Mike, Steve, and Elana came in a few minutes later and were seated at the table nearest to ours, but even closer to the back exit. I guess if I saw our quarry, and one or more of them tried to make a break for it, our agents’ job would be to cut off their escape.
While looking around the club for our wayward leprechauns in disguise, I couldn’t help but notice that more than a few of the men in the club were looking at me. Maybe I was being overly sensitive, but it seemed to me like Elana and I were getting more attention wearing clothes than the women on the stage who were one step up from starkers. You’d think they’d never seen women before, at least not any with all of their clothes on. Either that or they liked the idea of women watching other women. Pervs.
I’d put on the super spy gadget sunglasses, so at least I wouldn’t have to make eye contact with them. They’d probably think I was embarrassed that my date had brought me here. While my glare would have been worthless, with or without the shades, my partner’s was in perfect working order. Men looked once, found themselves on the receiving end of Ian Byrne’s I-will-kick-your-ass scowl, and hurriedly looked away to find more interesting things to occupy their attention.
“If you’re concerned about your safety—” Ian began.
A man that bore a disturbing resemblance to a hundred-year-old Danny DeVito scurried back to his table counting out a handful of ones. I felt my lip curl. Either the bartenders made change, or Fairy Tails had its own ATM that spit out small bills.
“I’m more worried about the contents of my stomach,” I told him.
Though what I could use more than a handful of Tums were earplugs. The music was so loud it felt like the fillings were being vibrated out of my teeth, and the flashing disco lights were either going to give me a seizure or the mother of all migraines.
After my first scan of the club came up empty for leprechauns, I made myself at least glance at the dancers. Why not? I was wearing sunglasses that weren’t sunglasses, and could look without anyone, including my partner, seeing me watch. It was kind of daring and dangerous when I thought of it that way.
Cinderella had traded in her glass slippers for Lucite stripper heels, and her shoes weren’t all that see-through. Though after less than a minute of watching her perform moves with a pole that I wouldn’t have thought physically or gravitationally possible, I realized that I was a lot less embarrassed than I thought I’d be. I mean, let’s face it, the dancers had all the same boobs and bits that I had, just more of the former and were more imaginative with the landscaping and decoration of the latter.
But mainly they all looked bored. Sleeping Beauty was dancing like she was still asleep, or wished she was. And Cinderella looked like she was thinking that midnight would never get here. Their lips might have been set on smile, but their eyes said their minds were elsewhere. Maybe sorting laundry—don’t wash silver pasties with that hot pink G-string again. Or the bald guy drooling at the front table made one of them remember to pick up a honeydew melon at the store tomorrow.
They were the ones with their lady bits on display, not me. If they didn’t care, why should I be embarrassed? Stripping was a job, just like any other, except strippers could write off waxing on their taxes. When I thought about it like that, none of this was really that big of a deal. Speaking of taxes, SPI must have a creative accounting department to be able to slip things like strip club cover charges past the IRS as a business expense.
Did Ian think about it in a similar way or was he just that disciplined? He hadn’t gotten all that desk flair from letting anything affect his focus. Or maybe he simply preferred his women with factory-original parts rather than aftermarket enhancements. I took a quick glance down at my girls. As far as I could tell they weren’t anything special to look at, but at least I’d rolled off the line with them.
I glanced back up to find Ian Byrne—the senior agent at my new employment—watching me checking myself out in a strip club.
Oh, sweet Jesus.
Ignoring him—and the shadow of a smile I detected and any thoughts that may have been going on behind it—I resumed doing my job, scanning the club for leprechauns. And rogue goblins.
I saw plenty of hootin’ and hollerin’ men, but what I didn’t see where any horny leprechauns or greedy goblins, and I was frustrated by the former, and quite frankly relieved at the latter.
I leaned toward my partner. “You said we were gonna have goblins.”
“They’re the most likely competition.” Ian’s alertness increased by ten without his moving a muscle, including his lips. Impressive. “You see any?”
“No, but I’ve been wondering what we’re gonna do if or when they do show up.”
“Unless they’re standing between us and a leprechaun, we’ll just keep an eye on them. It’s a free country, and unless they break the law, that’s all we’ll do.”
“And if I see a goblin with a leprechaun?”
“We will encourage the goblin to mind his or her own business.”
“And if their business happens to be catching a leprechaun?”