Strip Tease by Carl Hiaasen

and sound,” said Darrell Grant. “If you’re a good mummy, I’ll let her call on Christmas Day.”
    “We’re going back to court.” Erin’s voice trembled. “You’ve already violated the judge’s order.”
    “Back to court!” Darrell Grant’s hooting filled the night. “Back to court! I love it.”
    “What’s happened to you, Darrell?” She really wanted to know. He was worse than she’d ever seen him.
    He yanked the knife from his belt and bent over Shad. For a moment Erin feared that he would slit Shad’s throat. She had an image of herself hanging on Darrell’s back, digging her fingernails into his eye sockets.
    “Don’t do it,” she said.
    “Do what?”
    Using the dagger as a pen, Darrell playfully etched the letter G into the crown of Shad’s naked scalp. Blood trickled down his head and puddled in the folds of muscle at the base of his neck. Erin felt woozy and chilled. Shad remained silent, although his eyes had opened.
    “There.” Darrell Grant stood back and admired his work.
    Erin said, “What does that prove?”
    “We’re not going back to court.”
    “You’re wrong, Darrell.”
    “I won, sweetheart. All the marbles, remember?”
    “What’d you do with my shoes?”
    Again came the hooting laughter. “Wake up, little Dorothy,” he said. “You’re not in Kansas anymore!”
    Darrell Grant circled Erin’s car, puncturing each tire with a thrust of the knife. Then he kicked each of the soda cans and sauntered off across the parking lot. As he disappeared in the darkness, Erin could hear him singing, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
    At her feet, Shad rolled over and blinked up at the stars.
    “Nice guy,” he said. “Too bad it didn’t work out for you two.”

Chapter 6

    The next night, Erin danced to ZZ Top.
    Her record store didn’t stock the band’s first album, so she bought one of the newer releases. Kevin, the club’s disc jockey, was pleased with the hard guitar and fast bass beat. Her regular customers didn’t seem to mind the change of pace.
    The one she called Mr. Peepers was not in the audience. Erin feared that Shad had scared him away from the Eager Beaver forever. Either that, or he’d given up the hustle.
    So much for love.
    Against her better judgment, Jerry Killian had become a reed of hope for Erin in her battle for Angela. Dealing with Darrell Grant was impossible, but maybe Killian could get to the judge. Maybe political pressure was the way to go. Erin needed to know more about Killian’s connection, the congressman.
    His name, for starters.
    She danced out of the spotlights long enough to shield her eyes and scout the back rows. The judge was in his customary booth near the Foosball machines. Monique Sr. was on the tabletop, bouncing up a storm. The judge watched droopy-eyed and inert. Erin figured his hands were busy under the table.
    After the set, Mr. Orly came to the dressing room and announced that he approved of the new music. “Faster the better,” he said.
    Urbana Sprawl said ZZ Top was hazardous to her health. “My tits are killing me.”
    “Hey,” Orly said, “we put up with your rap crap. Ice Puke or whatever.”
    “Ice Cube!”
    “Bottom line is, you can tolerate eight minutes of hard rock.”
    “Instant stretch marks,” Urbana complained.
    Erin said, “I’ll find some slower cuts.”
    “Don’t!” Orly protested. “Fast is good. Everybody sweats, everybody drinks.”
    “And everybody tips,” said Monique Sr., waving a fifty. The other dancers whistled.
    “Case closed,” said Orly, and he was gone.
    When the shift was over, Erin scrubbed off her makeup and dressed quickly. Urbana asked what was the hurry.
    “I’ve got an errand.”
    “Three in the morning?”
    “Meeting somebody.”
    “Tell me it’s not Darrell.” Urbana and the other dancers knew about the harrowing incident at Erin’s car. They’d seen the dagger cuts on Shad’s bald head.
    “Don’t worry,” Erin said. “It’s only Jerry