The characters in this piece are not real people, but are based and written as composite images of several people that I have met over the years. The names and places are not real either and are written they same way.
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The Club
It was a Friday night and the busiest time of the week. The room was filled with smoke and the sour smell of old beer was at times overwhelming. I moved through the crowd with a tray full of drinks dexterously balanced in one hand; carefully picking my way through the tangled jungle of arms and legs with a pair of torturous four-inch heels. With the ever present smile plastered on my face I delivered drinks, collected money, chatted like I cared and took more orders, then did it all over again until closing time.We were not trained to do this; just conditioned over time. This was the life of a hostess in a club that could have been owned by Jack Ruby himself. The money at times was good and at times it was horrible. It was nothing to make $700.00 a night then again it was nothing to take home only $50. It was all about who you knew and how well you managed the incoming crowd of customers versus the incoming crowd of dancers. Over 1500 men could grace the floor of the club in one evening, over 200 girls and up to 60 waitress. It was a shark pit all night long. One dancer could make $5,000 and another would have a few hundred stolen from her...you just never knew what would happen. You made friends with everybody and I mean e-v-e-r-y-b-o-d-y or you made nothing. It was a safe house of grand proportions with the likes of Federal Law Enforcement sitting next to mobsters and Vice Unit Task Forces trying to sting CIA agents, Gang-bangers sitting next to MS-13, or even Venezuelan machine gun toting Cartels protecting their interests next to Brazilians doing the same, Homeland Security chasing terrorists and the FBI looking for runaways. It was an unusual place and at times overwhelming. The lines between right and wrong started out blurry and by the end of the night were completely non-existent.
Ezra
I turned around from a table and he was standing close. He leaned in to kiss me and I quickly turned away. He was faster than me and quickly stole a kiss anyways. This was Ezra. He put a strong arm around my waist and pulled me close; kissing me again. "I've missed you;" he said. It had been a month since I had seen him last and then it had been in a flurry of fists and sirens. He grinned at me with mischief in his eyes; "do you know where I can get into a high-stakes game of poker"?
My mouth dropped, and I quickly scanned the crowd to see if the 7 penguin suits had recognized him, and for whatever reason they did not. His last exit included breaking the valet's arm and a heated high speed car chase to the Texas/Oklahoma border. My response was quick; "why did Oklahoma finally throw you out? Are you crazy or something; what are you doing back here?" Ezra was an enigma; generally he was only interested in buying large quantities of guns and the minute the words were spoken someone was there to sell to him, the club was wired. Gambling was generally not his forte'.
"Actually; I am looking for a girl", Ezra replied.
"Ezra, your always looking for a girl...what's different tonight;" I said.
"This would be a very special girl; she might be sick, c'mon let me buy you a drink", he said.
We moved up to the bar and he ordered us two drinks. I secretly signaled the bartender so that mine would be a dummy drink; I did not drink at work. The drinks arrived and they were perfectly placed in front of the right person and both drinks looked exactly the same. We toasted and downed the shots and he ordered another round.
"So; just how sick is this girl;" I asked.
"Well, she might not seem that sick but she has the AIDS virus. There's several girls moving through these clubs that are moving up from the South. They came over the border with fake identities and originate from South America. The girls are not aware they have the AIDS virus, they are dancers and they are having unprotected sex with customers." said Ezra.
"That's bad, real bad" I said. Words really could not accurately describe the sickness in my stomach. I hated this part of the job, when the reality of world situations smack you right in the face.
At that moment a girl sauntered by with a dazed smile on her face headed in another direction, stuck to her stiletto heel like a piece of toilet paper was a used condom and she was unknowingly dragging it across the club. Prostitution was commonplace.
"I know I can count on you to help me with this, it would take a psychic to figure this one out. I've heard you can find anybody". With that statement he stuck a wadded up bundle of money down the front of my uniform. He smiled at me again mischievously because he knew I hated that; money down my blouse. Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
I was angry, confused and really just wanted to leave. I had many friends across many different organizations and it had become a perilous banlancing act. It would require a pair of 'toe shoes' to get through this. I could also leverage my contacts to point me in the right direction. It was in no one's best interest for these girls to be roaming through these clubs. What I did not take into account was the competition between the law enforcement agencies...and the incredible lengths 'they' would go to to take credit for the capture of these girls.
to be continued...
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