Dark Rain: 15 Short Tales by J. R. Rain Read Free Book Online Page B

through the broken door…
    And headed to the strip club.

    It was midday and as a creature of the night, I wasn’t yet at full strength.
    However, I had feasted on Nancy just the day before—practically hours before she had been killed.
Bad week for Nancy.
I came up to the strip club’s back exit, the very exit that I suspected Nancy and her killer had used, what, twenty to thirty minutes ago.
    The door was locked, but not for long. I’d yet to come across a lock that could keep me out. Or any vampire, for that matter. And no, I didn’t need to be invited in. When would I ever get any shopping done? Or go anywhere, for that matter? Who would invite me into a mall? Or the gas station? Thank God that little factoid had been debunked. It was bad enough that I couldn’t see myself in a mirror. I didn’t want to have Anthony running into the Walmart or Target to get the managers to invite me in, too.
    I paused and scanned my surroundings, making sure no one was directly behind the door. The space was empty. Good thing, because when I was done kicking it in, the whole thing slammed back in a clanging cloud of dust.
    To hell with invitations,
I thought, and stepped into the strip club.

    The crash got the attention of two strippers, both of whom came rushing out, and both of whom were bouncing in places—never mind.
    I pointed to their changing rooms and they stared at me, then at each other, then bounced off and slammed their respective doors shut.
    At least they’re street-smart,
I thought, and pushed through the back hallway.
    Music thumped. Lights flashed. And on the stage gyrated a completely nude, skinny, tattooed girl whose mother and father probably wept into their pillows at night. Hundreds of white lights were focused on the stage, around which one-dollar bills had been tossed, with the occasional fiver thrown in for good luck. Or a hope for more of a show.
    It was midday—hell, not even one p.m.—and the place was nearly half full.
    I’d been here before, back when I had applied for a job—long story—and I knew the layout fairly well. It wasn’t much: in the center, a raised stage. Single brass pole. Chairs encircling the stage, filled with bored, mildly turned-on, middle-aged men with nothing to lose. The girl on stage was completely nude, gleaming with sweat and looked, unbelievably, like she was enjoying herself. Dancing and cavorting and slinking and spreading, she seemed, well, into it.
    Like they say, love what you do.
    I shook my head and continued surveying the room. No one took an interest in me.
Maybe because I had clothes on.
The Hispanic bartender leaned a hip against the back counter and watched the dancing girl. If I had to guess, his mind was elsewhere. Working here, day after day, night after night, year after year, how many naked women had he seen? How many had it taken him to begin losing interest? Or, was it even possible for a guy to see too many naked women? I didn’t know, but his blank stare suggested it as a distinct possibility. Rick, the manager of the joint, was at the bar, his back to the dancer. Rick had, I think, the thickest neck I had ever seen. Even thicker than Kingsley’s.
    There were, maybe, twenty customers. Most were seated around the stage. A handful were in the back booths. Single guys, sitting alone. Not talking. Hating themselves but interested in naked flesh even more.
    From the back room to my right, emerged a man with short, slicked-back dark hair. From all appearances, freshly cleaned up. Refreshed, even. He nodded to a bouncer type standing guard outside what I knew to be the private rooms. Or the sex rooms. The big guy returned his nod. The two looked, well, like they had a secret. I doubted the big black guard knew it extended all the way back to a murdered stripper. If I had to guess, the big bouncer had arranged for Nancy and this guy to be alone just outside of the club… and by arranged, I meant paid nicely.
    But as I watched the exchange, growing