Skin Trade

I was still trying to keep the door in my peripheral vision, though I was pretty sure that neither Max nor Bibiana would want to mess up the front of the club. They’d hide the dirty laundry.

What had she meant about my dreams? I pushed the thought away and tried to push that itchy feeling between my shoulder blades away, too. I wanted to sprint for the far door, but we were pretending, and that means you blend in, so I pretended to help my drunk boyfriend through the crowd. Though I knew that Edward was watching everything and would go from this act to action in the blink of an eye.

A hand came out of nowhere and tried to grope my breasts. I had grabbed his wrist and twisted before I’d had time to think.

“Hey,” he said, and his face had that soft, confused look of the very drunk.

Edward leaned over my head, leering drunkenly, “Mine,” he yelled.

“Sure, man, sure,” the drunk said, as if it had been Edward who’d protected my honor and not me. Maybe if I shot the drunk he’d look at me as if I were a real person, but that would probably be overkill for one attempted grope. It wasn’t the grope, though, it was the attitude that the women weren’t real; none of us in the club were truly people to most of this crowd. I’d seen it with the female customers at Guilty Pleasures and how they treated the male strippers. Dancers weren’t quite the same as real people, or you’d never be able to act like you do at a club. It was probably one of the reasons I had never been comfortable at one of them; even before I was dating a stripper, I never forgot that everyone was real.

We stopped at the little bar/gift shop area and bought me a T-shirt. It was white and had Trixie’s in swirling script right across the breasts, but it was better than the black one with the nude girl in the martini glass on the front.

“Nice fit.” This from one of the dancers who was wearing a short robe and, since it was open, proving that it was all she was wearing. She had short brown hair and an open, pretty face, like the high school sweetheart that everyone’s supposed to have but never does.

“Thanks,” I said. If the T-shirt had fit any tighter across my chest it would have ripped like the Incredible Hulk’s pants.

She moved closer, stroking her hand down my side, not exactly touching my chest, but the edge of it all. “Come to the stage, I’ll give you a lap dance for free.” She gave a smile that managed to contain both i

Edward drew me into his body with a slightly sloppy movement and gri

She smiled at him, bright, lovely, and empty as a lightbulb. I had a smile like that for difficult customers. She switched to flirting with him, putting an arm as far as she could with the backpack in her way. “Promise.”

“Oh, yeah,” and he laughed.

The dancer leaned in and whispered, “Ask for Bria

I nodded. “I’ll remember.”

Her hand lingered down my arm until we actually held fingertips, as Edward pulled me toward the outer door. We got outside, and Edward kept up his drunk act for half a block; then he straightened and we could walk normally. “I know you attract wereanimals and the undead, but now human women. What was that all about?”

“Let’s find a dark alley and you give me all my weapons. I’ll re-arm and explain.”

We did what I suggested. It was the part of town that had a lot of dark alleys. He handed me the first layer of holster, and the re-arming began. “If you can get a female customer to shed some clothes while you’re playing with her, the men love it. You can make a lot of money.”

“The old lesbian fantasy,” he said.

“Yep.” I had the Browning’s holster with its extra ammo, and the big knife down the spine settled in place. My backpack next, tightened enough so it didn’t move around.

“She seemed to like you better than she liked me,” he said.

“You noticed that, too.” I had the MP5 dug out of the backpack, where it didn’t quite fit, and on the tactical sling around me. “I’ve seen it with some male dancers; even the straightest of them can get pretty disgusted with the way the female customers act. I imagine it’s the same for the women with the male customers. If your experiences are bad enough, it can turn you a little bisexual.”

“Interesting; does that go for some of the men in your life?”

“I think the sexuality of the men in my life was set before anyone of them started working as strippers. Besides, only Nathaniel and Jason actually strip, and Jason is just our friend in bed.”

“What about Jean-Claude?”

“He doesn’t strip anymore.”

“He does get on stage, Anita. I’ve seen him offering kisses for money.”

That was a fairly recent act of his, and the question made me look at Edward. “When were you in the club to see his act?”

He stepped out into just enough light that I could see that smile. The one he used when he knew something I wanted to know, but he wasn’t going to tell me.

“Are you spying on us?”

“Not exactly.”

“What exactly?” and my voice was just a little grumpy.

“I don’t trust him, and just in case one day you decide you don’t trust him either, I just want to know what’s happening in St. Louis.”

“Don’t treat Jean-Claude like a mark, Edward.” I had all my weapons in place and had stepped away from him, given myself a little room.

“Is that a threat?” he asked.

“You’re the one spying on one of the loves of my life. I’m not coming into Do

He nodded. “Fair enough.” But his voice was careful, cold.

I heard a car stop before the light hit the mouth of the alley. I shielded my eyes. Edward stepped back farther into the shadows. If it had been an ambush, I’d have died, and he wouldn’t. There are still moments when his more standard training and my learn-as-you-go method show the holes in my education. I tried to fade out of the light and into the shadows, but the light followed me.

“Hands where I can see them, right now!” A male voice, very serious. Then belatedly, “Police.”

Other way around would have been better, but I had already done what he wanted before he added it. I was pretty sure about the police part before he said it. I clasped my hands on top of my head without being told, then moved, slowly, so that the badge on its lanyard would catch the light, or that was the plan. I was carrying some serious, visible firepower. If I didn’t know me, I’d be nervous, too.

Edward stayed where he was, invisible in the shadows. Hell, I knew he was there and had to stare to see him. How did he do that? But I had other things to worry about, like the nervous cop.

“Come out, slow.”

I did what he said, hands still firm on my head. I did try to identify myself. “U.S. Marshal. I’m a U.S. Marshal.” He didn’t seem to have heard me the first time.

“On your knees, now!”

Either he couldn’t see the badge, or the amount of weapons he could see made him blind to anything else. I guess I couldn’t blame him. It was probably the MP5, or maybe the visible tac vest, or maybe the two hand-guns, or shit, all of it. I was loaded for monster, which meant I was way overloaded for human.

I dropped to my knees, trying not to hit too heavy; no need to bruise. I did keep trying to talk to him. “I am U.S. Marshal Anita Blake; I am serving an active warrant of execution.”

“On the ground, now!”

I’d caught a glimpse of the gun silhouette aimed at me. I got on the ground, wondering what Edward was pla