The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(42)

“We’ve still got Wilma.”





30


Wilma Newton left the Sands fifteen minutes after closing time, tired and wishing she could go home. But now she had to crank it up for job number two. She grabbed a pint of Jack Daniels out of her glove box and took a swig.

“Goddamn,” she said out loud, feeling the burn of the whiskey as it made its way down her throat.

It was about a twenty-minute drive from the Sands to the Sundowners Club, and Wilma had found that she did better when she started out with a buzz. Ironically, staying semi-drunk allowed her to focus better on the job at hand – pleasing the men that came in. Flirting with them, persuading them to pay for a private dance, and literally talking and dancing the money out of their pocket. When the buzz wore off and she was back to the real world – picking up her kids from Ms Yost’s house or refilling a pitcher of iced tea at the Sands – she hated what she had become. Unfortunately, it was the only way she could support her kids by herself.

She had come back to Boone’s Hill, because it was the only home she had ever known. Her mom and dad were dead, but Ms Yost – her mom’s best friend – was still around, and Wilma had been able to rent a small house down the road from her.

Lately, the rent was getting hard to pay. Also, Laurie Ann would start middle school in the fall. She was pretty and wanted to be a cheerleader. Those outfits cost money – more than Wilma had. She wanted Laurie Ann and Jackie, her youngest, to have the things she never had. Since there was nobody around but her, she knew she had to do something.

So a month ago she went looking for a second job. She worked 2pm to10pm at the Sands Monday through Saturday, so she had her mornings and late nights free. Her first thought was a morning waitressing gig, but then she met Darla Ford. Darla had come into the Sands for a cup of coffee right before closing one night. Said she was a “dancer” and needed a little energy boost before she started work. They struck up a conversation – Darla was a regular chatterbox – and Wilma asked her what a waitress might make at the Club. Darla laughed and said, “Not much.” The money was in the “skin”. The dancers – the good ones – made twice what the waitresses made. Then she told Wilma that she had made $50,000 the year before.

Wilma had not hesitated. Fifty thousand dollars! She had gone to the Sundowners Club that night and, after enduring a job interview that included taking off all her clothes, leaning over and touching her toes, and getting slapped on the ass by the owner, Larry Tucker, she was hired.

The first weekend had been awful, and she thought she might be fired. She was uptight, nervous and, according to Darla, a “buzzkill”. Darla, whose stage name was “Nikita”, finally made her do three quick shots of whiskey and things got better. During the last two hours of the first weekend, she had three men ask for lap dances. After that, she picked a stage name, and “Smokey” was born.

She was now over a month into her job, and she was doing pretty well. On course to make $30K if she kept it up. As she parked in the lot, which was framed in the neon blue light of the Sundowners Club sign, she took another shot of Jack and closed her eyes, allowing the hot liquid to settle into her stomach before turning off the car. Showtime.



He watched her walk into the club before he stepped out of the car. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the El Camino, taking in his surroundings. The Sundowners Club was like so many other joints he’d been in. Concrete slab building, parking lot with only a couple of light poles, long neon sign marking the front door and broken beer bottles strewn everywhere. Good place to get a tire blown out, he thought, stomping out his cigarette. He reached in the car and took a little Afta and dabbed it on his stubbly face. He wore a golf shirt, khaki pants and a pair of dusty boots. Six feet three inches tall, he knew he wasn’t handsome, but he had never had much problem with the ladies or anything else for that matter. Of course, he didn’t give a shit, which he knew was the secret to his success. With women, with work – hell, with everything.

JimBone Wheeler a.k.a “the Bone” just didn’t give a shit.

As he walked towards the front door, he laughed out loud thinking of the thousands of dollars in cash in his wallet and his assignment from the boss.





31


This is my lucky night, Wilma thought. Lap dances were $20 a pop and this man, James, had already paid for five of them. They were sitting at a table in the corner of the Club, and she was drinking a Jack and Coke, which he had bought for her. Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” was blaring from the speakers and Darla Ford a.k.a. “Nikita” was sliding down the pole on the main stage while Tammie Gentry a.k.a. “Sweet & Nasty” was pouring a sack of flour all over Nikita and herself. It was one of the highlight dances that always drew a big crowd. Most nights, Wilma liked to be walking around during this dance, trying to seize on the momentum by landing a few lap dances right after the show was over. But tonight she had already hit the jackpot.

As Nikita and Sweet & Nasty’s show was coming to a close, James leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Listen, is there a VIP room where I can get a private dance without all these folks around?”

For a moment, Wilma panicked. Lap dances were performed on a long bench near the back of the building. There was a small divider every few feet along the bench, making it look like little stalls. She was not aware of a more private area.