Grit
As he stood on the balcony of his room at the Sunset Hotel, a cigar in his hand and the city of Las Vegas spread out in front of him, all Grit could think about was that kiss. He’d lost control—he knew that. The plan had just been to get in the private room, arrange a meet-up, and get the hell out. But once he was there with Honey, just the two of them, her body clad in nothing but that thin little robe, he’d worried that he might not be able to help himself. Sure enough, once she started dancing and getting close, something inside of him had taken over. Truthfully, he’d wanted more—much more. But at the last moment, he had been able to scrape together a little bit of restraint and had gotten out of there before he gave in too much to his desires.
“What you think, boss?” asked Stone from inside the room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. “You think she’s gonna show up?”
Grit turned and rested his body against the balcony railing. Stone and Razor were seated in the luxury suite, each of them a little unsteady on their feet from their night of drinking. Grit was a little disappointed—not one of them had come back to him with any information on the possible goings-on of the club aside from just reports that things looked suspicious. But it wasn’t entirely his crew’s fault—if that place was run as smoothly as Grit got the impression that it was, then they wouldn’t let anyone poking around a little bit see anything that they shouldn’t.
“She’ll show,” said Grit, taking another sip of his whiskey.
“You sound pretty fuckin’ sure about that,” said Razor. “She’s just a fuckin’ stripper after all; she’d probably say anything to anyone paying as much money as you paid her.”
Grit knew that Razor wasn’t talking out of his ass—strippers weren’t exactly the kinds of girls to keep their word, especially when it came to possibly endangering their source of income.
“She’ll show,” said Grit.
“If you say so, boss,” said Razor.
Then, as if on cue, a chime sounded in the room—the sound of the front desk trying to contact them. Grit walked over to the intercom and pressed the blinking button.
“Yeah?”
“Mr. Gallagher,” spoke a woman’s voice through the speaker. “There’s a woman here to see you.”
“Send her up.”
Grit turned to the men and made a motion with his head for them to leave.
“Just me and her,” said Grit. “You boys go hang at the bar.”
“Sure we can’t stick around?” asked Razor. “Wouldn’t mind seeing this piece of ass up close and personal.”
“Plenty of pieces of ass downstairs to get your hands on,” said Grit. “And this one might be freaked out if she comes into a room with three fuckin’ bikers waiting for her, two of them lookin’ at her like horny high-schoolers.”
“Sure, sure,” said Stone.
The two of them left, and Grit freshened up his drink and took another puff of his cigar. A few minutes later, a soft knock sounded from the front door.
Keep your shit in check this time, thought Grit to himself. Keep your fuckin’ hands off of the girl; doesn’t matter how good she looks.
He opened the door and, sure enough, it was Honey. She was dressed in an outfit of a simple, fitted light blue T-shirt and blue jeans that accentuated her every curve. Grit could tell that she wasn’t dressed to kill, but with a body like hers she didn’t have to try hard to look damn irresistible.
“Hey,” said Grit. “Come in.”
“Hey,” said Honey, clearly nervous about what was happening.
Grit shut the door behind Honey and watched as she entered the room, holding her purse close.
“Let me get you something to drink,” said Grit, stepping over to the bar.
“Oh, no,” said Honey. “It’s fine.”
“You’re shaking like a damn leaf,” said Grit. “I know this is all strange, but you’re not in any danger. A drink will do you good.”
“Okay,” said Honey, now sold on the idea.
Grit made her a vodka cranberry and took a seat in the chair across from where Honey ha sat down. He reached over and handed her the drink, and as soon as it was placed in Honey’s hands she took a long sip.
“See?” said Grit.
Honey smiled a bit and seemed to relax a little.
God fucking dammit, she looks good, thought Grit. Gonna be hard to focus. But I really wouldn’t mind giving that bed a workout.
“So,” said Honey. “You want to tell me just what’s so important that we just need to meet?”
Grit nodded.
“Before I tell you what’s going on, I need your word that not a word of what we talk about leaves this room.”
“Wait,” said Honey. “Are you a cop or something?”
“No,” said Grit. “Not a cop.”
“Then what are you? And is ‘Grit’ even your real name?”
“Guess that’s as good a place to start as any,” said Grit. “Grit’s my real name, and I’m the president of the Vegas Vandals, a motorcycle club in this town. And as far as what we need to talk about, the long and fuckin’ short of it is that I have reason to believe that your strip club is operating as some kind of drug distribution center.”
“What?” asked Honey, so surprised that it looked like she might drop her drink. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You hear about that strain of bad shit that’s been going around the city? The one that’s been killin’ junkies left and right?”
“I have,” said Honey. “Something like a hundred dead in the last month.”
“That’s right,” Grit said, nodding. “My crew’s been lookin’ into that. See, we do distribution, but we make sure that our shit’s clean and pure. Got no interest in people dying off of our shit. And besides, dead customers don’t come back for seconds. Meanwhile, some crew’s been moving in on our territory. Not only have they been selling where they shouldn’t be, they’re also pushing shit that’s killing people. So, my boys and I are gonna put a stop to it.”
“And you think Fantasies is where it’s all coming from?”
“That’s where the evidence has been leading. We were there tonight to scope out the place for information, and you struck me as the type who might be open to helping us out.”
“Oh, really?” asked Honey. “And what makes you think that?”
“I’ve known more than a few strippers in my time. Most of them are damaged goods from the get-go, and the rest harden up from the life pretty quick. Between the easy money, the drugs, and the men who give those things to them, the girls are usually lost causes after a while. You, on the other hand, have something different. You’re not hard—I could tell just by looking at you.”
Honey looked away and sipped her drink. Grit could tell that her words were ringing true.
“But … so what?” she asked. “So what if my job’s selling drugs? What difference does it make to me? I can just go there and work, and just pretend that it doesn’t even happen. Maybe I could even turn you in and get some money.”
“You could try that,” said Grit. “But I’ve seen enough of the drug trade to know that no one, not even those working in the front business, gets out clean. Even if you don’t find something out that you shouldn’t and end up looking like a liability, even if you don’t get shot in some gang violence that spills over one night, even if you don’t end up hooked on that shit that they’re pushing, you might one day end up on the wrong side of some cop looking to toss some accessories in jail to fill his arrest quota. You’re gonna get caught up in this, one way or another. At least with me and the rest of the Vandals, I can promise to keep you safe. And when we’ve gotten the info we need, I’ll pay you fifty thousand in cash. You can take the money and start a new life, away from all this shit.”
“And,” said Grit. “You’ll be doing the right thing, if that matters to you. We get this shit off of the streets, and that’s junkies that aren’t gonna be dying when they shoot that poison into their veins.”
Honey finished her drink in one gulp, now apparently realizing that she was totally in over her head.
“What if I just got up, left right now, quit my job, and never said a word about this to anyone?” she asked.
“It’s too late,” said Grit. “You quit that abruptly and your bosses will be doing everything they can to bring you back on board. And if you say no, and they get the impression you’re saying no for the reasons they’re afraid of, then they might just decide that you’re a liability that they don’t want to deal with. Trust me—this is the best chance you’ve got.”
“And … what do I have to do?” asked Honey. “I’m not a spy. I can barely make up excuses for being late for work without my face turning red and sweaty.”
“You’re gonna be my eyes and ears in that place,” said Grit. “The best part is that you’ll just have to keep doing what you’re already doing. Only difference is that you’ll be checking up with me and my boys every now and again. And we’ll pay you for each meeting on top of the fifty that you’ll get when we’re done with you.”
Honey shifted in her seat; she knew that she was stuck.
“Let me say again: this is the best deal you’re gonna get.”
She looked away, weighing her options briefly. But Grit knew that he was right.
“Fine,” said Honey, taking a deep breath. “I’ll do it. But I don’t want to have to betray my friends.”
“Are you friends with any drug dealers?”
“No.”
“Then don’t worry too much about that. Trust me, this is just going to be about you keeping your eyes and ears out, letting me know if you see or hear anything suspicious. I’m not gonna make you do anything that you’re not equipped to do. No sneaking around like James Bond or something.”
“OK,” she said, looking a little more relieved. “I think I can do this.”
“Good,” said Grit, getting up. “Then we’re done here. My boys will meet you outside and make sure that you get home all right. Sound like a plan?”
“Sounds like a plan,” confirmed Honey, setting her drink down and getting up.
Grit walked over to the door of the hotel room and pulled it open.
“I’ll be in touch.”
“That’s it?” asked Honey.
“What else were you expecting?”
“I … don’t know,” she said, not sure how to answer the question.
Grit nodded. Honey got up and walked out the door, her scent lingering in the air as she passed.
Goddamn, though Grit, she smells good. Like licorice and sex.
Once she was gone, he shut the door. All he could think about was how he hoped that he hadn’t put the poor, naïve girl on the path to destruction.
***
Sure enough, a pair of beefy bikers, both tall, tough-looking, and covered in tattoos, were waiting for Honey in the lobby.
“You all done with the boss?” asked one of them.
“I think so,” said Honey. “He said that he’ll be in touch.”
“That’s right,” said the other biker. “Boss texted us while you were on the way down. Said to give you our numbers.”
“Oh?” asked Honey.
“Yeah,” said one of the bikers. “I’m Razor and this is Pitt. We’re gonna be your contacts during this operation.”
“Really?” asked Honey. “I thought that I was going to be working with Grit on this.”
Pitt snorted.
“Why would you think that? Grit’s the president; he’s got enough shit on his plate to worry about.”
“Don’t worry, darlin’,” said Razor. “We’ll take good care of you.”
Honey was led out the front doors of the lobby to a large, silver SUV that awaited them. The two men climbed into the front and driver’s seats, opening the door for Honey first. She got into the back and was a little surprised by just how nice the car was.
“Nice wheels,” said Honey.
“We spend most of the time on our bikes,” said Razor. “But we like to ride in style when we gotta ride anything with four wheels. Where to?”
Honey gave them her address and they were off. The neon lights of Vegas at night passed outside of the car windows, and Honey stared at them listlessly as they drove. She felt stupid for feeling this way, but she couldn’t help but wish that she was going to be working with Grit.
Sitting in the car and sinking into the seat, her mind drifted back to the kiss that they’d shared earlier. It was … unlike anything she’d ever experienced. The way he tasted, the way he smelled, the way his hands felt as they caressed her body—all of it lingered in her thoughts. Part of her wished that during their meeting he would’ve just thrown her down on the bed and finished what they’d started.
Oh well, thought Honey. I guess the guys are right—I shouldn’t expect for a president to be working so closely with someone like me. I’m just some stripper, after all.
After a time, they arrived at Honey’s apartment complex. It was a run-down little affair, a building wrapped around a big parking lot and with a dull pink paint job that hadn’t been kept up with. Honey could afford a little nicer of a place, but she wanted to save her money. Still, it wasn’t the happiest place in the world to come home to.
“Here we are,” said Razor. “Let me walk you up.”
Razor walked with Honey to her door and let her in. He gave the place a quick check.
“That necessary?” she asked.
“Boss’s orders,” he said. “Doesn’t want to take any chances. Feels responsible for you now, I guess.”
He headed towards the front door.
“Let us know the second you see anything we might be interested in. And always, always, tell us if you think you’re in any kind of danger. We look out for our own.”
With that, he shut the door. And as soon as he was gone, the kiss that had been preoccupying Honey all night returned to her thoughts, like some kind of a lovely, waking dream.