and collapsed on the bed fully clothed, he fell into a fitful sleep. When he awoke that evening, he felt no more rested than he had that morning.
So much for that idea.