AUTHOR’S NOTE; The following is a work of fiction and shouldn’t be viewed by people under the age of eighteen. If you are underage PLEASE LEAVE NOW! I wondered what other kinds of jobs would be impacted by the zombie plague from my book Uprising and this came to mind. Enjoy!
It was Fat Tuesday in Youngstown, Ohio and the Circus of Flesh gentleman’s club was packed with the usual crowd but intermingled with other party-goers. Bob McCall smiled at the heavy thump of the music, the flashing of the lights and the sway of naked skin was barely contained within its walls. Men and women lined the penis-shaped stage, sat around the circular tables or stood against the walls hooting and hollering at the action. Other dancers went around to the various patrons administering lap dances for those who would pay the price. On stage one of his dancers, Pearl Fire swirled, strutted and thrust her body at the audience. She had her body painted in red and black makeup like a harlequin. Pearl’s long red hair was capped by a hat with three bells dangling down. She wore silver pasties and thong. The stripper’s garter was totally hidden by the fluttering bills stuffed into it. He chuckled at thought of all the money his place was going to make tonight.
Bob sat at the bar and smiled at the woman behind it.
“Great show, huh?” Bob shouted over the din.
“I thought this idea was stupid,” Tina replied, “I guess I was wrong.”
“I have my moments.”
“By the way we’re running low on bourbon.”
“I got it covered.”
Pushing his way through the lusty crowd he moved to the back. He nodded at Bill the bouncer who opened the door so he could descend into the basement to bring up a case of cheap bourbon.
I knew this would work, he thought. People need a little excitement and distraction since the zombie plague struck. Thankfully it’s contained now and things are returning back to normal. I have the feeling 2019 is going to be a very good year for everyone.
The idea of the themed night came to him after seeing a report on how Mardi Gras was making a comeback all over the country. The newscast showed folks all over the United States preparing in giddy anticipation for the event. He knew people just wanted an excuse to let their hair down and have some fun. It had been a long three years since the Outbreak of 2015. The business and pressures of survival had held back any sort of celebration of life.
Now the Reanimated Working Class are doing the manual labor, people are making good money and they just want some fun, he smiled inwardly. Who knew zombies could be domesticated? Hell if I make enough I can buy one or two to clean up after the club closes.
Picking up a cardboard case of amber filled bottles he trudged back up the stairs. Bill opened the door after he struggled to try to open it. The ongoing party hit him like the heat from a blast furnace-like. Elbowing his way to the bar he set the case down on it with a thump.
“Here ya go Tina,” he yelled.
“Thanks Bob,” she replied. “Hey look Daisy Dazzle is taking the stage.”
He didn’t have to look because the howling laughter filling the place informed him without costing him time to turn his head. Mixed in with mirth were a few gasp of fear. Bob recalled the conversation between him and Daisy before the joint opened.
“I’m going to dress like a clown,” she had told him.
“Daisy,” he retorted, “some people are afraid of clowns. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Clowns are funny, not scary.”
“Go ahead but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The techno beat of Addicted Radio by Serge Devant sizzled out of the speakers and Bob turned to watch the woman’s set. Daisy was wearing a one-piece white clown’s outfit with multi-colored polka-dots, a blue wig with a bald spot, a red nose and pancake makeup on her face. The big blue circles on her cheeks and the large red outline around her pert lips made her look ridiculous, not sexy.
“Still most of the clients seem to like it,” he mused beneath the noise.
She kicked off her long red shoes revealing a hidden set of stripper boots of the same shade. The soles of her footwear were thick and the heels were tall spikes. The patrons when crazy and she began to strut around the stage provocatively tugging at the zipper on the front of the garish outfit. Her fingers paused at her crotch and she thrust out her hips and threw her head back. Daisy bent over and dangled her lush breasts out of the costume’s opening to the audience creating a bizarre surge of lusty cat-calls. With a flourish she dropped the outfit to around her waist. Her pasties were black and her tits painted white with a wide smile painted just below them. Her body looked like a huge clown’s face. She wiggled her bosom making it appear the face was rolling its eyes. The clients went berserk with laughter and lust.
“People are so weird,” Bob laughed at the carnal response.
Daisy bent over the discarded off the outfit and tossed it over her shoulder. Spinning in place she displayed the hot red thong that crept between her ass-cheeks and swung a pair of rubber chickens in wild circles above her head. She flung them out into the crowd, grabbed the brass pole and spun around several times holding on by just her taut thighs and hands. She released her grasp on the pole and fell into a split on the stage. The crowd stared in awe when she hopped up, pushed her ass against the post and swung her upper body in big circles. The twirling of her auburn hair and the jiggle of her ample breasts revved the engine of the patrons heightening the club’s already carnal atmosphere.
“The girl’s got talent,” he said. “Her taste in costumes might suck but she can really swing it.”
Kicking off the ground she hung upside down by her legs on the pole and acrobatically swirled around it with her outstretched hands nearly touching the floor. She started to spin towards the ground when something went wrong. Bob watched in horror as she lost her grip and slid headfirst into the metal base of the stripper pole. Her body telescoped into itself and eventually flopped heels over head with a dull thud. The audience’s cheers died eerily.
“Holy shit!” Tina exclaimed, shattering the silence.
Bob began pushing towards the dance floor. He was halfway to his goal when Daisy staggered to her feet facing the brass object she had fallen from.
Oh thank god, he breathed to himself in relief, she didn’t hurt herself too badly and probably just knocked her self silly.
The exotic dancer hugged the post, her body swaying slightly. Her head rotated several times as if she was loosening up a kink in it. Then she stumbled around to face her quiet, staring fans.
Her neck bulged grotesquely and even in the flashing lights he could see the bones jabbing into the front of her throat. Blood oozed out between her red lips in a darker crimson flow. It dripped onto her breasts making it appear the clown’s eyes were crying bloody tears. The music still went on and the shouts of the mob arose once more. But instead of lusty cheers they were shrieks of horror.
Daisy the Zombie took a few halting steps on her ridiculously tall heels and fell forward onto a pale-faced male client. It a morbid flash of dark humor Bob realized the ghoul wouldn’t be able to walk in those boots. He backpedaled in fear to retrieve his pistol behind the bar but saw the bright spraying mist of blood erupt from the patron’s throat. Before he could witness more he was bowled over by the sudden stampede of clients and strippers running from their lives. Bob was trampled off the club’s floor. A shoe mashed his nose flat on his left cheek and he tasted the iron flavor of blood in his mouth. His ribs were repeatedly kicked and his limbs stepped on and suffered several blows to his groin. As quickly as it began it was over. Spitting blood and cradling his gonads Bob pulled his knees up tight against his stomach and he struggled for breath. He heard something hit the ground in front of him.
“D-Daisy?” he mumbled past smashed lips.
The ghoul’s face was awash with gore and bits of flesh dangled out of her mouth. Still chewing her grotesque meal she advanced on hands and knees towards him. In horror he noted her blue wig was dripping with blood and she was reaching for him. Kicking his feet out he tried to push himself away ignoring his various agonies.
“Daisy don’t do this to me!” he wailed.
“Unngh,” she groaned hungrily.
Her cooling hands latched onto his left leg and he screamed like a frightened schoolgirl. He lashed out with his other foot and it struck her nose making the clown’s nose emit a honking sound. She climbed his body, her teeth gnashing in a horrible clicking sound.
“No! No!” he bellowed.
The roar of a gun and the smell of cordite filled Bob’s nostrils and Daisy’s head exploded in a wet splattering rain of blood, bone and brains. The weapon went off two more times and another body crashed upon the undead stripper.
It’s the g-guy she bit! He stammered to himself.
Bob pulled himself from under the garishly painted zombie and looked over his shoulder to see Bill clutching a smoking black pistol. His face was grim.
“Thanks,” he told the man.
“No problem,” the bouncer replied.
“I guess we need to clean up and see if we can coax our patrons back.”
Bill helped him to his feet and Tina handed him a bar rag to staunch the scarlet flow from his broken nose. He heard the sounds of sirens outside.
“The LURCH team is on its way,” he mumbled.
“Better late than never,” Tina sighed. “Anyone want a drink?”
“If you offer to make me a zombie I’m going to fire you.”
They laughed in a nervous manner as the uniformed members of the capture-handling team burst into the club to survey the carnage.
Maybe they’ll stay and spend some money if I can get another dancer out onto the stage, he thought with a grin.