Chapter 3: Her and...Them

The lights behind the stage flashed twice, letting Jordan know she needed to be on her mark. She double checked the adhesive of her eyelashes and adjusted the ankle strap of her shoes.

As she did every time she stepped on that stage, Jordan took a deep breath and reminded herself this was the price of gathering information. It didn't take her long to realize that she had to bury the liberal M.E. from Beantown deep down inside herself or she'd go crazy.

The spotlights dropped and Brandy struck a pose. Brandy didn't care about anything but the heady rush of capturing the attention of powerful man and the intimate caress of their cold, hard cash against her body. Brandy was only there for one reason and one reason only.

"Bring it on boys," she purred in a deep, seductive voice, rubbing her fingertips together in the universal sign of money...

From his spot across the room, Woody watched her crook her finger at the men who lined the edge of the stage. The smell of smoke, alcohol and his own cold sweat barely sunk in as Jordan began her slow sultry dance. It dawned on him one of his most dark, secret fantasies was coming to life.

And the thought made him sick.

He washed the shock back down with piss warm back wash at the bottom his beer glass and stared at a point where the stage curtain connected to the ceiling. He couldn't bring himself to watch her...and them.

The music wasn't loud, but he could still feel the beat rumble through the floor beneath his feet. He didn't need to see her with his eyes to watch her slender body turning to the rhythm. He didn't need to look to know she teased and taunted the men with that sorry excuse of an outfit she was wearing.

He did have to keep the image of long hair cascading over her newly bared shoulders as she spun around the pole out of his mind's eye.

No, he didn't need to look for himself. He had his own personal Dickie-freaking-V giving a vulgar play-by-play from the table next to him.

"Oh, what I wouldn't give to get my hands on that..." the drunk chuckled.

Woody cursed under his breath when the temptation became too much.

There she was. The only thing between her and the rest of the world was a leopard print G-string and the singles that were obscenely folded in its threads.

She leaned her head back, rubbing against the long brass dancer's pole like a lover; seemingly getting lost in the music as she twisted her arms out above her head.

He had to remind himself it was all an act. The fantasy was the real commodity a stripper was selling. If a guy wanted to just look at a pair of tits he could buy a magazine for a lot less trouble. Men came to clubs for the woman there to make them feel like a king and a place like The Chambers was in business to make a man feel like a god.

Jordan was making him feel like a...

Suddenly, thankfully, the music ended and the flashing lights dimmed to a single spot. He watched as she wrapped her leg around the dancer's pole one last time and circled it slowly, collecting the last minute favors of her appreciative audience. She granted them a few coy smiles while running her hands through her hair.

Jordan was able to the stage over to the next dancer. Normally, she did so quickly, but this time she stood there a second longer. Holding her hand to her brow as her eyes to help her eyes adjust to the din beyond the stage, she squinted through the nameless faces and the fog of smoke to the room beyond.

While she was Brandy, Jordan didn't let herself think that Woody was out there in the darkness watching her. She told herself he honored her wishes to leave her alone, even though she knew the odds of that happening were slim to none. She didn't need to search long. He was sitting right were she found him before.

The look on his face said it all.

Turning slowly, Jordan walked away, leaving a cool hundred in bills littering the stage and a handful of men lewdly offering to be the one she was looking for.

Like so many times since she woke up the morning of Lily's wedding day, Jordan doubted there was enough soap in the city to make her ever feel clean again.

The owner of The Chambers didn't like to pay his employees for a second they didn't work. Just like they were working at a factory somewhere, each and every girl clock in and out when she came in and or every break she took. He also took a percentage of the girls' tips. An agent's fee he called it. No one complained. There could be worse places to pry a trade.

After clocking out and paying her dues, Jordan double-checked to make sure the lounge was indeed empty. Woody was gone by her second number, and when he hadn't returned by her finale dance she had half convinced herself he was gone.

The Chambers did have a driver to take the dancers home after hours. Jordan didn't have a home. That night she had him drop her off at the train station where she kept a locker. After a quick change of clothes, Jordan stuffed her bleached hair under a black bob wig and went out the curb to hail a cab. Giving the driver the address Jordan leaned back in the seat and rubbed her smoke strained eyes.

There were thousands of rooms to rent in Washington. Jordan tried not to stay in one place more than a few days. She'd been in a motel just outside Andrews AFB for four. Too long. She had to move on. With Woody there was a necessity. If she traveled quickly she could be settled in a new hole before the sun came up. There wasn't much to pack up. Before the taxi-cab was even out of the parking lot, she had shouldered her hobo bag and was ready to go.

Jordan traced the outline of her gun through the fabric of her jacket pocket. It was the moments like this she felt the must vulnerable. One quick check out of the walleye and she saw she was already too late...