The doorman looked like he was about to object to my front-on approach so I flashed him my badge and he did a double-take. I was used to it. For whatever reason, no one ever seemed to place me as being a cop.
I had a friend tell me once that I looked like I should have been some wealthy millionaire’s mistress instead of wasting myself on the life of being a cop.
Needless to say, we hadn’t kept close since then. I had few enough friends without losing another, but I seriously didn’t need one who thought my higher calling in life should be as someone’s mistress.
I walked into the oh, so familiar atmosphere of the strip club. Talk about déjà vu, only this time the place was populated.
I winced slightly, as my headache took it up a notch in time with the loud music and strobe lights. I really did need to get some sleep.
I made my way through the ranks of glazed eyed men. The place was packed and I had to shove my way through the pressed throng to make headway. Rafferty hurried to keep up with me, and I slowed down some.
I was forever making the short Irish man hurry to catch up with me. I couldn’t help it that my walk was really more of a stride than a step. I was 5’11’’. Some said that I was blessed with long legs, but cursed with a short amount of patience for getting where I wanted to be, which right now was backstage.
A guy’s hand off to my right flashed out to, no doubt, grope my butt as I passed by, but I intercepted it with a quick grasp by my own hand. I snapped his hand over and put pressure on his arm. I had the satisfaction of watching his face turn white with pain at my hold. Served him right, the boorish lout!
“Keep your hands to yourself next time,” I spit out, as I continued on through the crowd, not bothering to glance back.