“Maybe she got her period,” Jesse said. “Can’t dance if she’s bleeding.”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I got up and started to walk away. Darryl tugged my elbow.
“Where you going?”
“To piss. Be right back. Save me a beer.”
Nodding, he turned his attention back to Lakita, who’d managed to win over the crowd. I headed for the bathroom.
The men’s room at the Odessa was filthy, and I hated it. After the first time I’d used it, it was easy to understand why we’d seen guys pissing in the parking lot. The parking lot was much nicer. Cleaner, too. The restroom had three urinals, three commode stalls, and two sinks. All of them were covered with grime and stains. The toilet seats were pitted and loose. They wobbled when you sat on them. One of the urinals had a leaky pipe, and there was usually a pool of water on the floor beneath it. A paper towel dispenser and a condom machine hung on the wall, along with a cracked mirror. The linoleum floor was pea-green and my shoes stuck to it. The toilet stalls and the walls were the same sickly color as the floor.
There was an old guy using the urinal on the left. He leaned against the wall with one hand, drunkenly swaying back and forth. About every fourth drop of piss hit the floor, rather than his intended target. His nose whistled when he breathed. Ignoring him, I picked the urinal on the right, putting one between us for distance, and hurried to do my business. I tried not to step in the puddle beneath the urinal. I wondered again where Sondra was, and why she’d missed her set.
The wall was covered in graffiti. People had etched it into the paint with keys and knives or written on the wall in everything from black marker to shit. Some of it looked very old—ancient hieroglyphics from the late- Nineties. Other missives looked fresh. None of them had ever been painted over, as far as I could tell. They’d been left for posterity, I guess.
The old man flushed and walked out of the restroom without washing his hands. I didn’t blame him. The urinals were probably cleaner than the sinks.
As I pissed, I read the wall. Some of the graffiti looked like Russian. A few of the letters were written backwards. ‘
Finished, I shook myself off, zipped up, and turned the sink on with my elbow. I was afraid to touch the knob with my hand. There was a layer of black scum and pink hand soap on top of it. I rinsed my hands off under the water, and then used my elbow to work the lever on the paper towel dispenser. It was empty, so I wiped my hands on my pants.
As I was heading out the door, a bouncer pushed past me and charged into the bathroom. I had to slink against the wall to avoid being run over. He paused, then turned around and looked at me.
“You see girl inside?”
His accent was thick and I had trouble understanding him at first. He leaned closer. I could smell his cologne.
“Girl,” he repeated. “You see her?”
“In there?” I shook my head. “Just me and an old guy. Maybe she’s in the stalls?”
“Da.” He started to turn away.
“Who you looking for?” I asked.
“No one. You go back to table. Enjoy show. Look at pussy. No worry.”
He walked over to the stalls. Shrugging, I let the door swing shut behind me and made my way through the crowd. There was a lot of commotion. Most of the bouncers had disappeared. I wondered where they’d gone. Whitey was standing outside his office door talking to Otar. They leaned close together. Whitey kept jabbing the bigger man in the chest with his finger, shouting something in Russian. Even though Otar was twice his size, he seemed scared of Whitey. The bouncer headed for the front door. He seemed worried—the first expression I’d ever seen on his stone face. Whitey scanned the crowd. His eyes lingered on me for a moment before moving away. I didn’t like how they made me feel. I hurried to the table and sat down. Lakita was on her second dance, gyrating to the latest by Fergie.
“What’s going on?” I asked Darryl and Jesse.
“Don’t know,” Jesse said, “but it must be something important. The bouncers took off backstage and Whitey looks pissed as shit.”
“About what? Was there a fight or something?”
“Nope.” Jesse shook his head. “Who knows? Maybe one of the girls stole some money or something.”
“Got to keep his pimp hand strong,” Darryl said, his eyes never leaving Lakita.
“You like that?” Jesse asked him.
Darryl grinned. “I hate this fucking song, but damn if she don’t make it better.”
They laughed. I tried to join in, but found I couldn’t. My stomach hurt. I felt tense. First Sondra hadn’t come out. Then that shit with the bouncer in the bathroom. There had to be some connection—but what? Even the other strippers seemed nervous. They kept glancing around the club, looking over their shoulders, distracted. Cowed. There was definitely something serious going on. Something bad.
After that, the fun seemed to go out of the evening. The Odessa’s atmosphere became muted, its energy drained. The customers didn’t clap as loud, didn’t tip as well. The dancers moved slower. Even the DJ seemed off, stepping over songs and fucking up the mix. Darryl and I finished our beers, and left the rest for Jesse to drink.
“You guys taking off?” His voice rang with disappointment.
“Sorry, man,” I apologized, “but I can’t stick around. Darryl needs to go in.”
“Damn straight,” Darryl said. “And so do you, Larry. You keep taking off work to look at pussy and GPS is gonna fire your ass. Besides, your girl ain’t here anyhow.”
Jesse twisted the cap off another beer. “She probably got tired of you stalking her and bailed.”
“Fuck you both. Twice.”
We said goodbye to Jesse, told him to be careful driving home, and then we left. Otar wasn’t at his usual spot. In fact, nobody was watching the door. More proof that something was up; people could just walk in now without paying. Definitely not business as usual. When we got outside, I saw why.
The moon was out and the sodium lights hummed and buzzed. Despite the illumination, it was still dark and shadows lurked between the cars. Whitey, Otar, and the rest of the bouncers were walking around the parking lot. Several of them had flashlights in hand, training the beams on the ground, looking for someone or something. One bouncer glanced at us briefly, but otherwise they paid us no attention. I heard Whitey grumble something in Russian. It sounded like his mood had worsened.
Darryl drew closer and whispered, “Maybe somebody was out here breaking into cars.”
“I hope not.” Immediately, I thought of my iPod. I’d put it in the glove compartment, but if a thief had broken into the Cherokee, they’d probably find it easy enough. “Shit.”
As we got closer to the Jeep, I sighed in relief. The windows weren’t broken and the door wasn’t ajar. The tires weren’t slashed. No signs that vandals had scratched it with a key or anything like that. None of the other vehicles looked like they’d been broken into either. The Russians continued searching the lot, walking slowly up and down between the rows of cars, shining the flashlights along the ground. They didn’t speak. Only Whitey remained motionless, standing in the middle of the lot and watching their progress. The moonlight sparkled in his white hair.
