As an unnamed source who had danced at strip clubs from Miami to Atlanta, she helped us write a story on the mechanics of strip club operations. She used her People Magazine check to make a down payment on a cinder-block house on the beach. I heard she had gone back to school for a college degree before starting work as a bookkeeper. I didn’t know it was for Tatum.
“Hi, Sparks,” I said as she slid me a Bud Light.
She smiled, “I didn’t know if you would remember me.”
“You never told me your real name, but you aren’t someone people forget easily.”
Eva cocked her head back and smiled. “You’re sweet.”
She explained to me how six years ago she had married a cop named Johnson. She had finished her accounting degree at the University of West Florida, had a baby, and got divorced. After that she went to work for Tatum as his business manager and bookkeeper.
“Most of the time, he was all right—a little touchy-feely, but nothing I couldn’t handle,” said Eva. “I dressed professionally; it wasn’t like I was showing off my cleavage. Had my son’s picture on my desk.”
She wiped down the bar as she talked. “He may have treated me different at first because of my ex, JoJo. Monte enjoyed a weird relationship with the cops. They laughed at him behind his back, but he always paid for their drinks, offered them nights at his condo, which he called the ‘Love Shack.’”
I drank and listened.
“My split with JoJo was amicable.” She gave a slight shrug. “He’s a good father, but we drifted apart. It happens. JoJo moved to Tallahassee and went to work for ATF.”
A couple of sailors stepped up to the bar. Eva took care of them and came back. She didn’t miss a beat. She wanted to share her story.
Eva brought back a bowl of pretzels and another Bud Light. “After the divorce, Monte Tatum became more aggressive with me. Doing creepy things that somehow didn’t sound quite so weird when I repeated them later to my girlfriends.”
I asked, “Like what?”
“He invaded my personal space constantly, stood too close to me when we talked. He would pull up a chair, sit right next to me, and ask to go over the books. Regularly he leaned over my shoulder to view my computer screen and put his hand on my neck or shoulder. He bragged about his dates with people I knew and how good or bad they were in the sack.”
“Did he ever mention taping his bedroom escapades?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“How about drugs? Did you get any indications he used drugs with the girls?”
Eva said, “I have heard the rumors about his past, but I had no hints that drugs were part of his lifestyle or the bar’s operations. Our offices were in the SunTrust Bank building. I never went inside The Green Olive. JoJo warned me not to go there, ever.”
“Why?”
She said, “I think it had more to do with the cops hanging around the place. He didn’t want to have them gossiping about me or causing me any problems. You know how cops can be.”
I nodded, not knowing exactly what she meant. “Did Tatum know you used to be a stripper?”
“Probably, I know that he and Benny had a history, but that was before I danced at the Backseat,” said Eva. “I’m sure one of the cops mentioned it to him, but he was too afraid of JoJo to cross the line or say anything to me about my dancing.”
“How did you handle Tatum’s advances?”
“When I objected and asked him to stop, he acted innocent and told me I had misunderstood him,” she said. “It was a lame-ass act, but I put up with it because I needed the job and the pay was good. Besides, I’d dealt with worse. He seemed to be all bark and no bite.”
Eva said Tatum would stop for a few days after she objected, but it wouldn’t be long before he’d start coming on to her again. He eventually began to ask her out to concerts and plays, even offering to pay for babysitters. She refused. Then he abruptly stopped hitting on her.
“It was like he had a shiny new toy that captured his attention,” she said. “He ignored me, which I first thought was some silly mind game he learned reading Esquire or Playboy. But after a couple of weeks, I was relieved to have him off my back.”
Intermission began to fill up, and I slowed down on my drinking. Eva juggled a dozen customers. She made each of them feel special, both men and women. Leaning into them and laughing, she expertly handled their drink orders.
The tips mounted. More than a few vied to take her home after work. At thirty-eight, she still was a crowd-pleaser. She must have driven Tatum crazy.
On the television above the bar, a teaser for the six o’clock news ran. Sheriff Frost was shown. Fortunately, there was no sound, but I was certain I was the topic.
Eva looked up at the screen. “Sad news about Amos.”
“You knew him?” I asked.
She nodded. “From my days at the Backseat. He liked lap dances from the young ones. Passed out his business cards, just in case they got in trouble on the way home or needed a ride.”
“I thought he was such a fine Christian.”
She smiled and said as she walked away to serve another customer, “Everybody has to let off a little pressure.”
While she tended to customers, I jotted down notes on cocktail napkins, sticking them in my shirt pocket.
“Walker, this is off the record, right?” Eva asked when she came back.
“Completely,” I said. “This is all background, but I’ve had a few beers and don’t want to forget anything.”
Showing her a napkin, I added, “Your name isn’t anywhere on this. I always protect my sources.”
She handed me soda water with a lime. “I don’t
