The Forensics Of The Origami Murders

Chapter 18

The manager's eyes drifted absentmindedly and inattentively at the jiggling crowd. Hidden behind transparent pilot shades, his gaze lingered briefly at short skirts and large breasts, blasé at the lady grinding his side. I approached the suited man guarding the VIP entry and leaned in close to his ear. A whiff of pungent cologne hit my nose.

"Excuse me, sir. I really need to see Paco."

"No can do, madam," he bluntly dismissed, holding up his arm as to prevent me from dashing past him. "The VIP area is for special guests only."

I flashed him my most charming smile. "Could you please make an exception just this once and grant me access? It's very important that I see Paco." From the corner of my eye, I noticed my objective eyeing me. I straightened, rushed my hand through my hair, and locked eyes with the person of interest. His gaze drifted off to the side.

"No can do," the bouncer replied with a firm headshake. "Mr. Mendez made it clear he doesn't want to be disturbed, and I don't wanna lose my job."

I figured it wouldn't be this easy. I put on a pretend-sad face and tucked a lock behind my ear. "Is there something I can do to... earn a spot next to Paco?"

His mouth curled up into a half-sided grin. "You wanna earn a spot, lady? Get up there and show him what you got," he advised, jerking his head at the closest empty pole dance podium.

"Impress the boss, and you might get lucky."

I'd attended pole dancing classes back home, but never got past basic and intermediate poses. And I'd never tried it with heels, or with alcohol in my system. I observed the dancers above the liquor display moving along to the beat, which at the moment was pretty decent. They kept repeating the same basic moves, nothing too advanced. If that was the standard this club held their dancers to, my chances were pretty decent. And unlike most of the clientele here, I had the advantage of not being drunk or stoned. No too drunk anyways. Accepting the challenge, I removed my hand jewelry and placed my purse next to the metal cylinder. Grabbing the pole, I made a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle, arching my back and perking my bottom up and outwards.

Moving in accordance to the beat, I did one more round to build up courage, my mind screening exercises from years ago, dismissing them one by one as either too advanced or too revealing. Stay cool, Lisa. Start with the basics. I turned my back to the metal cylinder, grabbed onto the chrome with both hands, and slowly glided against the pole until my bottom touched my heels. Still clinging to the metal for support, I extended my left leg, and traced the podium with my foot in a semi-circle, whilst simultaneously rising to an upright position. So far, so good. One arm down and behind my back, and the other up high, I started sliding down the pole again, but this time I did a wide leg squat. Doing good. But not good enough to hold Paco's attention. Trying to not think about the likely germ-infested state of the metal pipe, I hoisted myself up the shaft, threw my ankles around the pole, and climbed upwards. I didn't dare try a chopper spin, so instead I went for a carousel spin by extending my legs into a V-shape and pointing my toes. Being very aware of the draft between my legs, I let my long hair cover my face, concealing my blushing cheeks, and pretended to be someplace else. A place without a horde of spectators watching me – and quite a lot of me too. A place where I wasn't eye-candy for a middle-aged man ogling me like a lion drools at a piece of raw meat.

I bent my legs backwards, arched my back, and pulled off a near-perfect swan spin before landing on the podium with a cartwheel. The inside of my palms burned, and tomorrow I'd wake up with bruises on my arms and thighs for sure. To give my muscles a short break, I raised my right leg high and put my knee around the metal cylinder as I stretched my upper body horizontally to the side.