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The Roadhouse on Route 12 (continued)


Part II


   Smoke and sweat, colored lights bouncing off a disco ball.  Myron Kupferman in a wife beater and the vest of a gray pin-stripe suit breathed into the mic, "Let's put our hands together and give a big Charly's hand for Yzzy!  That was Donna Summer's ‘Bad Girl’, but we all know Yzzy is a good girl - yup, she works HARD for the money."  He cast a rheumy eye on a character in shirtsleeves, tie pulled down - industriously masturbating as the lithe Latin beauty sashayed off the runway.

   An index finger pointed discreetly at Yzzy's fan and Ingeborg Gustaffson padded over, cat quiet in her big white Skechers.  Inge favored comfort and speed over style, ("the girls can wear the 'fuck me' shoes.  I gotta keep on my feet!")  The overly-enthusiastic salesman felt a crushing grip on the back of his neck and found himself eyeballing a very tall and robust blonde.  

  Ingeborg stood at just under six feet and weighed in the vicinity of 145 pounds.  In spite of just the shadow of a double chin, there wasn't more than an ounce of two of fat on her muscular frame.

   "YOU!  Needle Dick!  Put that thing away before I chop it off!"

   "Yes'm!"

  She released her grip on the salesman and signaled Angie, the new little Filipina waitress, "Give one of whatever he's having, Sweetie!" she leaned in to the dark-haired girl's ear, "These assholes behaving?  I gotta pound some idiot?  Lemme know."  She patted Angie on the arm and made a patrol of the club.

   Damn...almost one a.m.  Time for the truck from Richmond.  

   The girls at Charly's weren't above supplementing their income with a little - professional activity, but Charly's didn't promote or interfere with that spirit of American enterprise.  The Travatorres used Charly's as a stop in its illegal tobacco operations.

   The tax New Jersey levied on a pack of Marlboro Reds was $2.70 - A PACK.  That same pack of smokes purchased in, say Martinsville or Norfolk, Virginia, generated thirty cents to The Old Dominion.  Nightly, a White Freightliner made the 270-mile run from Richmond, VA, to Charly's via the back roads and state routes, with a load of smokes ready for the Travatorre's counterfeit tax stamps.

   Charly's had a reputation for pretty and athletic dancers, cheap drinks and smokes.  Inge ran both sides of the operation like a well-oiled machine.

   A lanky brunette who shielded her eyes with purple-tinted John Lennon glasses helped in this regard.  Grace X worked the runway rather lackadaisically and was on her way to being kicked out on her ass – until Inge heard her figure up a two-hundred-dollar bar tab from six guys – separate checks, on the spot without resorting to paper.

   Figures made Inge's head hurt so an in-house bookkeeper was a Godsend.

   Angela carried her tray of beers over to a table full of sailors barely old enough to BE in the Navy, let alone out drinking.  She could have busted the lot of them - but that wouldn't do at all.

   Angie was actually a rookie Trooper in the New Jersey State Police and had been undercover at Charly’s for a week.

   She had bigger fish to fry.

   Those fish were named Travatorre.

Roby Draws a Bead by ArthurGarvin


 TO BE CONTINUED....
Part II of "The Roadhouse on Route 12"
Text by packard8  (aka Ed)
Illustrations by Gallows-Girl-Amy  

rora1967 is the cowgirl stripper pretending to shoot Angela in the back during her dance routine. There's going to be trouble between those two!
 

Previous: Roadhouse I
Add a Comment:
 
:iconrora1967:
rora1967 Featured By Owner 8 hours ago
Nice story and nice pic !
Thanks !
Reply
:iconarthurgarvin:
ArthurGarvin Featured By Owner 2 hours ago
I'm glad you're enjoying the story and pictures, Roby. :) (Smile) 
Reply
:iconexcalib:
Excalib Featured By Owner 13 hours ago  Hobbyist Writer
Great writing - enjoying the scene setting!
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:iconarthurgarvin:
ArthurGarvin Featured By Owner 10 hours ago
I also enjoy his writing.
Reply
:iconexcalib:
Excalib Featured By Owner 10 hours ago  Hobbyist Writer
Reminds me of Chandler in fact.
Reply
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