Forbidden Fantasies Bundle(24)

“Thanks,” he said, grabbing a flyer. The club’s name—Moons—rang a bell. Had there been a drug bust there? Arrests? The photo looked like Samantha’s work. He’d already noticed the salon walls held framed pictures labeled Photo by Bedroom Eyes, Hair by Shear Ecstasy. Good advertising, he guessed. Samantha had a good concept. Too bad she’d established it in a mobster’s lair.

“Bring a friend,” the choreographer added, winking. “Your mother, even. It’s a very tasteful show.”

“Great.” He nodded, folded the paper and tucked it behind the camera in his pocket. Though Sylvestri had declared Bedroom Eyes prime, the salon seemed to have its share of racy clientele. He’d keep his eyes and ears open. Where there was smoke, there was fire.

“Can I help you?” the first hairdresser called to him. Tall, thirtyish, she held up a square of foil. Metal stuck out all over the head of her customer, a redhead, who looked wired for sound.

“If you’re Blythe, yes,” he said, pushing deeper into the fog of hair spray. “I’m Samantha’s assistant, Rick West.” He extended his hand.

“Welcome to Shear Ecstasy, Rick.” Blythe met his gaze as firmly as she shook his hand.

“Thank you. So, how’s your plumbing?”

“Whoa…pretty bold.” The words came from a dark-haired beauty in the next chair who seemed to be getting a strip of hair glued onto her head. The hairdresser banged her on the head with a comb. “Ouch.”

“He really means plumbing,” the hairdresser with the comb said. “I’m Heidi.” Her smile was as no-nonsense as Blythe’s. “Forgive Jasmine. She can’t resist a double entendre.”

“I had to pour Liquid-Plumr down the shampoo sinks first thing this morning, but since then no prob,” Blythe said.

“How about if I check it out?”

“If you have the right tool,” Jasmine said. “And I just bet you do. Ouch.” Heidi had popped her again. “Jeez, I’m just having fun. You don’t mind if I have a little fun, do you, Rick?”

“Not at all,” he said. Assuming it was legal.

“The builders left some toolboxes in the back, I think,” Blythe said. “Those guys are forever here and gone.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” he said, grateful for an excuse to snoop around. He found a pipe wrench in a toolbox among painting supplies in a utility room, then checked out the bathroom, the tiny kitchen and the supply room. The only thing he found of note were a bunch of newly installed cupboards.

Out in the salon, he made a big show of running water in all four sinks, then moved a chair out of the way so he could crawl underneath and pretend to work while he eavesdropped.

“I told Jackson no way on the extra show,” a woman yelled from under the dryer. The redhead, he thought, had been shifted over there. Extra show? Sex party maybe? “Duke’s birthday’s coming up and all.”

Duke? Dunmore maybe? Yeah. There had been a drug bust at Dunmore’s club. A few months back. Rick would ask Mark to track down the details. He banged on the U-joint to sound busy, listening hard.

“You’d think the incident was a promotion, not a…you know…incident.” This from Heidi. Whispered.

“Jackson’s had to beat the guys off with sticks ever since,” hair-dryer woman said.

“Beat them off? I didn’t think Jackson swung that way.” Jasmine again. “Ouch.” Heidi had whacked her, no doubt.

“We know Jackson doesn’t have much energy these days,” Jasmine said in a teasing tone. “You’ve worn our boy right out. He’s too tired to even boss us around. I had to make my own dental appointment last week.”

Could Jackson be their pimp?

Heidi giggled, sounding like any woman in love. In the ordinary world, these ladies would be talking about dates, boyfriends and cocktail parties. Maybe to them that’s all it was. Strip clubs were just entertainment, prostitution a victimless crime.

But hooking wasn’t a simple exchange of sex for money. Girls didn’t aspire to be call girls on junior-high career day. Hookers had no legal protection, no assurance of physical safety. With every trick, they risked their health, their dignity, their lives. High-end call girls who were smart could get out, but there were tremendous traps in that life. Drugs and exploitation and raw ugliness.

He had no interest in arresting these girls. He wanted the creeps farther up the food chain. He hoped the pros could get a fresh start—rehab, college or solid jobs. He gave money to United Way for programs that offered just that.