Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Happy Trails: An Unedited Short

Happy Trails

            The lights were flashing in loud colors of pinks, and purples; the music thumping at eardrum splitting levels. I was sitting in a darkened corner; back against the wall watching the blonde performing on stage.
            For months there had been rumors the clientele at the Happy Trail were getting more than just a show from the dancers, and now after hundreds of man hours of surveillance, interviews, and undercover intel I'd been given the green light to break the case wide open.
            When the dancer left the stage clad in nothing but a piece of crack floss; I stood and discretely followed at a safe distance. I'd have to get through the boss first, and I'd been doing my research. Catching the eye of the brunette sitting in a well guarded corner booth, I nodded my head toward the dancer.
            A man who looked like he should have played football for the Seahawks stalked toward me like a Sherman tank. “Ms. K wants to talk business.”
            “What a coincidence, so do I.” I refrained from breaking his wrist when he put a meaty hand on my shoulder, and I allowed him to lead me to the woman in charge.
            “Frisk her, Fonzo.”
            I was glad I'd left my gun in the lock box of my SUV, and hoped he wouldn't find my credentials hidden in the cup of my bra. When he'd finished his exploration of my body I had the passing thought he should have bought me a drink first.
            “So, you're interested in Marc.” It was a statement, She knew I was or I wouldn't have been there.  “He'll discuss the particulars of any transactions, and any compensation for his time.”
            I nodded. With a flick of her hand the tall man who'd been on the stage sauntered toward me with a boyish grin on his face. I thought that in another time, another place we might have been friends. Unfortunately, my career wouldn't allow much in the way of friendship with a man who was about to get arrested for prostitution.
            “Hello, Marc. I'm Sare. Wanna get out of here?”
            “Sure, but it'll cost ya.”
            “That's fine. I'm good for whatever your price is.”   
            We walked through the club, and out into the darkened alley.
            “How much for the night?” I asked.
            “Depends on what your pleasure is.”
            “Whole night. Everything,” I said.
            “Fifteen hundred.”
             Damn, maybe I was in the wrong line of work.
            “Deal.” I reached into the collar of my shirt and removed my credentials at the same time as the black and whites pulled up. “You're under arrest for the solicitation of sex, and bad taste in stage wear.”
            “You're a cop?”
            “No grass growing there, Marc.”
            “It's okay, someday you'll look back at this day and laugh.”
            “Think when that day comes we could be Facebook friends?”
            “Sure,” I said. “Why the Hell not?”


  1. I like the subtle humor in this piece.

    Would like to invite you to take a look at the The Rule of Three Blogfest ---a month-long extravaganza in the fictional town of Renaissance this October, with some great prizes, comment love, and of course, a lot of exposure and constructive feedback for your writing.

    Any genre welcome...I can see a romance short story as your entry to the Blogfest!

  2. ROFLMAO...this didn't have visuals last time I read it. Nor was I reading it at work! I forgot how funny it was. Thanks for sharing.

  3. I dont understand why I have to be the stripper...

  4. Damyanti: I'll look into it. Thanks for the invite.:)

    KK: I had to find a visual. Glad it made you laugh... even if it made your boss stand up to look over his monitors at you...

    Marc: Now, don't sell yourself short... you weren't JUST a stripper... you were a prostitute too. ;)