Cat In A Zebra Zoot Suit

7

Off-Color

Temple took in the huge, level dirt lot. It looked like a cheesy chessboard with yellow surveyor’s flags deployed everywhere like pawns. Pawn Stars.

Smack-dab in the middle of the property sat a two-story brick hulk with windows only on the second floor and big double doors like a barn on the first-floor entrance. A forty-foot RV clung to its side like a cub. That must operate as an onsite office and night guard station, although the building was clearly absent any tenant, bare of signage on any side at any level.

There was, however, a huge construction sign on one corner Temple hotfooted over to inspect. “This billboard is big enough to advertise an entire housing development,” she told Electra as they came around to view its message.

By now the landlady was breathing down her neck, heavily.

“Gosh, Temple, you sure walk fast for a petite person. Don’t even think about an adult housing development going up on this land. What would they call it, Hootchy-Cootchy Condos?”

“Here it is. I’m reading the fine print. They have a pair of managers, Punch Adcock and Katt Zydeco.”

“Great. They’ve got the strip club biz covered from A to Z. The guy sounds like a thug or boxer and the woman a hooker.”

“Don’t sound so glum. ‘Zydecko’ is a Cajun dance. I bet ‘Katt’ was born just plain Katherine Smith and this is her performance name.”

“So I’m somehow relieved that one manager may be a stripper?”

“Remember way back when I solved the Stripper Killer case? Believe it or not, it’s a step forward that some women now own and manage strip clubs. Less exploitive that way.”

“Somehow I don’t see the redeeming social value.” Electra pointed to the big-type teaser line at the billboard’s top.

Temple read, “Coming soon…and we mean it literally.”

She groaned in disgust at the bawdy pun. “Cheesy.” No class.

The pitch went on: You know Lust ‘n’ Lace downtown as an multiplex playground of toys and joys, lingerie and latex, you name it, you get it. Now opening soon, Lust ‘n’ Lace Live on Stage!, Vegas’s latest and lustiest and de-lace-iest gentleman’s club. We’ll have packages to suit every type and size of party. VIP, Bachelor, Bachelorette, Birthday, Couples, Corporate or Divorce Party. Each party package includes limo transport, liquor, admission, etc.

It was that “etc.” that Temple suspected covered a mega-lot of sins and extra charges.

“What was the building before someone decided to make it a gentlemen’s club?” Temple asked Electra.

“I think it was a garage back in the forties. Driving to Vegas in the early days was hard on cars. Rumor was Bugsy Siegel parked his cars there.”

Temple sighed. “Another ‘surviving trace of Bugsy’ claim. If he did all he was purported to do, and been everywhere he has been purported to be around Vegas, he’d have needed to live to a hundred…not be down, out, and dead at forty-one.”

“True. He’s among the soft sculpture people in the Lovers’ pews.”

“Really? I never noticed him.”

“Well, he’s slumped down and missing an eye under his gangster fedora, but otherwise nattily dressed, as always.”

Temple winced. The blast of bullets that had ended Bugsy’s life had shot out one eye. “I didn’t know your artistic streak had such a macabre bent.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Electra intoned mysteriously, making Temple laugh.

“I certainly don’t know what color or colors your hair will be from day to day,” Temple said. “Your rainbow hair was ahead of all the young pop stars.”

Electra grinned. “At my advanced age, being ahead in anything is a triumph.”

“So we’re looking at Bugsy’s garage, and what else?”

“I know the building was a nightclub back in the fifties when the mob was running the Strip hotels, then empty for a while, and then a big five-and-dime. Its last retail life was as an antique mall, with individual dealers having side-by-side booths.”

“Oh, I love those places. Any vintage clothing and jewelry sold there?”

“Down, girl. That’s long gone, and it was more used than vintage.”

“So the old place is returning to its nightlife stage.” Temple ambled closer to the gaudy billboard. The panoramic illustration portrayed a nightly naughty Strip show, with circus-tent poles and chorus girls wearing feathers and rhinestones and not much else. Showgirls had starred in the typical Vegas advertising image since Bugsy had pushed up roses in L.A.

Beside her, Electra sighed deeply. Louie stalked over until he sat right under the sign. In the next second he’d ratcheted up a rear wood support post to leap atop the three-inch-wide frame. He stretched a long forelimb down to paw a giant feathered headdress.

“I bet this outfit will carry a lot of ‘toys’ that might tickle Louie’s fancy,” Temple said, rolling her eyes.

“Sure. The traitor. Flash a feather at a cat and he doesn’t ask if it’s socially redeeming or not. Listen, Temple, Vegas was built on bad, and I don’t turn up my nose at other people’s preferences in anything. Seeing the size of this building, I know any PR makeover you might do for my miserable few acres will be hopeless in the face of that.”

“Picketing would only publicize the place,” Temple conceded.

They stood in glum silence, Temple was out of bright ideas as they viewed the sheer size of the project. It was bigger than Pornucopia and the two-story Adult Superstore south of Downtown. Once the exterior was wrapped in female body parts and neon, it would turn Electra’s wedding chapel into an also-ran.

“You ladies can’t wait for the Grand Opening, huh?” said a smirking voice behind them.

Temple turned faster than a whipsnake. “Crawford Buchanan? You’re repping this project?”

“No, I’m just reporting on it.” His smarmy grin widened as he looked Temple over like she was one of the sex objects on the billboard.

“Send that smirk to the Snark Hall of Fame, Crawford,” she said. “I can see why some of the neighboring businesses are ready to picket this humongous expansion of down-market enterprise.”

Buchanan, the local Napoleon of nasty gossip media, seemed oddly taller. In addition to the usual shoe lifts, his graying dark hair had now been gelled into an impressive peak atop his head.

That “look” would soon be the laughing stock of the 2010s, the way the 1980s brassy gold bathroom faucets were despised on Home and Garden Decor TV today. Temple couldn’t wait until actors and other media men unloaded the “anthill” hairdo so fashionable and so unbecoming. At least Matt wasn’t about to join the mob on that.

“Picketing,” Buchanan said, “would just stir up publicity for Lust ‘n’ Lace, as you noted, T. B.”

Temple also loathed his using her initials as a nickname. The implied intimacy made her skin crawl. At least he didn’t know her middle name was the also-loathed “Ursula”. Crawford could sure make hay with T.U.B.

“Seriously,” she told Buchanan, “who or what corporation is bankrolling this project? Isn’t it risky to put a Vegas Downtown-type business so far south?”

“Yeah, but there’s not much land left anywhere now. I heard some out-of-town owner is getting older and ready to unload investments. And Vegas has finally come back from the biggest real estate dive in the country.”

Telling Temple how much inside info he knew gave Crawford a superior glow. She just smiled politely and let him yammer on. “This will be a huge deal. The managers are a colorful couple.”

She eyed the billboard. “I’ll bet. Who are Punch Adcock and Katt Zydeco?”

“Each of them has run sex entertainment businesses, but they’re hooking up to expand into this game.”

“There are, what, thirty sex shops in Vegas, not even counting strip joints?” Temple noted.

“You’re not saying you can ever get enough sex, are you, T.B.?” The smirk was back.

“I’m saying no matter how much the economy has bounced back, a big investment in an off location like this is iffy. I find it…puzzling.”

By now Midnight Louie had tired of two-dimensional billboard feathers and had hopped down to stalk over and sniff Crawford’s pointy-toed ankle boots. His nose reared back as his furry black belly swayed to the sidewalk, stretching to display his three-foot length from nose to tail-tip.

Then Louie strolled over to twine himself around Temple’s ankles, offering a flash of fangs and a snakelike hiss.

“That animal looks rabid.” Buchanan pulled out his cell phone and contemplated its face with faux regret. “Animal Control would snatch him up in a minute if they happened by.”

Electra gasped. “That’s a threat if I ever heard one.”

“A fact,” Buchanan told her, basking in her shock.

Temple was unfazed. “Louie has gotten into, and out of, worse dangers. And if you try anything like that, I will restyle your stupid hair with my steel-heeled shoes.”

Buchanan glanced down in alarm. “You have steel-heeled shoes? By God, you do. Do you have a license for those things, T.B.?”

“Just a sales receipt, C.B. You don’t have to register shoes as deadly weapons, even if they are.”

Temple was glad she’d worn the vintage Stuart Weitzman spikes she’d bought as much for self-defense as style.

“Just watch you don’t impale your cat on one of them someday.” Buchanan finally moved away to photograph the billboard with his cell phone.

Electra edged close to Temple and Louie. “You’ve said he was a creep, but he outdoes your opinion. Is that the kind of person this new adult emporium is going to attract?”

“The business is legal, Electra, and many tourists come to Vegas for a walk on the wild side. A lot of mainstream couples patronize businesses like these. The biggest audience for Fifty Shades of Gray, the film of the kinky bondage novels, came from the South and Heartland. Folks who’d be gun-shy about being seen entering a strip club in their hometowns, know that here…nobody cares.”

“Buchanan,” a rough male voice yelled from fifty feet away.

The owner of it advanced on them fast. His mai-tai fruity Hawaiian shirt was louder than his hacksaw voice, but he was built like an aging bull. Brillo pad curls of iron-gray hair covered his head and poked out of the shirt’s v-neck.

He stopped beside Temple and Electra. “These girls want work at the new place? The redhead is scrawny, but the blue-hair could help the girls with the wardrobe, such as it is.”

The women’s jaws dropped and then shut in unison.

Buchanan quashed a nasty giggle.

“So,” Temple said, nudging Electra silent with a genteel tap of a steel heel on her instep. “You’re the owner of this forthcoming enterprise, sir?”

“One of ’em. I don’t rule out scrawny, mind you. It’s the customers.”

“I would like to work for you, but in my capacity as a PR manager.” Temple whipped out her card, which read TEMPLE BARR, P.R.

“Heh,” he said, punching the beefy hand that held her card forward in a thumbs-up position. “Like Magnum, P.I. Clever.”

“My chief client is the Crystal Phoenix.”

“The Phoenix.” He savored the name, nodding appreciatively. “Classy Strip hotel-casino. I could use a little class. But very little, if you know what I mean.”

She smiled sweetly. “I do, Mr.—”

“Nemo. Leon Nemo.” His gazed narrowed. “The Phoenix. The Fontana boys are all over that operation, and others around town.”

“Indeed they are. But you’re, um, sponsored by the Lust ‘n’ Lace. They’re a long-standing Vegas tradition too.”

Leon’s hands, beefy and hairy but expressive, pantomimed playing an iffy piano. “Just as a familiar introduction of a new tune. My people are an indie operation.”

“I’m an independent operator too.”

“I bet you are, Red.” He leaned away to look down. “Nice ankles. You planning on doing some jack-hammering in those heels?”

“If needed.”

Louie began weaving defensively around her ankles. Nemo looked away, back to her face. “So what brings you to my site?”

“Curiosity.”

Leon looked down again. “That the name of your cat?”

“It could be.”

“I like cats. You never know what they’re thinking and you can’t hear ’em coming. That’s the way people should be. No useless yapping.”

“Speaking of useless yapping,” Temple jerked her head over her shoulder, indicating Crawford Buchanan eagerly eating up their conversation.

Nemo got the message. “Thanks for the run-by, Buchanan. I’ll call you later. I got another fish to fry now.” He looked down at the cat as Buchanan departed with a sour look.

“His name is Midnight Louie,” Temple said.

“Yeah, he’s a Louie, all right.” Nemo squatted down, showcasing bare knees and hairy calves. “Big fellah. Put ’er there, Louie.”

Louie sat back on his haunches, then patted the back of Nemo’s hand. Like your average harmless Curious Kitty.

“Nice baby claws, Louie.” Nemo grunted as he stood again and laughed. “He was holding back until he decides about me. I like cats. Velvet when you meet ’em, but steel like your heels when you cross ’em. So,” he asked Temple. “Why are you here in this dead neighborhood eyeballing a sign for a live X-rated adult show?”

“I like to keep track of new business opportunities in Vegas. What does puzzle me is the zoning restrictions. This neighborhood is zoned residential, mixed use, which covers small businesses. Not so sure that covers an adult business.”

“Zoning regulations?” Nemo slapped the rear of his khaki Bermuda shorts. “Right here in my back pocket.”

Temple nodded. He seemed confident, and she knew adult enterprises were part of the city’s bread and butter…and influence was peddled freely.

Electra finally unleashed her pent-up questions. “So who sold you this land? I heard it was an out-of-town owner.”

“And how did you know that, Grandma?” Leon raised furry eyebrows. Temple thought of the Caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland.

“Well, sonny,” Electra said in no-nonsense tones, “I was married to the man. He swore never to sell it without telling me. I can’t believe Jay would sell out to an adult entertainment club. He was brought up Baptist.”

“Oh, ma’am.” Nemo waved gently placating palms. “This is not an extension of Vegas’s second biggest X-rated store since the Adult Superstore. No tawdry warehouse operation like that.”

“No?” Electra asked hopefully.

“No, no no. This is a small and intimate place, fitting for the neighborhood.”

Electra took a deep, earnest breath. “So it’s a done deal.”

“Good as Fool’s Gold. Don’t worry. No X-rated movies or walls full of you-know-whats,” Leon explained. “This will be just a nice, quiet, neighborhood topless stripper bar on a major scale.” He turned to Temple. “Nothing you couldn’t promote with the same classy style you’d use for the Crystal Phoenix, Miss Temple Barr, P.R.”

His self-satisfied, somehow dirty smile made Temple think of someone who knew more about her than she’d like. Someone who’d been pawing through her underwear drawer for a prank. Someone who thought all women were alike, and lying if they said they didn’t live up to his slutty expectations.

Someone Temple would like to kick down a flight of stairs. She probably was staring daggers at him, to no effect, when Electra grabbed her elbow.

“Maybe it’d be all right if we looked over the building,” she suggested.

“Sure. Be my guests.” He gestured to the shabby structure and then headed to a Lexus SUV parked suspiciously far down the block.

Temple was reluctant to leave Nemo with the last word, and a smirk to boot, but Electra had pulled her off balance, so she spun around on one steel heel to watch him leave.

“We can inspect the property, thanks to Nemo,” Electra said, “but you don’t have time to worry about him. You and Matt are leaving for an important family reunion. I’ll ask Ernesto and his brothers about this Leon Nemo. The Fontanas know the sleazy operators in town. And they’d know about zoning and such, given all their business interests.”

“That’s a great idea, Electra. And what they don’t know, the guys’ uncle, Macho Mario Fontana does. He has true mob associations from his distant past to call on.”

The prolific Fontana family exploited a vague aura of faded “mob”, but was most noted for its crew of sleek, mostly bachelor men-about-town. Besides Nicky, the youngest brother who operated the Crystal Phoenix, the other nine brothers ran a mob-themed hotel and custom limo service, both called Gangsters. You need to go for a ride in Vegas? Fontana Inc. will provide with panache. It was all a harmless take on family history.

Electra turned to eye the diminished billboard, too distant to read now. “I have to check my files too. I’m foggy on where my property ends, since I left a bunch of it undeveloped.”

“You mean that outfit may not have all the rights they’re claiming?”

Electra’s custodial hand squeezed Temple’s forearm.

“I mean I do have some hidden resources.” Electra winked. “Don’t worry about me now. It’s a good thing you’re slated for a family visit in Minnesota so you young folks can settle where you need to be once you’re married. You’ve given me an idea or two.”

“Really? I am distracted with this trip coming up so fast. Our Mr. Leon Nemo was more than vague on the zoning question. Even if this was a sealed deal, I’m sure you’ll find a way to make Lust ‘n’ Lace’s excursion into live entertainment…history.” Temple gazed around again. “Say. Where’s Louie?”

“I saw him snooping around the construction office in the RV after Nemo left. I’m thinking he’s smelled something fishy about that outfit too.”

“Especially under that aluminum temporary foundation surrounding the RV,” Temple said. “So if the cat’s away, maybe we mice should play.”

Electra stared at the abandoned hulk. “I’m dying to see what Nemo and his silent partners think is so valuable about this building Jay owns. Let’s explore.”