Read Online Cold Blood by Theresa Monsour - Free Book Online Page B

stools. The other end was thestage. Murphy saw a nude dancer swaying to Tina Turner. A boney blonde with dark pubic hair shaved into a narrow V. A glass wall separated the performers from the rest of the bar. The city didn’t allow establishments with nude dancing to serve liquor. As a way around the rule, the strip joints divided their clubs and put up the walls. They had separate outside entrances for the performance and bar areas. So the women could still receive tips, slots were cut at the bottom of the glass walls. Men slipped the bills through like they were sliding deposits to bank tellers.
    Murphy took a stool at the bar. Unzipped her jacket and set her purse on her lap. Most of the dozen customers were sitting at the foot of the stage. A guy in a booth against the wall was getting a lap dance from a skinny brunette in a bikini. Murphy didn’t see anyone she recognized; it would be easier to ask questions. She didn’t expect trouble regardless. Strip clubs tended to have middle-aged patrons—including lots of married men—and those customers kept a low profile. Rarely made trouble. The police got more complaints about bars frequented by the younger crowd; they’d spill out of the clubs and pee and puke on people’s lawns.
    An older woman with big arms and a pink face walked to Murphy’s end of the counter. Her silver hair was braided and coiled in a circle on top of her head. She wore a tee shirt that read: Cleverly disguised as a responsible adult . “What can I get you?”
    â€œBurger and fries.”
    The woman scratched the order on a pad.
    â€œAnything to drink?”
    â€œDiet Pepsi.”
    â€œNo Pepsi.”
    â€œDiet Coke?”
    â€œCoke we got. Want that now?” Murphy nodded and the woman turned around to fill a glass with ice.
    â€œChad not working today?” Murphy asked.
    The woman poured the pop and slid the glass to Murphy. “Duck hunting. That’s why I’m up front instead of inthe kitchen.” She nodded toward the dancer onstage. “I’m not big on this stuff.” She left to hand the order off to the kitchen. Murphy looked at the stage again. The dancer’s routine had switched from simple swaying to squatting with her knees splayed wide and then standing. Squatting. Standing. Squatting. Standing. The bartender returned with a towel. Started wiping the counter.
    Murphy sipped her Coke. “I suppose Chad deserves a day off.”
    â€œThat he does,” said the woman. “Works his hind end off for those boys of his. Hockey equipment ain’t cheap. The older one is a goalie. Know what goalie pads cost? My daughter’s got two goalies. Thank God her husband makes good scratch.”
    Murphy took another drink. Set it down. Stirred it with the straw. “You’d think Chad’s ex would help out more.”
    â€œDon’t know a thing about her,” said the bartender. “Never heard Chad say a word against her. Who knows? Maybe she’s playing him for a sucker.” The woman stopped wiping and eyed Murphy. “You Chad’s new squeeze?”
    Murphy: “No.”
    â€œFriends, huh? Chad’s got plenty of those. He needs a woman who can cook for him.”
    Murphy tipped her head toward the woman onstage. “Doesn’t he socialize with any of the ladies here?”
    She wrinkled her nose. “The dancers? No way. Not his type.”
    A guy in a suit took a stool to Murphy’s right. He had a drink in his hand. It smelled like whiskey. Strong stuff for lunch, Murphy thought. His eyes were bloodshot. Tie askew. He had short red hair and freckles. Old enough to be in the bar, but too young to be hitting the booze so hard so early in the day. He raised his right index finger. The bartender eyed him. “I think you’ve had enough,” she said.
    The guy turned and said to Murphy, “The responsible adult thinks I’ve had enough.”
    â€œI’d