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The Hoofers - The Collection

The Hoofers - The Collection

“Well, Jennifer, I gather from what you told our barman that you have some experience doing this job?”
“Yep, I did two years at the Pussy Kat in Frisco, then a three month stint at a revue bar in Vegas.”
“To be honest, young lady, you sound too well educated for this job.”
Not for the first time I mentally cursed my Ivy League college accent, but faking an accent wasn’t one of my skills. I had this job because of rather more obvious skills.
“Well, it is good money and you have to understand…”
He cocked his eyebrow in anticipation as I paused dramatically.
“I really enjoy the work.”
“That’s refreshingly honest, at least.” He chuckled. “Well, honey, you know how this goes, I have to see you strut your stuff.”
“Up here or down on the floor?”
I nodded toward the main body of the club, dimly visible through the office window behind him, despite knowing from earlier observation as I’d walked through the bar, that the windows were silvered from the other side.
“Nah. Right where you are, honey. Unless you need props of course.”
“I can work with props but I don’t usually rely on them.”
He chuckled and then grabbed the remote control from the desk and flicked the top button. A light rock song with a driving beat began to play and, smiling at the club manager, I stood up. As I did so, my mind flashed back to the meeting two weeks ago that had led to this.

* * * *

If I ever get my hands on the wag who came up with the nickname for our section, I’ll do more than make him wish he’d never been born. Castration with a blunt knife and no anaesthetic for starters. Mind you I might have to wait in line for a while. All sixteen members of our section, including Lindsay, our section head, wanted to do exactly the same thing.
Seeing the sign on the conference room door had made my blood boil. “Hoofers Case Conference, underwear optional. Please state your choice of music.” It was obvious the sign had been put up after Lindsay and her secretary had entered the room. She would not have tolerated it. The gang of special agents gathered around the water cooler as I entered the room obviously contained the culprit. Gritting my teeth, I ripped the sign off the door and entered the room.
“You see this, boss?”
Lindsay looked round from the overhead slide she was checking and took in the writing on the sign within a single heartbeat. Less than a second later, her mouth set in a grim line, she crossed the room with a feline grace that belied her one hundred and eighty pound frame.
Wrenching the door open, she stormed out only to re-appear a couple of seconds later.
“Corridor’s empty.”
“Typical Special Agents then, fled the scene.”

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