01-25-2018, 01:59 PM
Ok. Standing outside in the cold was getting old like really super fast. Not like they had to meet actually outside outside, after all. And he had no desire to go into the strip club. Not that he minded those, necessarily. He was a guy and women were women (and he did like women).
But generally it was just sad. He felt bad for the girls. Bad for the guys. Yeah yeah, not very progressive, he knew. People had a right to do what they wanted. To buy and sell as long as everyone was an adult. And he was sure there were a lot of well adjusted dancers who generally enjoyed themselves or the art of it or whatever. Like those high end places downtown.
But a place like this....divey and maybe you might catch something just sitting down and the girls had that worn out look even though they were his age or younger or 15 years older than him and had just gotten divorced and realized that they had lost 20 years of on the job training or opportunities or whatever.....well, he didn't know. It just felt like taking advantage. Even though if no one went, what would some of them do for work? That was the rub on the back end. Desperate people did desperate things. And if they didn't have this, what else might they do? What else that was wors?
To top it all off, as a beat cop, he'd been on more than a few cases where he got to know some of these girls or their home lives. No. Not pretty.
And not like the guys weren't sob stories too. Big secret of places like these was a lot of times, the guys just wanted to sit and talk. Lonely widowers. Guys who never had much luck or were just too busy to be able to devote the time to the chase. Depressed. Just wanted to talk, maybe get to know the girls, their regulars.
It was a relationship even with how fake it was, the only contact in a life without it. A fantasy. You couldn't be mad at them for wanting something, as long as they weren't hurting anyone. Broken people, giving each other something, even if it was just a transaction.
It was all just so complicated and he didn't know what to do about it. Stuff like that made him hate the city, even though he knew it was worse other places.
So...back to the car, he guessed. Turned on the engine and the heat. Flipped through his wallet. Bored. He'd give Pol another 10 and then go. He had work tomorrow. As it was, it was gonna be fight to hit the gym in the morning. With himself, anyway. He'd slacked off and the night turned day with Alex had also put him behind schedule (though it was not like he was complaining or anything.)
So, ok, there sitting in the car, flipping through wallet, bored, checking time, periodically looking at mirrors or ahead. Occasionally, he saw someone come out of the club, but after a moment, went back to what he was doing.
Finally, a man came out, bundled up in heavy coat and hat. Ivan put the wallet down and watched him walk up to the car, stoop down with his hands on the window to look in. Ivan recognized him and unlocked the door.
Pol slid in, the rush of cold into the now warm car not really welcome. Nor was the smell of body spray. God he almost coughed, it was so thick. Like a cloud or something. He was willing to bet Pol had glitter on his clothes too. Ivan cracked the window despite the cold just so he wouldn't choke to death.
Even in the shadows he could see the bleary red eyes. "Hey Pol. You doing ok?"
The man sat there and despite being the one who asked to meet, didn't say anything for a moment. Then, "Yeah. I guess. As good as you might expect."
He coughed from deep in his chest. Then he looked at Ivan and he coulda swore he saw the wash of tears.
He turned to face him, now concerned. "What's going on Pol? Why did you want to meet?'
Pol just stared at him, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Finally, "I'm sorry Vanya. I'm sorry. It's my fault. All of it. Olena. Your dad."
The words cut through him, like when he'd fallen into the river at the park in March. He couldn't breath. His voice was hesitant and he took Pol's shoulder, perhaps tighter than he should have. "What do you mean. What the fuck are you talking about, Pol!!"
But generally it was just sad. He felt bad for the girls. Bad for the guys. Yeah yeah, not very progressive, he knew. People had a right to do what they wanted. To buy and sell as long as everyone was an adult. And he was sure there were a lot of well adjusted dancers who generally enjoyed themselves or the art of it or whatever. Like those high end places downtown.
But a place like this....divey and maybe you might catch something just sitting down and the girls had that worn out look even though they were his age or younger or 15 years older than him and had just gotten divorced and realized that they had lost 20 years of on the job training or opportunities or whatever.....well, he didn't know. It just felt like taking advantage. Even though if no one went, what would some of them do for work? That was the rub on the back end. Desperate people did desperate things. And if they didn't have this, what else might they do? What else that was wors?
To top it all off, as a beat cop, he'd been on more than a few cases where he got to know some of these girls or their home lives. No. Not pretty.
And not like the guys weren't sob stories too. Big secret of places like these was a lot of times, the guys just wanted to sit and talk. Lonely widowers. Guys who never had much luck or were just too busy to be able to devote the time to the chase. Depressed. Just wanted to talk, maybe get to know the girls, their regulars.
It was a relationship even with how fake it was, the only contact in a life without it. A fantasy. You couldn't be mad at them for wanting something, as long as they weren't hurting anyone. Broken people, giving each other something, even if it was just a transaction.
It was all just so complicated and he didn't know what to do about it. Stuff like that made him hate the city, even though he knew it was worse other places.
So...back to the car, he guessed. Turned on the engine and the heat. Flipped through his wallet. Bored. He'd give Pol another 10 and then go. He had work tomorrow. As it was, it was gonna be fight to hit the gym in the morning. With himself, anyway. He'd slacked off and the night turned day with Alex had also put him behind schedule (though it was not like he was complaining or anything.)
So, ok, there sitting in the car, flipping through wallet, bored, checking time, periodically looking at mirrors or ahead. Occasionally, he saw someone come out of the club, but after a moment, went back to what he was doing.
Finally, a man came out, bundled up in heavy coat and hat. Ivan put the wallet down and watched him walk up to the car, stoop down with his hands on the window to look in. Ivan recognized him and unlocked the door.
Pol slid in, the rush of cold into the now warm car not really welcome. Nor was the smell of body spray. God he almost coughed, it was so thick. Like a cloud or something. He was willing to bet Pol had glitter on his clothes too. Ivan cracked the window despite the cold just so he wouldn't choke to death.
Even in the shadows he could see the bleary red eyes. "Hey Pol. You doing ok?"
The man sat there and despite being the one who asked to meet, didn't say anything for a moment. Then, "Yeah. I guess. As good as you might expect."
He coughed from deep in his chest. Then he looked at Ivan and he coulda swore he saw the wash of tears.
He turned to face him, now concerned. "What's going on Pol? Why did you want to meet?'
Pol just stared at him, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Finally, "I'm sorry Vanya. I'm sorry. It's my fault. All of it. Olena. Your dad."
The words cut through him, like when he'd fallen into the river at the park in March. He couldn't breath. His voice was hesitant and he took Pol's shoulder, perhaps tighter than he should have. "What do you mean. What the fuck are you talking about, Pol!!"