“Oh, she’ll be just fine. She’s pretty out of it. We’ll go get her checked out. Lots of rest. You know the drill. She’ll be back in no time!” Arnie, the club’s owner, shouted after the stragglers.

Drunken men, disoriented by Coco’s accident, shuffled out the door as Arnie held it for them.

Victor squatted down beside Coco, having a conversation with her. He pretended that she was responding. He pretended she had come back around. At least she had stopped smoking. The smell was overwhelming so close to her body. Burnt hair, smoked meat, and just a hint of cotton candy hung heavy in the air. The smoke blended with the fog machine and made ghostly, foul-scented shapes that faded almost as quickly as they appeared. Strobing lights of various colors pulsated through the haze.

“No, don’t try and get up,” Arnie said boisterously over his shoulder as he ushered the last of the customers outside.

The stone-still, topless Coco lay flat on her back in front of the DJ booth.

Victor’s eyes glazed in awe as he stared down at Coco Darling.

Arnie shut and locked the door with an easy affable grin until the bolt and reinforcement bar were firmly in place. He then turned and bounded across the room to where Victor gazed at Coco.

Arnie’s sudden presence was enough to snap Victor out of his daze. He shifted his eyes away from the charred, crumpled beauty with great effort and redirected his focus to his boss, who was covering his nose with the collar of his shirt. Even through the fabric Arnie’s expression of disgust was visible.

“What do we do now, Arnie?” Victor asked. His eyes were wide. He sounded like a frightened child.

Arnie, unaffected by the events, let the collar of his shirt fall from his bulbous nose to speak. “Seriously, Vic? What the fuck do you think? Stuff and mount her? Put her at the front door? Turn her into a coat rack? You wanna keep her a while?” Victor stared at his shoes while Arnie continued, “She already fucking reeks. Jesus, she reeks. We chuck her in the garbage.” He slapped the back of Victor’s head with the flat of his palm. “We wrap her in trash bags and bury her in the dumpster. Pick up should be first thing tomorrow morning. Once she’s at the dump there’s no telling where she came from. Strippers and hookers go missing all the fucking time, ya know? What’s one more?” Arnie wiped his oily forehead with the back of his hand, and brushed sweat onto his slacks. He went to the janitor’s closet.

“Really, Arnie? We’re just going to dump her in the trash?” Victor asked, cocking his head to the side like a confused puppy. He stared down at Coco. If he squinted, the matted mess of hair wasn’t so bad. If he breathed through his mouth he didn’t smell the burned skin and layers of melted glitter. But when he exhaled, the faint taste of barbeque lingered on his tongue.

Coco had always been high strung, and more than a little mouthy, but in her voltage-induced slumber she seemed so peaceful. Lying there she looked like a sleeping Amazon from outer space; a topless alien race napping at Victor’s feet. He thought she must look lovelier than she ever had before, and what a shame it was. The only time she shut her mouth long enough for Victor to truly appreciate her unique beauty up close, not just in his head, and she had to go and be dead the whole time.

Arnie thrust a roll of trash bags into Victor’s hands. “Stop gaping at this bitch and get busy wrapping. Start at her head. I’ll start at her feet.” Arnie licked his lips thinking about Coco’s feet.

During Snatch Hansen’s More Than One Use for a Brautwurst Happy Hour, customers chose strippers for private dances and paid extra for them to act out sexual fantasies with the sausages. Arnie often chose Coco to lick the brauts and run her dainty, manicured digits over the casings before smooshing them between her toes. He never paid her, but he owned the club and felt he deserved the perks. Who would argue with him? All of the girls knew just how replaceable they were.

Arnie started wrapping Coco’s feet in black plastic. He took his time until he reached her ankles. Then his interest waned and he went about his work quickly.

“C’mon Vic, she ain’t getting any fresher.”

Victor held Coco’s head in the open palm of his hand. The trash bag only covered her forehead. He stared at her closed eyelids and searched for a final sign of life. He hoped she would cough and twitch back into existence, but he couldn’t cradle her corpse all night—as strong as the urge might be. Arnie was growing impatient. “What the fuck, Victor? What’s the fucking hold-up?”

Victor shook the warm thoughts of cold parts away and wrapped the rest of her head quickly while looking up at Arnie. He didn’t want to see Coco’s pallid face, smudged with grey, swallowed up by the black plastic.

“No hold-up, man.” Victor stammered. “It’s just weird. I mean, what are the chances…”

“Do you really fucking care? We need to get her outta here before the night cleaning crew shows up.” Arnie snapped.

They wrapped her from head to toe in layers of thirty-three gallon heavy duty trash bags and finished it all off with a somewhat festive looking knot cinched at her waist.

“Let’s go chuck her in the dumpster and get a drink,” Arnie said. He picked Coco up by her ankles and dragged her several feet. “I ain’t doing this by myself, man. Grab a handful of head there and let’s get movin’.”

Victor squatted low, cupped his hands around the back of her head, cradling it delicately, and lifted from his knees. They grunted and heaved as they carried her out the side entrance and into the alley. When they reached the dumpster, they each fumbled with the palm-sweated plastic to readjust their grip.

“How’d she fly off like that anyways?” Victor wondered aloud.

“That little bitch, Chastity. She went on right before this one here.” He swung Coco by the legs. “They’ve been at each other’s throats since she started here. I think Chastity wiped some Vaseline or something on the pole before she got off the stage. Sneaky bitch. We’ll deal with her tomorrow. Right now we just need to dump this one.”

They counted to three and swung Coco back and forth, creating enough momentum (the same force that caused her demise) to fling her into the dumpster. At three, they both let go and launched their black plastic bandaged mummy into the pile of trash. Glass clinked against glass, tin and aluminum cans crunched, and papers rustled.

Coco sank into the quicksand refuse.

Arnie grabbed a few flattened cardboard boxes and tossed them over her in an attempt to hide the human-shaped garbage pile. He slapped Victor’s back and slung an arm around his shoulder. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I need a fucking drink!”

Victor nodded and looked over his shoulder as he walked down the alley. He was surprised at how hidden Coco already was.

She was magic.