“Standing in doorway. Cover charge fine. You making decision not.”
“I’m not looking for any trouble, friend,” the bald man said.
“Me, neither,” Jak replied. “Looking kill time, not man.”
“Fuck! It don’t take much to put you on the prod, does it?” The big man took a step back.
“No.” Jak took the step forward. His hand never left the Magnum blaster. Ryan didn’t want any trouble in the ville until they figured out the way of it, but the albino wasn’t used to walking away from trouble. “Got cover charge?”
“Cost you some jack.”
“Know Dr. Kirkland?” Jak asked.
“Yeah, sure.” The big man jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “The doc’s inside. He’s a regular. Everybody knows him.”
“Kirkland paying.”
The big man looked like he didn’t believe it. “Mebbe we ought to go ask the doc.”
Jak nodded. “Go with you.”
Unhappily the big man led the way into the building. Smoke wreathed the room, tainting the smell of everything. The albino’s nose wrinkled in protest at the stink of soured sweat and stale beer, and he could already feel the acrid stench of the smoke burning at his nasal passages. He stayed close to the big man, watching as he signaled two other men who approached quickly.
The room was laid out in an H, and the crossbar of the letter pattern was the runway jutting from the center of the curtained stage. As with every other building in the ville, this one had been cobbled together from bits and pieces of other buildings and houses. The pieces fit well together, though.
With the low ceiling, everything in the room seemed closer, including the naked girl on the runway. Her skin resembled warm, burnished butter with the glow of oil lanterns flooding over it. The shadows battled the light, even the glow of the lanterns hanging from the semicircle in front of the stage, and clung to the girl. The effect made her even more erotic in appearance.
She was in her late teens, baby fat still clinging to her hips, thighs and breasts. Her dark brown hair was razored close, cut just above her eyebrows and flowing down even with the line of her jaw. She wore only an orange bikini bottom, leaving her full breasts swinging free. As she swung to the music played by the pianist in the far corner of the room, she hooked her fingers in the bikini straps and tugged them up, offering momentary glimpses of the fleecy down barely covered by the material. Her smile was plastic, and the bumps and grinds she offered were for the jack only.
Dean’s steps became a little awkward as they made their way through the mazes of tables and chairs. Invective followed them as they blocked the views of the onlookers.
Jak’s hand closed around his blaster’s butt. Gunplay wasn’t on his agenda, but he wasn’t going to be manhandled, either. He locked eyes with the bald man. “Kirkland,” the albino reminded him. “Somebody draws on me, you first die. Won’t miss.”
For a moment the bald man hesitated, swallowing hard. He waved to the two approaching men again, keeping them back. He resumed his path through the tables.
Kirkland sat up front in a private booth. The doctor, now in dark pants and an open-throated shirt, sat alone in the booth. His attention was focused entirely on the dancing girl, only diverting momentarily to the glass in front of him.
The bald man approached Kirkland and leaned down to whisper into his ear.
Jak glanced around the room, knowing he and Dean were drawing more than their share of attention. A look back at the doorway confirmed the three men had followed them in from the street. He rested his gaze on Dean for a moment.
All of Dean’s attention was riveted on the dancer, who was almost peeling the bikini bottom, one hand disappearing into her pants in a frenzy of suggestive movement. The girl’s face wrinkled up in a pantomime of lust.
“You like the girls?” Jak asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Dean answered.
“Never showed much interest before. What teach at school?”
“Didn’t get to this part,” Dean replied.
Jak studied the younger boy, getting a flash of insight the way he sometimes did. “Was girl at school?”