The Game (Tom Wood)

EIGHT





From the archway glowing with ultraviolet light, the unshaven young guy with the big grin emerged with an even bigger grin. He walked a little awkwardly. The dancer followed a few paces behind him. She used her fingers to comb the knots out of her hair extensions and had a look on her face that said it was just another day at the office. Her eyes met with Victor’s as his gaze swept her way and she smiled, practised and sultry as though he had brightened her life with his mere presence. He didn’t need to gesture for her to head in his direction.

She had a slow, awkward walk because her skin-tight dress hugged her legs to her knees and let only an inch of air pass between them. She was no older than twenty, with hair so blonde it was almost white. Her skin was a deep caramel colour. Her smile widened as she grew closer to Victor, recognising the quality of his garments and speculating on the limit of his credit card. He made sure to smile back and stare lustfully for the benefit of the two watchers. He held open the chair next to him, patting the seat with his palm for the dancer to sit beside him.

‘I’m Claudia,’ she said as she sat, one manicured hand immediately resting on his nearest thigh.

‘Alfred Schule,’ Victor said back.

‘Pleasure to meet you, Alfred.’

He let her ask him a few pointless questions that were designed to relax him and make him feel as though she was genuinely interested in what he did for a living and where he lived, and not purely concerned with how much money he might spend on her. He played along and soon she was laughing at everything he said.

‘I need you to do something for me, Claudia.’ He took his wallet from his jacket and placed some cash on the table, watching her gaze lock onto it. ‘I want you to slap me across the cheek.’

She smiled despite her confusion. ‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘I want you to slap me as hard as you can. As though I’ve stepped out of line. Then I want you to grab a friend and tell her to entertain the man in the sportswear near the bar. I’ll buy him a dance.’ He placed some more cash on the table. ‘And I’d like to pay you to make sure the man with the briefcase sitting in the corner has a similarly good time. I want you and your friend to make them feel extra special. Tell them it’s on the house because they’re first timers. And they’re both pretty shy, so don’t take no for an answer. Okay?’

She looked at him and back to the cash and then nodded. ‘Sure, whatever you want. It’s your money.’ She scooped it off the table. ‘But I’d really rather dance for you.’

‘Another time, perhaps.’

She folded the money and slipped it under her dress. She frowned. ‘Are you sure you want me to slap you?’

‘Hard as you can.’

‘No one’s ever asked me to slap them before. On the face, at least.’ She laughed. ‘I’m not sure I can do it.’

‘Don’t think about it. Just do it.’

‘Hard as I can?’

‘Yes, please. Slap me. Hard as you can.’

‘Are you sure?’

He nodded. ‘Pretend I’ve insulted you or tried to grab you.’

‘But you seem like a nice guy.’

‘Trust me, I’m really not.’

She raised her right hand a fraction and her gaze fell to his cheek. She tensed and frowned but didn’t slap him.

‘I can’t do it.’ She laughed again.

‘But if I asked you to strip naked, you could do that, right?’

She didn’t answer. Her smile faltered.

He said, ‘Is taking your clothes off the absolute limit of your skills?’

The bait and tone worked.

It was a good slap.

She caught the side of his face with the entire inside of her hand, her fingertips making contact between his cheekbone and ear, her palm spread across his cheek. She was no stranger to slapping, and knew how to put her weight into it. The result was a significant sting to Victor’s face and a notably loud noise. He felt moisture form in the corner of his eye.

She glared at him and stood.

He sat looking sheepish as she sought out a friend. He didn’t need to check to know both watchers would have seen the incident. He bought another drink from the bartender and sat back down with it at his table, knowing the watchers would see him do so and expect him to remain in the club for at least as long as it had taken him to drink the first orange juice.

He took a sip and noted Claudia making her way over to the guy in the suit with the briefcase, while another dancer headed towards the one in the sportswear. They were both predictably good at their jobs, and having already been paid for their services, were fast and efficient in their actions. The two watchers didn’t try to turn them away. They had to go along with the attention, or else risk identifying themselves as men who weren’t interested in strippers and therefore shouldn’t be in a strip joint.

Victor waited a minute, until both watchers were sat with their hands on their thighs and their knees apart, while the women danced between their legs and on their laps, their writhing bodies and swaying hair impeding line of sight.

He stood and headed for the exit, knowing it would only take ten seconds until the watchers noticed he was gone. But that didn’t matter. They couldn’t hurl the dancers away for the reason they couldn’t say no in the first instance, and similarly they couldn’t send an update through their throat mikes with a woman on top of them.

He figured he had a thirty-second head start. He only needed twenty.

The doorman saw him approach and opened the door for him.

Victor nodded his thanks and said, ‘I’ve got a feeling there are a couple of guys back there who are going to try and slip out without paying.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Just thought I’d give you a heads up. One’s in a suit, the other in sportswear. They came in separately but I think they’re a team of con artists.’

‘Oh, right. Thanks for the information.’

‘You’re very welcome.’

‘Have a good day, sir.’ The doorman looked very pleased the dull afternoon shift was about to liven up.

Victor emerged onto the street outside. The sun stung his eyes a little after twenty minutes inside a dark club. He saw his ‘wife’ straight away. On the far side of the road a woman stood in front of an antique store. Her dark brown hair, chestnut where it reflected the sunshine, was tied up. She wore casual clothes – jeans and a corduroy jacket – and had a large patent leather handbag over her left shoulder. She wasn’t tall and that told Victor a significant detail about her. He couldn’t see her face, because she had her back to the road as she seemed to browse the furniture and ornaments in the store window – an action that let her watch the strip club’s entrance via its reflection in the glass. He saw no other potential watchers nearby. She was alone.

The weak link.