Slash

 

The Red Club is such a shithole inside, so it seems to me to be an obvious choice for something as skeezy as a live auction of virgins. I mean, all these guys having to pay for sex… it’s just wrong. Me, I’ve never had to resort to paying a hooker or anything like that. I’ve always been able to get what I needed without exchanging money.

 

Oh, there have been drinks bought and shit like that, but I’ve never actually had to exchange money for sex. Because, y’know, fuck that shit. No, I’m not here for the girls, although the first ones that come up are kind of cute, even if that librarian thing isn’t really my style. I’m here for one reason and one reason only: to find Marcelo and see if I can get something on his stupid ass.

 

He clearly hires idiots who are dumb enough to blab about this auction in public, so the way I see it, whatever I find on him, and whatever happens because of it, it’s on him. He’s too stupid to see what’s staring him right in the face.

 

As I enter the dingy, dimly-lit dive, I scan the room to see if I can find the short little man. I don’t see him; he’s probably in the back doing… whatever it is you do before an auction of virgin girls. It still seems weird to say that, or even think it, but that’s what’s happening here tonight, so I might as well get used to it.

 

I give up scanning the room and order a drink at the bar. It’s all rot-gut swill, but it’ll do. I get myself a whiskey and sit there, watching these fucking animals all going apeshit over the girls that are coming out. It’s really rather disgusting to watch them hoot and holler. I mean, I’ve been to strip clubs and stuff, and I’ve been with plenty of women. But I’ve never been one to think this kind of trashy thing was cool.

 

Marcelo, on the other hand, clearly is. Just another reason to find something on this scumbag. It’s just… skeezy. I note with some amusement that the first couple of girls don’t go for very much. Good. It serves them right. This is quite the spectacle, too: they’re dressed like sweet girls, but sweet girls don’t come around places like this, and sweet girls don’t go for guys like us. That’s fine – but the ridiculousness of it all makes me chuckle to myself. I’m sure they’re all selling a fantasy, too. I’ll bet half of them aren’t even virgins.

 

By the time the third girl gets up there, I’m already bored, but the boys around me are just getting started. There’s a lot of hootin’ and hollerin’ for the girl that gets up next, and she does some kind of acrobatic act before the bidding starts. That seems to set the guys off. They go batshit crazy and start bidding like mad. She ends up going to a husky guy with a long beard and sunglasses.

 

Good riddance. Enjoy yourself, sweetheart.

 

The next girl gets up there, and my jaw almost hits the ground. She’s wearing a Catholic schoolgirl outfit, her panties just peeking out a bit so that it gives the hint of dirtiness. She does a seductive dance while the master of ceremonies is introducing her, complete with stripping off her jacket and revealing an ample set of tits underneath her sweater vest and white collared shirt.

 

This seems like an even bigger act. I think I’ve seen it in a music video before. The bidding starts at a grand, and there’s some back-and-forth for a good long while. It’s pretty disgusting, but then, what was I expecting? They get up to five grand pretty quickly, and then the bids start slowing down.

 

I can’t imagine how much cash guys have brought here. Me, I always travel with a lot of cash on me, but that’s only because, in my business, you have to carry, or you could find yourself up shit creek without a paddle. But these guys are starting to get up there – six grand, seven grand, eight grand.

 

The girl gets more and more excited as they approach nine G’s. She gets off the stage, and the emcee comes back out. I only now notice what he’s been wearing this whole time. The creep-o is decked out in what I can only describe as psychedelic carnival barker – he has a big floppy top-hat with the American flag colors on it, like something you’d get at a carnival, to go along with his white shirt and leather pants. It’s bizarre. Everything about this whole night is bizarre.

 

Marcelo must be one twisted dude to host a party like this. But it is what it is, and I’m here, so I start scanning the crowd again, seeing if I can see anybody who resembles the pictures I’ve seen of Marcelo.

 

At just that moment, the emcee announces he’s got a new girl coming out, and I turn out of morbid curiosity to see what’s going to come out of the back. What does is… incredible. While most of the girls tonight have been babydoll cute, this one is… hot. She’s got on black leather pants and a black shirt with her tits practically hanging out, and her hair is done up all messy and frizzy, but intentionally so, so she almost looks like a girl in an 80’s hard rock video.

 

I’m a sucker for that kind of thing. But what really sets her apart is her smile. She’s got this nervous but determined smile plastered to her face as she waves at the hollering crowd, and I’m transfixed. The girl, whoever she is, has got her hooks in me... and, apparently, in every other guy in the joint.

 

A hushed silence immediately after she comes out is followed by all kinds of whooping and stomping of feet. The guys really dig this girl, so she does a little twirl, almost like she’s embarrassed to be there, but it’s clear she wants it, just by the way she’s moving her hips. There’s no way in fuck she’s a virgin.

 

I watch as she struts her stuff on stage. She’s got a bangin’ body, a great ass, really great, big tits, and legs that go all the way down to the floor, especially in those tight-ass leather pants. But I keep coming back to the smile. It’s not any woman who can get me with her smile – I’m usually looking at other stuff.

 

This is something else.

 

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m up close to the stage, about one row of guys back. When the bidding starts, I look around at the guys doing the bidding. They’re all skeevy fucks. Probably all Tattooed Angels, too. But this kind of girl deserves better than that. I see them getting excited as the bidding starts going up – three G’s, four G’s, five G’s, all within the first minute.

 

A few of them start backing off after that, but two guys insist on going at each other, one trying to outbid the other. Six G’s… seven G’s… eight G’s. They’re still at each other by $8,500. And they both look like scumbags. One has a big spider web tattoo on his bald skull and looks to be missing a few teeth, probably from a bar fight. The other is a huge, chunky dude, his belly falling out over his jeans.

 

This girl deserves better. I feel like I’m possessed, out of control of my own body, when I suddenly stand up, out of nowhere, and look directly at the master of ceremonies.

 

“Ten thousand,” I say, raising the bid from nine grand.

 

Both guys look at me, staring hard, trying to suss out who in Christ’s name I am and what I’m doing there. In fact, I feel the eyes of every son of a bitch in the joint on me, as if they’re all just waiting for me to do something, or they can’t believe I’d be so bold, or something. I can’t believe I’ve just done that.

 

I realize instantly that I might have blown my cover. They might figure out I’m with the Savage Hearts. If that happens, they’ll know I’m there to spy on Marcelo – it only makes sense. They’re going to take me down, and one of these nasty-ass motherfuckers is gonna go off with this beautiful girl.

 

I can’t believe it, but neither can the emcee because he winks at me and says into the microphone, “Holy shit, boys, we have a ringer here up front! The bid is ten thousand dollars, gentlemen. Do I hear eleven? Eleven thousand?” He looks hopefully to the two guys in the back.

 

The tattooed guy shakes his head. The fat one looks like he’s thinking about bidding, and I hope to Christ he does because that would take me off the hook. But he doesn’t, finally shaking his own head and waving his hand with irritation.

 

“Okay then,” the emcee says, “how about ten-five? Ten thousand, five hundred dollars? C’mon, boys, tell me this hot piece of ass isn’t worth it?! Ten-five? No? Okay, ten thousand going once… ten thousand going twice… ten thousand it is, to the high roller up here! Congratulations! What’s your name?”

 

I have to think fast as he thrusts the microphone in my face. “Er… Mike,” I say quickly.

 

“Mike?” he asks suspiciously. “Well, fuck it, who cares? We’ve got more girls coming up, boys. Who’s ready to say hello to Jacinda?”

 

I don’t notice whoever the hell Jacinda is because, at that moment, I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s some guy with a clipboard, beckoning me to follow him.

 

“Ten thousand, eh?” he says when we’re out of earshot of the emcee and his nasally, droning voice. “You must’ve really been inspired. Hey, what’d you say your name was?”

 

“Uh, Mike,” I tell him, doing my best to lie through my teeth. “Mike Redd.”

 

“Weird fuckin’ name, Mike Redd.”

 

“Well, my momma gave it to me,” I say through clenched teeth. “You wanna make something of it?”

 

At this, he surprises me by laughing. “Naw, man, naw. I just wanted to get a rise out of you. All right, Mike Redd, now, are you with an MC in town?”

 

I shake my head. “Just passin’ through and thought I’d have myself a good night.”

 

“And you ended up here?”.

 

“It was intentional.”

 

“Who told you about this little… event?” he probes.

 

Shit, I think, what was that stupid motherfucker’s name from the other night? I parse my memory, trying to pull out a piece of info as best I can. “Uh… Andre,” I say finally, thrilled a bit that I managed to pull something off like that.

 

“Andre told you?” the guy says disbelievingly.

 

“Didn’t say he told me.” I grin at him. “I said that’s who I heard it from.”

 

“Ah, well, that’s a whole different story. But if you’ve got the finder’s fee for me, we can be all done here.”

 

“What’s that?” I ask, concerned.

 

“Oh, the finder’s fee, you know… We take ten percent of whatever you bid, up front, and the ten G’s go to the little lady with the v-card.”

 

“Fuck, that’s… fuck.”

 

“You do have the money, don’t you?” he asks a little menacingly.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I got the money,” I say, pulling out my wallet and counting out ten hundred dollar bills for him.

 

“Damn, son!” he exclaims. “Usually, our boys pay in twenties! I see you come prepared. You said you’re here from out of town. Where at, exactly?”

 

“Billings,” I say without missing a beat. “That’s Montana. On my way out to see my sister in Virginia.”

 

“That’s a hell of a long haul.”

 

“I like the open road,” I respond, staring right into his eyes.

 

“That’s fine, that’s fine,” he babbles. “Okay, now, you know the rules, right?”

 

“The rules?”

 

“No marks, no bruises, no violence of any kind. Anything happens to that girl, we’ll find you, and we’ll kill you.”

 

“You care about the girl, huh?” I ask, and my question is actually sincere. I’m surprised that these bastards give a fuck about a girl like this at all.

 

But Clipboard shakes his head. “Her? Naw, she just came around for the first time today. But we do care about our reputation. And if you have problems playing nice, you hit our reputation. And we ain’t having anybody fuck with the reputation of the Tattooed Angels. You got me?”

 

I nod.

 

“Good, good,” he says, putting a plastered smile on his face. “Now, my friend, let’s go get your merchandise, shall we?”

 

“Don’t call her that,” I say with a little menace in my voice.

 

“Why not? That’s basically what she is, ain’t it?”

 

“Just don’t do it again.” I sneer.

 

Clipboard puts his hands up, on the defense. “All right, man, all right, you got it. Now, how about we introduce you to… Erin!”

 

The girl comes out looking flushed and nervous. I can tell from the way her makeup runs just a little bit around her eyes that she’s been fighting off tears and has reapplied her eyeliner recently. But then she flashes me that smile, and my world just kind of melts around her. She’s got something about her, some kind of bewitching spell she’s put on me.

 

“So,” I say to her, feeling more than a little bit awkward, “you ready to get the fuck out of this shithole?”