her chest taut across a pair of silicon bags. The make-up she used to hide the scars under her cosmetically-inflated breasts and below her pale pink nipples ran in sweaty rivulets down her abdomen to catch in the thick mat of curly black pubic hair at the junction of her thighs. The men in the audience didn’t seem to mind that the breasts jutting from her chest didn’t move naturally, nor did they care that the thin caesarean bikini-cut scar along the top of her pubic hair continued to remind her of the still-born daughter she’d had while a high school sophomore. Those who could still focus their eyes after an evening of drinking three dollar beers cared only that she might spread her legs for them in the privacy of a back room if they offered her enough money.
Canfield knew better. The raven-haired bitch on stage had been working the crowd between shows for months, but had never done more than a few quick hand jobs under the tables, pleasuring the lonely while whispering dirty words in their ears. It was a service he’d never requested.
He slapped a crumpled five on the bar and Carlos quickly replaced it with a cold bottle of Busch. “Last call, Mr. Canfield. You want I should open another bottle for you?”
Canfield shook his head. A line of coke with a half-dozen beer chasers had taken him just where he’d wanted to go.
He watched as the woman on stage spun her g-string around on her index finger, then let it fly into the audience. An inebriated Marine who looked young enough to have lied about his age to the recruiting officer, caught it and brought it to his face. His three older buddies laughed and hollered as he took a deep whiff of the dancer’s scent. Then she looked straight at him and licked her glossy red lips with the tip of her tongue, a seductive gesture that Canfield knew was just part of the show.
“She wants you, Eddie!” the Marine’s buddies shouted. They pushed him to his feet as the dancer made her way off stage and the music ended.
“Didn’t you see her?”
“She wants you, man.”
“Go back stage and slip her the pork, Eddie. You know she wants it.”
Goaded by his friends, the young Marine headed toward the dressing rooms in back. Carlos reached under the bar and flipped a switch. A red light flashed in the back hallway and Ben Kirkland, a squat fireplug of a man who stood just about as wide as he stood tall, prepared to meet the unwanted guest.
Canfield laughed a few minutes later when the young Marine returned, his uniform torn and his face bloodied.
“She didn’t want me, man. She didn’t want nobody,” he explained.
“Who the fuck did this to you?”
“She got a boyfriend back there? A bouncer?” The Marines stood, ready to extract revenge for their buddy’s blood.
“No man, there’s three or four of them back there. Don’t start nothing, man. Let’s just get the hell out of here.”
“What’ve you got planned tonight, Mr. Canfield?” Carlos asked as the Marines headed for the door. He knew all about Canfield’s predilection for underage girls. “Anything special?”
Canfield shook his head. “Not tonight. You?”
Carlos smiled. One of the new dancers had promised him head if he scored a little blow for her. Blow for a blow. “Could be, Mr. Canfield. Could be.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
