Brian Keene: Kill Whitey

Not that any of those big fish were supposed to be around here, of course. This was the first time I’d actually encountered any Russians in York at all. First time I’d ever been close to anything like this—organized crime. Criminals in general, even. Sure, I had friends in York County Prison and one buddy up at Cresson doing three years for multiple drunken driving offenses. We worked alongside guys on parole or work release. I’d even been busted once on an outstanding warrant for failing to pay a traffic fine (I still say that fucking light was yellow). But actual mobsters? I’d never been around them until now, and it was sort of cool. I’d seen The Sopranos and The Godfather and Goodfellas . But this was real life. It was exciting. Forbidden.

Just like the woman dancing on stage.

Just like Sondra.

I wondered what it would be like to get a lap dance from her. Wondered what she smelled like. How she tasted. How her long hair would feel in my hands or spread out across my chest. Or brushing against my thighs…

The bouncers resumed their positions throughout the club. Whitey disappeared, presumably behind that closed door in the back. The music ended and Sondra left the stage. She was replaced by two more Russian girls named Jovanka and Monique. They danced together, touching each other all over. Darryl took a drink and watched. Meanwhile, Yul squirmed beneath Tonya, and Jesse called another girl over and got a lap dance, too. All around us, people talked and laughed and drank. Darryl looked away from the stage and started reciting an old Dave Chappelle routine about strippers, but I was barely listening to him.

Instead, I was still thinking about Sondra, and wondering how she’d gotten that black eye.

The Odessa closed at eight that morning, and we reluctantly got up and filed out with the rest of the crowd. The lights came on, flooding the place with dazzling brilliance. Many customers blinked like they’d just woke up, or shielded their eyes. Cigarette smoke swirled around the fluorescent bulbs. A sullen old man appeared on stage with a bucket and a mop and started swabbing it down. Apparently, in accordance with state law, they’d open again at one, just in time for the after-lunch crowd.

I nodded at Otar the bouncer as we left. He didn’t return the gesture. I didn’t expect him to. I was just some blue collar asshole who’d come to gawk at naked women. Just another face in the crowd. He didn’t know me. But still, it felt like I should show him some respect. The dude was possibly a Russian mobster. If that was true, then I wanted to stay on his good side, because there was no doubt I’d be back. And soon, too.

I had to see Sondra again.

The sun was out and the storm had ended. We piled into the Cherokee. Once again, Darryl rode shotgun while Jesse and Yul got in the back. I turned on the iPod. Motorhead’s ‘Orgasmatron’ played softly. It felt wrong, somehow, playing Motorhead at such a low volume, but the bass inside the club had left me with the beginnings of a headache, and I wasn’t in the mood to crank it up. Besides, Lemmy is still God no matter how fucking loud you listen to him.

None of us spoke. I pulled out of the lot and back onto the road. Darryl stared out the window and smoked. In the backseat, Jesse closed his eyes and got comfortable. Yul chewed his fingernails and looked worried. Glitter sparkled on his cheek, leftover from his lap dance. He spat a nail onto the floor.

“Hey,” I said, glaring at him in the rearview mirror. “Spit that shit out the window, man. Don’t fuck up my ride.”

“Sorry.”

Jesse opened his eyes and sat up, wondering what was going on. Darryl glanced in the backseat and then turned around again, shaking his head. Motorhead gave way to Circle of Fear. I drummed along on the steering wheel with ‘Child of a Dead Winter’.

“That’s some nasty shit,” Darryl said.

I stopped drumming. “What is?”

“Yul chewing his fingernails.” He turned around again. “Don’t you know you can get diseases that way, man?”

Jesse chuckled. “He can get ’em from that lap dance, too.”

“Shut up!” Yul punched Jesse in the arm and then scowled at us. “You can’t catch anything from a fucking lap dance. And besides, I had my pants on. There was no contact.”

“Crabs,” Darryl said. “You can get those. Little fuckers crawl right into your underwear. Don’t matter if you kept your clothes on.”

“She was shaved. There wasn’t anywhere for crabs to hide.”

“Sure there was. She had ass hair.”

Jesse and I laughed.

“For real,” Darryl said, grinning. “Bitch had hair sticking out from between her ass cheeks. You could braid that shit, it was so long.”

“No she didn’t,” Yul mumbled. “You fuckers are just pissed because she liked me better than you.”

Jesse’s laughter turned to howls. “What the fuck have you been smoking, Yul? Tonya didn’t like you. She liked your money. That’s all. They’re strippers, dude. Working girls. She likes you as long as you got green. And when your wallet runs dry, then she fucks off and likes somebody else. Don’t make it into something more.”

“Well, she seemed nice.”

Darryl lit a cigarette. “Of course she did. That’s her job. Be nice to the customers. And she’s nice to every motherfucker in there, long as they got money and don’t touch her. You want something more than that, you want love and sharing and shit, then you gotta wait until you get home to Kim.”

“And if you want to keep Kim around,” Jesse said, “then clean that glitter off your face and clothes.”

Yul flinched. “Oh, man. I forgot all about that! What if she sees it?”

“Relax,” Darryl said. “She’ll be at work by now, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So just wash your face and do a load of laundry. She’ll never know a damn thing.”

Jesse grinned. “Unless you talk in your sleep, that is.”

Yul got quiet again. He stared out the window and didn’t respond while Jesse and Darryl continued to tease him. Just sat there taking it, looking guilty and despondent. I felt sorry for him.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” I said, trying to distract their attention from Yul for a little while, “that Sondra was something else. God damn…”

“Yeah,” Jesse agreed, “she about the finest piece of ass in that place. Built like a brick fucking shithouse.”

“But it’s more than that,” I said. “Did you notice how she works the crowd? How people react to her? Her mood was like…infectious. You could see it as she passed by each table. People’s spirits lifted. Their laughter got louder, their smiles bigger. Like she made their day better just by being there or something. Maybe they weren’t even aware of it. Maybe they didn’t notice. Maybe she didn’t either. But I did.”

They were silent for a moment, staring at me, expressionless. Then Jesse kicked the back of my seat and Darryl chuckled.

“Larry done turned into a poet and shit.”

“Fuck you, Darryl.”

Jesse kicked the seat again. “You got it bad, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “She’s incredible.”

“You gonna try to tap that?”

I shrugged.

“Better wrap your shit twice, if you do. No riding bareback with her.”

“Why?”

Jesse sighed. “I told you before, man. Sondra was a ho. Yeah, she’s nice and all, but that don’t change nothing. She worked in the massage parlor. And they ain’t just giving out hand jobs in there. They believe in a real happy ending—the full ‘sucky-fucky, me love you long time’. And some of those girls turn tricks in the club, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she was still doing it there, too. Anybody can get laid at the Odessa. Even Yul.”