Bus control 1
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Dedicated to Russ Meyer and American International Pictures
*
Chapter 1
Strip Club
It was gone three in the morning and what little air there was in the Ooh-La-La Club was thick with smoke and sweat and the odor of stale beer. The joint was packed tonight: waitresses in tight hot pants and club tee-shirts sashayed around carrying trays laden with beer bottles and whisky shots, customers jostled each other and fights broke out, only to be promptly ended by big, burly bouncers, strippers gave lap-dances in not-so-discreet corners. And an unending supply of sawdust was regularly thrown down to soak up the beer and the blood and the puke and the cum.
Suddenly, the music that had been pounding out all night was turned down and the walls and floors quit pulsing. Everybody stopped what they were doing — all except those customers who, having some hardbody stripper’s ass or tits gyrating in their face, could not stop themselves from blowing their load at that precise moment.
Roxy, the Ooh-La-La Club MC, stepped up onto the main stage and was hit by a big white spotlight.
‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, the act you’ve all been waiting for…’
There was a hush as the crowd quietened down, expectant.
‘All the way from Waco, Texas…’
Shouts and wolf-whistles from the audience.
‘For one nite only…’
More cheers and whistles. A bar stool was thrown across the room somewhere in the background.
‘Vanja and the Pussycats!’
The crowd went wild.
Roxy stepped offstage and the spot went out, throwing the stage into darkness. The crowd was silent, tense, waiting for the show to begin.
Cue the music: a throbbing drum beat accompanied by slow, sleazy brass instrumentation.
Another spot hit the left side of the stage now as a curtain was pulled aside to reveal a tall, statuesque brunette, Italian-looking, slutty, gorgeous. She was wrapped in a black velvet cloak that matched her raven-colored hair, and was perched on ludicrously thin, ludicrously high stiletto heels.
Roxy’s disembodied voice proudly announced: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you… The bellisima Beatrice!’
To Beatrice’s own surprise, Roxy pronounced her name correctly, Italian-style: Bee-ah-tree-cheh…
The crowd leered and jeered and shouted lecherous come-ons.
Beatrice stepped forward, teetering on those ludicrous heels but maintaining a grace and poise that gave her an almost regal bearing. When she reached the front of the stage she threw back her cloak to reveal a killer body, deliciously clad in vintage black underwear: conical silk bullet bra, suspenders, seamed stockings — the works. And when the crowd laid eyes on that elegant, slender figure with its long legs and oversized bust they went positively nuts.
‘Yeah, baby!’
‘Show us what you got, honey!’
‘Show us them titties, girl!’
The music played on. At the front of the stage Beatrice did her thing, undulating to the slow, sultry rhythm of the burlesque jazz but not yet removing any of her clothes, despite intense encouragement from the audience. She knew how much it drove them crazy when she fingered her garters, hinting that she may begin unsnapping them at any moment.
‘Take it off, baby!’ a male voice shouted.
‘Do it!’ added another.
The attention of everybody was then diverted as the right hand curtain was thrown back and a second girl — blond this time, and dressed in a trench coat — strutted out onto the stage. The music kept oozing from the speakers as Beatrice slunk backward and the blond took her place upfront, the crowd on tenterhooks as they waited to see what she had hidden under that raincoat.
Roxy’s voice came over the speakers again.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for the sexy Suzy!’
Cheers, shouts, whistles, obscenities…
‘Now that’s a girl who’s sure to satisfy that seven year itch, folks!’
Suzy smiled at the crowd coquettishly from beneath peroxide-blond, Marilyn Monroe bangs. Then she peeled back her trench coat to reveal a body just as incredible as Beatrice’s, and similarly clad in vintage lingerie — only peach-colored this time. And like Beatrice, Suzy performed the briefest tease of a dance before stepping back to the rear of the stage, where the two of them continued gyrating sexily to the music.
‘But now the vixen you’ve all been saving your wad for…’
One customer climbed up on stage but was immediately hauled off by Thalmus, the Ooh-La-La Club’s gigantic head bouncer, and the over-zealous asshole was roughly escorted somewhere out back.
Roxy continued her introduction, drawing out each word with salacious relish.
‘The voluptuous… the voracious… the voluuuuminous… Vaaaaaanja!’
Insane cheers and whistles from the crowd.
A smoke machine coughed up a few gusts of thick white fog and colored lights roved across the stage as the music reached its third act.
At the rear of the stage, between Beatrice and Suzy, the curtain was slowly raised to reveal a pair of long, powerful legs, thigh muscles taut.
Pneumatic breasts.
Flaming red hair.
An Amazonian warrior princess…
And like the others, Vanja was wearing vintage burlesque underwear: black bustier, suspenders, seamed stockings, eight inch heels, above-the-elbow satin gloves. She stood at the back of the stage, hands on hips, bust pushed out. An arrogant eyebrow was raised at the crowd, a sneer of contempt contorting her lipstick-heavy lips. She strutted to the front of the stage, flanked by Suzie and Beatrice, thrust her mountainous breasts out even further.
She reached out and with satin-clad fingers stroked the faces of her fellow dancers and the crowd gave a roar of approval.
Then, in perfect time to the music, Suzy and Beatrice began to remove Vanja’s gloves, one finger at a time. They peeled them off slowly, revealing her slender white arms with their toned biceps, twirled them around, held them tautly over their heads like Rita Hayworth, and writhed their perfect bodies in perfect synchrony under the hot spotlights.
More voices from the crowd, a mixture of male and female.
‘You fuckin’ hot bitch!’
‘Let me suck on those titties, mama!’
‘Keep it comin’!’
The music approached its climax. With each saucy trumpet blast of the finale, Vanja popped each fastening of her bustier, starting at the top and working her way down. Each time, she revealed more of her bare body underneath it, her gigantic breasts practically pushing the loosened garment apart — like two cantaloupes splitting open a paper grocery bag.
The crowd had stopped cheering and jeering by now and they were standing as one homogenous mass of sweaty, animal lust, eyes on stalks and mouths open in anticipation.
On the fifth and final burst of trumpet, everyone in the room held their breath and watched in awe as Vanja yanked open the bustier to reveal her magnificent —
The lights went out.
The crowd went wild. Cheers, wolf-whistles, et cetera…
‘Yeah!’
‘That was fuckin’ awesome, baby!’
‘More!’
There was a brief, tantalising intermission before the music began again and the colored lights came up and the girls reappeared onstage to rapturous applause and continued their sleazy routine.
An hour later.
Vanja, Beatrice and Suzy retired to the dressing room tired and sweaty and naked except for little glittery thongs. The room was wall-to-wall naked chicks, strippers came and went, towelling themselves down or packing up their shit for the evening. Some congratulated the girls on their show as they walked past, others threw bitchy looks or ignored them completely.
They stood at the long mirror lined with stark white bulbs and began drying themselves off.
‘Goddamn!’ said Suzy, grinn
ing with pride. ‘That must be our best reception yet.’
Vanja nodded coolly. ‘You might be right, darlin’. You might be right.’
Behind them, Roxy entered the dressing room and came over. She was counting out dollar bills. Vanja kept her back to her, wiping the perspiration from her armpits and neck, and from those great, pendulous breasts.
‘Here you go, ladies. Nice job.’
Vanja turned, smiled politely, took the cash. Counted it professionally.
‘What’s this shit?’
‘Hey, that’s what Luis said I should give you. You gotta problem, go see Luis.’
Vanja, pissed as hell, smouldered silently as Roxy walked away, she noticed that some of the other strippers had stopped to watch the scene.
‘What the fuck are you all gawkin’ at? Get back to your own fuckin’ business.’
The strippers wisely returned to their previous activities, and Vanja reluctantly tucked the notes into her thong.
Luis, the proprietor of the Ooh-La-La Club, was sitting back in his swivel chair, the desk a mess of paperwork and cocaine, while a small blond head bobbed up and down over his crotch. His eyes were closed and he was whispering things like ‘Oh, baby…’ as the stripper called Cherry sucked him off nosily.
There was a knock at the door.
Luis glanced over, sharply, annoyed at the interruption. Cherry didn’t stop.
‘Who is it?’
A second knock.
‘What the fuck… Hey, get lost! I’m busy in here!’
Another.
‘Hey, don’t make me come over there…’
The door was kicked open. Vanja stood in the doorway, dressed now in a robe, her imposing stance accentuated by her eight-inch heels. Luis sat up, startled, pissed off, and pushed Cherry away from his dick. The girl knelt there, confused, bored, popped her gum back in her mouth.
Luis didn’t bother zipping himself up. His erect cock leaned to one side.
‘What the fuck do you want, bitch? Can’t you see I’m doin’ business in here?’
Vanja stood in the doorway, silent.
Luis looked down at Cherry. ‘Okay, get lost.’
The thin, cheap blond staggered to her feet, yanked her top back up over her small hard breasts, and tottered out of the room mumbling under her breath.
Luis finally stuffed his dick back into his pants and zipped it up.
‘Okay, bitch, I guess you’re not here to finish the job Cherry started. So what can I do you for?’
Vanja walked over to his desk, stood in front of it.
‘You can start by not calling me ‘bitch’.’
‘Okay,’ Luis replied reasonably. ‘Now get to the fuckin’ point.’
Vanja held up the three hundred bucks.
‘What’s this bullshit?’
‘What?’
‘You know goddamn well what. There’s three hundred dollars here. That ain’t what we agreed an’ you know it.’
‘Yeah, well. The arrangement’s changed. But you girls did good out there.’ He gestured with his thumb at the big window behind him, which overlooked the stage. ‘Damn good. In fact, you three got me so fuckin’ hot under the collar that I had to get Cherry in here to put me outta my misery. So do me a favor: if you’re not intending to get on your knees yourself, take the three hundred, and maybe we can do business again on your way back through.’
Vanja stared at him, steely-eyed.
‘Okay. I’m gonna ask you nice, and only once am I gonna be nice.’ She paused, then said softly, deliberately: ‘Pay me the fuckin’ money you owe me asshole, and pay it now. Comprende?’
Luis smiled and gave a disbelieving snort of derision.
For a brief moment they faced each other across the desk, a silent Mexican stand-off of wills. Then Luis sat up in his chair.
‘You turned up three hours late. You’re lucky you’re gettin’ paid at all.’ He lit a cigarette and nonchalantly blew blue smoke into the air.
Vanja, unimpressed, managed to control her anger. She crossed her arms, tapped a finger.
‘Look. We do the show, you cough up the dough.’
‘Yeah? An’ you show up late and I cut your hourly rate. Now get the fuck outta here.’
‘Tut, tut, tut,’ said Vanja, the hint of a smile on her glossy, blood-red lips. ‘Looks like I’m gonna be askin’ you the unpleasant way after all.’
‘Oh yeah? And what’s that?’
‘I don’t think you wanna hear it.’
Luis got up out of his chair, walked round his desk, sat down on the edge of it with his arms crossed.
‘Try me.’
Vanja moved in to whisper in his ear and Luis watched the fall of her voluminous tits inside her robe as she leaned forward.
‘You better pay what you owe, or so-help-me-God your spic motherfuckin’ ass is gonna be real sorry.’
Luis leaned back, a wide smile across his tan, pock-marked face.
‘You got some big fuckin’ cojones on you, bitch, I’ll say that. I’m guessin’ no man’s ever had the balls to put you in your place, huh?’
Vanja wagged a finger playfully. ‘Uh-uh. Didn’t I just warn you about callin’ me ‘bitch’?’
Luis barked out a crude, bellowing laugh, then made to grab the back of Vanja’s head.
Big mistake.
Before Luis knew what happened, Vanja had deflected his arm, twisted it with her own and karate chopped him across the face, breaking his nose with a sickening crack.
Luis, fucked with one blow, collapsed to the floor, his face bleeding profusely.
Vanja reached down and took his wallet from his suit jacket pocket while a small pool of blood collected beside his unconscious face. She counted out seven hundred bucks, then dropped the rest of the cash on the unconscious sleazebag.
‘Here’s a tip for you, pendajo. Don’t ever fuck with me.’
There was a fight breaking out in the car park as Vanja and the girls appeared from the ‘stage exit’, which in reality was just a beaten up metal door with a handwritten sign reading ‘Keep the fuck out’ taped to it. Suzy and Beatrice hung back to watch the two burly bikers beating the shit out of each other while Vanja strode on ahead, pulling on black leather driving gloves. She was dressed all in black now: knee-length leather boots, tight pants and a low-cut tee-shirt that could barely contain her immense bust.
She walked past a long row of parked motorcycles until she reached her car — an immaculate, lipstick-red 1965 Porsche 356 C.
Suzy and Beatrice were enjoying the fight, cheering and laughing as one biker smashed the other one’s face into his knee. There was a spray of blood and the pearly gleam of a dislodged tooth before the injured biker reeled backwards and hit the deck.
A sizeable crowd of both men and women had joined the two spectating girls and there was now a circle around the brawl. Someone was already taking bets.
Spotting the other two, Vanja stuffed two fingers in her mouth and gave a short, sharp whistle.
‘Hey, come on you two. Let’s blow this pop stand already.’
Somewhat reluctantly, Suzy and Beatrice tore themselves away from the violence and wandered over to their own automobiles, which were parked either side of Vanja’s car.
Suzy slipped on a pair of white leather driving gloves. ‘So, where we headin’?’
Vanja smiled. ‘As far away from this shithole as we can get, darlin’. That is, unless you wanna go a few rounds with the hired muscle in there.’
At that moment the stage door was kicked open and Luis, clutching his broken and bloodied nose, staggered out. He was accompanied by Thalmus and another bouncer.
‘You fuckin’ bitches come back here and you’re dead, you got that? Don’t ever show your faces around here again!’
Vanja stuck out her bottom lip and frowned. ‘Aw, do you think he’s mad at me for bweaking his widdle nose?’ She then blew Luis a kiss and followed it with a girly wave of her gloved hand. ‘Ladies, shall we?’
‘I’m hot to trot, Mommy-O,’ Suzy chimed, now putting on a pair of cheap red sunglasses.
‘Andiamo,’ added Beatrice.
With that, the three women got in their cars an
d started them up with a deep, synchronised growl. After revving their souped-up engines together for full effect, in turn they pulled away from the parking lot in a shower of gravel and dust, Vanja first, followed by Suzy and then Beatrice, who gave Luis and the Ooh-La-La Club the finger.
Above the bar and its sleazy neon signage (a stripper bending over and repeatedly pulling down her drawers), the beginnings of a sunrise was flecking the dawn sky with pinks, oranges and reds.
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