Runner-up 3

Ernesto rang the bell. He hadn’t been to the Clown Room in a while, so he hadn’t seen this dancer, but he thought this little visit might be fun. At least at first.

The door opened just a crack. There was a chain in place. He knew if he kicked the door the jam would splinter. Cheap door, cheap lock, cheap place. Cheap girl. The face peering through the crack was sleepy and rumpled. No makeup. “Yes?” she asked.

“Gotta check for a leak,” he said. “Guy upstairs says he smells something.”

“Archie? It’s probably the dishes in his sink or the trash can under it. He’s a slob.”

“Yeah, well I gotta check.”

The chain slid off and the door opened. Ernesto stepped in and noticed two things he hadn’t expected. The first was a brass stripper pole in the middle of the apartment. The second was a compact Glock 9-millimeter in the girl’s left hand. “Stick ‘em up,” she said. He did.

“Take off the jacket, real slow.”

His hand drifted toward the gun in his waistband. She said, “I practice with this every week. I am real good.” He took off the jacket. She took the gun.

“Now take off everything else,” she said.

“What you gonna do?” asked Ernesto, nervously.

“I’ve got things to do, people to see and no time for you. Take everything off.” She gestured with the gun. When he was starkers, she said, “Put your arms around the pole.” When he did so, he heard a metallic click and found that he was wearing handcuffs. Carmen put the gun down and started changing out of her pajamas. She took a shower and came out as naked as he was, humming a tune he didn’t recognize. She put on underwear, no bra, jeans and a T-shirt that said “No Luck!”

She brushed her hair, put on makeup, put the Glock in her bag. She left his gun on the coffee table.

“You gonna leave me like this?” Ernesto complained. She looked around, picked up some panties from the floor and put them on his head. He couldn’t see anything but pink fabric. She said nothing. She turned on the cartoon channel, real loud.

On her way out the door she flipped open a cellphone, dialed a number and said, “There’s a lowlife here for you to pick up. He’s attached to the pole. I’m sure he’s got a record.”

“Bye sweetie!” she called out. Then the door slammed and she was gone.

John Edlund is an English professor at Cal Poly Pomona