“So let him cool off! Stupe fucker’s not gonna put a show on while he’s on my stage,” Suzie shouted in righteous indignation. “I got working girls here who got to feed their families. They’re gonna get some respect if I have to beat it into you bastard sons of bitches myself.” She brought the mop over her shoulder again, putting all of her weight into it.
The mop handle cracked against the back of Sykes’s head. His face bounced off the runway floor, then blood pooled under him. He gave up trying to pull his pants up and worked on just sliding off the runway. His hand slid across the pool of blood as he crabbed his way toward escape, and his face thudded against the wooden platform again.
The laughter this time was at Sykes’s expense. A couple men grabbed him by the legs and dragged him from the runway. Nearly unconscious, the man dropped to the floor. The onlookers ignored him and set to cleaning their tables and chairs.
“Okay, Suzie,” one of the men said. “Stage’s all yours again. Let’s get the show back on the road.”
“No one touches one of my girls,” Suzie told them. “Less they pay for the privilege. Next man gets himself a load on and figures his thundering little dinky is so great he’s got to show it, he’s gonna go home with it floating in the bottom of a bottle of whiskey.” She wiped the floor clean, then stalked back to the curtained area. “Tickle them ivories, Amadeus.”
The piano player tossed her a salute that turned into a single finger when her back was turned. Then he grabbed the half-empty bottle from the top of the piano and took a deep draft. Finished with the bottle, he set it back on top and lit up a fresh cigarette. He cracked his knuckles, then began a raucous tune.
Another girl came from behind the curtains. This one wore a green Mohawk that had to have been eight inches tall. A brief, loose loincloth covered her sex and her behind, but gave fleeting glimpses of both as she strutted and shimmied. Mirror sunglasses covered her eyes, and she used her arms to keep her breasts hidden for a time.
“So what are you boys doing out tonight?” Kirkland asked. “Besides bar crawling?”
“Used living out in open,” Jak said. “Hard get used being in four walls.”
“I can well imagine.” Kirkland nodded and sipped his drink.
Jak drank his water, finding it had a metallic taste, but no odor and no aftertaste. It didn’t matter, because he wasn’t stupe enough to drink a quantity that would hurt him. He watched Dean sample his wine, noticing the way the boy tried to hide his grimace.
The girl with the tall green Mohawk dropped her loincloth and swivel-hipped around the stage. The audience roared its appreciation. A small, genuine smile played across the woman’s cold features.
“New talent,” Kirkland said. “She still enjoys what she does. That attitude is what sets her apart from the other women, and it’s what makes the other women hate her.”
Even Jak, as interested as he was in finding out the information Ryan had sent him for, was hypnotized for a time by the woman’s unleashed sexuality.
Kirkland leaned a little closer. “Konikka’s a lot more expensive than the other women,” he said. “But I can still make it happen. She still owes me from her last abortion. She tried to do it herself with a coat hanger and ended up nearly killing herself. I had to do a lot of repairs, still nearly lost her.”
“Why do that for us?” Jak asked.
“Because I want some more of that anesthetic,” Kirkland said. “If I can’t cut the deal with the others of your group, mebbe I can cut it with you.”
Jak regarded him with a cold look. “I’ll think about it.”
Kirkland’s face froze for just a moment, and Jak sensed the doctor was struggling internally to maintain control. “You drive a hard bargain. Tell you what, I’ll give Konikka to you and your young friend for the evening and give you even more to think about.”