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"Cheerleaders In Chains"
Sep. 10th, 2024 06:10 pm"Cheerleaders In Chains"
8/28-8/29/1982
I.
Jeremy Bane slid through the crowds on 42nd Street as if everyone were consciously stepping aside for him. Walking as fast as an average man could run, the Dire Wolf smoothly twisted his body to slide through every opening without brushing up against anyone. And the sidewalks were indeed crowded at ten PM on a Friday night. Excited tourists and blasé native New Yorkers, hookers and drug dealers, con men selling dubious watches and cameras, even the predatory chickenhawks watching for young runaways... the creatures of the night were out and about.
For two blocks between Sixth and Eighth Avenues, both sides of the street were taken up with movie theatres. The marquees extending out over the passers-by offered three movies for three dollars. No first-run Hollywood blockbusters, though. One movie house was showing three Italian Westerns, including DIG ME SEVEN GRAVES. One offered three Hong Kong action flicks including QUEEN OF SHAOLIN KUNG FU. Still another advertised three chillers headed by THE UNDEAD ARMY. But it was the XXX-rated movies that still dominated this strip. THE MAYOR'S DAUGHTERS, HUNGRY LIPS, BEHIND LOCKED DOORS....
Not that Bane noticed any of that. He never watched movies or television, just as he never listened to music or read for entertainment. He was way too single-minded and repressed for his own good. At twenty-five, six feet tall and barely a hundred and seventy pounds, he was a lean, nearly gaunt figure. The all-black uniform of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket added to the effect. In a narrow face, pale grey eyes watched the world suspiciously beneath feral black brows. Even on this strip of sleazy nightlife full of shady characters, the Dire Wolf was intimidating without trying to be.
On the corner of Eighth Avenue, he saw to his left the familiar entrances to Grand Central. But it was the building directly opposite that was his target. Its two flanking glass doors were encircled by an explosion of garish neon signs proclaiming LIVE GIRLS and OPEN 24 HOURS and BEST LIVE SHOWS IN TOWN. Bane's normally grim features lowered into more of a scowl than usual as he crossed the street.
Next to the door of the show place was a life-size cardboard stand-up of a pretty young woman with long straight black hair. She was wearing only white panties and had her arms folded across her breasts modestly, with a demure little smile. Across the top of the stand-up a banner read LIVE IN PERSON - AMBER RISK!! Bane glanced at it before pulling open the glass door and entering a small foyer. Inside a booth, a disinterested older woman puffed on a cigarette, took his dollar and gave him a ticket before buzzing to unlock the inner door.
Stepping to one side as he entered, putting his back against a wall, Bane automatically took in the scene as if expecting a deadly ambush. A lifetime of fighting to survive had sharpened his instincts. There were a dozen men in that huge room but none took notice of him. No one's stance or body language indicated any hostile intent or even that they were carrying a weapon. At the far end of the room, a staircase led up but no one was on it.
The Dire Wolf did not exactly relax but he took in more details. Three walls were lined with racks of VHS tapes, magazines and paperbacks. The fourth displayed inflatable dolls and various sex toys. The customers were mostly middle-aged white men browsing thoughtfully as if shopping for more mundane products. Two college boys were laughing at some of the more outrageous dildos. To Bane's right was a counter with a cash register and a man sitting on a stool browsing the NEW YORK MESSENGER sporting section.
He was not interested. This was not why he had come here tonight.
By the staircase, a bright red wooden arrow said LIVE GIRLS THIS WAY! Bane automatically placed his feet on the far edges of each step to minimize squeaking, even though there was no need to be stealthy. He emerged on a huge room that seemed to take up half the building. In the center was a circle of booths with numbered doors. One open door showed a tiny cubicle with a six foot high opaque panel and a box on the wall that took coins. For a dollar in quarters, the screen would rise to give access to a nude woman for one minute. Bane kept moving.
Beyond the booths was a raised stage with a king-sized bed. Twenty metal folding chairs were all unoccupied. Past that were three wooden doors marked MANAGER, RESTROOM - ASK FOR KEY and STAFF ONLY. Leaning up against that wall was a short round man wearing a black satin vest over a white dress shirt and baggy brown trousers. He took a cigarette out of his mouth and asked, "Helpya buddy?"
"I want to see Amber Risk."
"Har. Ha ha, who doesn't? Sorry, my friend, she's working."
Bane held out his billfold. "I'm a Private Investigator. This is about the suspicious death of someone she knew. She'll want to talk to me."
The manager studied the license for a second. "Goddam. The Dire Wolf himself. There's some wild stories told about you, young fella."
"People exaggerate," Bane said, taking his billfold back.
"Sure. Hang on a second, I'll go get her. Dire Wolf HERE, my God..." The manager knocked on the STAFF door and yelled, "Only Max, girlies, don't scream and jump up on the chairs," before going on.
Only a few seconds later, a remarkably pretty young woman stepped out and closed the door behind her. She was tightening a blue robe around her narrow waist. Amber Risk had an oval face with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose and huge dark eyes. The glossy black hair shone with youth and health. "This is about poor old Carl."
"It is."
"Listen. Let's step out the exit door and talk. Every New Yorker has heard about you. If anyone can find out who killed him and nab the bastard, I bet it's you!"
( the rest of the story )
8/28-8/29/1982
I.
Jeremy Bane slid through the crowds on 42nd Street as if everyone were consciously stepping aside for him. Walking as fast as an average man could run, the Dire Wolf smoothly twisted his body to slide through every opening without brushing up against anyone. And the sidewalks were indeed crowded at ten PM on a Friday night. Excited tourists and blasé native New Yorkers, hookers and drug dealers, con men selling dubious watches and cameras, even the predatory chickenhawks watching for young runaways... the creatures of the night were out and about.
For two blocks between Sixth and Eighth Avenues, both sides of the street were taken up with movie theatres. The marquees extending out over the passers-by offered three movies for three dollars. No first-run Hollywood blockbusters, though. One movie house was showing three Italian Westerns, including DIG ME SEVEN GRAVES. One offered three Hong Kong action flicks including QUEEN OF SHAOLIN KUNG FU. Still another advertised three chillers headed by THE UNDEAD ARMY. But it was the XXX-rated movies that still dominated this strip. THE MAYOR'S DAUGHTERS, HUNGRY LIPS, BEHIND LOCKED DOORS....
Not that Bane noticed any of that. He never watched movies or television, just as he never listened to music or read for entertainment. He was way too single-minded and repressed for his own good. At twenty-five, six feet tall and barely a hundred and seventy pounds, he was a lean, nearly gaunt figure. The all-black uniform of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket added to the effect. In a narrow face, pale grey eyes watched the world suspiciously beneath feral black brows. Even on this strip of sleazy nightlife full of shady characters, the Dire Wolf was intimidating without trying to be.
On the corner of Eighth Avenue, he saw to his left the familiar entrances to Grand Central. But it was the building directly opposite that was his target. Its two flanking glass doors were encircled by an explosion of garish neon signs proclaiming LIVE GIRLS and OPEN 24 HOURS and BEST LIVE SHOWS IN TOWN. Bane's normally grim features lowered into more of a scowl than usual as he crossed the street.
Next to the door of the show place was a life-size cardboard stand-up of a pretty young woman with long straight black hair. She was wearing only white panties and had her arms folded across her breasts modestly, with a demure little smile. Across the top of the stand-up a banner read LIVE IN PERSON - AMBER RISK!! Bane glanced at it before pulling open the glass door and entering a small foyer. Inside a booth, a disinterested older woman puffed on a cigarette, took his dollar and gave him a ticket before buzzing to unlock the inner door.
Stepping to one side as he entered, putting his back against a wall, Bane automatically took in the scene as if expecting a deadly ambush. A lifetime of fighting to survive had sharpened his instincts. There were a dozen men in that huge room but none took notice of him. No one's stance or body language indicated any hostile intent or even that they were carrying a weapon. At the far end of the room, a staircase led up but no one was on it.
The Dire Wolf did not exactly relax but he took in more details. Three walls were lined with racks of VHS tapes, magazines and paperbacks. The fourth displayed inflatable dolls and various sex toys. The customers were mostly middle-aged white men browsing thoughtfully as if shopping for more mundane products. Two college boys were laughing at some of the more outrageous dildos. To Bane's right was a counter with a cash register and a man sitting on a stool browsing the NEW YORK MESSENGER sporting section.
He was not interested. This was not why he had come here tonight.
By the staircase, a bright red wooden arrow said LIVE GIRLS THIS WAY! Bane automatically placed his feet on the far edges of each step to minimize squeaking, even though there was no need to be stealthy. He emerged on a huge room that seemed to take up half the building. In the center was a circle of booths with numbered doors. One open door showed a tiny cubicle with a six foot high opaque panel and a box on the wall that took coins. For a dollar in quarters, the screen would rise to give access to a nude woman for one minute. Bane kept moving.
Beyond the booths was a raised stage with a king-sized bed. Twenty metal folding chairs were all unoccupied. Past that were three wooden doors marked MANAGER, RESTROOM - ASK FOR KEY and STAFF ONLY. Leaning up against that wall was a short round man wearing a black satin vest over a white dress shirt and baggy brown trousers. He took a cigarette out of his mouth and asked, "Helpya buddy?"
"I want to see Amber Risk."
"Har. Ha ha, who doesn't? Sorry, my friend, she's working."
Bane held out his billfold. "I'm a Private Investigator. This is about the suspicious death of someone she knew. She'll want to talk to me."
The manager studied the license for a second. "Goddam. The Dire Wolf himself. There's some wild stories told about you, young fella."
"People exaggerate," Bane said, taking his billfold back.
"Sure. Hang on a second, I'll go get her. Dire Wolf HERE, my God..." The manager knocked on the STAFF door and yelled, "Only Max, girlies, don't scream and jump up on the chairs," before going on.
Only a few seconds later, a remarkably pretty young woman stepped out and closed the door behind her. She was tightening a blue robe around her narrow waist. Amber Risk had an oval face with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose and huge dark eyes. The glossy black hair shone with youth and health. "This is about poor old Carl."
"It is."
"Listen. Let's step out the exit door and talk. Every New Yorker has heard about you. If anyone can find out who killed him and nab the bastard, I bet it's you!"
( the rest of the story )
