((I originally posted this on the Virtue forum, but I figured folks on other servers might like to read it.))
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"Sorry, man, not interested." The man hadn't even glanced at Lawrence Teasdale's application.
"But why not?" Lawrence felt the anger start. Again.
"What, are you kiddin' me? You're a godd*** senior citizen. Nobody wants to see an old guy naked!"
"But I'm in excellent shape! I can dance! If you'd just let me demonstrate my mov--"
"You are wrinkly. You have liver spots." The man jabbed a stubby forefinger at Lawrence as he said this. "And I don't give a rat's backside about your moves. Now get out." The man turned and began to walk away.
Ageism. Ageism and an unhealthy attitude towards the human body. That's what was wrong with society. That's why he couldn't get hired as a male stripper. The fact that he was 68 years old shouldn't matter. But people were consumed with their petty little prejudices.
"Am I going to have to sue you people to get you to take me seriously?" shouted Lawrence at the retreating back. The man said something unintelligble in response, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Lawrence. A bulky bouncer detached himself from the shadows and made his way menacingly towards Lawrence.
"The boss says you should leave" said the thug in a surprisingly educated voice. "Now, we can do this one of two ways. I'm hoping you pick the second one."
"How much does he pay you?"
"What?" said the thug, taken aback.
"How much does he pay you?"
"Couple hundred a week. Why?"
"Work for me and I'll double it."
"No s***?"
"No s***."
"You got it," said the thug.
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Jeannie Tipton felt the bag being yanked off her head. The gag and blindfold were removed, but her hands remained tied.
Jeannie found herself seated in a grimy, abandoned warehouse, in front of a dimly lit stage. Large speakers rested on either side of the stage.
"Okay, here's how it's going to work," said a surprisingly educated voice beside her. The voice belonged to a large, muscular man. The man turned Jeannie's chair slightly, and Jeannie could see that the man held a gun to the head of her daughter, Mina.
"Mommy?"
"MINA!" she screamed! "LET HER GO, YOU BAST***! LEAVE HER ALONE!"
"The boss is going to come out on stage here in just a minute. You are to watch him the entire time. If you look away, even for so much as a second...well, let's just say the results won't be beneficial to little Mina here." The man said this in an emotionless, matter of fact voice, as though he were describing doing the laundry.
"Oh my god oh my god oh my god please don't hurt my daughter please my god I'm beggin--"
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" boomed the speakers, accompanied by some generic dance music intro that sounded very vaguely like Right Said Fred's "I'm Too Sexy". "Please welcome the one, the only, MISTER CHIPPENDALE!"
Jeannie focused her eyes on the stage. Out came a man of below average height. Not short, but shorter than average. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but he looked old. His balding crown peeked through a ring of grey hair. He wore a motorcycle jacket, leather pants, motorcycle boots, and a bowtie. He was smiling.
She recognized him.
"M-m-mister Teasdale?"
Lawrence looked down, frowning. He motioned for Woody to cut the music and turn up the house lights. When the lights came up, he looked down again at Jeannie. "My goodness! Jeannie Tipton? Is that you?"
"Oh my god Mr. Teasdale, what's happening?!?"
"You have grown up SO MUCH since last I saw you," he said, his his fake, insincere, oily smile returning to his face. "Wow! How long has it been? You were...Class of '89, right? You got a B in my chemistry class, as I recall."
Lawrence stood there beaming down at Jeannie as though having this conversation in these particular circumstances was the most normal thing in the world.
"I told Big Johnson here," he indicated the burly man holding the gun up against Mina's head "to go find someone who would watch my show! I never imagined in a million years that he would bring me an old student of mine! I mean, what are the odds?"
Tears streamed down Jeannie's face, and she choked out between sobs "What's happening?!?"
"Just you watch, my dear. All you have to do is...just watch."
With that, Lawrence climbed back up on stage. The lights dimmed again except for the spotlight focused on him, and the music started back up.
I'm too sexy for my shirt
Too sexy for my shirt
So sexy it hurts...
Lawrence giggled a little bit as he took his jacket off during that verse. He thought it was pretty clever.
He hoped she kept watching. Parents always got so distraught when Big Johnson killed their kids that they never finished watching his performance afterwards.
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"No sign of him, Detective," said the uniformed officer. "House is picked mostly clean. No clothes, no personal effects, no money or credit cards. Just some old furniture, dishes, that kinda thing."
"Thanks," responded Det. Wincott absently.
The bizarre rash of kidnappings, accompanied by the occasional murder, had been baffling the authorities for months. People reported being kidnapped and forced to watch some old guy do a striptease for an hour. People reported that loved ones close to them had also been kidnapped. They were the bargaining chip. They were the lever that forced the people to watch. Watch...or else.
Five people had apparently failed to watch with sufficient attentiveness. Four children and one man were dead as a consequence. The surviving victims -- the ones who had looked away -- were left with a crushing feeling of guilt that not even time would fully erase. One had already committed suicide.
The latest victim had managed to watch. She and her daughter had been released unharmed four hours ago. And she knew the perp. It was the tip Wincott had been waiting for. Only, the bird had flown the coop. No telling where he was now.
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The ferry landed at Mercy Island. Lawrence strolled off the boat, with Big Johnson and Woody following close behind him.
"Things were just getting a bit warm back there in Paragon City, boys. I think we're going to have a much better time of things here on the Rogue Isles. I hear they're a bit more tolerant of performance art than they were back on the mainland."
"I think that we can make some money here," he continued. "Maybe buy an old theater. Fix it up, you know? Make it look really nice. And then we can go back to Paragon and find people to fill the audience. And once everybody in Paragon City has seen my show, maybe we'll move on to another 'burg. The sky's the limit, boys!"
And he walked down the docks and into the heart of Mercy.
