Run Baby Run

By Jay Lang

One vacation is all it takes for Grace Kennedy to fall in love with Vancouver. Despite her life back in a North Ontario mining town, she decides to stay in the city.

After befriending the free-spirited Vicki and fun-loving Jimmy, Grace finds a job at a top Vancouver nightclub. Her boss is club owner Dario – a debonaire playboy who knows what he wants. And from first glance, he makes it clear that he wants Grace.

Swept off her feet by Dario’s veracious personality and unparalleled good looks, Grace moves into Dario’s luxurious three-storey apartment. For a time, Grace is blinded by a fairy tale romance. It is only when she walks in on Dario murdering Jimmy that the stars fall from her eyes.

In a flash, Grace turns from lover to prisoner. Trapped, and in a city far from home, Grace must find the wits and courage to escape from the nightmare her fairy tale has become.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Sep 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9780228622925

Jay Lang

Born and raised on the West Coast of BC, I was an actress for a number of years before becoming a clothing designer for rock bands. After deciding that I needed a change, I moved out of the city to attend university and learn the craft of creative writing. Hush, is the first LGBTQ2 thriller I have written. I am a huge fan of thrillers which prompted me to write a novel in this genre. I love including LGBTQ2 characters in my stories, as I feel that there is not enough available fiction that include the LGBTQ2 community.

Book preview

Run Baby Run

Jay Lang

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 9780228622925

Kindle 9780228622932

PDF 9780228622949

Print ISBNs

Amazon Print 9780228622956

BWL Print 9780228622963

LSI Print 9780228622970

Copyright 2022 by Jay Lang

Cover art by Pandora Designs

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book

Dedication

To Bob Young, whose strength and fortitude truly inspire me.

Chapter One

I expected more at this moment of death, like my life passing before my eyes, or a mental list of all past regrets, but nothing came. Instead, I sat motionless in the deafening silence, staring into the dark barrel of the gun.

* * *

Rolling swells force bubbling seafoam across the smooth, wet sand. A large gull scavenges the beach, eventually spreading its wings and taking flight over the choppy waters of Burrard Inlet. Even on rainy fall days like today, the beauty of the coast far outshines the small mining community I came from in Northern Ontario.

Tonight will be my first shift at the club – a posh ‘it’ bar that caters to people in their early-twenties, located in Yaletown, an upscale district in the heart of Vancouver.

Are you nervous about tonight? Vicki asks, joining me at the bay window of her apartment.

Nervous? No, I say. I’m no stranger to failure.

She nudges me. You haven’t even started yet, and already you’ve admitted defeat?

Things move a lot faster in Vancouver than they do in Timmins. Even when I tried waitressing at a diner, I was too slow and was quickly pushed into dish duty. I’m not trying to be negative. Just realistic.

Vicki laughs. Great attitude. You may want to avoid a career as a personal motivator.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’re doing for me, but I’ve seen how packed that club gets. I just can’t see me keeping up.

Let me shine a little perspective on the situation. You’re a coat-checker, Grace. I’m pretty sure you won’t need extra vitamins to pull it off.

It’s not only the expectation of doing a good job that has me anxious. It’s the fact that I’m a fish out of water within the well-groomed Gen Z crowds that frequent the posh nightclub on the weekends.

My style, or lack thereof, sadly falls between the lines of Boho and frumpy, depending on what’s on-sale at the local bargain stores. On the other hand, Vicki is not only fashion-savvy, but speaks fluent Zoomer, making her an essential commodity as a server at the club.

Just after 8PM, Vicki and I head downtown in her red Prius. Off in the distance, majestic snow-tipped mountains contrast the tall, shiny buildings and esthetic walkways of the city. All evidence of the workday has diminished as the city begins its transition into the nightlife.

I glance over at Vicki, who is gyrating to the music blaring from the stereo, her shoulder-length black hair whipping in her face. She looks over at me and winks. It’s hard to believe we’re so close and I’ve only known her for two short months.

* * *

A long red carpet leads up to the blue-tinged glass building. The entranceway has a white canvas awning that reads Club Fortune in fancy gold lettering.

Vicki briefly introduces me to an overgrown doorman before we step inside and I follow her down a white hallway and into a large staff room. With its black leather sofas and brass coffee tables, it looks more like a high-end lounge.

On each wall is a bank of lockers. Vicki opens one and puts her things away, then leads me out of the room and back to the main foyer to speak to a young blond woman standing at a tall desk. Vicki tells her my name, that I’m the new coat-check girl, and that I need to speak with Jimmy.

After a quick page over the intercom, a tall, lanky guy in his thirties walks through the double metal doors that lead to the main room of the club. He gives me an attractive, crooked grin. Hey, Vicki, what’s going on? Who’s the blonde?

This is Grace, she says, motioning to me. She’s our new coat-checker and she needs someone to show her the ropes.

She’s cute, so I’ll show her anything she wants to see. He laughs.

Behave yourself, Jimmy. Try not to freak her out, she’s already nervous. Vicki pats me on the back, then heads off to start her shift.

Jimmy grabs my hand and pulls me into a room just off the foyer. This will be your jail cell for the duration of the night.

The room looks like a walk-in closet, with parallel bars and hangers on each of the walls. Jimmy picks up a large pad from the only table in the room. Here is the tag book. One part of the stub you keep, the other you give to the customer. Any questions?

That’s all I have to do?

That’s pretty much it, yes.

I smile. Wow. That doesn’t sound too difficult. I’m pretty sure I can pull it off.

Honey, a chimp with an eye patch could pull it off.

Is there anything else I need to know?

Jimmy ponders for a moment. Yeah, remember to bring Tylenol to work with you. Once the club crawlers invade, you’ll be inundated with thick clouds of perfume and cologne. They bathe in the stuff, it’s disgusting. Your melon will be aching by the end of your shift.

Thanks for the heads up.

Jimmy winks. I’ll stop in and check on you throughout the evening.

Thanks. I wonder what his job title is. Probably a Jack-of-All-Tasks.

After shooting a quick grin at me, Jimmy opens the thick metal doors to the club. The throngs of people clamour in, and I’m immediately fumbling with the tags as people start handing me their coats. Thankfully, not all have jackets to check. Many wear very little at all, let alone a jacket.

The throbbing bass from the music and the flash of the neon strobes bounce around the foyer, making it almost impossible to know what anyone is saying. After the first large group of people are inside and the club is at full capacity, Jimmy closes the door between the club and the lobby, blocking out the waves of techno-beats. After a few moments, my hearing is restored.

However, the reprieve is short-lived. Soon, the club doors once again open, and a handful of loud patrons depart before more party-seekers filter in and take their place.

By the end of the night, I am both semi-deaf and mentally exhausted. A loner by nature, I interacted with more people over my six-hour shift than I have in the two months since coming to BC.

* * *

The days pass. When we’re not working, Vicki and I, and occasionally Jimmy, hang out at Vicki’s apartment, local eateries, and the Seawall. Both of my new friends are adrenaline junkies and promise to pull me out of my comfort zone with bungee jumping, parasailing and ziplining as soon as the warmer weather comes.

I’m amazed at how unbridled and free Vicki is. How effortless it is for her to meet new people and challenge herself to try new things. With Vicki, there’s always an element of shock and awe as she grabs every day as a challenge. Even though her antics scare me sometimes – like when she dove off the pier at The Granville Island market, or stood up and screeched out a song at a packed Karaoke club – her fearlessness and hunger for life has infused me with a desire to break out of my shell.

With her, I feel like I’m truly alive and awake, riding a wave of new experiences in this unfamiliar world far from the safety of home, family, and the predictable life I’ve always known. For the most part, I’ve managed to escape the fear of the unknown. Instead, I feel an overwhelming eagerness as I’m introduced to each new adventure.

The only real downfall of Vancouver has been the exorbitant cost of living. It diminished my bank account so quickly that on a few occasions I’ve been tempted to call my parents to bail me out. Thankfully, Vicki offered me her spare room in exchange for half the rent and saved me the embarrassment of putting my hand out to my parents. Until the move to Vicki’s, I was living on my own in a drafty, single-bedroom basement

suite.

Today, before our shift, Vicki and I are having a relaxing dinner at a small French restaurant downtown. Thankfully, Jimmy couldn’t make it, so we’ll be able to converse without him butting in. I think he’s a blast, just really intense. Like a child with A.D.D, he requires a lot of attention.

I think we’re the only ones in here that aren’t on a date, Vicki says, looking across the dimly lit table at me.

I grin. Well, I don’t care who I date – I’m not giving up our dinners together.

Hell yeah, girl.

Vicki orders an expensive bottle of red wine, and we share a plate of Puttanesca. As we eat, we talk about work, the new band she’s vibing on, and how she wants to take acting classes. At the end of the meal, we pool our cash and split the bill.

After taking a cab home, we get into our pj’s and flop out on the sofa to watch a movie. During the first commercial of the black and white flick, Vicki turns to me. Hey, she says. I heard that Dario, the club owner, is coming back from his vacation this weekend. He’s a real stickler for perfection, so try and be on your game when he's around.

I nod. No problem. Have you had any interactions with him in the past?

Naw, not really, other than a nod of acknowledgement here and there. I don’t fit into the usual demographic he focuses on.

What demographic is that?

Blond, thin, fake tits and an inflated ego.

I shake my head. He’s really that shallow?

Vicki shrugs. From what I’ve heard, and from the kind of girls I’ve seen hanging off his arm. I don’t know. I mean, the guy is barely around, so I’ve never really had a chance to talk to him. The times I’ve spotted his black Lambo at the front of the club, I never saw him in the bar. He was always downstairs in his office with his henchman and an entourage.

Henchmen?

Yeah, you know, knuckle-draggers? Steroid monkeys?

I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.

Goons and thugs, like the doorman. Vicki shakes her head.

I get it. So, basically, he shows up to pee in the corners and mark his territory?

I guess. Just be on your toes, do a good job when he’s around, and there’ll be no reason for him to zone in on you.

I feel a slight chill at her words. Thanks for the advice.

* * *

Before I know it, we’re getting ready for another night at the club.

Vicki braided my hair last night, so tonight I look like a cross between a poodle and a Shih-tzu. All that’s missing are bows above my ears and a sparkly collar. Using gel and a straightener, I do my best to defrizz my wild mop before getting dressed and heading out with Vicki.

We drive downtown to the club. In front of the entrance is a local hotdog vender, next to which stands Jimmy, waiting for his change. In his hands are three loaded dogs.

He smiles as we approach. I got you a hotdog, he says, holding up his handful of food.

Lies! cackles Vicki. You got them for yourself, I’ve seen how much you eat.

Busted. Jimmy follows us inside, and the three of us walk up the hallway to the staff lounge. Did you hear that Dario is back from his vacay? And that he’ll be making his rounds tonight?

I heard, Vicki says. I guess that means you’ll actually have to work, huh?

Are you insinuating that I don’t pull my weight at this fine establishment? he says, before stuffing a huge bite of wiener in his mouth.

Vicki laughs. Just wipe the mustard off your face and stay out of trouble tonight. You don’t want to get on the boss’s shit list if he spots you jerking around.

Jimmy opens his mouth and shows Vicki his macerated slop, then looks at me. What about you, Grace? Do you think I’m a slack-ass? he says, mouth full.

I think you’re both freeloaders, and if it wasn’t for me setting the professional precedence as an above average coat-checker, you’d have no concept of what quality work actually is.

They both stare at me for a few beats before the three of us burst into laughter.

The first few hours pass with relative ease. Partygoers filter into the club, and other than a brief altercation with a barely legal, very drunk man who swears he left his wallet in his coat pocket, only to find it on the dirty club floor moments later, my night is thus far unspectacular.

During a brief lull in foot traffic, Jimmy invades the coat-check room and provides some comedy relief describing some of the patrons' antics in the club. He has an obvious disdain – or jealousy – for the well-to-do twenty-somethings that drive up in over-priced sports cars, saunter in wearing brand name trends, and order bottles of champagne all night.

I’m so sick of dealing with the rude little succubi that were weaned on the teats of fortune. What they need is a good lesson in respect for people who have to work for a living.

I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him on the cheek. Don’t be bitter, Jimmy. I appreciate you. Don’t let the bastards grind you down.

You wouldn’t believe how condescending these little pricks can be. He shakes his head. One guy ordered a bottle of Cristal and when I brought it to him, the little shit demanded I pour a glass for everyone at his table. I’m not even a server. I was just helping Vicki out.

So, what did you do?

Well, I only had two choices. I could obey his demands and fill the multiple glasses, or I could succumb to my instincts and respond the way I normally would after being disrespected.

So, what happened?

I leaned over and whispered something in his ear.

What did you say?

I told him that if he spoke to me or any of the servers disrespectfully again, I was going to cram the bottle up his ass.

I hope you’re joking.

Funny, that’s exactly what he said.

Jimmy, you have to be careful, I say, aghast. The boss is lurking around here somewhere, and if you get caught causing shit, you could get fired. It would suck not having both of my closest friends to work with.

Pfft. He waves a hand. Worry not, my blond buddy. As long as Dario has a few grams of coke on board and an entourage to kiss his ass, he won’t be looking at us. He’ll be holed up in his swanky basement office hosting a private party.

I shake my head. He sounds like a king douche-bag.

Just then, a group of young men and women stroll up to the coat-check. Look, Jimmy whispers, loud enough for me and possibly the whole club to hear, the chicks are all wearing animal prints and their dudes are in camo. It’s hunting season for the predators and their prey.

Thankfully, Jimmy gets paged and has to leave the coat-check room so I can focus on doing my job.

A couple hours later, Jimmy covers for my break and I head to the staff room to rest my feet. Thankfully the place is empty, and I don’t have to engage in idle conversation. I open Vicki’s locker and grab an apple and a bottle of water from her bag, then sit on one of the sofas with a grateful sigh. I quickly send a message to Vicki thanking her for packing me a snack, then hungrily attack the fruit.

I’m halfway through my apple when the door opens behind me. I turn to look at who I presume is another staff member starting their break, and instead I stare in confusion.

A stranger stands in the doorway. He’s about thirty, around six foot two, and is staring down at me. With his dark grey suit jacket, dark blue jeans, carefully styled black hair and boyish grin, he looks like he just stepped off the cover of a GQ magazine.

Still, it’s obvious that he isn’t staff, and considering I’m by myself, I immediately feel a little freaked out.

Hey, I think you’re lost, I say, standing up. I feel silly as I gesture with the half-eaten apple in my hand. This is the staff room. The club is down the hall and through the big metal doors.

What’s your name? he asks, ignoring what I’ve just said.

My name? I swallow. "Why does that matter? You’re in