“I’d say the irony is clever, but that’d be inappropriate.”
I turned to the other manager of Benny’s Topless Bar who was one of two other men who worked here that were going to be disposing of the current mess we had on our hands. I guess since I was the only girl in the room they decided to leave me out of all the “heavy lifting”. It’s pretty sexist if you ask me, but whatever. Our boss said he’d rather have me help with the clean up process anyways, which, now that I think about it, is even more sexist.
I shrugged. “It’s fine. I don’t think she can hear you.”
We both returned to staring in silence at the headless body of Lana Schroder, who about twenty minutes ago was found standing and gripping a pole as if someone had come and knocked her head off mid-swing around it.
No one knows exactly what happened. Our boss never gave us a heads up (no pun intended) about the situation and instead just waited until we all got into work for the “surprise” to be unveiled. Not that it was covered or anything, no, her body was front and center stage. The security tape couldn’t even account for what had happened. The only off thing about the tape was a five-second cut where it showed Lana alive and well, then five seconds later, no head. No witnesses, either, which in all honesty might be more strange than her death. We’ve been standing in the audience staring at her since we watched the footage. It was one of those situations where you kind of have to stare at it before the terror sets in, you know? Maybe you don’t know, and in that case, you probably shouldn’t be reading any of this. It’s not that we wanted to stare at her partially naked, bloody body. Or who knows, maybe these guys wanted to. I didn’t. I just wanted to know where the hell her head went.
“You think rigor mortis is what’s keeping her standing up all stiff like that?” Ezra asked no one in particular, walking up the stairs to the body while the other two prepared tarps and other body-disposing items next to me. One of them, our cook, a large man named Jerry, was passing out faded white aprons from his kitchen and black dishwashing gloves to wear. It was a pretty disturbing sight. We were a mask and a chainsaw away from cosplaying Leatherface from Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
Upon being ignored like he rightfully should have been, Ezra then asked, “Is it bad that I want to poke her?” His tanned skin next to Lana’s pale, greying body was enough of a sight to remind me to go and sit out in the sun for a few hours when I get home. Deathly pale had a new meaning to it now, one that I wanted nothing to do with.
“Just hurry up, will you?” I told him.
“What’s your problem?” He asked, as if there wasn’t a decapitated woman in front of us that he was now poking. “You’re kind of bossing me around, Sweetheart.”
I was one more nickname away from snapping a photo of him with Lana and sending it to the police. “This is a crime scene, and you’re acting like Lana’s body is a stress ball.”
“Uh, it’s not a crime scene because the cops aren’t coming. Nobody called them,” he reminded me in a snarky tone.
That was another thing that really pushed my buttons. Under any other circumstance or problem that might arise at the bar, such as a fight or a robbery, I’d totally understand if no one called the police. The men who worked here were all practically criminals themselves, so calling the cops was referred to as a “bitch move” and unacceptable while “handling issues like men” (though usually illegal and always the worst option) was somehow better. I guess I just figured because of the almost supernatural nature of this… murder? Accident? Whatever. Anyways, I just figured they’d want some extra help.
But then again, a headless body in a topless bar really might put some suspicion on the establishment. Enough suspicion to close us down for good.
I refrained from saying anything else.
I did my best to tie my curly hair back before I slowly put the apron on, then the gloves. We had an hour until people would start pulling up in our driveway (yes, our boss told us the situation at hand was to be no exception to the “open 365 days a year’’ policy he was so prideful of), meaning we had an hour to take care of our dead dancer and an hour to find her head. By the way things are going right now, we might have to hold off on cleaning up and just throw a tarp over the mess and pray no customers ask questions.
I turned my attention back to Ezra who was now trying simultaneously to pry her fingers loose from the pole and kick her knees out from under her to get her body to fall.
You may have already figured out that the value of human life here at Benny’s Topless Bar is grossly over-exaggerated and borderline nonexistent. If I’m being completely honest, I think I’m the only one working here staring at their first dead body. I don’t know if it was pride or guilt that was welling up in my throat after that thought, but it sure didn’t taste good.
“Hand me that saw, Sweetheart, will you?” Ezra asked me, pointing over my shoulder at the rusty hacksaw in a bucket labeled “for inconveniences” next to one of our bouncers, Zane.
“Oh my God,” I moaned softly, feeling my stomach flip. It’s hard to say if it was because of the box, Ezra, the terror setting in, or the fact that Lana was definitely going to haunt us from now on, but I needed to get out of this room before I vomited and created another mess to clean up.
The kitchen was the nearest room I could get to, and since Jerry was out front dismembering a body, I knew it would be empty. I decided to use the space to take a few shaky breaths.
In, out.
Jesus. Maybe this onset of anxiety was actually Lana starting her reign of terror over this establishment, because after watching that security tape, I’m pretty sure this place is haunted now. Her partially naked body would forever walk our stages at night as she searched for her head that for some reason is still missing. But hey, it would be pretty cool to see a ghost, now that I think about it. And I was always nice to Lana, so I’m sure she wouldn’t possess me or anything.
In, out, in…
Then I stopped breathing, because it was at that moment that I noticed something I hadn’t noticed when I first walked into the kitchen.
The air smelled…different.
Then I heard it. Something was boiling on the stove. A part of me hoped Jerry had left the stove on all night by accident and burned whatever was cooking…
But then I saw the hair.