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Dean was constantly on my mind, and I was glad I got to talk about him with Charlie a couple of nights ago. It was a cathartic moment. I thought it would be too difficult to speak about, too painful. I hadn’t really talked about Dean or his death with anyone, and I hadn’t realized just how much damage that was doing to me. Like I was being constricted by an anaconda without ever even realizing it, not understanding that my very bones were cracking under the weight.
That pressure was gone. I could breathe easier now; I could feel things again.
And I certainly felt things that night, with Charlie on top of me, kissing me, rubbing me. I was ready to carry him into the bedroom and tear his clothes off like a savage animal hungry for its prey.
I was also grateful Charlie cut it short. My body may have been crying out for him, but I knew my heart needed a moment to process the night. Not only had we discussed Dean, but we also talked about what happened between us. It was another crucial piece to the healing process, and I felt like his apology was sincere. I didn’t need to tell him everything that happened that night either. It wouldn’t change anything, so why do it? He knew the essence of what happened the night we split, and he apologized for it.
It was time to move on, and that’s exactly what I planned to do.
I kept driving, going toward the outskirts of town, where the homes were less taken care of and the people offered fewer smiles. This part of town was called The Blades, named after the three rocky hills that divided the west of Blue Creek from the east, although locals liked to say it was called “The Blades” because of the number of blades you needed to carry with you to feel safe.
It actually wasn’t that bad, and the people who still liked to joke about that usually made my eyes roll. I had a few friends in high school who lived in the Blades, and I’d ride my bike over to their houses almost every weekend, and never once did I feel unsafe (I never carried a blade either).
Today, I wasn’t planning on visiting anyone’s house. I pulled into a nearly empty parking lot, underneath a gold-and-brown sign that read “Honey and Wood, Blue Creek’s Premier Adult Entertainment.” There was a dripping honeypot on one side of the sign and a log of suspiciously phallic-shaped wood on the other. A muscular guy wearing white booty shorts and a neon pink tank top came out of the red leather doors with a trash bag over his shoulder, his red high-tops crunching over the gravel.
I intercepted him on the way back from the trash cans. “Hey, you work here?”
“No, I work at the pediatrician’s office down the street.”
All right, so the guy had sass.
He crossed his arms, making the muscles in his biceps pop, his dark skin shining under the late-afternoon sun. “What do you want?”
“My name’s Austin. I’m a private detective, and I wanted to chat with the owner, Hank. Is he around?”
He arched a brow. “Nice to meet you, Austin, I’m Domino, and no, he’s not here. Evan is, though, the other owner.”
Maybe he’ll know something.
“I’d like to talk to him, then,” I said, pulling out my ID and showing it to Domino, who didn’t even glance at it before he turned and started toward the strip club’s entrance.
“Not a lot of people say that,” Domino said. “Let me go find him. He’s got an anger thing, so just watch out for that.”
I followed Domino into a smokey room where a woman behind a glass window was scrolling through her phone, only throwing a cursory look our way before letting us down the hall and into the main room. Here, three stages were set up, with two poles on each. Chairs and booths were arranged all around the room, the VIP tables closest to the runways. There were mirrors on the ceiling and walls, bouncing the rays of neon-colored lights that cut through the curling smoke in the air. The place wasn’t completely empty, with a handful of men watching as a nimble little twink spun around the pole in a light blue thong and high heels.
Today was a Thursday, which meant it was Wood day; all the strippers were men. It meant the club was constantly attracting a wide mix of clientele (and their wallets), drawing gay guys and women by the hundreds on almost every weekend Wood night, most of them driving from the nearby cities and college towns for a fun night out.
“You can hang out by the bar while I go get Evan,” Domino said before disappearing behind a curtain of beads. The TVs were playing the news instead of music videos, which I assumed had to do with the earlier crowd. Every station was talking about the breaking news: Blue Creek’s sheriff busts massive drug operation. Apparently even small towns could attract large heroin dens.
