As Zhang Xiu nodded a tear slipped out. “She’s better now.”
“Is there a creep I need to hunt down?” I said.
She gave a sad laugh. “Guys like that get theirs. Eventually. That’swhat I have to tell myself. Anyway.” She batted at the air. “How do you like Pole Kisses so far?”
“I wasn’t expecting it to be so... life-changing.” I leaned in. “Weird question. Last Sunday, after I left Huckleberry’s with Shade. Did you see me again?”
“Nope,” Zhang Xiu said.
“What about that asshole who got chucked out of the bar?”
Zhang Xiu took a long gulp of beer before responding. “Salma Hayek went for a quick smoke out front and that same guy grabbed her butt. She hit him in the head with an old beer bottle that was lying in the parking lot. Least that’s what she said.” Zhang Xiu shrugged. “I was inside.”
That would explain the giant goose egg on Connor’s forehead. Could Salma have then stabbed him to death and hidden his body in my trunk? “Where is she?” I tried to sound casual, but my heart was about to burst out of my chest.
Zhang Xiu shrugged. “No idea.”
Before I could figure out how to continue this line of questioning, Gucci appeared, eyes red and face streaked with tears.
“What’s wrong?” Zhang Xiu asked.
“I just got an email that my grad school funding has been cut—in half,” Gucci wailed. “I know it’s because my skeevy advisor only funds students who stroke his ego. I suspect he makes the female students stroke other things too.”
“Ugh! Can’t you file a Title IX complaint?” I said.
A bitter laugh burbled out through Gucci’s tears. “Please. That guy has racked up more complaints than Beyoncé has Grammys. The Title IX office means well, but they have no teeth.”
“She’s right,” Zhang Xiu said. “Tenured male faculty in this town still think #MeToo meant: ‘You sleep with your students and suffer no consequences? Hashtag me tooooo!’”
I felt the old anger boiling against men who didn’t care whose livesthey ruined as long as they could get their saggy rocks off. Men like Mickey Larynx.
“I can’t quit grad school, no matter how bad my advisor sucks,” Gucci said. “I’m that weirdo that loves DNA phenotyping more than anything. But I am gonna have to quit pole.” She sniffled. “I can’t afford it now.”
“DNA say what?” Shade said.
“DNA phenotyping. It’s a forensics technique,” Gucci said.
“Forensics?” I said. “You’re studying forensics?”
“Yeah,” Gucci said. She gave me a meaningful look. “Remember what I told you, about my uncle?” She’d donated his body to rot in a field where forensics experts could check the progress of his decomp on the hour. A win for science—and righteous revenge. I nodded slowly. “Well, meeting those experts—hearing about how they use their research to solve crimes. That’s how I got into forensics. It’s all I’ve wanted to do since.”
Gucci’s skills might come in handy, if I got desperate enough. Though I couldn’t assume everyone in my pole class would be as eager to try to help me solve a murder as Layna.
“But you already paid for the Pole Virgins series, right?” Shade said.
Gucci shook her head. “The owner’s letting me pay by the class because I’m a broke grad student.”
The music stopped and a microphone-wielding emcee stepped into the spotlight. They were an adorable enby with high cheekbones and a bowtie. “In ten minutes, we’ll start our Mash the Patriarchy wrestling match,” the emcee said. “It’s a performance-art event exploring the dangers of domesticity, performance as living sculpture, and how hard it is for women to act with agency while being objectified. Winners of each round will receive four hundred dollars. First up is the women’s match.” A gazelle in a tight silver dress hurried up to the emcee and whispered in their ear. The emcee frowned and looked worried. “We have an unfortunate development,” they said. “One of our women’s teams is out due to a bad breakup coupled with a bad batch of fingersteaks. Would any pair who identifies as female like to volunteer to wrestle in their place?”
“Four hundred bucks would pay for the rest of your pole classes,” Zhang Xiu told Gucci.
Gucci’s eyes lit up. “Two hundred would cover it. My teammate could have the other half of the prize money. Who’s with me? I wrestled in high school.”
“Sorry. I’m one hundred percent, grade-A gay man,” Shade said. “You need a gal.”
“Wrestling would mess up my back again. Guaranteed,” Zhang Xiu said.
Layna rocked up with two beers. I couldn’t wait to tell her all I’d learned.
