Chapter 1

1

Strip clubs weren’t a new thing to Brian, he’d seen inside them a dozen times already, and they were really no big deal.

Before he became a cop, he’d often wondered why movies or TV shows always had the detectives going into strip clubs for no apparent reason, other than to show half naked women onscreen.

When Brian grew into an adult, and made detective before he was thirty, he realized a couple things. One, that he was actually pretty gay, so strip clubs with half naked women didn’t distract him like they did the other cops.

Two, the fact that detectives had to go into strip clubs to get information happened more often than Brian cared to admit. He did try to work around it but if he called persons of interest over the phone, often none of them wanted to speak to cops in the first place, and it was easy to hang up on one.

Less easy to avoid cops face to face.

So, there he was, visiting another strip club. Second one this month.

Brian drove the squad car with Raymond, his partner, in shotgun. Raymond was pretty straight, so the prospect of going into a strip club on a Tuesday afternoon put a certain spring in his step.

Brian, he just wanted to get the information they needed, and go. This case was dragging on and on, because their main suspect, an older man named Joseph Anderson, was a slippery customer. But they’d heard from a reliable source that Anderson often frequented a club called The Velvet Lounge, and spent a lot of time with one stripper in particular.

If they were lucky, they could get Intel on Anderson and catch him before he slipped away again.

Brian found the backstreet they needed and drove slower, so Raymond could check building numbers as they drove past.

“Got it,” Raymond said. “I see a sign above that doorway.”

“Great.” Brian started looking for a place to park. “Let’s hope this leads somewhere.”

“Where it needs to lead to after this,” Raymond said with a chuckle, “is some lunch. I’m starving.”

“Alright,” Brian agreed. He parked the car on the street a block over, and they got out together. “Let’s hope she knows something.”

* * * *

The stripper wasn’t a sheat all.

When Brian and Raymond entered the dimly lit, rundown club, flashed their badges to the bored-looking bouncer, and asked for Angel, he pointed across the floor to one of the numerous stages with ripped, male dancers shaking their booty to the music.

Raymond made a hmmnoise, halfway between surprise and disappointment.

Brian was far more shocked, and his mouth dropped open. “They’re guys?” he directed to the bouncer, who only shrugged.

“I just work here, man.” He pointed again to the stage dead center of the floor. “The dancer you want is right there. The Puerto Rican with the tattoo.”

Brian nodded mutely, then he and Raymond made their way into the club.

“Well,” Raymond said sidelong to him, and Brian would’ve replied but…

Yeah. He was very distracted. Now he knew how his colleagues felt when they went into strip clubs.

Being an afternoon it wasn’t too busy, only a few customers here and there sitting close to the small stages. Platforms, really: barely three feet off the ground. Just the right height for the customers sitting in their chairs to lean their elbows on.

And the customers were mainly white guys in suits, Brian noted. It would be incredibly lucky if they were to find Anderson here, but after a quick scan of the floor Brian didn’t think anyone here was quite as old as Anderson.

Brian looked at the stripper they needed to speak to, as the red and pink lights of the club flashed across his near naked form. The guy was medium build, lean and clearly ripped too. It wasn’t so easy to see under the red lights, but Brian noted that his skin was olive in complexion, and his hair was dark and wavy.

He had his back to them as they approached, and Brian could just make out a tattoo of angel wings on his back. The stripper hadn’t seen them yet, busy shaking his ass for the two customers at his stage.

An ass clad in sparkly, rainbow print booty shorts. The sparkles caught the light, and Brian’s eyes lingered.

He had a very nice ass, that much was obvious.

Brian tried to drag his eyes away and scan the scene in front of him, taking in as much information as he could: this dancer wore laced up black boots, whereas the other dancers seemed to favor softer footwear like sneakers. Brian’s first instinct was to be wary and ready to give chase if the dancer bolted. A lot of people bolted from the cops—it was just what happened.