Slow Squeeze (Iris Thorne Mysteries Book 2) Read online

  “Never better,” Art said.

  “Two women? Some things never change, huh, amigo?”

  Art gave Tiny a thumbs-up and led Iris and Barbie into the club.

  They surveyed the scene. Men stood at the bar drinking Bohemia, Dos Equis, or Tecate beer and watched both the dance floor and the door, seeing who came and who went, looking for friends or enemies and checking out the women. The women sat at small tables near the dance floor, wearing short, tight, shiny dresses and high heels, sipping cocktails, smoking and eyeing the men at the bar. Couples sat in red vinyl booths that lined the walls; some had fifths of booze and mixers on their tables. They necked between cigarette drags.

  Art worked his way to the bar, stretched between two men on bar stools, pounded on the bar, and yelled to the bartender whose back was to him, “Hey, cabrón! Gimme drink.”

  The bartender turned around, holding a bottle by the neck. Art was now facing the dance floor, his back to the bar.

  “What’s your problem, amigo?” the bartender asked. The two men on either side of Art looked uncomfortable and gave him plenty of room.

  The bartender poked him in the shoulder with the hand that still held the bottle. He was shorter than Art, and his face was deeply pitted with old acne scars that a narrow pachuco moustache did little to cover. “Ese! I’m talkin’ to you, man.”

  Art said, “Don’t touch me, man.”

  The bartender grabbed Art’s shoulder and spun him around. He relaxed when he saw Art’s face. “Artie! Don’t do this shit to me, man!”

  Art held out his hand. The other man took it and pulled him over the bar, grabbing him around the shoulders.

  “You son of a bitch. You heard what happened last week, that guy with a gun?”

  “I know, I know. Hey! Let me introduce my friends. This is Iris and this is Barbie. This is my cousin, Hector.”

  Hector stood the bottle on the bar, wiped his hands on a towel stuck into his belt, and reached over to shake Barbie’s hand, then Iris’s. “What can I get for you?”

  Barbie said, “I’ll have a bourbon and ginger ale.”

  Art swatted the air. “Let’s get you with the program. Bring her a margarita.” He rolled both r’s. “Iris?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Hector makes the best maggies in town.”

  Hector dipped the rims of long-stemmed, wide-mouthed glasses into a shallow bath of lime juice, then into a container of coarse salt, coating them. He dumped tequila, lime juice, triple sec, and ice into a blender, let it whir, then poured the slushy, yellowish concoction. “Now, don’t get crazy on me.”

  “Me?” Art said.

  “Especially you.”

  “I’d like to hear about this,” Barbie said.

  Art reached into his pocket and put a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. Hector tossed it back to him. “I’ll get the first round.”

  “Thanks, bro’. Is Tió here?”

  “He never comes at night anymore. He’s in bed by nine.”

  “The patrón. Makes his own hours. Sounding better and better to me.” Art handed Barbie and Iris their drinks. “Another toast. To the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” He jabbed his elbow playfully into Barbie’s side.

  “Y’all funnin’ me now,” Barbie said. “That’s okay. I can take it.” She licked the salt from her glass and took a sip. “Yummy.”

  Iris was watching the dance floor and swaying with the music.

  “Let’s get some food,” Art said. “I’m starved.”

  They pushed through the crowd, holding their margaritas by the bowls of the glasses, freezing their fingers, and snagged a booth that a group had just left. Barbie took off her coat and draped it across the seat.

  A busboy cleared the table, and a waitress came over and handed them large menus covered with dark red paper textured to look like leather.

  “Hi, Coco,” Art said. “Howyadoin’?”

  Coco was twentyish and had a pretty face with caramel skin, almond-shaped eyes, dark eyebrows and eyelashes, full lips, and white teeth. Her long hair cascaded to her waist in loose curls. She wore her simple uniform of a white blouse and black slacks with tarty aplomb. The blouse was tight and unbuttoned to reveal a hint of white brassiere lace. The slacks were skintight. She tossed her head, throwing her hair over one shoulder, rolled her hip against the table, arched her back, and stood ready with her pen and order pad.

  “Hi, Artie,” she cooed. “Haven’t seen you. Whatcha been up to?”

  “Oh, the usual.”

  “The usual?” She pushed Art’s shoulder and giggled breathlessly. “With who?”

  Iris looked from Coco to Art with her eyebrows raised.

  Barbie watched Coco.

  “Let me introduce my friends. Iris, Barbie, this is Socorro. We call her Coco.”

  Coco tossed her head again. She held out her hand, limp-wristed, and shook Barbie’s hand, then Iris’s. “You ready to order or do you need more time?” She giggled again and pushed Art’s shoulder.

  “Barbie, do you like Mexican food?” Art asked.

  Barbie leaned close to look inside Art’s menu, and Coco caught sight of the fox on the seat next to her. “I’m not real familiar with it. I don’t understand a word in here.” Barbie waved a bejeweled hand at the menu, dismissing it. “I’ll have whatever y’all are havin’.”

  “Do you eat meat?” Art asked.

  “Of course I eat meat.”

  “Well, some people don’t.”

  “Not where I come from.”

  “Iris?”

  “You the man.” Iris batted her eyelashes.

  Art pretended not to notice. “Coco, bring us queso fundido and chimichangas to start. Ask Jessie to make us some plates with enchiladas, a little chicken en mole, ropa vieja, carnitas, rice and beans, of course, and flour tortillas. Okay? And a pitcher of margaritas and a round of tequila shooters.”

  “That real?” Coco inclined her head toward the coat.

  “‘Course it’s real, sugar pie,” Barbie smiled. “Maybe I’ll let you try it on.”

  “Really? I’ll come back.” Coco rolled her hips across the club and into the kitchen.

  Iris looked at Art and puckered her lips, “Oooh la la. Co-co.”

  “She’s a cutie,” Barbie said.

  Art shrugged. “My cousin’s wife’s sister.”

  “Family?” Iris looked up at Art through her eyebrows. “How convenient.”

  “Stop giving me a hard time.” Art pinched Iris in the ribs and she shrieked. “Uh-oh, ticklish!” He poked her ribs and she twisted spastically, almost knocking over her drink.

  “Stop! Art, please…”

  “I thought you guys just worked together,” Barbie said.

  Iris and Art stopped, both of them still laughing. Iris wiped tears from her eyes. “We do.”

  “I never knew Iris could be much fun,” Art said. “We call her the Ice Princess at the office.”

  Iris primly smoothed her skirt. “You know what they say. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

  “That sounds like a challenge.”

  “Art, what don’t you see as a challenge?”

  “Nothing,” he said matter-of-factly. He slid from the booth, pulling Iris’s hand with him. “Let’s see how the Ice Princess moves on the dance floor. The next one’s for you, Barbie.”

  “Take your time, kids. Don’t y’all worry about Barbeh.”

  Art wove Iris through the crowd.

  She yelled into his ear to be heard over the music. “Good choice, Art. Great place.”

  “Having fun?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Still mad at me for butting into your meeting?”

  “Yeah.”

  They squeezed onto a corner of the parquet dance floor. Art spun Iris around and they slid their hips side to side. Other dancers bumped into them. He spun her out and she danced around him, shimmying her shoulders.

  “Go, girl!” Art shouted over the music. “Careful. Don’t bu
rn up!”

  “It’s the tequila talking.”

  “Hell, let’s have another round.” He grabbed her and they danced fast and close again.

  Barbie skipped up to them. One of the men from outside had asked her to dance and was trying to show her how to move to the Latin rhythm. He stood with one hand poised in the air and the other on his belly and shimmied his hips back and forth.

  Barbie tapped Iris’s shoulder. “You take my partner.”

  Before she knew it, Iris was in the grip of the other man. His hands were moist and his shirt was wet with perspiration down the back. She touched him lightly at first, put off by the sudden intimacy, then more firmly as her reluctance gave way to rhythm and motion. She spun and swirled and shimmied her shoulders for several songs before she noticed that Barbie and Art weren’t on the dance floor.

  She eventually made it back to the table, which was now covered with platters of food. She was starving. She tore a flour tortilla in half and dipped it into the melted cheese of the queso fundido, then spooned salsa on top of it. She frantically fanned her mouth and gulped her margarita when she realized how spicy hot the salsa was. Into another tortilla went ropa vieja—shredded beef stewed with chilies and peppers so that it ends up looking like its name, “old clothes.” She tried the carnitas, chunks of pork seared in orange juice, moist on the inside and crusty on the outside, and the chicken en mole, a dark sauce of chocolate, chili, and sesame seeds. She forgot about Barbie and Art. They were in the upstairs office.

  “This was the only Latin music club in the area when my uncle started it. Now everyone comes here. Gringos too. I told my uncle that we should open a mainstream club with a Latin flavor in a better neighborhood. Go big-time. But he’s not into it.”

  The office held an old wooden desk piled with organized clutter with an equally old wooden captain’s chair behind it. There was also a worn couch that had outlived its usefulness in somebody’s living room, an overstuffed easy chair, and a chrome and vinyl chair with a faded marble print that had once belonged to a dinette set. A calendar with a comely, young Latina in a bathing suit holding a bottle of Mexican soda pop was tacked to the wall. A filing cabinet was in one corner and a low, heavy safe was in the other. Framed family portraits were on the desk.

  Barbie walked around the room, surveying it. “Running a club takes a lot of energy.”

  Art walked to the desk and straddled a corner, leaning back on his hands. “I know one thing. Having to kiss some guy’s ass to get ahead is bullshit.” He held up his hands. “Excuse my language, but it is. Like I was saying outside, my dream is to own my own club. A killer Latin music club. It’ll be jammin’. People’ll line up to come in. I can do it, too. My uncle knows the business. I’ve got the energy and I know how to put it together. The only thing I don’t have is money.”

  Barbie walked past the door, closed it, and leaned against it, posing with one leg bent, her toes pointed to the ground.

  Art’s full upper lip slid crookedly up his white teeth. “You’ve got dough.”

  “That money’s into other things, darlin’.”

  “But you’ve got it.”

  She walked over to him and stood at the corner of the desk between his knees. “Such a young man. So many plans.” She put her hands on his thighs and leaned toward him.

  “Hello,” Art said.

  “You got a girlfriend, Arturo?”

  “No one steady.”

  “A young man should sow his wild oats.” Barbie leaned closer, put her hands around his neck, and gave him a long kiss on the lips.

  “Wow,” Art said.

  “Oooh, the point of this desk is bitin’ me.” She moved a pile of papers to the side, pulled Art so that he was square with the desk, then put her hand on his chest and tried to push him down.

  Art didn’t move. “Whoa. Whatcha got in mind here?”

  “Whatever you’re in the mood for.” Barbie unbuttoned the top button of her purple blouse.

  “Here? In my uncle’s office?”

  “Why not?” Barbie undid the remaining buttons.

  “What about Iris?”

  “What about her?”

  “She’s probably looking for us.”

  “She’s dancing.” Barbie pulled the blouse from her skirt and opened it, revealing a sheer, shiny purple brassiere. “She’s not lookin’ for us.”

  Art scooted back on the desk, away from her.

  “You aren’t afraid of me, are you, Arturo?” Barbie put her hand on his crotch. “Oh, my. That don’t tell me that you ain’t interested.” She started to unbuckle his belt. “Or did Iris’s tight little body do that to you when y’all were dancin’?”

  Art took her hands in his and gently pulled them away. He was blushing. “Barbie, you’re very attractive…”

  “You think I’m too old.”

  “No! I think you’re very sexy. But we just met and this is my uncle’s office and you’re Iris’s client.”

  “So?” She freed her hands from his.

  “It just doesn’t seem right.”

  She undid the front clasp of her bra. Her breasts tumbled out. She arched her back, picked up his hand, and put it on one breast. “Touch me, Arturo.”

  He swallowed hard.

  Barbie lay on top of him, pressing him onto the desk. She kissed him on the mouth then inched her way backward until she was kneeling on the floor, her head level with his crotch.

  He was breathing heavily.

  She unzipped his pants and started to pull them off.

  He lifted her face between his hands. “Oh, wow. This doesn’t feel right. I guess I’m used to taking the initiative.”

  Barbie got to her feet. “An old-fashioned man. I’ll be damned.”

  Art slid off the desk and zipped up his pants. He turned around to straighten the papers on the desk.

  She reached between his legs from behind and squeezed him.

  He jumped. “Barbie!”

  “I’m just playin’. I guess I come on too strong sometimes. We still friends?” She held out her hand.

  He took it. “Sure.” He shook his head. “No offense. I was just surprised.”

  “Life’s short, sugar.” She slowly reclosed her bra, buttoned her blouse, and tucked it back into her skirt while Art watched.

  “You’re very sexy.” He lifted her chin in his hand and kissed her.

  Barbie stepped back and scrutinized him. “That was a real one. You do like me, just a little bit.”

  “I like you a lot, Barbie. I just don’t know what to make of you.”

  “Don’t make anything of me, sugar. What you see is what you get.”

  By the time they got back downstairs, Iris had put a large dent in the food. She was wiping fried chimichanga crumbs from her mouth with a napkin.

  Barbie slid into the booth beside her, smiling and twitching. “Iris, you leave us anything?”

  “Where you guys been?” Iris asked.

  “Taking a tour,” Art said.

  “I’d like to see it too.”

  “Didn’t see it all, though.” Barbie leered at Art who slid into the booth on the other side of Iris. “Just a preview.”

  Iris looked from Barbie to Art, then picked up the chimichanga and took another bite.

  Art quickly slid two of the shot glasses of tequila across the table in front of Barbie and Iris. “Tequila shooters.” He shook salt onto his wrist, slammed the bottom of the shooter glass onto the tabletop, licked his wrist, downed the tequila in one gulp, then bit into a lime wedge from a plate that was brought with the shooters.

  “Thanks for the demo, Art, but tequila shooters and I are old friends,” Iris said.

  Barbie followed Art. She shook her head and pursed her lips. “Powerful!” She sat the shot glass down.

  “So where were you guys?” Iris persisted.

  “Art was trying to talk me into investin’ in a club with him.”

  “Oh, really?”

  Art nudged Iris’s tequila shooter
toward her. “Shooter time.”

  “Let’s talk about this investment idea you have for my client. Barbie, I have to advise you that clubs and restaurants are bad risks.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Iris,” Art said.

  “Worried isn’t the word I would use.”

  “C’mon, kids,” Barbie said. “This is flattering, but don’t fight over me.”

  Art tapped the shooter glass with his finger. “Do it.”

  “Bottoms up, sugar.” Barbie squeezed Iris’s knee and gave her thigh a friendly slap under the table.

  Iris looked at Barbie quizzically, then speared a chunk of carnitas on her fork. “The last time I did tequila shooters was down in Ensenada. It was ugly. I still don’t remember everything that happened. Never again.”

  “New night, new crowd.” Art tapped the shooter glass. “Do that shooter.”

  “Don’t push me. Now I’m really pissed off at you.”

  “Honey, don’t be mad at Arturo,” Barbie said. “The last thing I want to do is invest in a club. We were just playin’ around. It wasn’t nothin’ serious.”

  Art looked at Barbie sullenly. “You like the food?” he asked, changing the subject.

  Barbie and Iris grunted their approval.

  They finished eating, talking about nothing in particular, then they danced, all three of them together, jerking back and forth, trying to keep their arms entwined, sweating, until the band went home. They sat back down and Barbie asked for the bill.

  “No, this one’s on me,” Art protested.

  “I’ll get it,” Iris said. “This was supposed to be a business dinner with my client.”

  “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

  “Sorry, kids.” Barbie threw down enough cash to cover the bill and the tip. “This is my treat.”

  “I’ll treat next time,” Art said.

  “Next time?” Iris asked.

  “C’mon, you two. Play nice,” Barbie said.

  They left the club, saying good-bye to Tiny and Hector on their way out. Iris’s shooter sat untouched on the table.

  Art drove back downtown and into the underground garage. The garage had the eerie quality of familiar places after hours.