Sometimes a Man has to Do a Thing

Haley Luffman was the epitome of Eastern Kentucky beauty. Birthed with blonde hair and the athletic genetics of her debutante mother. Her trim and slightly muscular physique served her well during her moderate reign as captain of her high school cheer squad.

"Chin up always so you can look for me in the stars." Was the legacy she left in the yearbook of her senior year. But the fame she sought could never be achieved in Richmond, and California was too far out of her means. So the music city of Nashville, Tennessee was her great compromise.

She remembered crying tears of both anger and sorrow while she drove her ancient Honda Accord those dark four hours in the middle of the night. After a passive aggressive argument with her mother about ill advised life choices she hurled her meager possessions into the trunk of her car, and sped off to angry shouts and the crashing of broken dishes as her father cursed and disowned his only child.

Through the haze of tears Haley clearly saw the path she would carve to the heights of stardom in the world of entertainment. She'd show her prim and proper mother and flip off her overbearing father once the doors opened for her enchanted beauty and adaptable athletic abilities. All it would take was one chance meeting with a music producer. If her smokey and deceptively wide vocal range failed to convince them, surely they would take notice of her toned yet limber body. A back up singer or dancer for one of country music's greats suited her just fine as a contingency.

Haley Luffman still had the creased and beaten spiral notebook, with the college ruled pages marked up front and back with the sad scribbles of a delusional woman child. Lyrics about love and triumph made her laugh and scorn her youthful ignorance.

Three months of stalking music producers down Printer's Alley in Nashville including a two week tryst with a sound engineer before she landed on her stiletto heels at the Foxy Hole gentlemen's club, where she was a star in her own right every weekend. A dancer, center stage where they all definitely noticed and even worshiped her toned and shiny physique. Dark faceless men howled and lusted over her glistening abs and the curve of her shapely ass while she hung suspended on the slippery steel pole, where the women before her all sacrificed their dignity nightly.

Lyrics of eternal love died and fell from her thoughts as she hung upside down, being pelted by greasy crumpled dollar bills. Love was a childhood fantasy, a lie forced on them at an early age to help foster some semblance of optimism. The men who removed their wedding bands and whispered promises to take her away and treasure her, ushered in the stark cold reality of adulthood.

"Everybody lies baby." Haley Luffman told herself in the mirror backstage in the dressing room while applying a fresh coat of crimson to her already deadly mouth.

"What's that hon?" Tiffany, nearly thirty and single mother of three asked while unfastening her lacy rouge bra unleashing her heavy double D breasts with a sigh. "You already done for the night? Leaving a lot of money on the table girl. Saw ole Monty in that back booth by the buffet tables, but that heifer Kristen was crowding him. Rubbing that yeasty bullshit all over that poor man."

Haley laughed while blowing herself a kiss in the smudgy mirror. "Yeah I'm done here tonight. Got a date in about an hour. Already made my nut for the week though."

"Better than me girl? He picking you up?"

"No I get to meet up with him." Haley answered. "Staying might mean dealing with Monty later."

"I love money girl but that man creeps me out now." Tiffany shuddered while rubbing cherry almond lotion on her bruised tits. "You know about what happened to him don't you?"

"His fiance I heard." Haley made a face. "Jonathan too."

"Yeah I miss Jonathan that giant goofball. He deserved better." Tiffany lamented, wiping her hands on a towel and downing a quick drink of diet coke she had sitting in her locker. "That was fucked up. But they say he died saving Monty, tossing that asshole Curtis off the top floor of that hotel."

"They both landed right beside the pool." Haley pursed her lips in an oh well gesture. "Couple more inches to the right and maybe."

"Bitch they fell over two hundred feet." Tiffany cackled. "That pool wouldn't have saved him."

They both fell silent for a moment to visualize the severity of such a death.

"How many guys fucked Monty's wife that night?" Haley asked, climbing into her mauve colored parka, shaking off the chilling reality of free falling two hundred feet above solid concrete. "I heard she got ran through."

"Girl I heard at least thirty." Tiffany dropped her voice conspiratorially, pulling a fresh bikini top out of her duffle bag. "She took all them dicks up her ass too. That bitch was nasty."

"Whaaat?"

"Poor Monty ain't been the same. He tries to play it off now but that shit fucked him up, watching his girl get her butt hole blown out two dicks at a time. Haunted."

"Yeah he seems mean now. Got a little handsy and rough with me last Saturday until Doug came over and calmed him down." Haley confided, holding the dressing room door open as she prepared to leave. "Just be careful if you do get a shot at him tonight."

"I ain't stupid." Tiffany exclaimed, struggling to wrangle her huge breasts into the royal blue bikini top. "He has been throwing that weed money around a lot lately trying to get himself another sugar baby."

The dry, frosty night air bit Haley's face as she pushed through the exit out into the small dim lit parking lot in front of the Foxy Hole. Doug the head of security had offered to walk her out but got himself wrapped up in an argument between another dancer and her mark. So the five foot three blonde powerhouse tucked her shoulder length hair into a Titan's beanie, zipped up her parka and ventured off on her own.

A quick survey of the half empty lot eased her cautious nature. Thankfully there were no other cars parked beside her Honda, which was unfortunately parked at the far end of the parking lot where the street lights cast the deepest shadows.

"Fuck." Haley cursed under-breath as she weaved her way through the jungle of crookedly parked pick up trucks.

Sensing the threat of invisible eyes watching her she quickly sprinted the last few feet to her car unlocking the driver's side door with her key fob. Her blood froze in her veins and she nearly screamed while reaching for the door handle, and kicking at the small pile of cigarette butts right by her rear tire.

The eyes watched her from the safety of his dark nest cleverly hidden behind a cement barricade separating the strip club's crumbling parking lot from the recently repaved lot next door, where daytime patrons would park to enjoy a great pasta meal at Dino's Spaghetti Warehouse.

Haley snatched her door open and stopped. The eyes unblinkingly watched.

"What the fuck? Scared the shit out of me." Her slow smile, recognizing a familiar face. "Why don't you head on inside where all the action is?"

Hooded eyes silently watched, waiting for the inevitable scream. It never came. Haley Luffman never screamed.

***

Richard Hughes sat in front of his parents eighty inch 4K UHD television in the living room, mindlessly shoveling Fruity Pebbles into his mouth as a mid-afternoon breakfast. Flicking through the near infinite channels he paused on the local news as a familiar establishment loomed in the background.

"Reporting live from the Foxy Hole where nineteen year old Haley Luffman was last seen." The young black reporter droned on, as Richard turned up the volume. "Authorities say that Sunday night interior surveillance cameras captured Haley leaving her shift early. While the establishment's outdoor cameras only managed to show a grainy shadow man seemingly confronting her near her car at the furthest end of the parking lot."

"What?" Richard sputtered, with milk dribbling down his chin.

The doorbell rang startling him. He quickly pulled up the doorbell camera and jumped to his feet while choking down the last bite of cereal. "What the fuck!"

Frantically looking around the open layout of his parent's multi million dollar estate he was struck by the grim realization of obviously being home alone yet again. The camera pulled his dumbstruck attention back as the doorbell chimed three more times in quick succession.

"Hello?" Richard feebly answered through the app on his phone, eyes tearing up at the sight of the professionally dressed woman flanked by two uniformed officers on his front porch.

"Hey there this is detective Katrina Pearson with the Metro Nashville Police Department. With whom am I speaking?" The tall attractive woman replied in her disarming business voice.

Stunned to silence Richard licked his lips nervously and backed himself into the corner of the living room, away from any of the expansive picture windows that framed the entire eastern side of the house.

"Police are asking for any help in identifying this shadowy figure as they believe he might have been the last person to make contact with Haley Luffman..." Jamal Anderson continued to report from the large television.

"This is a gated community how did you guys get in here?" Richard finally demanded with a false bravado while clicking the television off.

"Well like I mentioned we're with the MNPD sir." Katrina answered politely, even after picking up on the subtle resistance. "Would you mind answering the door please so we can have this conversation face to face? Is this by chance the homeowner I'm speaking with?"

"You can't... you can't be here... what do you even want?" Richard stuttered as his stomach curdled with anxiety.

"We could really use some help with a missing person case and just had a few questions to ask." Katrina tried to deescalate. "Small little details we were curious about no big deal. This wouldn't be Richard would it? I sure would appreciate an invitation inside this beautiful home it's cold as shit out here." She swore intentionally to display her humanity.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." He swore dropping his phone, they knew his name.

Richard took a quick inventory of himself noticing that he was still dressed in yesterday's boxer briefs and a stained plain white t-shirt. A sniff at his armpits revealed an unpleasant musk of onions, stale cologne and marijuana.

"Hello, still there?" Katrina asked, her voice muffled by the Persian carpet as Richard's phone had landed screen side down on the floor. "How about we just get this done? I've got plenty of other leads to run down."

Roughly ten minutes later Richard Hughes reluctantly answered the door.

"There he is." Katrina cheered, stifling a cough with her scarf while walking past him she caught the full strength of a fresh dose of Creed Aventus cologne. "What a beautiful home..." She stopped mid sentence, taking in his Chino Bermuda shorts and an over sized suit jacket that clearly belonged to his father.

"What?" He asked self consciously.

"Nothing. Well, your fly is down." She pointed out with a small grin. "Like I said I'm Detective Pearson and these two officers are actually from your police department here in Belle Meade, escorting me at my Captain's request. And you are?"

"Richard. Richard Hughes." He mumbled. "Shouldn't my parents be here for this?"

"From what I understand you're a legal adult over the age of eighteen aren't you?" Katrina asked, stepping further into the fifty two hundred square foot mini mansion.

"Twenty three actually." He answered, trailing behind her into the huge recently renovated kitchen. "No, I mean both my parents are senior partners at two different law firms in Nashville and if I'm a suspect or anything."

The tall shapely detective slipped out of her wool blend trench coat, tossing it on a bar stool beside a marble counter island. "You wouldn't know how to use the coffee maker would you Richard?" She smiled flashing her dimples at him.

"Sure." He answered, properly distracted.

"I've been properly warned about your parent's credentials." Katrina friendly admitted taking a seat on the bar stool while her suspect busied himself at the coffee machine. "you've lived with them here in this giant castle all your life Richard?"

"No. Hey look I don't drink coffee but my parent's have like twenty different flavors over here." He turned back to her with a flustered look.

"Whatever's most expensive will do." Katrina teased. "So where else have you lived? Somewhere around here or elsewhere in Tennessee, maybe even Kentucky?"

"No." Richard flinched at the mention of Kentucky, almost fumbling the coffee pods. "I had a place over in Oak Hill for a while." He tried to recover while thinking, you're getting Folgers breakfast blend bitch the cheapest thing in the coffee cabinet.

"Oak Hill is so beautiful, don't you just love it in the fall?" Katrina asked. "Why'd you let it go and move back in with your folks?"

"Naw they decided it was best having me here with them." He answered, measuring out the water. "They're getting old and sentimental I guess."

"So it had nothing to do with that girl who attended one of your famous house parties and the next day made those allegations against you?" The detective tested.

"What the fuck?" Richard squeaked, pulling his phone out. "Maybe I should just give my mother a call."

"That was rude I'm sorry." Katrina apologized in an attempt to scale things back. "That's not what we're even here about."

"Wasn't even me she said did it, was just at my party is all." Richard explained to the two beefy patrol officers, pausing with his thumb on his mother's phone number. "I don't get down like that, my rizz is legendary."

The gurgling sounds of the coffee maker filled the silence of the kitchen as everyone failed to offer any complimentary responses to that.

"Do you know a man by the name of Douglas Berkowitz?" Katrina redirected.

"Yeah I know Dougie, bouncer at this strip club near the airport." Richard admitted, figuring the detective didn't just pull that name out of thin air.

"So I assume you've frequented that establishment? The Foxy Hole?" She pressed on, leaning back in the padded bar stool.

"Guess so." He slowly answered, cutting his eyes between the two silent uniformed brutes. "That a crime?"

"Not at all, like I said we need to clarify a few things. Nobody's in trouble." Katrina reassured him. "Have you made any friend's since you started going there?"

"Pause." Richard sighed. "I know what people say about me that I'm just some dumb pot head whose parent's still have to babysit him. Saw the report on News channel five this morning, Jamal Anderson."

"You know my wife met him once, said he was a real asshole." One of the patrol cops offered.

"So is there anything you want to tell us Richard?" Katrina took back the conversation. "We really need to find her. Longer this drags out, her odds of survival plummet drastically. Was that you in the surveillance video?" She asked gently, leaning her elbows on the cool gold flecked marble counter top.

Overwhelmed Richard sagged against the black stainless pro series refrigerator behind him, mouth working soundlessly. "I saw her that night, but what video?" He managed.

Sensing his distress the seasoned detective hopped down from her stool and put her arm around his shoulders, leading him toward a chair at the breakfast nook. "Here let's take a seat and you tell me all about seeing her Sunday night."

"Only went out with her a few times. Doug introduced us. Is she really dead?" Richard asked face twisted by the emotional turmoil.

"Well that's what we need to figure out here Richard." Katrina said, sitting opposite him at the small table after grabbing her steaming cup of coffee. "What do you remember about that night? What time did you two meet up?"

"I told you I'm not some dumb pothead kid." He sniffed back tears. "You think I did it and you brought these two gorillas to help wrestle me into the back of your car."

"Easy there chief, just asking questions, and Belle Meade don't hire wrestlers." She put her hand on his forearm.

"They don't hire gorillas either." One cop said.

"My boyfriend refers to me as a bear sometimes though." The other cop added walking over to the coffee maker to fix himself a cup of Joe.

Richard snorted a quick laugh at that. "So I'm not under arrest? I don't need a lawyer yet?"

"Right now we're focused on bringing Haley home swiftly as possible and whatever you can add to help us with that is all we are here for. Don't you want to help bring her home?" She asked, holding his red moistening eyes with her own. "How much does she mean to you?"

"How do you even know she was kidnapped?" Richard croaked.

Katrina bit her lip with doubt. "I'm unable to fully discuss every detail of this investigation. But I'll share with you the fact that we got a very disturbing anonymous call about a possible domestic, now none of her other friend's or co workers have seen her since Sunday night. Also her 2003 Honda Accord was reported abandoned right where she left it, parked at the Foxy Hole."

"She was never real social, and maybe her car wouldn't start." Richard reasoned.

"See now that makes sense. " She told him while taking a careful sip of coffee. "Her car was parked at the very least forty, maybe fifty yards from the camera recording the parking lot, and all we can tell is that it never moved. We had techs enhance and clean up the footage but it was useless, camera was too ancient. All we got was grainy shadows, one was her and the other a man talking. They go back and forth for a minute, lots of hand gestures. Then they walk off together out of frame toward the restaurant next door."

"So you're saying she found a date?" Richard asked in a small helpless voice.

"Maybe. The only evidence we found that she was over there were her torn panties and only one of her shoes near the dumpsters at Dino's." She added for shock value. "Now was that other shadow you in the footage? Think carefully. Think about how we came to be here." Katrina set her coffee mug down and leaned into his face.

"Don't say a word Richard." Commanded a cold calculating voice, heels clacking, announcing the weight of her presence. "I'm Claudia Hughes that is now my client, and what the hell are you doing in my home?"

When Richard Hughes was younger he would sit on the edge of his bed biting his pillow while listening to his parents' hushed arguments about him right outside his bedroom door. At only age twelve he tried to convince himself that he had schizophrenia, after learning a girl in his class had it, and that explained the cruel things his parents would growl under breath out in the hallway. It was simply all made up in his head.

The morning after the informal police interrogation Richard stuffed a few buds of the Indica strain of marijuana into an old fashioned cherry wood pipe, pulling deep while holding his lighter over the roasting green and purple buds. "Purple Kush you're my only friend."

Falling back on his king sized bed he continued to hold the calming smoke deep in his lungs, fighting back emotional responses to his parents' muffled voices right outside his bedroom door.

"You know damn well he's exhibited that predatory behavior before." His mother's icy accusations cut through him.

"Don't bring up that house party in Mt. Juliet again. I still don't understand what all those black guys were doing there." His father added on.

"They were all gang fucking some OnlyFans whore suffering from some mid life crisis." Claudia hissed, displaying a rare moment of vulgarity. "Richard was in the hospital for a week Donald, a week."

"Enough. Let's go over the facts with him to get a better understanding of what we are dealing with."