An Unattended Death, Part Five
By Stephen B. Bagley
The oil boom brought a lot of fast money and outsiders to western Oklahoma. It had also brought more vice as adult bookstores, adult video stores, and “gentleman’s clubs” sprang up near the oilfields.
After the bust, most of them went out of business as oil field after oil field shut down. Counties and cities, notably Oklahoma City, zoned most of the remaining ones out of existence. But the Stuttering Rooster survived. On the Interstate near Ryton but outside the city limits, it catered to truckers, foolhardy college students, roughnecks, rednecks, bikers, and anyone else with ready cash and a desire to see REAL LIVE GIRLS PERFORM EACH NIGHT.
I had driven past it before, but never stopped. No, really, I hadn’t. It intimidated me, all those huge trucks and motorcycles and the garish neon that outlined the building. And with images from TV shows running around in my head, I could only imagine what went on inside.
In the half hour that it took me to drive there, I tried to figure out why I was going. It was my only lead to Marlene, but even if I found her, what would I say? And why should she talk to me?
One thing at a time, I thought. I’d check and see if her car was in the parking lot. If it wasn’t, I’d go back home. If so, then I’d decide what to do if anything.
It was about six or so, but the parking lot was already half-filled. I drove around, trying to see her car. I found a couple of red ones that could be hers, but I couldn’t be certain. There was only one way to find out.
They charged $15 to get through the door. The bored over-blown blonde who took my money explained there was a two-drink minimum. Yikes. This wasn’t going to be cheap. I could hear a country-western party song booming.
I stepped through the swinging doors. A huge man sitting on a stool glanced over at me. He didn’t look friendly. The floor had sawdust scattered around. I made my way to the first booth I could find, almost stumbling in my haste to find a corner. The cigarette smoke made my eyes water. I sneezed several times. Yeah, I was Mr. Cool.
On a small stage an insanely flexible woman danced around a pole. Her pasties were white stars, her thong was blue, and her high heels were red. Apparently a girl with strong patriotic feelings.
A waitress wearing a denim miniskirt, a red hat, and white cowboy boots came to take my order. I ordered a Coke.
“You still have to pay drink price, honey,” she said.
“That’s okay,” I said. “Go ahead and bring me two of them.” Might as well get that two-drink minimum out of the way.
“Ooo, I’ve got a hot one here,” she said, flashing a smile that revealed a gold tooth.
I smiled back. What was I doing here? I looked around for Marlene. I didn’t see her, but if she was a performer, maybe she was on break.
The waitress brought my Cokes. I handed her a twenty. She gave me a ten back. Ouch.
I raised my Coke, and on the edge of the glass was the unmistakable print of someone’s lips.
Okay, I wouldn’t drink anything. As my eyes adjusted and I could see the Rooster’s interior more clearly, I realized I would need to burn all my clothes as soon as I got home. And I would need to bathe in bleach.
Several girls wandered around the tables, asking men if they wanted to buy them a drink or wanted a lap dance.
A redhead asked me. I just shook my head, not trusting my voice not to squeak. I needed to get out of here. This was no place for a Baptist boy.
Marlene stepped out of a door across from me. She was dressed as a waitress, but she didn’t carry a tray. Instead, a large leather purse was draped across her shoulder. Two men followed her out and left without looking back. She wandered around the tables, stopping to talk to three or four men scattered around the room. I couldn’t see her clearly due to the crowd and smoke, but it seemed that men were giving her envelopes that she placed in her purse. She would take something out of the purse and slide it to them. I couldn’t tell what it was, but it had to be drugs. She wasn’t really making much attempt to hide it. Obviously she felt safe in this place. So the management had to be in on whatever was happening.
I caught a tough looking guy looking at me. He had on a leather cap, leather vest, leather pants, and leather boots, all in black. His eyes gleamed above a huge black moustache. I hunched over my Coke, but couldn’t bring myself to actually drink it. I glanced up. He was heading directly toward my table. Either I was about to get killed, or receive a really awkward date proposal.
This was the reward for being too curious.
He sat down and thrust his face toward me. I shrank back.
“What are you doing here?” he growled. “And I’d better get a good answer if you know what’s good for you!
I stared at the man behind the huge black mustache. The mustache was new, but the face wasn’t.
“Ron?” I asked.
“Be quiet!” he snapped. “What are you doing here?”
“I come here all the –”
“Try again,” he commanded.
“I –”
“Never mind,” he said. “I want you to leave right now. Go outside. Get in your car. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Don’t try to run off. You’re going to answer my questions here or at jail. I don’t care which.”
I rose and walked outside. I passed by Marlene. She never looked up. So much for questioning her.
As I sat in my car, I began to wonder what the penalty was for interfering with an investigation. Probably I was going to be arrested. Apparently curiosity not only kills cats, but it puts people in jail, too.
Ron jerked open the car door, startling me out of a year’s worth of hair growth.
“Okay, let’s hear it,” he commanded.
“I like the look,” I said. “Sort of a low-rent Village People. And the mustache looks real. Did
you put it on with glue?”
“I’m in no mood for a smart ass,” he snapped. “How would you like a ride to jail?”
“Sorry.”
He shook his head impatiently.
I took a deep breath. “I was here to talk to Marlene.”
“About what?”
“I wanted to ask her about Aaron.”
“Why are you so interested in him?” he asked. “What’s it to you?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think there’s something more to it.”
“Why?” he asked. “What are you holding back?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I don’t know anything more than what you told me, but I keep feeling like there’s something more, something I should ask you, but I can’t figure out what that is.”
He looked at me a long time, then said, “Okay, I can buy you being nosy, but you’re out of this. There are things going on here that can get you killed. We don’t need some amateur mucking things up. You’re out, understand? If I catch you nosing around this again, you’re in trouble.
Trouble with a capital T.”
I wanted to say, “Right here in River City,” but I doubted he’d appreciate the quote from The Music Man.
“Okay,” I said, “but I wanted to tell you I saw Marlene taking money in there and giving them little packages. I think it’s drugs.”
He sighed. “Really? Besides me, there’s at least four other officers in there, not counting a couple from the OSBI. Somehow we’ve figured it out without your help.”
“So you’re going to arrest Marlene,” I said.
“She your girlfriend?” he asked. “Otherwise, not your business.”
“Look, you were the one that told me you thought Aaron’s death had more to it,” I said.
“Yeah, and I’m sorry I did,” he said. “Keep your mouth shut about this. Marlene worked a deal. She’s narcing on the others. She knows she’s being watched. We going to let it run for another day, and then we’re going to gather them all in.”
“What about Aaron?” I asked.
“What about him?” he echoed. “Look, he was a junkie. He died. People do that when they take drugs. Let it go.” He got out of my car. “Just go home. Go home.”
So I went home.
Later that night as I got ready for bed, it finally occurred to me what I should have asked, the question that had been sitting on the tip of my tongue for the past few days. It might not mean anything, but if it did, it cast Aaron Brody’s death in a whole new light. It would also mean someone lied to the police about what really happened.
Heir to the Warrior Queen
