Chapter 8

The sun was just cutting through the Las Vegas smog when Paul and Cy brought the newly widowed man back to his kids. Jamie, Ester and Claudia were setting in Cy's living room with the door to the guestroom open. The two children could be seen, fast asleep, on the king-size bed. Rhonda and Jeff had skipped out for a quick breakfast.

Cy led the ashen man to the easy chair in the corner of the room. Claudia immediately handed the man a large glass of brandy.

"Can I have a cigarette?" asked Clinton.

Cy said, "Of course. I'll have someone bring some up."

"No need, Cy," said Claudia. "I have a pack in my purse."

Clinton sat in the corner, chain smoking. As one cigarette burned down, he would light the next one from the end of the previous one.

"Clinton," said Cy. "Why don't you stay in my room and get some rest. It's probably not a good idea to wake the kids and move them. We can talk about what to do after you get some rest. I'll move into another room for a while."

"Uh? Oh sure. What ever you say."

Jamie took over at this point. "Clinton," she said as she took the brandy from his hand. "No more of this stuff. I want you to take these, and go lay down for a while."

Clinton took the sedative without comment and followed Jamie into Cy's room as she pulled on his hand. "Now take off your clothes and get into bed. You need to have rest for the children. You are going to have to tell them something later on today. Let's go." Clinton just stood there.

"Claudia, come here. I'm going to need some help."

Paul was fuming as the group sat in the closed comedy club. "I can't believe you put up with this shit from Summers."

"Paul, you have no idea what it is like to have every part of your life on display. The Feds have permanent wiretaps on my phones. I'm followed the second I leave the casino. Every penny I make is monitored by at least three tax agencies. Every time I talk to a customer, that customer is checked out as a potential criminal. A punk like Summers is the least of my problems."

"They can't do that," exclaimed Rhonda. "That's a violation of your constitutional rights. This is America."

Cy looked at Rhonda and smiled. "You poor deluded child. The last time any one had any constitutional rights was when the Treasury Department put Al Capone in jail for tax evasion. Since that time, our rights have been nibbled at. A nip here, a tuck there, and another little bit of our lives belongs to an insurance company. A little nibble here, and a little bit more of your privacy belongs to a bank or a credit agency.

"But all those files are confidential!"

"Are they? Do you have a credit card?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then there is a file on you on some central computer at the credit card company, at the bank that holds the card, the 10 different credit agencies that work with your bank. They know your job, your level of education, what your employer and former employers think of you. They know what your neighbors think of you.

"Every time you apply for a job, buy a house, buy a car, or even buy a pair of socks on credit, at least a dozen more people know about the very deepest part of your private life. In fact, with the new technologies, the minute you use your credit card, anyone in the world could know exactly where you're standing and what you are buying. You can't even buy insurance without a credit check any more.

"In fact, you don't even have to actively do something to have someone access your credit. Where do you think all those telemarketing calls that offer you pre-approved credit come from? Your friendly credit agency sells names to anyone who wants them."

"How can they do that? You make it sound like some sort of giant conspiracy," replied Rhonda.

Paul added, "Rhonda, Cy is right. There really isn't a laid out plan to take away our freedom, though. Do you remember what one of the French Revolution leaders, Voltaire, once said?"

"No."

"He said, 'Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.' What we see here is an example of human nature at its worst. All of these people look at what they are doing as for the good of whatever organization they belong to. This could be a law office, a government bureau, a credit bureau, or what ever. They feel that one little piece of information more or less isn't going to mean anything, but by the time each of these little pieces of information are put together in some computer, there isn't a thing that 'Big Brother' doesn't know.

"I know, because I got rich making the stuff the government and law enforcement agencies use to obtain much of that information. It's not always bad, as you and Shawn saw when we stopped the killing of those people in Akron, but if not used carefully and under strict guidelines, these types of invasions can kill the freedoms we have defended for over 200 years. John Ashcroft's theory is 'You can't violate rights if you don't have them.'"

"You see," added Cy. "What we have here is a political variation of Boyle's Law. Boyle said that if a gas is introduced into a vacuum, it will distribute itself until it is equally distributed through out the space. Now look at each article and amendment of the constitution as a container holding back a tyranny that caused that item to be formulated. For example, the First Amendment, the freedom of speech, was implemented so that the citizens of the country could criticize the government with impunity. Another principle of the founding fathers was 'No Taxation Without Representation.' Now that has been shot to hell by the Supreme Court so many times that abusive tax policy is a hallmark of our various levels of government. And don't get me wrong. The workers at the IRS are really good and caring folks, but the whole system can run out of control so quickly, that it's scary.

"The first pinprick in that container that kept abusive tax policy locked in was the conviction of Al Capone for tax evasion. Here, a good thing, the taking down of a power mad thug, turned into the loss of one of everyone's freedoms. Sure, there were taxes before the income tax. We taxed commercial transactions, we charged fees for the use of government services, we taxed imports, and we taxed whisky. We almost had a second revolution over that one, but at no point before the Twentieth Century did we invade the rights of individuals to provide a fair paycheck for their families. Even after the income tax was passed, the IRS had giant walls that prevented the abuse that now exists. Those walls started coming down, however, when one man's privacy was invaded.

"You see, the container that blocked that abuse was pierced, and now we are all at equal risk for a visit from our local IRS agent. Some day when you least expect it, someone will come up to you and say, ' Hi, I'm from the IRS, and I'm here to help you.' Now, take that one thing, and multiply it by the many things our government does. It is scary. Once one of those containers protecting our freedom is breached, it is almost impossible to get that freedom back. Our government does not give up what it has. As Paul pointed out, look at that demigod we call Attorney General. You want to talk about someone who is frightening? That's your man."

"This is a free society," insisted a stubborn Rhonda. "This is not the old Soviet Union. You just can't get thrown in jail. People visiting our country have rights, too. We have protection under our laws."

Jeff had been taking in this conversation in complete silence. He could no longer stay quiet.

"You really are a sweet child, aren't you? Did you know that because of our war on drugs, we now have more people in our jails than the Soviet Union did at any point in its history? We have real criminals walking the streets because some kid gave a friend a bag of Mary Jane puts him under the 'Three Strikes and You're Out' drug laws and their mandatory sentences. The list goes on. It's no wonder that we need the death penalty. We need to make room for more prisoners. It sure as hell doesn't stop the killing. Never mind that the rest of the word thinks we're barbaric, or that some countries that we have extradition treaties with refuse to honor them because of our 'death row' laws. We are a free society. Free that is until you cross the moral majority, or some fucking insurance company, or some goddamn bank, or some power hungry plutocrat."

"Or, someone like Detective Summers," said Cy.

"Yeah," replied Jeff. "Or someone like Detective Summers."

XXXXXXXXX

"OK, guys. You got all the numbers we're going to be at?" asked Bob.

"Yes, Dad," said an exasperated Sally. "I have the numbers, Hobby has enough breast milk from Shawn's pump, we have enough baby food for an army, I have the address of where you guys are going to be, and I have TC's number incase anything goes wrong and we need help. Will you stop worrying? Rosa and Jerry are staying with us at Uncle Paul's place for the weekend. God, please loosen up. Go out and get laid or something!"

"Young lady," stammered Bob. "You will not talk to your father that way. I am simply helping Shawn out on one of her business trips for TC."

"OK, OK. Don't worry. I'll stay away from the cabbage patch so you will not have any grandkids here when you get back. You never know where those little buggers will sneak out of a cabbage and leave a little stranger at the door."

Shawn whispered in Bob's ear, "Bob, quit while you're ahead."

Sally continued, "Listen, Dad, Hobby and I have talked this over, and we agree that this is a good thing. You two have some fun. Remember, all work and no play makes for a cranky Dad. Shawn, will you make him relax some?"

"Count on it, Honey. We will do plenty of 'relaxing.' You just make sure you let someone help you if my little pooper gets out of control."

"Sounds like a deal," said Sally. "You take care of my man, and I'll take care of yours. If you need any help with Dad, I'm sure you can find someone to help out. If not, Jen's assistant manager will go to Columbus and help you. I saw the way she looked at him at Uncle Paul's wedding reception. Wow, girl, you could have some competition."

"Deal. Now, we're out of here. We will be in Columbus. You have the list, and I trust you with the most important thing in my life. I am not worried about Hobby or some assistant manager."

Shawn sat in the front seat of Bob's new Mark VIII as Bob pulled out of Paul's driveway. "She can handle Hobby, can't she?"

Bob laughed. "Listen, if you're not sure, we can cancel and TC can do his own business trip. You might be pushing it if Rosa wasn't there. Hobby is only 6 months old."

"I know, but TC needs me to take a look at the girls down south. He heard a rumor that some of the girls were turning tricks out of his bars. It is too hard to get a permit in those cities to lose them over something he has no control over. I am so glad you were willing to help out with this sting."

"I do feel a little sneaky about this."

"Look. Here is the way it works. You can find out who is doing the deed, and we simply fire her. If the police find out who is doing the deed, she goes to jail, and TC loses his club. Not only that, but that dyke State Attorney General would try to use something like this to go after all of TC's holdings in Ohio. She could get them too. Bitch would do anything for a vote."

"I know, Shawn, but it still makes me uneasy."

"Hey look, you are going to have a ball. In fact, I'm going to try out a new act in Columbus. I think you might like it, and I promise you that Sally's wish for you to get laid will come true."

XXXXXXXXX

The house lights lowered to the minimum safe level and returned as the stage went completely dark. The woman announcer sighed in a sexy drawl, "Ladies and gentlemen. We have a special treat for you tonight. During the upcoming performance, no table service will be available, so take the next five minutes to freshen your drinks or refill your munchies. My boss is going to show us how a show is to be performed."

Five minutes later, the house lights went back down. Over the massive speakers, Copeland's 'A fanfare for the Common Man' reverberated off the walls. Synchronized with the music, the stage lights pulsed with a multitude of colors and chased each other around the stage and merged together as an artificial fog filled the stage area. After the final boom of the kettledrum, the ragged voice of Billy Holiday filled the room with 'Love for Sale.' With the first note of the Cole Porter song, the stage returned to dark. At the back of the stage, three black curtains covered the wall of mirrors that was normally exposed. Two curtains were separated and created an opening with the third curtain about two feet behind the other two, creating a stage entrance. In the middle of this entrance, a single narrow beam of intense white light merged into the foggy floor.

Suddenly, a flash of white lace broke the beam of light. An arm followed, and then a wave of red hair spilled our from behind the front curtains as Shawn spun onto the stage. The beam of light immediately went out and the stage was filled with blue. A single red spotlight then framed Shawn as she spun in a full white formal gown that reflected a glowing red. The gown shimmered in counter movement to Shawn in the spotlight as if it were alive. A red aura reflected off white lace shawl floating about Shawn's shoulders. The wrap unrolled itself as she spun with a dreamlike expression on her face. With the words, "Who wants to buy this love," she looked to the table Bob was at. One of the dancers was in his lap and whispering something in his ear. Bob answered and nodded his head toward the stage. The girl nodded, and kissed his ear.

Shawn continued her turns until the shawl was floating across the floor in a series of concentric circles. Now the lights were changing colors. Reds, pinks, greens, blues and various shades of and mixes of those colors slowly moved around the stage in time with the music. As the song ended, Shawn dropped the lace and moved to the stage entrance.

Immediately Peggy Lee's voice dripped sex in the room with 'Treat Me Like You Should." The bottom of Shawn's dress disappeared behind the curtains and she was left with a peek-a-boo strapless teddy that some how stayed on her body. Her movements suddenly turned form ballet type swirls and reaches to classic jazz steps and thrusts.

Amazingly the outfit stayed on her until the music changed to the classic rendition of 'Proud Mary' by Ike and Tina Turner. As she jumped into midair splits, the intense energy of the dance was breath taking. At some point unnoticed by her audience, the teddy vanished, and all that was left was left was a g-string and a pair of 6 inch heals.

Shawn rounded the edge of the stage in a series of graceful swirls that allowed her breasts to keep in time with the music. The sense of excitement in the room grew as the music pounded the audience with its power. Each man in the room was drawn into a psychic intercourse with the captivating redhead. The breathing of the women in the room became more labored as wave after wave of sexuality emulated from the stage. Just as the climax of the music approached, Shawn moved back to the stage opening, removed the g-string, spread her legs, bent from the waist, and grabbed her ankles. On the last note of the song, an explosion of sparks formed a wall behind Shawn, and when they had cleared, she was gone.

The silence that settled over the room was once again shattered by the Copeland fanfare. Then the room exploded in shouts, whistles, and applause. The entire room was standing and shouting for Shawn to return to the stage. The lights on the stage remained off, but a single muted spot highlighted Shawn as she stood with her feet apart and arms stretched upward in the curtain entry. As Shawn returned to the stage in all her nude glory, an avalanche of money flew onto the stage. Dollars, fives, tens, and twenties and even a couple of hundreds landed at her feet as she strutted the perimeter of the stage and blew kisses to her new fans.

As she glanced to Bob, she saw him nod his head to her and leave with the dancer that was on his lap. On her next trip around the stage, the music of Joe Cocker's 'You Are So Beautiful' softly filled the room as she stooped to pick up the money that was given in homage to a talent most of the people in the room had never experienced. At the same time, several men went to the rest rooms to clean up the stains that witnessed the effect she had on the men for which she had performed.

As quickly as she could without looking like she wanted to leave, Shawn made her way back to the dressing rooms. Waiting for her outside the door was the club manager. As he held a dressing gown for her, he gushed, "Shawn! That was the most incredible thing I have ever seen. I have never seen people in one of these places react to a routine like this. No wonder TC made you the talent boss. Jesus, what an act!"