Dirty Job: Dirty Deeds: Book Two by TA Moore

Author:TA Moore [Moore, TA]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rogue Firebird Press
Published: 2022-07-04T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

“This country is going to hell in a handbasket carried by feminist liberals,” the man’s voice ranted out of the speakers as the van’s radio suddenly tuned in to a stray FM station. “They might say that what they want is—”

Grade flicked the radio off. Silence was better.

The sign for the Choke loomed on the side of the road as Grade took the bend tightly. At night the mascot was lit up in flickering orange neon, but by day the sexy chicken lady had to stand on her own merits.

Blocky bright red letters advertised:

Hot Women!!

Hot Water!

Hot Wings!!!

Grade wasn’t exactly the target demographic for any of those, but he took the hard left the arrow directed him to into the Choke’s parking lot. He pulled into an empty space, turned the engine off, and got out of his van. The Choke was open from four in the afternoon until lunchtime.

The daytime trade was, according to Dory, mostly there for the hot water and the hot wings. They also tipped for shit, which is why she never pulled the first or last shifts.

So at three in the afternoon, Grade could be pretty sure he wasn’t going to run into her. Which was the point.

He headed toward the building. The lot was mostly empty, but a few cars were still parked outside. One of the managers would be here and some staff, getting the place ready to reopen and firing up some of those wings. The other cars—Grade glanced into one on the way by and saw a stoner-looking dude in his thirties or hard-worn twenties, passed out on the cranked-back front seat—were mostly patrons either still sleeping off the night before or here early to tie one on.

The big double doors that were the main entrance were chained shut. There were normal locks too, but some of the drunks needed the visual to work out why they weren’t getting in. Grade cut around the side, past the blacked-out windows and the dumpsters that smelled of baby oil, chicken grease, and booze. He stopped at the fire door and hit the intercom, head tilted back so the camera over the door could see his face.

“Who the fuck are you?” an annoyed voice demanded.

“Dory Pulaski’s brother,” Grade said. “I need a word about some guy who’s been bothering her.”

The intercom snorted at him and cut out. He pressed the button again, held it down, and waited. After a long second, it crackled back to life.

“OK, look. You don’t like your sister being a stripper. I get it, but—”

“That’s her business,” Grade said. “I just need to know about Verne.”

There was a pause, and then the intercom cut out for a second time. Before Grade could jam his thumb back down on the button, the door popped open. He shoved it all the way open and went into the dimly lit corridor.

With no strippers to keep on track, the Choke’s management saw no need to light up the backstage area. Grade paused for a

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