John Locke - Callie’s Last Dance

“Freaks?”

“I was channeling my inner rap star.”

“What does that mean?”

“Geeks? Freaks? It’s a rhyme. See, what I was going for is-”

“Donovan?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep your day job.”

“Okay.”

Las Vegas.

Gwen Peters.

“LET’S SEE IF I’ve got this straight,” Gwen Peters says. “You’re offering me five hundred dollars to meet you for a cup of coffee?”

“That’s right.”

“And Carmine Porello gave you my cell phone number?”

“That’s correct.”

“Tell him I’m not interested.”

“Five hundred dollars for ten minutes of your time,” the young lady says.

“If Carmine’s paying, make it a grand. But the answer’s still going to be no.”

“I’ll agree to the thousand,” she says. “When can we meet?”

Gwen pauses. “What did you say your name was?”

“Willow Breeland. And it’s not Carmine’s money, it’s mine.”

“What’s going on here, Ms. Breeland? Are you trying to set me up?”

“No. And you can call me Willow. I’m only eighteen.”

“It has to be a public place.”

“No problem.”

“What is it you want?”

“I’m the new girl.”

“At Club Six?”

“The same. Carmine talks about you all the time. I want to meet you and find out why.”

Gwen laughs. “You’re ambitious.”

“You have no idea.”

“I’ll make this easy. You know the Starbucks on Emerson and Valley View?”

“No, but I’ll find it.”

“Find it quick. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“How will I know you?”

Gwen laughs. “You’ll know me!” She pauses, then says. “And I’ll know you, too.”

Gwen was right. When she enters the coffee shop twenty minutes later, a pretty young woman stands.

Gwen walks to her table and says, “Willow?”

“Hi, Gwen.”

She sits down, motions Gwen to do the same.

“You have something for me?” Gwen says.

Willow removes an envelope from her handbag, pushes it across the table.

“Please,” she says. “Have a seat.”

Gwen sits, picks up the envelope, lifts the flap, smiles.

“You’re certainly one of a kind!” she says.

“Thank you.”

Gwen looks at her watch. “Your ten minutes starts…right now. What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with Roy.”

“What about him?”

“Is he capable of bringing down Carmine?”

“With the right backing.”

“Then why hasn’t he?”

Gwen starts to answer, then pauses. She looks around the room, carefully studying the customers. Finally she says, “Are you wearing a wire?”

“No, of course not!”

Gwen studies her a minute, then says, “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Rest room.”

“Why?”

“If you’re planning to ask me mob shit, you’ll have to prove you’re not wearing a wire.”

“Wait. You don’t mean-”

Gwen laughs. “That’s exactly what I mean!”

“WELL, THIS IS embarrassing,” Willow says, as she lowers her panties to mid-thigh and turns in a circle.

“Oh please,” Gwen says. “You’re a stripper. Now bend over and spread your cheeks.”

“Really, Gwen? Because I think not.”

Gwen laughs. “I just wanted to see how far you’d go.”

They’re standing in the middle of the restroom at Starbucks. Willow, buck naked, save for the panties at her thighs.

“Can I get dressed now? Because I won’t know what to say if some random customer walks in here with a little girl.”

“Relax. It’s nine-thirty at night.” Gwen turns on both faucets and lets them run. She motions Willow to come closer. Then whispers, “If you want to ask me about the mob, do it now.”

“Why hasn’t Roy tried to take over the business from Carmine?”

“Have you ever heard of a guy named Donovan Creed?”

“No.”

“He’s a hit man for the mob. From what I hear, Roy was about to make a move on Carmine. The night before, Creed showed up in the club and saw Roy disrespecting Carmine. He gave him a lecture about it, and crushed Roy’s hand to show he’s serious. That one action saved Carmine’s life.”

“Who was helping Roy take Carmine’s down?”

“I don’t know. Why do you care?”

“I want to bet on the right horse.”

“And here I thought you wanted to talk me into coming back to the Top Six!”

“I do. But not as a stripper.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I want you to take over Roy’s job.”

“ Excuse me ?”

“You’re a legend in the business, and Carmine loves you. I think he’d pay you a hundred grand to run the girls. Who could possibly handle the girls better than a former stripper?”

“True. But Carmine doesn’t have the guts, or the power to fire Roy.”

“I’ll take care of Roy.”

“How?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“You?”

“Uh huh.”

“Personally?”

“I’d prefer to pay someone else to do it, but I’ll do it if I have to.”

“How?”

“I’m not sure yet. But I’ll find a way to make it happen.”

Gwen shakes her head in disbelief. Willow’s obviously crazy. But there’s something about her that fosters confidence.

After a moment of silence, Gwen says “I might know someone.”

“Your girlfriend?”

Gwen says, “Carmine told you about Callie?”

“You’d be amazed how much information I can extract from a single blow job.”

“Eew! Sorry, but… Carmine ?”

Willow laughs. “I know, I know.”

“Jesus, Willow. He’s what, seventy-five?”

“Try seventy-eight.”

“Eew.”

“It’s not that bad. You’ve just got to get your head in the game. No pun intended.”

“I couldn’t make myself do it. I’d gag and retch. You know those disgusting things they make you eat on Survivor?”

“Yeah?”

“It would be like that.”

Willow laughs. “Well, I’m certainly no expert on dicks. But in my limited experience they all taste pretty much the same. Blindfolded, I wouldn’t be able to distinguish between Brad Pitt and the Three Stooges.”

“No offense, but you sound pretty experienced to me.”

“I’ve blown a total of four guys if you include Carmine and my step-father.”

“Omigod! Your step-father?”

“Not all blow jobs are by design.”

“Wow. I’m sorry.”

Willow shrugs. “Water under the bridge.”

“You’re pretty stoic about it.”

“They call it a blow job for a reason. It’s a job. A chore. Something no one wants to do on a regular basis. But if you’re selective, it can be one of the highest-paying jobs around. If I’m a painter, welder, school teacher, or waitress, I’m working eight hours a day, on my feet, eyes open. And what’s the reward? A meager salary from which the government takes thirty-five percent. Or I can blow Carmine for ten minutes a day with my eyes closed. In return, he gives me a twelve hundred dollar-a-month apartment, a car, and two hundred fifty bucks a week for living expenses. He’s with his family on Sundays, so I’m on call six days a week. That’s the equivalent of getting a thousand bucks a week for an hour of actual work. Of course, I choose to spend a couple hours a day talking to him, but that’s a separate investment.”

“I never thought of it like that,” Gwen says. “Where do I sign up?”

“Gwen, seriously. If you and I team up there’s no limit to what we can accomplish.”

“I admire your ability to dream big.”