Lost Witness Read online

  Just when he thought he would die, he broke the surface, throwing his body high into the air like some great, breeching fish. He fell back and sank again, but not so far and not so fast. Twice he went under; twice he rose. Finally he began to swim in earnest. The salt water stung his eyes and blurred his vision. The current tested the strength of his strokes. With his head up, he could hear the commotion on the ship behind him. Turning on his back, he tread water and looked at the Faret Vild. The captain had turned on the kliegs. The ice-white light strafed across the water making it glitter. He dove deep when it came close and propelled himself forward with a breaststroke so that no one above could see the surface ripple. When he came back up he was out of range of the light. Rolling on to his back, he flung out his arms and legs and floated, resting for as long as he dare. A few minutes later, when the Faret Vild turned the lights out, he began to swim again.

  3

  Day 1 @3:30 A.M

  Sparkle stood in front of the cloth-covered hole in the wall that passed as a dressing room doorway. She was wrapped in a short red kimono and was checking out the house while she waited for Cat Nip to finish her last set.

  The house was as the house always was: nearly empty. Tonight even the losers looked like losers. The two guys at the bar could have been twins: wrinkled, worn, stubbled, and dirty. The stubble was permanent; the sad eyes and the stooped shoulders were the legacy of a lifetime of being invisible to the rest of the world. The crud under their nails, embedded in their clothes, and worked into their skin was one of two things: fish guts if they were still trying to make a living mining the seas, grease and oil if they repaired machinery or drove a truck. Sometimes men like that were soiled with both guts and grease 'cause the ocean in this neck of the woods was almost played out. In order to survive they would pull in a pitiful catch, sell it off quick to local retail or restaurants, and then turn around and tinker with the ancient motors on rotting scows. The gruesome twosome hunched over the bar had their backs to the stage. Even Cat Nip's signature pole climbs and inverts didn't interest them, and that was saying something. Cat's inverts were about the best Sparkle had ever seen.

  The guy sitting front and center with a shot of Jack was impressed though. He hadn't taken his eyes off the dancer since she hit the stage. Every once in a while, when Cat really put her mind to it and crushed the pole between her thighs, he let out a bark and whacked the small round table with a big, meaty hand.

  Yeah. That's what I'm talking about.

  Oh, baby. Ba-b-eee.

  Cat smiled full on, feeding the beast, twirling harder and clutching tighter. Sparkle shook her head at such a waste of energy and talent. The guy making a scene was a longshoreman. His hair was razor cut, his clothes pressed, and he had the smell of money about him. Guys like him made a damn good living, especially if they pulled overtime and worked holidays. Still Sparkle wouldn't give him or his buddies a second look. Their goddamn brotherhood arrogance was bad enough, but when you figured in the stupidity of grown men needing a union to tell them when to work and when to piss, it was not an attractive package. There was no creativity in what they did. No decision-making. No courage. They were muscle-bound pussies. Just that morning when she was having breakfast at Mike's place, Sparkle heard that the union negotiated a new deal calling for rest breaks every half hour and limiting the weight any one of them could carry.

  If she weren't a lady Sparkle would spit or else show 'em how real work was done. Instead, she took a swig of her Smirnoff and wished Deaf Gary, the bartender, could get it through his head that vodka needed to be chilled. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers and one of the perks of the job was an open bar as long as you drank the house spirits. That suited her just fine because booze was like mother's milk to her. Sparkle never worried about the consequences of drinking her fill because she never got drunk: not when her stepfather plied her with liquor when she was twelve in the hopes of getting in her little girl pants, not when she was twenty and the assholes at the factory where she worked thought she was an easy mark, and not now when she was at an age where it was best she worked more in shadow and soft light for the pleasure of men who couldn't hold their liquor.

  Oh, my, my, my.

  You are pulling some shit now, sweetheart. Whoeeee.

  The guy with the razor cut groaned like he was about to come, and then Sparkle saw why. Cat had dropped off the pole, turned prettily on the postage stamp stage, and ended up on her mark, smack-dab in front of Mr. Longshoreman. The dancer was looking at him like she was in love, dangling her girls like low hanging fruit, and he was damn near salivating wanting a piece of that. Sparkle shook her head and drained her glass. A hook up with that dude would be nothing more than a couple nights of bad sex and a black eye to boot. She thought to tell Cat, but the girl was too young, too horny, and too ambitious to listen to reason. She would learn the hard way and be smarter for it. No richer, but smarter. Pity experience counted for nothing these days, or Cat would have listened.

  Sparkle wouldn't have a guy like that for all the money in the world, not him, and not the fishermen either. Or mechanics. God save her from mechanics. They thought pleasuring a lady was like taking apart an engine one quick screw at a time. Truth be told, there wasn't a man in the world could get Sparkle's attention anymore. Her nether regions had been closed for business for a good long while, and she didn't see a grand opening in her future. Not that anyone would be able to tell 'cause she was damn good at her job. If all went well, the guy with the bucks would be stashing a few bills in her G-string while the two at the bar would sit up, take notice, and go home happy for seeing her special brand of T & A. That always felt good, a few bucks of appreciation and seeing a worn man's eyes spark a bit as he remembered what a real woman looked like. Acrobatics may get a man to open his wallet and his little friend to stand at attention, but a slow burn kept it going through the night and into their dreams.

  Sparkle set aside her glass just as the longshoreman let out another whoop. He clapped like a grinder's monkey, and then held out a bill for the girl on stage. Cat turned, thrust out a hip, jiggled her titties, tented her fingers on her knees, and did the bunny dip. He threaded a twenty through her G-string, trying to pull it wide as he did so. Sparkle smiled when Cat swayed to the side just at the right moment. The man lost his grip and the elastic snapped against her hip. Pro though she may be, Cat wasn't heartless. When she saw it was a twenty, she showed her appreciation by bending over, giving him a toothy smile and tossing her hair. Her lips moved as she said something sweet. He laughed but not at whatever Cat had said. He laughed at his good fortune because the girl's beautiful big breasts were so close he could have licked them. By the time Cat was done, the union stooge was drooling. She stood up, dipped once more, and came up for air with another five. That was a helluva big night in this place. The young stripper pranced off the stage on her leopard patterned, ankle strapped, four-inch platforms.

  "Twenty-five and a date." She flipped her bills under Sparkle's nose.

  "Gerard will boot you for sure if he catches you dating the clientele," Sparkle said.

  "Yeah, well let him. He's never here anyway, and it's not like girls are beating down the door to work in this rat hole," Cat said.

  "Oh, honey, there's always someone wantin' your job even if the job's to shovel shit," Sparkle said. A second later her music pulled up. "Here we go."

  "Good luck," Cat said.

  "No luck needed," Sparkle assured her.

  Cat giggled, took the robe from Sparkle, and put it on. Sparkle rotated her shoulders and then threw them back, ready to close the place down for the night with something special.

  "Now you'll see how it's done, honey."

  With that the older woman walked out on stage to the mournful, erotic, opening bars Nights in White Satin. She went directly to the spotlight, paused, posed, and waited for the right beat.

  "Oh, yeah, grandma."

  The guy at the table hooted at her and clapped his big, fat hands togethe
r twice. Sparkle ignored him. She was in her space, ready for her moment. This wasn't just her job; this was her art. Screw him if he didn't get it.

  The music swelled and even the two men at the bar turned to look. When she had their attention, Sparkle moved. She was thirty-seven and still a beautiful woman, but time was tugging on the parts that used to make her a fine living. Her hair wasn't as lush as it had been once upon a time, but it was still long, and golden, and it shimmered under the stage lights. Her face was a perfect oval, her skin alabaster, and her cheekbones were high, but there were lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Those eyes of hers weren't quite as bright nor her lips as full as when she was twenty. Still, in the right light, she reminded a certain kind of man of his first love, the girl who got away, the one who ended up marrying someone else and had kids that should have been his. The two men at the bar saw it. The longshoreman had never loved anything but himself, so he missed the one thing that set Sparkle apart from the other girls who danced in places like this.

  No matter.

  She knew. . .

  She knew. . .

  She was the one who got away if only for a moment.

  The music swelled, and the lyrics rode the wave.

  . . . Never seeming to end. . .

  Sparkle raised her arms and her breasts lifted.

  . . . Just what the truth is. . .

  Her left leg swung out in front of her and she twirled on the toe of her Lucite shoe, moving slowly, gracefully until her back was to the pole and the pole became her lover. She turned again and this time Sparkle wrapped her hands around the cold metal and caressed it. Sparkle didn't climb, she never had. Instead she moved her hips this way and her legs - clasped at the knees - that way.

  The men at the bar looked like they might weep as they watched her.

  The man with the fancy hair was leaning close to the stage, close enough to be reeled in.

  . . .Oh, how I love you. . .

  Up, up, up came the music, gut wrenching, flooding into a body's core, pulsing at the groin, making the heart so lonely. It was the kind of music that felt like foreplay and the last chords would be better than any climax a human being could experience. Sparkle faced the audience as she slid down the pole, her legs opening, her feet turning out for balance. Her G-string was silver lame and when she made that move the light caught the rhinestones that she had glued to the crotch.

  "Baby, oh baby."

  The longshoreman was near whimpering now. He was hers and she hadn't even broken a sweat. She twirled to the pole and put it between her breasts. Her tight ass - now the finest thing about her - undulated to the rhythm. She was thinking that she was even going to best Cat on tips when this guy got around to showing his appreciation.

  The song rolled on: slow, dark, and sexy. Sparkle was into her next turn, her thumbs already hooked into her G-string as she readied herself to move upstage and tease the man at the table. That's when she realized there was someone new in the mix. Someone quiet. Someone watchful. Sparkle changed up the routine and turned, trying to spot him.

  She made the next turn last longer.

  Another look and still she didn't see him.

  The third time she tagged him. He was in the back of the club, just inside the door. He cut a striking silhouette but not in a good way. Sparkle danced upstage, keeping him in sight. He could be a homeless guy looking for a place to rest his bones, or a crumb of food to get him by, or a drink to warm him, but that's not what her gut was telling her. Sparkle's gut was telling her this guy was bad news. Not dangerous, just bad news. She slowed her dancing and lowered her arms.

  "Song's not over." The longshoreman pounded the table. "Get back to it."

  "Shut up," Sparkle said.

  She walked to the edge of the stage, and blocked out the spotlight with a hand to her brow. One man at the bar swiveled, his eyes following her gaze. He nudged his friend who also looked at the man standing in the dark.

  "What the hell. Keep going." The longshoreman whined. "I said keep dancing. I paid good money—"

  Sparkle whipped her head his way and gave him exactly as much time as he deserved.

  "I'm not going to tell you again. Shut up."

  The guy at the front table was as thick as an anchor, and Sparkle was done with him. She stepped off the stage. He started to reach for her; she walked on by. He turned, the legs of his chair scraping on the old linoleum and slung his arm over the back. Cat had come out of the dressing room clutching the kimono tight. Sparkle passed the guy at the table and at the same time the silent man took a step forward, stopping before he came fully into the light. Sparkle stopped too.

  "You okay, mister?" she asked.

  "Fuckin' homeless. Get the fuck out of here." The guy with the razor cut lunged for Sparkle. "Come on finish up. Get back up there."

  Sparkle caught his hand. It was soft and the feel of it turned her stomach. She threw it away.

  "Don't you touch me," she said. Sparkle took two more steps and locked eyes with the guy who had come in from the cold. "Mister? You need help?"

  Now she could see that he was young and light haired, wet, and shivering. He smelled of the sea - not of fishing but of the sea. He had a boot on one foot and a sock on the other. He was tan but whatever happened to him made him bone-white underneath his skin. Maybe he'd fallen off a cruise ship, maybe he had tried to kill himself jumping off a pier, or maybe he was one of the dead rising up from Davy Jones's locker. Whatever he was, Sparkle had never seen anyone like this before.

  She looked around for James, but the bouncer was nowhere to be seen. Not that she could blame him for catching some Zs in his car. The last time they needed him was when the owner, Gerard, had gone off on one of the girls and that was five years earlier. So it was Sparkle and this kid, and she was good with that. His clothes clung to him so she could see he didn't have any weapons. He didn't even have enough strength in those handsome hands of his to throttle her. Still naked save for the G-string and her see-through shoes, still standing tall, Sparkle went closer and saw that he didn't have anything in those blue eyes of his except exhaustion. When she was close enough to touch him, she put her fingers on his chest near his heart. He shivered and the shiver turned to a spasm. To his credit he remained upright, but Sparkle didn't think he would stay that way for long.

  "It's okay, honey," she said.

  "God damn vagrant, stinking up the place. . ." Behind her the longshoreman made to get up, ready to kick a guy who was already down. The song had ended, so it was just his ugly voice filling up the place. Sparkle shot him a look over her shoulder and said:

  "Less you're leaving, you best sit your butt back down."

  "Not before I throw his ass out —"

  Sparkle turned so fast her breasts swayed side to side. Her hands went to her hips, her pretty chin jutted out and her eyes crinkled showing all the years of her life in the wrinkles that fanned out to her hairline.

  "I said you got two choices. Sit down or take that fat ass of yours out of here and don't come back."

  "Stupid bitch."

  He looked around, hoping for kudos from the other men. Confused when he saw no one was on his side, he sputtered and spread his nostrils like a bull with a spear in its back. That was to be expected. He probably never had a naked woman take charge before. Finally he grabbed his jacket and started past her, but the old stripper put an arm out to block him.

  "Settle with the bar."

  She gestured toward Deaf Gary who was watching a basketball game on TV, reading the crawl, oblivious to everything. All the while she kept half an eye on the young guy who was still standing there like he was waiting his turn. The big man dug in his pocket, tossed a twenty at her, and went out the door. He knocked the kid in the shoulder as he went. When the door slammed Sparkle went for the kid.

  "Come on, baby, let's get you dried off."

  She took his arm with one hand and waved the other toward the bar. One of the patrons tapped Deaf Gary on the shoulder. He look
ed around, saw Sparkle, and waited for her to tell him what she wanted. Since he wasn't totally deaf, just damn hard of hearing, she only had to raise her voice.

  "Bring me a double Jack. No ice."

  "Jack'll cost you, Sparkle." Deaf Gary called back, louder than necessary since the stripper's hearing was just fine.

  "Yeah, yeah," she said as she started the young man walking, talking soft to him, telling him that he was going to be okay. "Come on, buck up. I don't want anybody to call the cops on you."

  With that he yanked his arm out of her grasp and backed away. Sparkle took a step back herself because she saw that she had been wrong. He was dangerous. He had a knife. She didn't know where it had come from, but he held it like he knew how to use it.

  "Okay, baby. Looks like you don't want me to call the cops neither," she said.

  "A car. I need a car," he said. His desperation was painful to hear.

  Sparkle locked eyes with him. The seconds passed. His gaze never wavered and neither did the hand that held the knife. Sparkle would bet her bottom dollar that whatever he was up to was life and death, and that was a thing that could tip even a good man over the edge. Knowing she didn't want any trouble, assuming this pretty young thing didn't want anymore than he already had, Sparkle sighed. She closed her mouth and shifted her lips left then right as she reasoned things out. When she reasoned that, while he had a knife, he also didn't have much piss or vinegar left in him. She gave him one last going over and said:

  "Aw, hell. Put that thing away. I'll give you a ride."

  4

  Day 1 @ 6:30 A.M

  He didn't tell her anything: not his name, not why his clothes were soaking wet, not where he'd come from, and not why he had pulled a knife. Sparkle had tried to find the answers to all these questions, but eventually she gave up. She coaxed two stiff shots down his gullet, and he picked at a couple of cold chicken wings Deaf Gary donated to the cause.