Written for the
The 2022 "Hammered: an Ode to Mickey Spillane" Author Challenge
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This story contains graphic violence
*
The first time I met Clara Moody we were in the back of a Suffolk county sheriff's car on our way to Women's Correctional.
I didn't pay much attention when they put her in. It wasn't my first trip and I had learned to keep my head down and my mouth shut. But then she nudged my knee with hers.
"You ever watch that show, The Gilmore Girls?" she asked.
I considered ignoring her but I was curious why she had asked. I nodded and said, "Yeah."
"That was supposed to be in a small New England town, right?"
"Connecticut, I think."
I looked at her for the first time. She was cute. Somehow she managed to look girlish and hard ass at the same time.
"Okay, so where's the fuckin' meth lab? Every little town in New England has a fuckin' meth lab."
"Good point. Where's the diner where the old fuckers sit around and bellyache about how this was a great country before the queers and the coloreds showed up?"
"Why don't you bitches pipe down?" the deputy barked over his shoulder.
"Whoa. Mister grumpy," Clara laughed.
I shrugged. "Who can figure cops? They always get their way but they are still pissed off all the time."
"True that," she nodded. "I'm Clara, by the way."
She reached her shackled hand as close as she could to mine. I could just hook her pinkie finger with my own.
"I'm Janice."
"How much you get?"
"A year. Guy I was with got pulled over for speeding. He stuffed three grams of coke and an unregistered handgun in my purse. Told the cops they were mine."
"What did he get?"
"Probation."
"Fuckers."
"You bitches are always innocent ain't you?" The deputy growled. "Always blaming the husband or the boyfriend."
"Not me," Clara said, "I'm guilty as fuck." She turned to me and said, "You know how in cartoons and shit people are always bashing each other in the head with frying pans?"
"Yeah."
"That shit really works."
"Who did you bash?"
"Bitch that was fucking my ex. Busted her jaw. Put her ass in a coma, but only for about a week."
"If he was your ex, why did you care if she was fucking him?"
"I don't know, just general principles, I guess."
"What did you get?"
"Three year bid."
"Damn, that's a pisser."
"Yeah, well, she coulda died. On the bright side, she ain't gonna be sucking his dick for a while."
The deputy grumbled unintelligibly.
Clara leaned forward. "Hey, you like getting your dick sucked, don't ya?"
He didn't reply.
"Listen," she said, "If you stop someplace and get us Chinese food, I'll suck your dick."
"It will be a while before you get Chinese again," he said.
Clara looked at me. "Maybe if we both sucked his dick?"
"I wouldn't mind getting a couple of egg rolls," I said.
"You think he ever had his dick sucked by two girls?"
"You mean at the same time or in his life?"
Clara laughed, but the deputy hit the brakes and shouted. "One more word and I'll pull over and you can both suck on my fucking taser."
We were both veterans of the system. We knew when to shut up.
We arrived at the WC without getting any Chinese food or electric shocks.
As the deputy was signing the paperwork remanding us to the Department of Corrections, Clara muttered, "Next time you see some bitch biting into an egg roll, you're going to think of us."
He glowered at her, then left as we were checked in for processing.
We were assigned to different units and went our separate ways.
A week later, I saw her again.
I was assigned to kitchen duty, and spent the first week in the dish room. But the different jobs were on a rotation, and in the second week I was put on the service line.
I was standing behind the steam tables, slopping out powdered eggs. I heard a voice call out,"Yo, bitch! You got any egg rolls?"
I looked up and saw Clara, four or five spots down the line. She laughed and waved. She had a sexy little dimple on the left side of her mouth when she laughed.
She reached my station and asked, "How come I'm sweating my tits off in the fucking laundry, while you got this nice kitchen job?"
"I don't know," I said, "Maybe they didn't want you getting your hands on a frying pan."
"You are one funny bitch," she snickered. "Stay cool."
We flirted like that every morning for the rest of the week. At least, I thought it was flirting. Maybe she saw it differently. A few weeks later, I drew serving duty again. But now, she was coming through the line every morning with a tough looking little redhead.
She still said hey when she saw me, but she had a bitch now, so there was no more banter between us.
It was just as well. There were plenty of gay for the stay chicks inside, but I wasn't interested in the drama that comes with them. As long as a girl's got fingers, she can get by.
I got early release after eight months. I tried to stay clean and keep out of trouble.I was mostly successful. I still drank too much and did a little coke once in a while, but I kept away from pills and avoided most of my former friends. I figured all either would do is drag me down.
The Club Venus was hiring dancers, and they took me on. The money was pretty good. I didn't play it one hundred percent legit, but I was careful. When a couple of handjobs a week can cover the note on a decent used car, it's hard to be a stickler on the rules.
I ran into Joshua, a guy I dated for a while in high school. We started hooking up. He was working construction with his uncle. After a while we got an apartment together, a nice one on Grand Street with a view of the park.
Things were good for a while, but he started getting high more often and missing days of work. I would come home from the club and find him passed out. He told me he was just drinking and smoking weed. But I knew a pillpopper when I saw one.
When he got jammed up on an impaired driving rap and lost his license, I told him I had seen enough. I only agreed to stay with him because he promised to start going to the methadone clinic.
Of course, that meant that after a long shift at the club that didn't end until two in the morning I had to drive him to the clinic every day before he went to work. In the first couple of months, he backslid a half dozen times.
One morning I sat in the car, watching the rain run down the windshield, waiting while he dosed. I felt so weary and burnt out that I started thinking I could use a few pills myself just to be able to get through this daily routine.
When he got back in the car I looked at him long and hard. He wasn't worth it. I wasn't even into dick that much.
On the way home I told him that I wanted him to move out. He didn't argue. He packed his clothes and his video games and went to stay with his mother. As far as I know, he is still there.
Without Josh, money was a little tight. I didn't want to risk my job with more rule bending at the club, so I started doing a little bit of sugaring. I let a few of my loyal regulars know I might be available for after hours socializing.
They knew the score. A twenty eight year old stripper wasn't giving pussy to their middle aged asses for free. But I never asked for cash. Sometimes they would leave some on the table when they went home. Usually they brought me gifts. Nice clothes, jewelry, expensive liquor. Jewelry was best. I'd wear it the next few times they came over, then I'd take it to the pawn shop.
I told one of my sugar daddies that we could hang out and watch some movies together, but I had a shitty TV. Two days later, a 45 inch flat screen was delivered to my apartment.
Things were going pretty well. Not only was I able to pay all my bills each month, I was building up a little nest egg in my savings account. On my days off from the club, I would spend hours browsing real estate sites. I dreamed of the day when I could buy my own house. Or maybe one of those luxury apartments downtown.
That's when I met Clara for the second time.
I didn't recognize her at first. When we were inside together, she had dark hair, cut short, a sort of soft butch look. When she came into the club that night, it was streaked blonde and past her shoulders.
I had never seen her dressed up before. She looked better in a black cocktail dress than she did in prison orange. But who doesn't?
The guy with her was the business type. Brooks Brothers suit. Receding hairline. Square frame glasses.
It was slow for a Friday night. There was some big basketball game on TV. I had a couple of Lookie Lous watching me and a table of frat boys who seemed more interested in busting each other's balls then they were in my tits and ass. Other than that, it was dead. So the new couple snagged my attention.
Mr. Brooks Brothers went to the bar, while his chick crossed the room toward me. She stopped and stood next to the closest table. I did a few slow twirls on the poll. Each time around, I took a glance at her. She seemed familiar, but the light was dim. I still did not place her.
The man brought a pitcher of beer and a couple of glasses to table. She nudged him and held out her hand. He put the beer down, fished in his pocket and handed her a bill.
She stepped toward the stage. I slid down the poll to the floor and crawled toward her on my hands and knees. I tossed my hair back over my shoulders and looked up at her.
She shouted over the music. "Hey, bitch, you want an egg roll?"
I smiled when I realized it was her.
"Who do I have to blow?" I shouted back.
"We can work that out later."
I raised up and sat back on my heels. She reached out her hand. She was holding a twenty. She grazed it across my belly, just under my navel. I hooked my thumbs in my thong and pulled it away from my body.
She glanced down and her mouth bent in a wicked smile. There was that dimple. She slid the bill, and her fingers, down over my mound. She squeezed it, then withdrew her hand and left the twenty.
"Can you come sit with us?" she asked.
"Sure, as long as it stays slow like this."
