Vegas Stripper Accused of Infecting Multiple Lovers With HIV Found Dead With Chilling Note Stuffed in Her Mouth
…
Booth number five was at the end, a small room with a soft sofa, subdued red lighting, and a mirror on the wall.
A small audio system allowed her to play music of her choice.
Monica pushed the door open and went inside.
Isaiah Langston was sitting on the sofa.
She recognized him immediately.
He had been one of her regular clients for the past 2 years.
A tall man in his 40s with a neat beard and dark eyes.
He worked as a sales manager for some company that sold electronics.
Isaiah came to the club every two or three weeks, ordered a private dance, and then they met outside the club.
He rented a motel room.
They spent an hour or two there.
He paid $300 and left.
No problems, no unnecessary conversation.
Monica smiled and closed the door behind her.
Long time no see, Isaiah.
Did you miss me? He didn’t answer.
He sat motionless, staring at her with a heavy gaze.
Monica felt a slight uneasiness, but attributed it to the client’s fatigue.
She turned on the music, a slow, rhythmic track, and began to dance.
She moved in front of him, approaching, retreating, touching his shoulders with her hands.
Isaiah was silent and watched.
Several minutes passed.
Monica turned her back to him.
At that moment, Isaiah abruptly stood up from the couch.
Monica turned around and saw his face distorted with rage.
His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched.
“You knew,” he said in a low voice.
“You knew, and you didn’t tell me.
” Monica took a step back, pressing her back against the mirror.
“What are you talking about?” Isaiah took the folded sheets of paper out of his pocket and threw them at her feet.
“Read it.
Read what’s written there.
” Monica bent down and picked up the papers.
They were medical test results with the clinic stamp on them.
Her eyes scanned the lines until they came to the main point.
HIV positive.
The test date was a week ago.
The patient’s name was Isaiah Langston.
Her fingers trembled.
She looked up at Isaiah.
“I I didn’t know you had” “Liar!” he shouted.
“I haven’t had anyone but my wife and you for the last 3 years.
My wife is healthy, I checked her.
It’s you.
You infected me, you bitch!” Monica tried to say something, but no words came out.
Isaiah stepped toward her and slapped her across the face with the back of his hand.
Monica fell to the floor, hitting her shoulder on the edge of the sofa.
He loomed over her, grabbed her hair, and hit her again, then again.
His fists slammed into her cheek, her eyebrow, her lip.
Monica screamed, trying to cover herself with her hands, but Isaiah hit her again and again, shouting insults.
The cubicle door flew open.
Two security guards burst in, the massive Avery Montrose and the stocky Deion Curtis.
They grabbed Isaiah by the arms and pulled him away from Monica.
Isaiah resisted, struggling, screaming that she had killed him, that she had ruined his life.
The guards dragged him into the hallway.
Monica remained lying on the floor, pressing her hand to her broken face.
Blood flowed from her nose and cut eyebrow.
Rashid looked into the stall, saw her, and immediately called someone.
A minute later, Jasmine Carter, her best friend and coworker, crouched down next to Monica.
Jasmine was 2 years younger than Monica, with short hair and sharp cheekbones.
She had been working at the club for 4 years and was the only person Monica truly trusted.
“My god, what did he do to you?” Jasmine helped her up.
“Hold on to me.
Let’s go wash your face.
” They went out into the hallway.
Isaiah had already been taken out of the club.
Monica heard his screams from the street, then they faded away.
Jasmine took her to the women’s dressing room and sat her down in front of the mirror.
She brought ice and a towel and applied it to Monica’s face.
“What happened? Why was he so angry?” Monica was silent.
She couldn’t bring herself to say the words out loud.
There was a knock on the locker room door, Rashid’s voice.
“Monica, the boss wants to see you, right now.
” Jasmine looked at her with concern.
“Maybe later? She needs to go to the hospital.
” “Now,” Rashid repeated sternly.
Monica stood up, holding the ice to her face.
She left the locker room and climbed the narrow staircase to the second floor.
Travis Brockman’s office was at the far end of the corridor, a spacious room with a large desk, leather chairs, and a safe in the corner.
Travis was sitting at his desk when she entered.
He was a 52-year-old man with gray temples, wearing a black shirt.
20 years in business had made his face hard and impenetrable.
He looked at her bruised face and grimaced.
“Sit down.
” Monica sank into the chair opposite him.
Travis took a bottle of whiskey and two glasses out of the desk drawer, poured them, and pushed one toward her.
“Dr.ink.
” She drank.
The alcohol burned her throat, but it calmed her trembling a little.
Travis leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.
“That guy was yelling that you infected him with HIV.
Is that true?” Monica was silent, staring into her empty glass.
“I asked if it’s true,” Travis repeated louder.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Maybe.
” “Maybe?” Travis leaned forward.
Have you been diagnosed? Monica nodded without looking up.
When? A year ago.
A year ago.
He repeated slowly.
And you continued to sleep with clients? She nodded again.
Did you use protection? Sometimes.
Sometimes? Travis slammed his fist on the table so hard that the glasses jumped.
Do you realize what you’ve done? Do you realize what you’ve gotten me into? Monica flinched but remained silent.
Travis got up from the table and paced around the office.
How many were there this year? How many men? Six.
Maybe seven.
She replied quietly.
She Seven people.
He stopped at the window looking out at the street.
Seven men who can now sue me because they met you at my club.
Seven men who can tear this place to shreds.
Monica raised her head.
It wasn’t here.
I never did it at the club.
It doesn’t matter.
Travis turned sharply.
They still met you here.
They’ll come here, demand your address, threaten you, maybe sue the club for allowing you to work here.
Do you realize what a nightmare that would be? He returned to the table, sat down, and covered his face with his hands.
He was silent for a few seconds, then exhaled and looked at her.
I have to fire you.
Please don’t.
Monica whispered.
I need the money for medicine, for rent.
I don’t care! He barked.
You set me up.
You set up the whole club.
They stared at each other.
Travis poured himself another whiskey, drank it in one gulp, and put the glass down on the table.
But firing you will create even more problems.
He said more quietly.
If I fire you now, you can tell everyone what you know about the other girls, about what goes on here.
And if I keep you on, these men will come here looking for you.
He thought for a long time, drumming his fingers on the table.
Go home.
Don’t show up for a few days.
I need time to think things over.
Monica stood up, swaying as she leaned on the edge of the table.
Thank you.
Get out of here.
And don’t you dare tell any of the girls.
If I find out you’ve been talking, I’ll fire you without hesitation.
Monica left the office.
She went down to the locker room where Jasmine was waiting for her.
Her friend immediately approached her.
What did he say? He told me to go home for a few days.
Jasmine took her bag from the shelf.
Come on, I’ll walk you out.
I’m not leaving you alone in this state.
They got dressed and left through the back door.
The parking lot was lit by a dim street light.
Monica’s car was parked in the far corner, an old Honda Civic with a dent in the rear fender.
Jasmine got behind the wheel.
Monica was in no condition to drive.
They pulled out onto the street and headed for Monica’s apartment on the outskirts of town.
They drove in silence for a while.
Then Jasmine couldn’t take it anymore.
Moni, what happened? Why did that guy beat you up so badly? Monica stared out the window.
The lights of the city floated by.
Neon casino signs, 24-hour stores, gas stations.
He found out he’s sick.
She said quietly.
HIV.
He thinks I infected him.
Jasmine slammed on the brakes at a traffic light and turned to her.
You have HIV? Monica nodded without looking at her friend.
How long have you known? A year.
A year? My god, Moni, why didn’t you tell me? I don’t know.
I was afraid, I guess.
The traffic light turned green.
Jasmine drove on, but her hands were shaking on the steering wheel.
Did you continue to see clients? Yes.
Without protection? Monica was silent.
Jasmine understood everything from her silence.
My god.
How many were there? Seven people.
Maybe six.
I don’t remember exactly.
Jasmine said nothing.
They drove the rest of the way in silence.
When they stopped at Monica’s house, a dilapidated three-story building with cracked plaster, Jasmine turned off the engine.
I don’t know what to say, she finally said.
This is terrible.
Do you realize what you’ve done? I do.
Monica replied.
I realize it now.
Jasmine turned to her.
I won’t abandon you.
We’re friends.
But you have to fix this.
At least try.
Find these men.
Warn them.
How? I don’t even know some of their real names.
Then run.
Get out of town before someone kills you.
Monica opened the car door.
Thanks for the ride.
She got out and went up to her apartment on the third floor.
Jasmine drove away.
The next day, Monica didn’t go to the club.
She lay on the couch all day with an ice pack on her face.
Her cheekbone was swollen and a dark bruise spread under her eye.
She took a painkiller and dozed off in front of the TV.
In the evening, around 8:00, Jasmine called her.
Moni, something terrible is happening here.
Come quickly.
What happened? Come and see for yourself.
Monica got dressed, called a taxi, and was at the club in half an hour.
The front door had been kicked in, the windows smashed.
Inside, there was a buzz of voices.
Monica entered and froze.
The bar had been ransacked.
Broken bottles lay on the floor in puddles of alcohol.
Several tables had been overturned.
Two security guards, Dion and a young guy named Chiron, were sitting on chairs holding their heads.
Dion had blood flowing from a cut above his eye, and Chiron had a swollen lip.
Travis was standing in the middle of the room talking on the phone.
Next to him, Avery was holding a crowbar in his hands.
When Travis saw Monica, he ended the call and walked over to her.
This is the result of your actions, he said in an icy tone.
An hour ago, some lunatic broke in here with a bat.
He yelled that you infected him and demanded that we give him your address.
When I refused, he started trashing the bar.
He beat up Dion and Chiron until Avery knocked him out with a crowbar.
Where is he now? We threw him out onto the street.
I didn’t call the police.
I don’t need any extra questions, but this isn’t the end.
There will be more.
These men now know you work here, and they’ll come after you.
Monica looked around at the wrecked room.
I’m so sorry.
Your sorry won’t help me.
Travis pointed to the door.
Get out of here through the back door right now, and don’t come back until I call you.
Jasmine approached Monica and hugged her.
Be careful.
Monica nodded and walked out through the service corridor onto the street.
She got into a taxi and drove home feeling fear slowly squeezing her heart.
Monica spent the next 3 days in her apartment, hardly leaving the house.
Travis didn’t call.
Jasmine came by twice, bringing groceries and trying to calm her friend down, but the fear wouldn’t let go.
Monica knew that somewhere out there in the city, several men had learned of their diagnosis and were now looking for someone to blame.
She slept fitfully, startling at every noise behind the door, every voice in the stairwell.
On the fourth day, Travis called her in the evening.
He said briefly that she needed to go to work.
The bar had been renovated, security had been beefed up, and everything was under control.
Monica didn’t want to go back, but she was out of money and the bills weren’t going anywhere.
She agreed to the day shift from 3:00 pm to 9:00 pm when the club was less crowded.
The shift went smoothly.
Monica danced on stage, avoided the gaze of the patrons, and refused any private dances.
At 9:00, she changed her clothes, said goodbye to Jasmine, and went outside.
The sky had already darkened.
The lights barely illuminated the parking lot.
Monica walked to her car, got in, and drove home along the familiar route.
Her apartment was a 20-minute drive from the club in an old neighborhood with low houses and narrow streets.
Monica parked near her house and got out of the car.
She took her bag from the back seat and headed for the entrance.
She already had her keys in her hand.
And then she saw him.
A male figure stood in the shadows between two parked cars right at the entrance to the building.
Motionless, dark, silent.
Monica froze in place.
Her heart was beating so hard that she could hear it pounding in her ears.
The figure moved, took a step forward into the light Monica didn’t wait.
She turned and ran back to the street.
She heard heavy footsteps behind her.
The man was running after her.
Monica ran as fast as she could, her heels clicking on the asphalt.
Her bag fell, but she didn’t pick it up.
She ran to the corner of the building and jumped out onto the main street.
She looked around in panic.
There were almost no cars.
The footsteps were getting closer.
Monica ran along the street looking over her shoulder.
The man was 30 m behind her, tall, wearing a dark jacket.
She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel his rage.
Up ahead at the corner, she saw the yellow light of a taxi.
The car was at the curb, the driver talking on the phone.
Monica ran to the taxi and yanked open the back door.
She threw herself into the seat.
Dr.ive! Faster! The driver, an elderly Latino man with a gray mustache, turned around in confusion.
Señorita, I’m busy.
I have a fare.
I’ll pay double the price.
Dr.ive now.
The man who was chasing her stopped 10 m from the car.
He stood in the middle of the street breathing heavily.
Monica saw his face, unfamiliar, contorted with rage.
Please.
She whispered to the driver.
I’m begging you.
The driver looked at the man on the street, then at Monica, and started the engine.
The taxi pulled away sharply.
Monica turned around.
The man was still standing on the street watching the car drive away.
Then he disappeared into the darkness.
Where to? asked the driver.
Monica gave him the address of the Velvet Cage Club.
She had nowhere else to go.
20 minutes later, the taxi stopped at the club.
Monica paid the driver with everything she had in her pockets and jumped out of the car.
She ran into the club through the main entrance.
There were about 30 people in the hall and one of the girls was dancing on stage.
The manager, Rashid, was standing at the bar.
When he saw Monica, he was surprised.
You were supposed to have left already.
Where’s Travis? I need to talk to him urgently.
Upstairs, in his office.
Monica didn’t wait for permission.
She ran across the hall, climbed the stairs to the second floor, and burst into Travis’s office without knocking.
The club owner was sitting at a desk with some papers, and next to him in a chair was his accountant, a middle-aged woman named Felicia Briggs.
They both looked up.
Monica, what’s wrong? Travis asked.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it trying to catch her breath.
I was being followed near my house.
Some man.
I barely made it into the taxi.
Travis got up from his desk.
Did you recognize him? No.
I’ve never seen him before.
Felicia also stood up.
I’ll leave you two alone.
She said quietly and left the office.
Travis walked to the window, looked down at the street below, then turned to Monica.
I warned you this would happen.
These people won’t give up.
They’ll keep looking for you until they find you.
What should I do? Monica asked, her voice trembling.
Where should I go? Travis looked at her for a long time considering his options.
There are staff rooms on the second floor.
The girls used to rest there between shifts, but now they’re empty.
You can stay here for a while.
There’s security here.
It’s safer than your home.
Thank you.
Monica breathed.
But I’ll assign you a personal bodyguard.
Avery Montrose will watch over you around the clock.
Don’t go anywhere without him, understand? Monica nodded.
Travis opened the door and called Avery.
A minute later, a massive security guard entered the office.
He was 35 years old, nearly 2 m tall, with broad shoulders and a shaved head.
Avery, take Monica to room number three upstairs.
Keep an eye on her.
If she wants to go out, go with her.
If anyone comes looking for her, report to me.
Understood? Understood, boss.
Avery led Monica out of the office and down the second floor hallway.
Room three was small.
A narrow bed, a nightstand, a chair, a closed window.
In the corner was a door to a tiny bathroom.
Avery turned on the light.
You’ll sleep here.
I’ll be on duty in the hallway.
If you need anything, call me.
Monica went inside and closed the door.
She sat on the edge of the bed and covered her face with her hands.
For the first time in days, she allowed herself to cry.
Several hours passed.
Downstairs, the club was open.
Music was playing.
Voices could be heard.
Monica lay on the bed staring at the ceiling.
She couldn’t sleep.
Her thoughts were confused.
Her fear wouldn’t let go.
She thought about the man who was stalking her.
She thought about how many more like him there were.
She thought about how her life was falling apart.
She took out her phone and stared at the screen for a long time.
Then she dialed her mother’s number.
The phone rang.
Monica was about to hang up when she heard a voice.
Moni? Sweetheart, is that you? Charlene Hayward’s voice was soft and tired.
Monica imagined her in her small apartment in Phoenix, where she lived alone after her divorce.
Her mother worked as a cashier in a supermarket barely making ends meet.
Monica sent her money every month saying she worked as an office manager for a large company.
She had been lying for years.
Mom.
Monica said, her voice breaking.
What’s wrong? Are you crying? Monica tried to hold back, but the tears flowed freely.
Mom, I feel terrible.
I don’t know what to do.
Tell me.
What happened? Monica took a deep breath and began to speak.
She told her everything.
That she actually worked in a strip club.
That she had been prostituting herself for the last few years.
That she had found out about HIV a year ago and continued to sleep with clients.
She told her about Isaiah.
About the beating.
About the man with the bat in the bar.
About the harassment tonight.
She talked for a long time without stopping.
Pouring out everything that had built up over those years of lies.
When she finished, there was silence on the other end of the line.
Monica waited clutching the phone.
Mom, are you there? I’m here, sweetheart.
Charlene replied quietly.
I just don’t know what to say.
Are you angry with me? No.
I’m sad.
It hurts me that you lied to me for so many years.
But I’m not angry.
You’re my daughter and I love you no matter what.
Monica cried again.
I ruined everything, Mom.
I destroyed so many people’s lives.
You can’t change the past, Moni.
But you can change the future.
Come home.
Come to me in Phoenix.
We’ll figure something out.
I’ll think about it.
Monica whispered.
I promise.
I’ll be waiting for you.
Anytime, day or night.
Just come.
They said goodbye.
Monica put the phone on the nightstand and lay down on the bed.
For the first time in many days, she felt something other than fear.
A faint hope that maybe everything could still be fixed.
She dozed off.
She slept restlessly with nightmares.
She woke up to a knock on the door.
It was the middle of the night outside.
Monica looked at her phone.
It was half past 3:00 in the morning.
The knock repeated.
Monica, it’s Avery.
Open up.
She got out of bed, went to the door, and opened it.
Avery was standing in the hallway, his face impassive.
The boss wants to see you.
It’s urgent.
Now? In the middle of the night? He said it was urgent.
Monica didn’t argue.
She put on her shoes and went out into the hallway.
They walked toward Travis’s office.
Downstairs, the club was empty and quiet.
The work day was long over.
Avery walked ahead.
Monica followed behind.
The hallway seemed longer than usual.
They reached the office door.
Avery pushed it open and stepped aside letting Monica go first.
Go in.
Monica crossed the threshold.
The office was lit only by a desk lamp.
A man was sitting at Travis’s desk.
Not Travis.
A stranger.
He looked at her calmly.
Monica stopped feeling a chill run down her spine.
She turned to Avery, but he was already closing the door from the outside.
The lock clicked.
Sit down, Monica.
said the man at the desk.
She recognized him.
Michael Royden.
The man she had dated before.
A tall man of about 38 with broad shoulders and a scar on his chin.
He came to Las Vegas on business once a month, stayed in a cheap motel, and called her.
They saw each other a few times, then he disappeared.
Monica decided he was simply no longer interested.
Michael? She whispered.
What are you doing here? Sit down.
He repeated pointing to a chair in front of the table.
Monica slowly walked over and sat down.
Her hands were shaking.
Where’s Travis? Travis isn’t here.
Avery let me in after closing time.
I paid him $2,000 for it.
He’s a good security guard, but he’s greedy.
Monica tried to think.
Avery had betrayed her.
Sold her to this man for money.
What do you want? Michael leaned back in his chair and folded his arms on the table.
I want to tell you a story.
Sometime ago, I met a woman.
Her name was Renee.
She worked as a nurse at a hospital in Reno.
We started dating.
For the first time in many years, I felt that my life had meaning.
I planned to propose to her.
I bought a ring and even chose a date.
He fell silent looking somewhere past Monica.
And then the company arranged a mandatory medical examination for all drivers.
New insurance rules.
I took the tests.
I thought it was just a formality.
A week later, the lab called.
They asked me to come in person.
I went.
The doctor said I had HIV.
Monica closed her eyes.
I didn’t know how it happened.
I thought maybe it was a mistake.
I had the tests redone at another clinic.
The result was the same.
Then I started to remember.
I’d only had three women in recent years.
I never touched Renee without a condom.
She insisted on it.
The girl before her, I checked through mutual friends.
She was clean.
That left only you.
I didn’t even know your real name, just your phone number.
I called, but the number was no longer in service.
I started looking for you through friends.
I found out you work here.
He took a gun out of his jacket pocket and put it on the table in front of him.
I told Renee about the diagnosis.
She left me that same day.
She didn’t listen, didn’t try to understand.
She just left.
I lost my job.
The company didn’t want to keep a sick driver.
I lost my apartment.
I couldn’t pay the rent.
I was left alone with this damn disease.
And it’s all because of you.
Monica looked at the gun.
Michael, I’m sorry, she said in a trembling voice.
Please forgive me.
I didn’t mean to I didn’t think about the consequences.
I was afraid to admit it.
I didn’t know what to do, and I just kept living as before.
It was wrong.
I understand.
But please don’t do it.
Don’t do what? Michael asked calmly.
Don’t kill me.
I can leave town.
You’ll never see me again.
Michael picked up the gun and checked the magazine.
Leave? What difference will that make? Renee won’t come back.
I won’t get my job back.
My life is already ruined.
And it’s your fault.
Monica got up from her chair and backed toward the door.
Please, Michael.
I have a mother.
She’s alone.
I’m all she has.
I have no one, he said and raised the gun.
Monica tried to turn toward the door, but the shot rang out first.
The bullet hit her in the chest just above her heart.
Monica fell to her knees pressing her hand to the wound.
Blood flowed through her fingers.
She tried to say something, but only a rattle came out of her throat.
She fell onto her side.
Michael got up from the table and walked over to her.
He looked at the dying woman without pity or joy.
He took a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket, unfolded it, and placed it on Travis’s desk.
The paper had the words an eye for an eye written in large letters.
He put away his gun, left the office, and went down the black staircase to the first floor.
Avery was standing by the service exit holding the door open.
Michael walked past him onto the street.
Avery closed the door and disappeared into the night.
Hey.
The morning was cold and gray.
Travis Brockman arrived at the club at 8:00 in the morning as usual.
He left his car in the parking lot and entered through the main entrance.
The hall smelled of stale air and spilled alcohol.
The cleaning lady hadn’t come yet.
Travis went up to the second floor and headed for his office.
He pushed the door.
It was unlocked.
He went inside and stopped dead in his tracks.
Monica Hayworth was lying on the floor in a pool of blood.
Her eyes were open, her hand pressed against her chest.
She was dead.
Travis slowly walked around the desk and looked down at the girl he had failed to protect.
He saw a note on the desk.
He picked it up and read it.
An eye for an eye.
He sat down in his chair, put the note back on the desk, and covered his face with his hands.
He sat motionless for several minutes.
Then he took out his phone and dialed the police.
As the phone rang, he looked at Monica.
He thought about how she had chosen this path herself, that her actions had led to this end.
But he also thought that no one deserved to die like this, alone on a cold floor.
The dispatcher answered the phone.
Las Vegas Police Department, how can I help you? Travis took a deep breath.
I need to report a murder.
