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After running through different scenarios in her mind, Layla decided to take a different approach. She unhooked her gun holster holding her Glock 43 and placed it in the glove compartment of her car. Usually, she would never go anywhere without her gun. But she didn’t want to give away any indication that she might be a part of law enforcement and the fact that she was on administrative probation would definitely get her ass terminated if her boss found out she was there. She took a deep breath and got out of her car. Her eyes stared up at the building before entering. Although her cousin worked there for over a year, this was the first time she has stepped foot in that club.
She assumed because it was Tuesday morning, there was no need for bouncers at the door. When she walked in, she was greeted with was the loud boom of the bass that could be heard throughout the club. As she continued inside, Layla didn’t see the high-end strip club everyone talked about. Early mornings on a weekday are a stark contrast from late-night weekends. There were several empty tables scattered throughout the room, all with a good view of the stage that rests to the back left of the club. The long black stage took up half of the far wall with a catwalk peninsula jutting out towards the dining area. There were three silver stripper poles planted firmly throughout the stage. One towards the left side, one on the right, and one in the center.
Two women were dancing seductively on the stage. Wearing minimal clothing, the ladies seem to only be slightly into their work, since the overall energy in the club seemed pretty low. To the right of the large room was the bar that was about fifteen feet long and the array of alcohol bottles arranged like artwork. The way the light bounced off the glasses and each of the liquor, having their own unique design, created an impressive look. Behind the counter were two bartenders that were paying more attention to the dancers than the three men sitting at the bar needing a refill on their beers.
“Hey, man, fill me up,” one man said, who was sitting across the counter, holding up his tall glass.
The main bartender had a gray mustache and receding hairline. He was wearing a casual short sleeve button-up shirt that shows his white undershirt and chest hair. His loud cologne smelled like a bad knockoff of a designer one. He didn’t hide his eye roll when the customer requested a refill. After taking the glass, filling it to the top with the draft beer, the bartender handed it back to the customer. “I will require a please next time,” he said.
The customer, along with two men sitting on either side of him, laughed. “Yeah, okay, mom,” the customer responded.
Layla made her way up to the bar as the bartender made no effort to look her in the eye and stared at her breasts instead. The second bartender looked about ten years younger. He also had a mustache, and his hair was thinning. He looked like a drug addict who had unsuccessfully tried to hide his addiction for years.
The bartender standing in front of her leaned into her. “What can I get for you, beautiful? You know I can serve you more than just a drink.”
Layla ignored his pathetic attempt to flirt. “Samantha Smith, you know her?” She asked as she flashed her phone with a picture of Sam on it.
The bartender turns towards the other worker behind him. “Is she that bitch that went topless last week?”
The other bartender smiled, revealing his yellow teeth. “Yeah, man. She was hot as fuck.”
The main one looked back at Layla. “What, is she your girlfriend or something?”
“No, I’m here for some information.” Layla tried unsuccessfully to contain her anger. “She died, asshole. She was the girl that they found behind this club this morning.”
The group of men sitting at the bar were now focused on their conversation.
“Is that the girl that got tossed in the dumpster?” One man asked.
“Yeah, people were saying it was an overdose or something.” Another man added.
Layla shook her head. “No, it wasn’t an overdose. She was murdered.”
“What’s it to you?” the bartender smiled as he shrugged his shoulders.
Layla wanted to punch him in his smug face for thinking this was all a joke. “I’m a journalist investigating her death. Do you have any information?”
“Come on, don’t you have a sense of humor? What a shame. I guess it would be a crime to be beautiful and funny.” The bartender shook his head as he turned to put the beer mug back on the shelf with the rest of the clean ones. “No, I don’t have any information and even if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t be telling a fucking journalist. Maybe you let the police handle this one, princess. It might get dangerous for you out here.”
Layla reached into her pocket and flashed her FBI badge. “I’m also with the FBI.”
Her declaration surprised the men for a split second, then their expressions relaxed.
“That’s cute,” the bald bartender said. “Did you buy that fake badge at the same place where you bought your tits?”
Layla's lips formed in a smirk, although she was fuming with anger. Layla leaned forward and stuck her chest out, making her breasts appear bigger. “Oh, these are real. Want to see?”
The man leaned forward to get a better view, and Layla pulled her fist back and punched the man in the nose. His head fell back, and he grabbed his nose as blood ran down onto his upper lip. After seeing the red liquid on his hands, the bartender stared at her with rage. “Go grab Dak and Bill. We are going to show this bitch the way out,” he said to the other bartender.
“I think I can find it for myself.” Layla turned towards the door and saw a tall blond hair, blue-eyed bodybuilder looking man that must be doing security as a side hustle. He blocked the exit. He was six foot four and was about two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle. Layla knew she couldn’t fight her way out of this one. She turned back to the bartender and saw the blood running down his white shirt. She gave him a sheepish smile. “Can I at least get you a tissue?”
The large man guarding the door lunged for Layla and gripped one of her wrists. She tried to wrench her wrist out of his hand. Before Layla could get in one good punch, another bouncer with a goatee and a bald head came up beside her and grabbed her other hand. Together, they drug her towards the back door of the club.
“Come on, guys,” she tried to reason with them. “We can talk about this.”
One man kicked the door near the stage leading to a back alley. They shoved her down on the ground, and Layla fell into a small puddle of water. The narrow space behind the club was filled with trash and an ungodly smell that pierced her nostrils, causing her eyes to nearly water.
The bartender with the bloody nose followed them to the alley and closed the door to the club. He folded his arms over his large chest and stared at Layla. “We’re going to teach you a lesson, just like that other whore was taught a lesson.”
