PART II - STRIP-CLUB ETHICS

1. A Discreet Exit - December 2016 - page 2

2. Felony Murder - December 20, 2016 - page 3

3. Convicted on Facebook - December 20, 2016 - page 5

4. Magic Cards - 2012 to 2016 - page 7

5. Date-Rape Drugged - December 14, 2016 - page 10

6. Strip-Club Junky - 2007 to 2013 - page 13 

7. Orlando from Miami - 2010 to 2013 - page 16

8. Angry Well-Dressed Doorman - Summer, Fall 2012 - page 19

9. Control Freak - 1964 to 2016 - page 28

10. Hustlers At Scores - December 2015 - page 31

11. Always Another Guy - 5000 B.C. to present - page 33

12. Luring Young Girls - eternity - page 36

13. Vulnerable Men - 2007 to 2010 - page 37

14. Private Room - December 13, 2016 - page 41

1. A DISCREET EXIT - December 2016

Mandi's car was at Chris Dahl's. Mandi had finally come out of the house. And Scott had followed her out. I told Mandi's mom at the time that I would have just thrown Mandi's stuff in the street if I were Scott. But I guess that is why I am single and Scott Love is in prison. It was just a matter of time before he would fuck up and get arrested.

And that's when I got a knock on my door. Someone tried the doorknob, and then I heard a tap tap tap on the glass.

She said "David are you going to call the police and say some bullshit again?"

You see how quickly reality gets lost in the human mind? On the day she got arrested at my house, she was the one who called the police. No one will ever remember what she told them, it didn't matter. If she could do sales, she wouldn't be sucking dicks.

She said "Promise me you wont email my dad that I came here he is still really angry at you."

She said "I know you've been following me. If you want to do something for me to make up for what you did, I really need some money or someone is going to kill me."

It is like I had gone straight back to when I met her in February 2015, and some spazz pimp was inside her head again. It took me most of a year to deconstruct that world around her, and pry her out of it. And put her into a world where she could sit at a bar by herself and meet guys like poodle boy. And tell me to fuck off, and wake up each day with the possibility to do anything.

And here she was back in her own private Idaho. She was back at the door of a hooker customer in the dark, asking for money or her pimp would kill her.

She said that something terrible happened, she needed to go to Walmart and buy stuff and return it, yada yada yada.

This is where it gets murky. Because a teenage hooker is trained to be discreet. She won't ever tell the truth about the guys, or who they are or what happened. When she goes into a strange guy's hotel room, the truth is what she thinks would get her  in trouble. 

If you died, would you want your family to know the last thing you did before you died, was have sex with a hooker? Or would you want that girl to disappear, and the last hour of your life erased for you?

Hookers know their place. Their place is invisible. They enter into a pact to crumple the truth up into a little ball where no one will find it.

But I had become good at un-crumpling that ball with Mandi. I knew she found another old guy. And gave him a better deal than me. Because she had no choice, because he didn't care about her like I do. And she liked him better than me.

There will always be guys who don't attach as many strings to the money, or are less jealous, or are willing to smoke weed and do other cool things I am too dorky to think of. There are guys who are more miserable than me, and more hedonistic, and make her feel needed. There are guys who will put her to work calling johns on the phone, or turning screws on a car engine, and make her feel useful.

It's not a normal relationship, when she walks out his door she doesn't owe the guy anything. But this guy, she owed him something. He must be her new angry pimp. And she had come for my money to fix it. She was with another secret guy all along, not Scott. Or Scott was secretly her new pimp, or something. I knew Scott's ex girlfriends were hookers, but did I know it then? I don't think I knew that then.

It was simple: As always, some other guy left her broke. So I told her she needed to get her head checked, and stop hanging out with such scumbags. And she left, without even doing what most girls would do, which is throw my phone through a mirror or something.

 

2. FELONY MURDER - December 20, 2016

I had a hope, that Scott would get into it with Chris Dahl, or maybe some hessian who lived at Chris Dahl's house. Because when I saw Mandi's car at his house, that is two guys and one girl. But that would be from planet Earth. We were on planet Mandi, where guys are led into a mysterious forest by their own impulses. Scott Love was just an insincere picture on social media, Mandi could be 10 guys ahead of him by now.

I figured whoever she owes money to, she will meet up with old guys like me to get it. Which is good, because that leaves Scott Love out there drifting around somewhere like a third wheel, and finally he gets arrested. All is fair in love and war. But if I had it to do over again I would not wish demise on my fellow man so lightly. Yes I would, I am human.

I was sleepy. My head was filled with crazy thoughts. From jealousy after seeing sweet Mandi. From worry that hanging out with Chris Dahl, Mandi would get in trouble for possessing drugs. From believing the fantasy world inside Mandi's head where every guy is going to kill her. Her fear is always be cured by sex. I was relieved to see her. It was a first step.

So sure enough, I think two days later, Mandi and Scott pop up on the Orange County Jail website. And it says fraud, which makes perfect sense, because that is what I would expect someone like Scott Love to do when his girlfriend starts running to other guys for the better deal. So he did fraud so that he could come up with the money that she asked me for.

And then it says felony murder out of Seminole County which makes no sense at all. Felony murder is when someone dies by accident during a robbery. So I figure some guy died by accident, and Mandi used his credit card at a gas station.

I may even have wondered if it was Mandi's customer or something, who took too much viagra and had a heart attack and died. And she used his credit card and got blamed.

Before the treasure ships, before the conquistadors. before the resurrection of Christ, a tree grew.

3,000 years later, the tree had become a landmark, a meeting place for indians. Then European settlers came. In 1913 the northern area of Mosquito County broke off as Seminole County, derived from the Spanish word for runaway. In 1927, State Senator Moses Overstreet donated the tree, and the land around it, to the young Seminole County. The tree became known as "The Senator."

Land promoters came from the North. They named the area where The Senator stood "Longwood," and a neighboring area "Altamonte Springs." Air conditioning was invented, and inflation combined with deposit insurance led to a glut of trash dwellings. The area around The Senator became a haven for white trash and meth freaks, attracted by the soft climate, low rents, and menial jobs in the growing Florida tourism industry.

Then in 2012, a local tweaker from Altamonte Springs crawled inside the Senator high on meth. She got lost in the trunk, and lit a fire to find her way. What stood and grew for 3500 years went down in flames. 

A tree doesn't bother anyone. It just grows and stands for 3500 years of war and peace. But it could not withstand the uniquely benighted white-trash lowlifes the area suddenly became home to.

That is the place where some crazy thing happened which the Orange County jail website was calling "felony murder", Seminole County.

Seminole County is to Orange County what North Jersey is to Manhattan; a haven for the mediocre, who are not even self-conscious about it because they never aspired to anything. Seminole County is like bugs under an Orange County rock. Human life has no value in a place like that.

I tried to imagine what it might be all about. I pictured a ranch-style Florida teardown with paper walls. And Mandi went up there for who knows what after I refused to give her money. Probably some crack house Scott Love knew about. And a bunch of people were partying and running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and somebody died.

I could totally imagine the kind of person who lands in Seminole County getting totally fucked up on drugs, and just running through a roach and termite infested paper wall and dying.

 

3. CONVICTED ON FACEBOOK - December 20, 2016

After I saw Mandi's arrest on the Orange County Jail website, her fake "Jackon" facebook picture popped up immediately. Her feed was taken over by vicious, ugly, sociopathic strippers wishing death and torture on Mandi, They weren't bereaved. They were having fun, indulging in an opportunity where female machismo might pass as appropriate, to outdo each other and show off their true talent of nastiness.

I didn't find out until two years later, they were really just angry because they never got to cash out their Dollhouse Dollars. They thought Mulrenin took their money home with him, and Mandi stole it. I knew people like that couldn't honestly care about the guy who died.

They saw Mandi's misdemeanor battery arrest at my house, and said Mandi beat up a guy a before. I was there, that's not true. They saw she was arrested in Georgia with 7 pounds of GHB. I have a report from the Georgia crime lab that says that's not true. They said she threw James Mulrenin off a balcony. I wasn't there. But according to stories in the newspaper that same day, people who were there said that's not true. 

I hadn't yet figured out I knew this guy James Mulrenin. But I know why guys become strip-club managers. And these girls were filling in the blanks who he was. I don't think they saw the toxicology report yet, they couldn't have seen it. But one mentioned Viagra and implied Mulrenin was good in bed for his age. Another mentioned something like what a big strong guy he was. Reading between the lines, I could tell these girls on facebook had gone back to Mulrenin's apartment themselves at some point. 

I know strippers. None of these girls slept alone at night. When they walk out of that club at the end of the night, there is a guy waiting for them in a car or at home. And they surely had suitors, pimps, boyfriends, baby-daddys in their lives, on the nights they went home with Mulrenin. And here they wanted to torture Mandi to death, for doing the same thing they had done. It was as if they were jealous.

Someone said this guy Mulrenin had cocaine. I saw on Google he had multiple prostitution convictions, racketeering, domestic battery, DUI. I wasn't there, but these were actual convictions. He once told a newspaper he was run out of town for rape. His own childhood friend and business partner chased him out. A bartender from Rachel's told me he date-raped a lot of girls. (In Seminole County, that is called a "witness.")

I figured out he was some kind of a pimp rapist dirtbag, who stumbled downhill to the Dollhouse on Orange Blossom Trail, and finally found a home. And I knew right then there is no way Mandi threw this guy off a balcony. Because I knew she would have loved him. She would have loved to please him. And the whole thing was a scam.

Did Scott Love have cocaine? No. Did James Mulrenin have cocaine? Yes. Ergo, Mandi Jackson loved James Mulrenin. Dont' kid yourselves folks, life is not that complicated. You don't need to invent a conspiracy. It really is that simple. Scott Love knew he had lost the race.

But I guess gossip can expand into its own universe. Here's the one thing the facebook gossipers on December 20 really didn't want to admit to: Did James Mulrenin like Mandi Jackson back? Yes. She was the fresh strawberry that made his whole strip-club career worthwhile.

Mandi was eager to please. This was a self-centered guy she would have been a magnet on, he would have made her feel so needed. Suppose you are a half-retarded cop, and Mandi Jackson gave you your one opportunity in life to solve a murder. Understand that's how she made Mulrenin feel also. She was his shooting star.

But there was one more thing I didn't put together right away. Mulrenin would tell you he was run out of Michigan for being falsely accused of rape. It ruined his career and his friendship. Ever since Mandi was arrested at my house, she feels a kinship with anyone falsely accused of a crime.

But this guy Mulrenin was even closer to home. His false accusation included the word "date rape." He and Mandi both had a Google problem, with the word "rape" coming up when you searched their name. Mulrenin for "date rape" and Mandi for "date rape drug." And that is why Mandi was more than Mulrenin's coke whore. She loved him. Bonnie and Clyde, with their falsely-accused date-rape stories in Google.

The people gossiping on facebook didn't know Mandi. But I did. This hedonist guy Jim with the"falsely accused" story in Google was her dreamboat. She wouldn't leave even after the cocaine was gone. He would have to throw Mandi out to get rid of her. I didn't really get how girls who were not at Mulrenin's house that night, could kid themselves that they liked Mulrenin better, or were closer to Mulrenin, than the girl who was at his house. It was a wishful invention from the start.

That was some Dollhouse girls hating on Mandi. But there was another girl who was already on Mandi's "Jackon" facebook page even before she got arrested. Because she had been on Scott Love's facebook page, and on the facebook page of every girl he dated, every single day since he dumped her three years earlier.

For three years she had envied Scott Love living above ground without her. For three years she posted facebook comments and messages to try to exploit his down moments to become relevant in his life. The day Scott Love was arrested was Christmas for Scott's facebook-stalking ex.

Not only did Scott's ex suddenly know a famous person in the news. But after three years of trying to tell herself she was better off for being dumped by Scott, this was the first day she could actually believe it. And after three years of being jealous of every girl Scott Love talked to, and three months of being miserably jealous of Mandi, on this day she could feel sorry for Mandi.

So finally her life was not an endless ball of pining and rumination, and she was happy she was not with Scott Love and Mandi was. She was free. And I don't doubt she indulged in the moment and tried to participate, by calling police and saying “I know Scott Love, he did it.” The more she believed it and convinced herself it was true, the better she felt about having lost him. Only by Scott going to prison can she stay free.

I've learned so much since that December day in 2016, I don't remember exactly what I thought that day. I think Mandi's mom told me Scott lost his job. But it was well known this strip-club manager takes the new girls home, everyone in town knew this. And it was pretty obvious he had cocaine and gave Mandi the better deal. And Scott knew this and was powerless to do anything about it. And Scott shot the guy. I figured it was a jealous boyfriend.

And then Mandi used the guy's credit cards, because that is what teenage hookers learn to do. They don't go to police, they disappear in the dark. Who knows, maybe she already had the cards in her pocket, because alcoholic Mulrenin with his DUI sent her to the liquor store earlier in the night.

And that is where the story should have ended, a guy who took home a young girl and got shot by her jealous boyfriend. But for some reason, the police let their imagination run away. And then they filled in evidence, and manufactured witnesses, when the evidence and witnesses they had turned out to not fit their imagination.

It may have had something to do with Mulrenin losing his business, and getting run out of Michigan, for date rape of a previous young female employee. The people who knew him were not going to let a little girl get away with ruining his life and their business again. So they ran way out ahead this time, trying to hide the truth and destroy the young female employee he had sex with to protect the business.

 

4. MAGIC CARDS - 2012 to 2016

Why was I so quick to imagine Mandi used this guy's credit card at a gas station? That's easy. Children don't even have a concept what a credit card is. When I was a kid, other kids explained to me how a credit card lets you go to a restaurant without paying. You use the credit card to pay, and get a free dinner. People who have credit cards, have been given something free.

I was a kid in the early days of credit cards, whereas Mandi Jackson was an adult in a world of plastic. So she has a rational understanding of what a credit card actually is, right? I would say a developing understanding. She didn't understand the next step. She understood the credit card bill gets paid, but she didn't understand how it gets paid or from where.

When you screw 50-year-old guys for money as a teenager, you will see credit cards 100 times, before you ever have a credit card yourself. And the guys whose credit cards you see, will encourage you to believe they have access to a free-money tree. They want young girls to believe they have magical powers. They don't say "I work hard as a laborer for this money, so I have to spend it sparingly." They say "I am a magical bling man for whom money is no object, and this card is attached straight to the Federal Reserve. This card is in Euros which are better than dollars. This card is liquid gold. Any amount of money, they won't miss it, any amount of money, the card company will give it to me."

So people will be jealous that Mandi Jackson lived a lifestyle where she was gang-banged by dozens of strange old men, and then once in a long while got to enjoy things purchased with their credit cards. But this jealousy is unfounded, when the same opportunity is available to you. You can go down to Miami today, or send your teenage daughters. You give those old men what they want, and they will run up bills on their credit cards for you.

I've never known Mandi to steal. Quite the opposite, I have heard her rant about how she is against stealing, and won't hang out with people who steal. It was a bit of a surprise to hear such a passionate moral position come from the mouth of someone who mainly talks about her cats. But Mandi does often preach morals. Such as fairness when it comes to making sure one dog doesn't get more treats than the other. Or keeping promises. Specifically my promises to pay her for sex.

Mandi always knew how to appeal to me when it came to morals. It was surprising from someone who didn't know or have a lot of lines to hustle anyone with. But she was often able to recite a moral reason why I should do something she wanted me to do. And she knew I would find it hard to argue with.

Somewhere in her young life, she had a previous experience with an old guy who preached morals. Her dad doesn't talk like that. Maybe it was her youth pastor. Maybe it was her uncle who wasn't really her uncle. I think it was probably all of the above. Everywhere she turned there was an old guy who thought this is too good to be true. Remember, as you see her today her brain has had more than a decade to recover from a series of brain injuries that began as a child. Everywhere she turned, there was an old guy who saw immediately here is a little blonde girl I can stick my dick in her mouth, and no one cares.

And one of the old guys she spent time with at some point was a moral man, a preacher of morals. And she spent a lot of time with him. She had to be at most a young teenager at the time, and she was able to quote him on morals.

I got the idea her stand against stealing came from being a victim. She weighed only 100 pounds. The way I found her, standing in a park in Miami at night, she had some experience with people running off with her money. She told me a story about it. I thought her pimp was supposed to protect her from that sort of thing, but apparently he didn't.

Worst of all, Mandi often felt victimized by people who had sex with her and then threw her out or left without paying. They often threw her out and threatened to call the police on her, or simply ran out the door. She felt raped. So stealing, taking something that belongs to an actual person in an unfair way, was not right in her mind. But using magical money cards is not stealing, it is what the cards are supposed to be used for, according to the people who have them.

I can tell you how, in addition to buying her Walmart gift cards, I met Mandi many times at the gas station and loaned her my debit card. I will buy her a tank of gas if she is crying in a mental breakdown by the side of the road. But I am not going to do the pumping for her. So I lend her the card. And when she sticks that debit card in the pump, she doesn't really have a sense the money is coming out of something, or will make me poorer. She thinks I have simply given her access to the money. When the card comes from a guy she has sex with, the money comes from the card, and to there from some place that she doesn't know anything about. She really didn't believe it cost me anything to put a tank of gas on my card.

Until very recently in 2019, Mandi never believed it when I told her it was actually possible for me to not have any money. 5,000 guys in a row flashed money in her face, and lied to her that they are millionaires who can spend unlimited. Mandi had her own bank account, and her own debit card. And she worked a kid job, and deposited her check in the bank. But money that came from guys who had sex with her was different. It was a totally different scale, and seemed to simply be access to whatever pool of free money that old guys have. 

Imagine the only job you ever had paid $7.50 an hour. And people in her family get paid like $20 an hour. And then you see guys in the strip club or the Fountainbleau Hotel with $20000 to blow, or $200,000. A girl like Mandi has no sense or notion of where money like that comes from. It just seems like a bottomless pool of money to her, and you give guys what they want, in return for a little piece of access to it.

So I would have $1500 in my wallet to pay rent. And I would tell Mandi “I don't have any money today.” She felt depressed and betrayed that I was lying to her. To this day, she insists I was always lying to her, all the times I said I didn't have any money. She took it as "fuck off, you are ugly." Her pimp financed a car in Mandi's name to use her credit. Chris Dahl put his electric bill in her name because he owed money to OUC. Her Mom used her pussy to pay the rent. But Mandi herself never lived in a world where you had rent and bills to pay. To her, if you had $100, that was $100 you can spend on Lucky Charms and ice cream at Cold Stone Creamery.

Does using a dead person's credit cards make it 100 times more sinister? If Mandi has reason to believe Mulrenin is dead, then her understanding of credit cards is actually more accurate. Dead people don't have credit cards. The money really does come from some unknown place. When you sue reckless drivers, you have to pretend in court that you are suing the individual driver. Because if the jury knew all the money was coming from the insurance company, they would award the max cash payout every time.

Mulrenin adorned his car with department-store shopping bags to encourage the easy-money concept, that all old guys have access to. He displayed full shopping bags in his car, Neiman Marcus in the front, Macy's and Apple in the back. He wasn't too lazy to bring his purchases inside. The display was designed to say "take my credit cards shopping." Of course you will have to give him something. Which Mandi did. 

So I figured Mandi probably used the dead guy's credit card at a gas station, same as if it were mine. Because old guys just walk around with a pool of free money that they are always waving at her. And she didn't think anyone would notice or care. That's what strip club managers train young girls to do. Guys come into the strip club with a bunch of plastic cards, and your job as a stripper is to spend money off them. The news stories said this guy James Mulrenin walked around with cash in a money clip to tell girls it was available. So Mandi is just spending the old guy's free money same as she has done for years. Same as she had done for years under the supervision and training of guys exactly like James Mulrenin.

According to Barbara Mellinger, Mulrenin blasted two guys' credit cards for $20k just that night, and walked out with more than $2500 of it in his pocket, more than three times what Jackson and Love spent on his cards at Walmart. I'm skeptical two customers actually spent $20k at Dollhouse.  But whatever money was blasted on credit cards that night, the customers were separated from it either by Mulrenin himself, or by the girls he trained and supervised to do exactly that. At least Mulrenin got to fuck Mandi for his money. For reasons I will show you, it is almost certain Mulrenin's customers got nothing but tricked and kicked out at 1:45 AM with their credit-card bill.

The Dollhouse customers didn't buy dances or drinks with their credit-card bill the night Mulrenin died. They bought something called "dancer dollars." Dancer dollars are tokens that strip clubs sell you so that they can steal them from you. That is not according to me. That is according to credit-card companies. If strippers get you drunk and trick you and run up bills on your credit card, you can call the credit-card company and do a chargeback. So strip clubs sell the customers tokens on their credit cards, and then steal the tokens. The sole reason the tokens exist, is in anticipation that customers will say the strippers robbed them. Otherwise customers could pay with a credit card like every other business in the world.

Suppose you go to a hotel and they put you in a tent and call it a room. You leave and call your credit-card company. Suppose a hotel sells you tokens. And then you pay 1000 tokens for a room, and find out is is a tent. You say I want my tokens back. The hotel says fuck you. You tell the credit card company you want your money back for buying the tokens. Did you get the tokens? Yes. Fuck you.

It is possible for a strip club to keep a tab, and bill your credit card at the end of the night. Or you can pay as you go. The only reason not to, is because strip clubs expect their customers to say they were tricked or robbed. That was the plan when Dollhouse sold customers dancer dollars the night Mulrenin died. The plan was to do something that customers would likely feel they were owed their money back. Very likely those strippers promised the customers something they did not get. I never even heard of the tokens being used anywhere else, other than at Dollhouse.

Not only did Mulrenin kill himself not Mandi, but he got something for his money that night. It was his customers who were robbed on their credit cards and got nothing. Mandi sucked 1,000 guys dicks in a row and never cheated one. Mulrenin cheated people every single night, that is what dancer dollars were invented for. Mulrenin is in the business of robbing and luring young girls, Mandi is in the business of sucking dicks, and people in Seminole County are marshmallow rubes without a clue in the world.

You may not like me saying Mulrenin got a fair deal for the money Mandi spent on his credit cards at Walmart. You may disagree with that, according to what you and most people think, and how you and most people measure fair and right and appropriate. But my statement is true and consistent with the ethics and thinking and values of the world Mulrenin created and lived in. That is how fair is analyzed and calculated and weighed at the strip club, and by Mulrenin's employees. That is how Mulrenin himself measured it. Mulrenin is dead and you never met him, you cannot tell me what he would think is fair or not. You would not do what Mulrenin did. You would say what Mulrenin thinks is fair, girls leading guys on and getting them drunk and blasting their cards for $20k no refunds in an OBT shithole, is wrong.

Mandi spent her whole life in that world of hotels and strip clubs, where her handlers told her she was doing the right thing by blowing up credit cards for $5k $10k $20k. Pimps, and convicted pimps operating euphemistically as strip-club managers, said her job is to spend guys' money. They told Mandi the people who think this is wrong are your enemies, run the other way. And suddenly Mandi gets arrested, and is exposed to an alternate universe of people who tell her that using a guy's credit card is evil. And they say that the same guy who trained Mandi to run up credit card bills as her job description, the same guy who lured her by representing to her that money was no object and he had access to that unlimited pot, the same guy who brought home hundreds of employees according to his valet parker, was a victim of her immoral decisions.

In this alternate universe, Mulrenin didn't want or demand sex of his vulnerable young employee. That was all Mandi's idea to trick him! It was Mandi's evil idea to promise this innocent man sex! Mulrenin was just in the business for the secondhand smoke. For two decades. Never demanded sex. I know, somehow Mandi became the person who leads guys on, and Mulrenin became the decent guy who never tricked anybody or ran up bills they couldn't get refunds for, it is the most insane upside-down backwards idiotic slime scam in history. Run on a brain-damaged young girl who just wanted to pay the rent and got a dick in her mouth.

What is justice?

 

5. DATE-RAPE DRUGGED  - December 14, 2016

I was working on my laptop at the bar at Gator's SoDo on May 4, 2017. And this guy sits down next to me, Randy "The Mini Jim" Ferrara. As in "Big Jim" Mulrenin. He sits down and starts talking to me completely out of the blue. He said he was a manager at Dollhouse, and Big Jim was his good friend and co-worker. He tells me the circumstances of Big Jim's death. He even claimed he was the one who parked Big Jim's car on the night he died.

When Mulrenin went over the balcony, it was reported as a suicide. People said "Don't jump, don't jump." But Detective Sprague found some duct tape in the apartment, and there was blood on the rug. So Detective Sprague decided it was a murder. And he saw Mandi on video with Mulrenin at his apartment before he died. So Sprague went to Dollhouse on December 14th to find out who the blonde girl is. And that is where Mini-Jim's version of events begins.

The police came into Dollhouse and said "Your boss was murdered last night. He went over the balcony and died." If he was murdered and died from going over the balcony, that means he was thrown over the balcony. That is how the people at Dollhouse understood it. That's what they thought Sprague was saying.

So they asked each other, how could this little 100-pound girl overpower Big Jim, and throw him off a balcony? Neisha met Mandi and said she was "petite." Mini-Jim said they all knew Jim was a big tough violent guy. Their first guess, according to Mini-Jim, is that Mulrenin "was slipping" in his old age. They never doubted Mulrenin forced Mandi to come home with him. But in his advanced age, he was getting sloppy in his takedowns of young girls. Too many drugs and drinking, and too old, and his standard plot finally went sour. That was the people at Dollhouse first guess. 

Mini-Jim had a man-crush on Big Jim. He tried to impress on me that Big Jim was known as "The Human Ken Doll" and could have any girl he wants. "Any girl he wants" was a recurring theme in police interviews, quoted by the sort of dorky boys Mulrenin hired to worked under him. Mulrenin was the rooster in his henhouse, he didn't hire other Mulrenins.

The "any girl he wants" line was used by all three of 1) Ferrara the parking manager, 2) Gorewitz the valet parker, and 3) Carico the floor manager. Mulrenin's death was reported as a suicide. That's what police called and told Barbara Mellinger, and that's what they kept saying. So the guys who worked at the Dollhouse started saying "Why would he want to kill himself, when he can have any girl he wants."

Mini-Jim was smart and articulate. So why he is working at a strip club? Same as everyone, for the girls. And Big Jim was his hero, for taking advantage of, and taking down, so many broke young girls who came in looking for work. Big Jim was a living legend. Mini-Jim aspired to be Big Jim. I asked Mini-Jim how many girls did Big Jim really take home? He said in awe "It has to be hundreds."

They pressed the "any girl he wants" and the "hundreds of girls" thing so hard, it is almost like they were anticipating he might be accused of rape again. And they wanted to say no, it is all consensual, he doesn't need to rape anyone.

Mini-Jim looked faintly like a 10-pounds-lighter version of Mulrenin. And he probably stood by the door all night talking to people, like Mulrenin. But I remember him giving his own explanation of his nickname, as one of the first things he said, before I started making note of all of it. He said something basically "I take home a lot of girls myself, so much so that they actually call me The Mini Jim."

And something else, Mini-Jim kept making naughty jokes. Like he pointed at the torn-off paper on top of my straw when they served my drink. He said "Do you like how they give you your straw with a condom on it?"  So I am thinking maybe pretty-boy has more than just a man-crush on Big Jim the date rapist, the king of one-night stands.

Sitting at that bar in May 2017, Mini-Jim explained how in the main room at Dollhouse on the night of December 14 with Big Mike, they figured out who Mandi Jackson was, Mandi the balcony-thrower, Mandi the stone-cold killer. There were many people at Dollhouse who knew her.

Mandi probably bragged to them about her GHB arrest. Little Mandi walked into Dollhouse broke, but she wanted to say I am not so little. I was arrested with $25,000 of something, look at this news story on Google. And they looked her up on Google and found it, found out how she was arrested with 7 pounds of GHB.

Either they found the bogus Georgia GHB story themselves, or Mandi or someone who knew her showed it to the people at Dollhouse. Chris Dahl who was in Georgia with Mandi when she was arrested, was a regular at all the Veigle clubs. And his girlfriend Dalindy was a bartender at Stars. Many other people in Conway knew Mandi and were familiar with the GHB story.

Dollhouse valet parker Marc Gorewitz said in his police interview on December 28, 2016, that they knew about Mandi's bogus GHB news story. Gorewitz even made what sounded like an insincere comment, that Dollhouse on OBT needs to do better background checks on strippers before hiring them.

So a light went on, and the people at Dollhouse on December 14 had their answer. Mandi must have drugged Big Jim with the date-rape drug, to incapacitate him and throw him over the balcony. They said Jim was drinking with Mandi all night at Dollhouse. They imagined Mandi must have been drinking with Jim so that she could drug him with GHB. How else would that old creep hook a little girl like that to drink with him all night?

The other Dollhouse employees may have exaggerated how long Mulrenin was actually drinking with Mandi, to fit their GHB story. The Dollhouse surveillance video that would have showed Mandi drinking with Mulrenin, went missing from what police gave to Mandi's lawyers.

But Neisha Cintron said Mandi had $0 at the end of the night. Mandi would have had some money if she spent much time with customers. She supposedly was owed for a customer who paid for a private dance with dancer dollars, but I will get to that later. The vast majority of customers pay with cash, and Mandi had none.

Mandi told her mother in a recorded call from the jail, that Mulrenin would not leave her alone that night. So she may have spent the whole night being shown off by Big Jim, and drinking with him.

I don't think Mandi would have accepted the job and got dressed up, if she didn't intend to make money as a stripper that night. Whatever else she had been doing that week wasn't making her any money. I believe pushy Jim did make her sit with him instead of work. He was very pushy, and liked arm candy.

And Mulrenin told Mandi to change dresses that night to one that suited him, and made her sit with him all night. That is what Neisha Cintron saw, and the kind of behavior I myself witnessed from the well-dressed manager GQ Jim.

Sitting at the Gator's bar on May 4, 2017, I pointed out to Mini-Jim how Mandi was actually arrested with something called G which is totally legal in Georgia, and does not incapacitate. Mini-Jim said "Well now G, that is something a little bit different from GHB." Mini-Jim claimed to have parked Mulrenin's car the night he died. He said he detailed Mulrenin's car every week, and the money for the detail came from coke sales in the club. So the guy who detailed Mulrenin's car and claimed to park it that night, and claimed to know about Mulrenin's drug use, knew what "G" is.

Mini-Jim recalled how Mulrenin was said to walk out with $1300 in his pocket that night, but added that Mulrenin "never took his money home with him." I later decided the $1300 was most likely Mini-Jim conflating the $2500 someone said Mulrenin might have walked out with, and the $13,000 that was mentioned in the newspapers. 

Mini-Jim also said many girls were willing to testify how they went to Jim's house to have sex with him for money; their motivation is to show how Mandi could have done the same thing to set him up. Jim's employees always assumed Jim had set up the meeting with Mandi, but "must be slipping" with age or had been drugged.

Mini-Jim also said something which, at the time, I thought he was wrong about. He said Mulrenin personally knew both Mandi and Scott. Mini-Jim didn't seem to be claiming firsthand knowledge of this. He seemed to be repeating gossip. But I thought he misunderstood the gossip or heard wrong or got confused. I never heard that at the time, and it didn't fit my preconceptions.

It occurs to me today, I really have no basis to think Mulrenin never met Scott. Scott was riding around and going to the strip clubs with Mandi, and Mulrenin was in Mandi's social circle. For comparison, Mandi got two life sentences at a trial where the central feature was gossip and hearsay which I know was wrong and is easy to prove was wrong. But Mini-Jim's gossip that Mulrenin had previously met Scott, I don't know for certain it's wrong. Mini-Jim's gossip that Mulrenin had met Scott previously, is better quality gossip than what Mandi was convicted on.

Mini-Jim bragged that he once valet parked attorney Jose Baez's BMW. It sounded like the same BMW I saw parked outside Jose's office after I met with him in his cheezy BMW jacket.

Mini-Jim was pretty drunk at this point. I had given up whatever I was working on, to drink with him as long as he had something to say.

When Mini-Jim first started socializing I was busy working, and I wished he would just go away. By the time I perked up and started writing down everything he said, best I could remember is he introduced himself as "Ross." A year later I wanted Mini-Jim's full name, so I went over to Dollhouse to find him.

He wasn't there, and nobody knew who I was talking about. Valet parker? No. Sort of good looking? Hmm. Blonde? "That must be Jim. He passed." It may have been Barbara Mellinger who said that.

They told me Dollhouse and Stars are run as a single business, so I should try across the street. I went into Stars and someone said "Big Jim." I hadn't wanted to remind them of their loss. But that gave me the confidence to say it.

I went back to Dollhouse and said "Mini Jim." Oh, you mean Randy.

That's how I found out Mini-Jim's full name is Randy Ferrara. They said he ran the Dollhouse valet parking as an independent business at the time Big Jim died.

That makes Marc Gorewitz the valet parker Mini-Jim's employee, and probably his closest co-worker. Let's compare their statements:

Gorewitz to Detective Sprague on Mulrenin bringing Mandi home: "That's crazy, he actually let her into his house."

Mini-Jim to stranger at bar on how many female employees Mulrenin brought home: "It has to be hundreds."

Gorewitz to Sprague on Mandi's false GHB arrest: "How you gonna hire a girl who has GHB."

Mini-Jim to stranger at bar when I said the obscure term "G": "Well now G, that is something a little bit different from GHB."

Is Gorewitz sincere? Or does he know everybody at Dollhouse drinks G, just like everybody in Conway drinks G. I don't know. I know Mandi told her mother on a December 30th, 2016 phone call Mulrenin was on G. I know that Mandi is unable to get the stuff herself, she needs a guy to buy it for her.

 

6. STRIP-CLUB JUNKY - 2007 to 2013

When I moved to South Beach around Thanksgiving 2005, I had just cashed out my bank account in the Bahamas. I had $15k in my pocket like a camel hump. I stayed in hotels until the lump got smaller, and eventually I moved right around the block from Club Madonna on Washington Avenue. When business was slow, the strippers would sit out front in an oversized armchair, and talk to guys who passed by. I walked back and forth and back and forth past there every day with all that money burning a hole in my pocket, and they never talked to me.

There was a good-looking 19-year-old guy Johnny who sold weed in the neighborhood, and ate slices of pizza, and did whatever idiot kids do. One day I walked past Club Madonna with him, and all the strippers said "Heeeeey Johnny!" I thought how stupid are these stoned warhorses. I walked past here a dozen times with all that money, and they never so much as said "hi." And now I walk past with this kid, and they talk to the kid because he has weed.

Like a year later, I had a bunch of web sites I needed built. There was a Russian girl standing in front of Club Madonna, waiting for them to open at 6:00 like she needed a job. She told me "I haf degree in veb development." So later that night I decided to go find her, and see if I could pay her to build my web sites.

I went in there and talked to her for a bit, and got her number or whatever. Then I went home and made sure to take my clothes off and leave them on the floor inside the front door before they could touch anything. Because the furniture at the strip club was disgusting. And I got into the shower without touching anything, to wash off the germs.

The Russian stripper's dad was a famous physicist who worked for NASA. Her mom sent her to live with me in hopes she would get married. She had an adult brain injury from a car accident. I threw her out, she went back to LA, and she OD'd on fentanyl a few years later. But I discovered it was pretty cool that for less than the price of a tense date at Sushi Samba, you can go into the strip club and meet a girl with long skinny arms and hang out and talk.

I am very particular about how girls look, and it makes them unhappy. They don't want to hear me say "You're not perfect, but I enjoy being with you and I will always do the right thing." They want the power and trust and security of a guy who says "You look awesome. You are the prettiest girl in the whole world. I am blessed and my world is completed every second I get to be with you."

Plus, people in Miami are so aggressive, if you don't try to have sex with a girl she will assume you think she is ugly. And she will never forget or forgive how ugly you made her feel. It took me a long time to understand if a girl in Miami Beach is in your house, she expects sex. It is not like Boston where a girl can come inside to study for an exam or dog-sit or pick up a lamp, without expecting sex.

I got tired of making girls unhappy. I had to find a girl who was stunningly beautiful and amazing in my eyes, so I could give her what she wanted. If I can't say "I love everything about how you look, and I think you are awesome from end to end" and be honest, sooner or later she will figure out I am lying and she will hate me. So I started only dating girls from the strip club. I got to see them completely naked before the first date. And they were comfortable with how I looked at them.

There were other things I had in common with strippers. I am a bit eccentric and march to the beat of my own drum. Strippers don't care what other people think, or they wouldn't be strippers. Rather than looking for a guy who checks boxes to complement their social image, strippers are a bit on the romantic side,. The ones I met all seemed to own dogs and be devoted to them. They were sort of bleeding hearts, with a tragic sense of surviving in an imperfect world.

I used to play poker for a living when I was in my 20's. There were only 21 hours a week, when there were a lot of people in the California cardrooms playing badly, and I could make money. It was like 4:00 to 6:30 Tuesday through Friday when people tried to squeeze in a few quick hands after work but had to hurry home. Plus drunk people from like 8:00 to 11:30 on Friday. Plus sleepy people from 3:00 AM to 6:00 AM Saturday and Sunday morning.

So I would drive around to the cardrooms, and sleep in the parking lot or out by the Pacific Ocean, and then go in there when people were ready to lose money. Club Madonna on Washington Avenue in South Beach was similar. There were girls who came from out of town and needed to work a shift to make some quick money. So they would go in there and make money for a few hours, when the guys who didn't get lucky in the bars showed up drunk at like 3:00 AM Saturday morning.

Meeting strippers was a fun and easy activity for me. Club Madonna in South Beach was the perfect place for it. There were always girls from out of town passing through. Whatever guys they were attached to were back in New York or Tampa or Moscow. They were in vacation mode, looking to have some fun. They wanted a place to stay for free, and I was in the perfect location. The only thing is when I told them I didn't have any weed, and I had no plans or connections to get any, sometimes they would have a quick change of heart.

"Can we come stay with you? Do you have weed?" No. "Ummmm... never mind."

It took an average of six months in Club Madonna to find a girl whose appearance was acceptable to me. To make the process more efficient, I learned that I could see 80% of the new girls who would work in the club in a given week, by going for just 30 minutes before closing on Friday and Saturday night. Good-looking strippers are lazy and don't usually work two days in a row. So by going on two consecutive nights, I could catch most of them. Luckily Club Madonna did not have a day shift.

A lot of guys show up at bars early. The meet some pretty girl and buy her drinks for four hours. Then right at closing the girls ditch them. So I used to wake up at 4AM and walk down Ocean Drive, and meet pretty girls coming out of the bars drunk after some other guy spent all the money. The later you show up, the less time and money you have to spend to hang out with a girl after closing.

Strippers aren't even allowed to leave before the end of the shift. So every hour you show up before closing, is an hour you will have to spend money until you can even meet the girl at a diner or something. If you meet them right before closing and they see you are generous or have money, they will want some extra time to try to make money off you. And they won't know until closing if they had a bad night, and need a sugar daddy for a day.

After about four years, I moved away from Club Madonna south of fifth street. I had to drive and park, to spend 30 minutes at Club Madonna before closing. It occurred to me if I was driving anyway, I could go to multiple strip clubs. Club Madonna usually had like 25 girls. If I also drove to Gold Rush with 30 girls, and Beach House with 20 girls, I could see 75 girls in one night. In theory, instead of taking six months to find a pretty girl, I could see three times as many girls and find one every two months. I hadn't yet learned there are some clubs where no pretty girls ever work, given any amount of time.

So I started driving around to more and more strip clubs, and staying just long enough at each one to get a look at every girl. The strip clubs try to mingle the guys and girls by offering a two-for-one lapdance every hour. Every girl in the club has to stop what she is doing, and go down the runway in a line for the guys to pick one. That is usually your chance to verify you have seen every girl there. If there are no pretty ones, then you can leave.

I began to learn that other strip clubs weren't as open as Club Madonna. They were local, it was the same girls every week. The girls were unfriendly and at times violent to new pretty girls coming in and applying. They were more tightly managed. The managers weren't open to girls coming in and freelancing. They didn't want a girl from Atlanta to just come in and work for a day, just take the customers numbers and then go meet them at a hotel. (There is a club near the airport for that, where they just charge girls $75 to enter.)

The girls themselves were less free spirits at other strip clubs. They weren't new in town, unattached, or on vacation like at Club Madonna. They were more often local single moms who needed a steady paycheck. They were older and not as good looking. They developed and refined mean and hard-nosed tactics, to trick old guys out of their money week after week.

One day I had just done my usual routine of looking at every girl in Club Madonna right before closing, and walking out with no interest. I was getting into my car which was parked in the street right in front of the main entrance. A regular girl came out who was familiar to me but we never talked. There are girls you see every time, but they are not your type or you are not their type. They know they will never make money off you, and it is not a problem. You peacefully coexist.

She said to me "Go to Tootsie. You will find what you are looking for." I said how do you know what I'm looking for? She said "I am a people watcher." I said I'm a people watcher too. That is how I saw myself, laying eyes on every girl once, maybe talking briefly to one, and then leaving. She said "You're not a people watcher, you are a predator."

So I went to Tootsie. It was wide open. There were girls who worked closely with managers to sell bottle service or do private parties, girls who freelanced, girls who had no idea what they were doing and were only there one night. Any girl who was under 20, or under 25 and reasonably pretty, would be allowed to show up and work the first night without any training or supervision. They actually had a big board there with all the girls names on it like the New York Stock Exchange. The list would circulate to show what girl would be on what stage next.

My first night at Tootsie there were 156 girls on the board. There was an upstairs and downstairs and a front and back. It was a little stressful, but I undertook the diligent task of efficiently locating and laying eyes on every single girl in the club one time, front and back. At the end of it there was exactly one pretty girl. She was entertaining a bachelor party in the more intimate area on the second floor which they call "The Next Level."

So I sat patiently for an hour and a half and waited for her. I sat all alone and refused to talk to any other girls for an hour and a half until the bachelor party broke up. Was it two hours, was it more?  I don't know. She saw this and was really impressed by it. I sat in a room with 156 girls, and waited all night to talk to only one.  Remember this is the whole reason I started going to strip clubs, to find a girl I thought she was really special and she knew it. And she did. She was the prettiest girl ever born.

My friend saw her walking out of my house. He said he never saw a girl that pretty before in person, in real life. Only on TV. I don't like that God contrived a game where some girls are pretty and others aren't, for no other reason than to stir the pot. But I accept that He did.

I don't do sex for sport. But after that worked out well, it seemed justified to drive a long way to strip clubs, Scarlett, Cheetah Hallandale, Gold Rush, Showgirls Cutler Bay as a regular mission. My intention was always to find a girl I could have a long-term relationship with, because she knew I really liked her. Otherwise it was not worth the work. It was not worth the driving just to have sex with some girl one time.

Suppose I meet a stripper and she says "Let me give you my number. I am busy tonight but call me Monday." That is a hooker. I am not going to get any long-term return on my up-front investment. So I was not interested. It was never my intention to have sex with the prettiest girl at every major strip club in Miami and Ft. Lauderdale. But the end result was the same as if that had been my intention.

 

7. ORLANDO FROM MIAMI - 2010 to 2013

At some point I met the porn star Nadia Nitro. Don't get the wrong idea, she was extremely charming and talented. I think she was the last real porn star to make money on the web before Paris Hilton made sex videos aspirational, and every young girl wanted to have sex on camera for free. I wasn't attracted to Nadia because her feet were too small. And she tried to set me up to be middle car with her bisexual porn star soul mate from LA, but that is another story.

Nadia Nitro had just moved to Miami in Thanksgiving of 2009. I asked her what was the biggest and best strip club she had ever been to anywhere. She said Dollhouse.

So when I set out for Nashville and ended up in Orlando around Christmas 2010, and as soon as I got my dogs squared away at a motel in Kissimmee, I drove straight to Dollhouse. It was east on Irlo Bronson, and north on 441.

I had already been driving all day, and the night came in colder and sooner than I was used to in Miami. It was almost misty, with a hint of fog on the retention pond at Florida Hospital. In one day I went from baking sun and jerk chicken to the first winter I tasted in five years.

On the way past the Tupperware building there was a billboard that said "Dice in 5 Seconds." I thought it said "Die in 5 Seconds." So after thinking of all the ways a person could die totally unexpectedly in five seconds, and a drive that took much longer than I expected past an endless stream of taco joints and shitholes, I finally saw a filthy little building in the dark with a sign that said Dollhouse. And there was a more exciting looking strip club that glowed more in the mist, directly across the street.

Dollhouse looked like it hadn't been remodeled since the Korean War, when it might have been an armed services recruiting office. Or maybe an Old Main Street dive bar, the kind where the neon flickers. Dollhouse looked like the back of a restaurant where the dumpster is, no matter what direction you approached it from. There was no way to avoid feeling disappointed at the end of my drive. It was like the building some young people drive up to at the beginning of a horror movie, and a creepy old guy answers the door, the harbinger.

But it was a long drive, and I was ready for some strip-club magic, so I went rushing in there. And I ran out of room to rush, and just about ran into the far wall. It was small.

It had to be the five ugliest girls in Orlando - Mexican crack addicts with three kids - shaking it on a tiny stage. They were being watched by the seven brokest guys in Orlando, some day laborers waving crumpled $1 bills. And they were all sitting in a tiny area on chairs that wouldn't sell for $1 at a yard sale.

I suddenly remembered Nadia moved to Miami from Tampa, not Orlando. I was in the wrong Dollhouse. This place was disgusting. The lights were turned the whole way up so you could see the grunge, the music was deafeningly loud. I left as fast as I came in.

Across the street was Cabaret Internationale. I only got a little taste of it that night, but it was dreamy. I rented a house right up the street within walking distance. I don't remember if it was that night, or the next night I came in, that I met and fell in love with the prettiest stripper in Orlando. She wasn't that pretty when I first saw her. But after a few drinks and seeing how she danced on stage and talking to her for a while, I was in love. And then she was the prettiest stripper in Orlando.

And there were more where she came from. Strippers are always more likely than average to be lesbians. In Orlando it seemed like almost all strippers were lesbians. Cabaret Internationale had plenty of teenage and 20-something lesbian space cadets who thought $25 was a gigantic tip.

And it was right in the middle of Orange Blossom Trail, the main north-south street in Orlando. And it had a day shift with plenty of space for new girls. So there was excellent turnover with new girls every week driving in from Atlanta, or Sumter County, or wherever. And the girls who came in there and freelanced were more worried about their sugar daddies walking in, or their girlfriends catching them cheating, than anything management might say.

I don't remember what it was about Cabaret Internationale, but I immediately met at least two or three girls that I liked. Maybe it is because it was within walking distance of my house, so I drank more and the girls looked prettier and I just had more fun. Club Madonna didn't have liquor. And the other clubs I drove a long way to in Miami were all about business for me, and I couldn't drink too much.

Maybe I was relatively richer in Orlando than I was in Miami. Maybe it was a higher percentage of American girls. I have never gotten along as well with any foreign girls. American girls have the most hustle and are the least pathetic, and that is attractive to me. I like girls who are good at the talking, and the nicer sides of being good at stripping.

There must have been something that made Cabaret Internationale special. Because I was a strip-club addict, and I don't think I would have stayed in Orlando unless Cabaret Internationale was better than all the clubs I went to in Miami combined.

I wasn't going to Cabaret Intenationale just to check if there were any girls, like I used to check every week at Club Madonna. I knew there were girls there. So I would just go there on Friday night and hang out. Weekends weren't as big in Orlando as in Miami. Orlando was more Thursday and Friday night, than Friday and Saturday night.

I didn't need to find any more girls, I already had more than I could work with at Cabaret Internationale. But I kept hearing there was another club Rachel's. And if there was a pretttier girl over there, I didn't want to miss her. One day I had a virus, and I was afraid to work for fear my brain would associate working with being sick. So I figured it was a good time to go try the lunch buffet at Rachel's. This would have been maybe April of 2011.

Rachel's was not the same. Cabaret Internationale had all kinds of girls. Rachel's was all 8 out of 10 cookie-cutter white girls, who seemed like they were screened before being hired. Rachel's was on a remote area of South Orange Avenue, and did not get the same turnover of random girls, and girls passing through, as Cabaret Internationale on Orange Blossom Trail. It seemed like all the Rachel's girls were regular girls, they had all been there forever. Years, even.

Rachel's was kind of empty on day shift that day. But I sat at the bar and ate some sausage and potatoes from the buffet, and it gave me time to see every girl go up on stage and see which one was the prettiest. I remember eating my last potato, and I must have tipped the prettiest girl on stage once I figured out who it was. Because next thing we were sitting in the back row against the back wall, and I was getting a private dance.

I remember looking at her blue eyes. The first thing I thought is this girl is not as pretty as any of the girls I know at Cabaret Internationale. But we sat at the bar and made jokes, and I liked her. She was good at it. I couldn't tell if she was a hooker, or if she was looking for a boyfriend, or what. She was a pro stripper, with a streak of sadness and depression. She had been at Rachel's forever and age 30 was coming up. She just had a pro look about her, like Heidi Fleiss, like she should be working at an airport car-rental counter.

She suggested we could meet for drinks outside the club after the end of her shift. That sounds like a hooker. But for real she was still thinking I might be a potential boyfriend. She told me to be really careful and not look at her when she left. Just go to another part of the club. And then wait at least five minutes before leaving, and then meet her at the gas station up the street. We had to be very careful or her "manager" might catch her.

I met strippers at a dozen clubs at that point. Hookers, girls on vacation, free spirits, whatever. The fear in this girl's voice was unique. I never before had to meet a girl up the street at a gas station. At Club Madonna. the girls would make me wait for them inside the front of the club. And then they would stand around with me, to show off to all the other girls how they were leaving with me. At Tootsie, girls would ask me to send them a text, and they would hold up their phones to show all the other girls they got my number.

So I followed Rachel's girl on 528 east to a bar near the airport, and she drove so fast I missed the toll. I guess that is where she normally operates. And after a while she told me I could come back to her house. The whole thing was weird. She even called some other stripper, her best friend, and told her to meet us there. So I could tell I was being set up for something. Whether she was a hooker, or she was going to have me fuck her friend in a bait-and-switch and charge me $2500, or who knows. The skinny Rachel's pro was not a free spirit, it was some kind of pro scheme. So I told her I was going home, I still had that virus.

The last thing she tried was she gave me a hug. I hid on the other side of the car door, but she leaned her head over. That is what she later said her manager at Rachel's trained her to do, many many years ago. It's a hooker thing, when guys try to leave. Some guys are so instinctive, when they smell that shampoo hair smell, or that girl smell, they can't think straight. And they will do anything. So the hug is a way to hook guys who respond to scent, regardless if it is the ugliest girl in the world.

The next time I remember going to Rachel's was a year later. I was way south down Orange Avenue expecting to pick up a motorcycle. But the guy wouldn't take my price or thought my money was fake or I was shady. I thought I have a better idea. I can take the bus home that goes right past Rachel's. I can stop in and see if there are any girls there. And I can hang out and drink as much as I want, because I'm not driving. It's not that I like to get drunk. It was the accumulated stress of years of drink minimums, and driving to four different clubs a night in Miami.

So I got off the bus and went into Rachel's, and there was only that same skinny airport pro from a year earlier. She was with her friend who was hot, and I will leave it at that to not insult anyone. I gave them each a $50 bill to make sure Rachel's girls wouldn't forget me, and I left as soon as the next bus was supposed to come in 30 minutes.

The next day I texted her, and she said the manager fired her. I said what manager? She said "Big John" or "Big Tim" or something. She acted like he was the king of town and I was supposed to recognize the name.

I don't know what she got fired for. She and the manager argued about something. But I don't doubt it started with me giving her and her friend $50 each and leaving. It made it look to anybody like we knew each other outside the club, and I only came in for a minute to make the arrangement. And he was a jealous manager and he wasn't getting his cut.

It probably ended with her being almost 30. This girl had been at Rachel's forever. She had been giving blowjobs for money to guys she met at the club since she was 18. She had been drinking too much and breaking her phone and talking shit in the club for years and it was never a problem. But I guess she was too old for the manager to take blowjobs as payment any more, so after however many years she was gone.

Another strange thing is she asked why I left Rachel's on foot the previous day. She didn't specifically say on foot, she asked where I went when I walked out the door. I didn't get into any car in the parking lot, I walked north up Orange Avenue to the bus stop. She couldn't have seen outside from where I left her and her friend sitting, or from anywhere in the club. So somebody must have been stalking me in the parking lot or on camera.

Rachel's had pretty much the same girls as a year earlier. So I continued going to Cabaret Internationale day shift, where I could get in for free, and there were new girls passing through every week. I wish I knew how to contact some of those girls today, because I really liked them. Sometimes I see fat women in Walmart, and I imagine that's who the girls passing through Cabaret Internationale grew up to be.

This was right around when Shawn Gladd, the manager, got murdered up the block from Dollhouse. He was the last person who remembered me, from when I first became a regular at Cabaret Internationale.

 

8. ANGRY WELL-DRESSED DOORMAN - Summer, Fall 2012

The next afternoon I walked into Cabaret Internationale, it was different. The girls were huddled up by the back wall. Some new owner bought the club, the same people who owned Rachel's supposedly, the Veigles. They already owned the shithole Dollhouse directly across the street, but that dive could never compete with Cabaret Internationale. They immediately fired all the dj's. The cute girls I was there for, and half the other girls, were already gone. It was half empty.

The way it worked at Cabaret Internationale, was the dj was the point of contact for the girls. He is the one they would go to if they got sick and had to leave early. He is the one they would have to pay their house fee to at the end of the night, only $10 or $15 if I remember correctly, and tip out if they had a good night.

This is how it worked at Club Madonna, at all Italian-owned clubs, and at pretty much all the clubs I went to (except maybe Tootsie which was too big). I was told Cabaret Internationale was owned by an Italian family with a C, like "Canonico" or something. And supposedly they sold Cabaret Internationale to the Veigles for north of a million, and still owned a strip club in Cocoa.

The dj being the point of contact for the strippers supposedly originated in the early 1990's. A dj named Tony Galeota started recruiting his own girls for Playmates Pompano. Club owners are businessmen who know how to get liquor licenses. dj's are cool, they can do things club owners can't, like know what music is popular, sell cocaine, who knows.

There was one dj in particular at Cabaret Internationale, the main dj, whom the prettier girls were very close to. He was a cool guy for his age, but very square looking and kind of a father figure. I don't know if he was having sex with the strippers. He liked the girls so much, my guess is he did have sex with them. What else would he be in it for? Now he was gone, and the girls he was close to, the cute girls, I guess quit the same day. I never saw any of them again. With all the girls gone, I was reduced to coming in to Cabaret Internationale each week to check for cute girls, the same as I had at Club Madonna.

It is wrong to just sit and watch girls dance without spending any money. And it's insulting to do it for 10 or 20 minutes then leave. But I also learned the hard way that you can't just tip random girls in Orlando. They get the wrong idea. The next time you come in they won't leave you alone, and they will punch other girls who try to talk to you. It takes a month to shake them off. On the last day you are the one who gets punched, for leading them on the day you tipped them, and dumping them.

One time I got one dance from a little blonde girl, because I had come in for two weeks without giving any interest to a single girl. She had some regulars who were like 75 years old and were richer than me, so I thought she wouldn't bother me again. After I spent that $15 or whatever, she went Fatal Attraction. She took a bunch of pictures with me and my motorcycle helmet and posted them on facebook. She called me all day trying to persuade me to get a matching tattoo. She cried for like a week when I didn't come for her birthday. And then she got mean.

So I remember one day right after they sold the club and the girls left. I sat down and did my best to avoid eye contact so none of the girls would bother me. So the guys at the door decided to harass me, and one of the new young guys comes over and says "There's a 1-drink minimum." The previous management usually let me in for free because I was a known as a big spender in the past. The new people didn't recognize me.

I asked "Can I buy a cigar?" The previous management, starting from that first night I went into Cabaret Internationale, always had some cigars they could sell me. So I would give the manager $20 for a $10 cigar, and then I could sit and smoke it without anyone bothering me. And without having to get drunk and drive home just to spend some money.

The young guy said he didn't think or know if they had any cigars. I said the manager always had them. He said he would ask Jim. I asked "Who's Jim?" He said "You know, the well-dressed guy." I didn't know the previous manager's name, he was a bit older guy. I hadn't even bothered to notice that he was gone.  And that's when I saw there was a taller-looking guy by the door with the two young guys. His hair was like blonde and he was dressed like a wedding, in like a three-piece suit.

So the guy in the three-piece suit came up to me. He asked me if I didn't see any girls I liked, or something. "Can I help you find a girl? If you see one you like, tell me and I will bring her over to you." He said they didn't have a cigar, so I bought a jack and diet coke and that was enough to make him leave me alone. 

My first impression was this guy is some kind of nutcase, he is not at all laid back. He is wooden and not blessed with any people skills. Is this guy really going to come bother me every time I come in and don't buy a dance? I pondered if there could be any rational reason to dress like a wedding for the day shift of a dive strip club on Orange Blossom Trail. Like he is uptight or just crazy. A cheezy Italian guy in a leather blazer I would expect at the door of a strip club, but this guy was on his own planet.

During the day, the beer was cheaper. Cabaret Internationale was full of tile salesmen, towtruck drivers, and unemployed chain-smoking drunks in torn t-shirts, blowing their disability settlements on single-mom heroin addicts in ripped fishnet and spandex. And of course 20-year-old sluts who just drove into town and are working their first shift. And this weirdo shows up dressed like a wedding, standing around stiffly, and shutting it all down.

There were never any girls in Cabaret Internationale any more. At some point soon after the new owners bought it, they brought over all the girls from Rachel's day shift. Supposedly Rachel's was not even owned by the Veigles any more, so I am not sure how they pulled that off. I remember wondering who is at Rachel's right now, is it empty? But this new manager was such a short-tempered hardass, even the lifer Rachel's girls were all gone pretty quickly.

They put up a new sign "Touch And Go Policy: If you touch the girls you will get thrown out." It was a bit longer than that, but I am not sure I ever read to the bottom. And they enforced it, they wanted to change the place.

This was around the time Corporate America went batshit with the new concept of "sexual harassment." At least up north. It hadn't made it to Miami yet. The new management that bought Cabaret Internationale seemed kind of corporate. So I thought this is a new attitude. They don't want us sexually harassing these professional young girls. 

I would come in and sit down, and a girl named "Lexi" or something would sit down and talk to me. She would say something like "You ride a motorcycle? My ex boyfriend used to ride a motorcycle." And the next thing the angry well-dressed guy would come over waving his arms and yapping at her about something. Then she would explain to me there is an ordinance where they have to stay 12 inches away from the customer or something.

I am thinking is this a new ordinance? No, this is the same rule we have always followed since I first came to Orlando. Lexi and I weren't breaking the rule. We weren't doing anything wrong. What changed?

It was like this guy was being mean for no reason. I for real thought they had something against slutty girls and people enjoying themselves. Like they wanted a different class of people. Like it was a different business model in the same room. Like the girls were supposed to dance on stage like Broadway, or who knows what. Whatever their idea of a strip club, it was different from what I was used to. And the girls I liked, the free-spirited girls who would hang out and talk, had no place in it.

Then the next time I would come in and say "Where's Lexi?" And the other girls would say "She doesn't work here any more."

I didn't want to pay a door fee to walk in, see there were no girls, and leave. So I dreaded coming through the door and seeing the angry guy sitting behind the desk. He looked a little different in normal light. His hair was reddish light brown. Maybe it looked blonde inside the club because they have a black light. And in regular light you could see how old he was. He had glasses with dark frames, and a mustache. He looked dated, like guys I remember from my childhood in the 1970's. He looked like Gary Ridgway, the Green River Killer. So the first time I saw the angry guy in front collecting door fees, I checked behind the counter just to verify he was wearing the same wedding outfit and it was the same guy. It was.

Or sometimes early in the day shift, the angry guy wouldn't be sitting inside the front door, and I would walk into the club without paying. And he would come running from across the room and charge me $10. Even if there was only one other customer there, and like three girls.

Strip-club customers like giving money to cute girls. You want a cute girl at the front desk collecting the fee. Only if you really need to separate out VIP's and bachelor parties and undesirables at a big club, or if the door fee is the main revenue in certain clubs, do you need a guy in front. And you would still rather have him standing behind a girl. Cabaret Internationale did always have a girl in front. Except when the angry guy was there. I don't know if they wouldn't spend the money to hire a schoolgirl, or if he was just a control freak.

I don't get any social pleasure from getting a lapdance or something. I will pay the girls for their time. But I will do it surreptitiously. If I give a girl $100 and everyone sees, then at the end the night everyone will have their hands out. They don't need to know she is making money off me. Only if a girl wants to impress people, will I humor her by making it rain on stage or something.

When I was younger and richer and better looking, it raised a girl's status and impressed her manager to see me spend money on her. Especially a new girl. Girls would even ask to give me a dance for free, so that other guys would see and want a dance also. It is hard to believe, but other guys would want to get a dance from a girl just because they saw me getting a dance from her. Don't ask me why.

So one day I went in and there were no new girls. So I waited a while to see if any would come in. And I slipped a couple dollars surreptitiously to some girl I knew, and left. Of course the whole time I am drinking jack and diet cokes to keep the angry well-dressed doorman off my back. So when I left on my motorcycle, I did a few circles around the empty back section of the parking lot, just to make sure I wasn't too impaired to ride.

Next thing I notice, that angry weirdo had come outside the door and was scoping me out. Only he was trying to pretend he wasn't looking at me. I have ridden my motorcycle all over Florida, and I promise nobody else cared if I rode in a circle in an empty back parking lot.  I think it was like 4:30 or 5:00, at least two hours before the end of the shift, so he had no business being out there.

Then I rode past him on the way out of the parking lot, and he didn't even turn his head, only his eyes. I just went into a strip club, had a few drinks and left, and now this guy is out in the parking lot staring at me like he is angry about something.

Since the angry guy was making me pay a door fee for day shift no matter how early I came, I developed a new strategy. I would come an hour before the end of the day shift, and pay the day rate. Then I would stay until an hour into the night shift. That way for the price of the day fee, I would get to check not only the day-shift girls, but all the girls coming in early on night shift to see if there were any cute ones.

And when I left, this guy would still be out in the parking lot staring at me every time. But because it was the shift change, he had some reason to be there. He would stand stiffly outside the door glaring, and staring blankly at nothing. I couldn't tell if he was watching the girls walking to their cars to make sure no guys stalked them, watching for some other guys they might be meeting up with in the parking lot, or stalking me in particular. The last one is what it seemed liked.

I have been to some pretty mean strip clubs in Miami - Gold Rush, Showgirls, Tootsie, Madonna - all of them the girls just walked out to their cars alone and nobody bothered them. Maybe because macho aggressive guys reject the strip-club concept from the outset. So it is hard to believe they had a stalking problem in Orlando, especially not when it was light out. This was daylight savings time. 7:00 PM when the shifts changed was broad daylight. It was the angry guy in the suit who was doing the stalking.

One night there were no cute girls at any club. I rode my motorcycle to Cabaret Internationale, I rode to Rachel's I rode somewhere else. I had one drink at each and left. It was pouring rain. This was a Thursday night I think in late spring of 2012 (remember to check this). I decided to just go back to Cabaret Internationale. There was a girl there I was friendly with. I felt bad for seeing her the first time I went in, and just leaving. Plus I left my house ready to spend money.

So I sat down next to the familiar girl, and we agreed that I wanted to buy some kind of premium dance. This meant we had to go over to a special VIP area. 

In Miami the girls are allowed to touch the customers. So if you pay $25 for a lap dance, she gives $5 to the club, and then grinds on your crotch for one song. For some guys the grinding on the pants is a sex act. I knew a cute little Russian girl who made $800 in one night during Spring Break, just giving lap dances for $20 each at Club Madonna. She had to bring an extra set of pants from tearing them up grinding on the guys' zippers.

I had no idea what this premium dance at Cabaret Internationale got me for $50, or whatever the price was. I wasn't specifically remembering "This is Orlando not Miami, they don't touch your pants here." I felt a little bad going into the VIP area soaking wet, and I warned her that my pants were dripping wet from riding in the rain. She touched like the middle of my leg with one finger to confirm how soaking wet my pants were. She probably said something like "Ooooh, they are wet."

She immediately looked over her shoulder and said "Uh-oh the crazy manager is angry at me." I looked up and the angry well-dressed doorman had come around the far side of the room to where he was kind of far behind her, and he was waving his arms angrily to get her attention and saying something.

After the dance was done, I handed her $60 for dance and tip. I hurried away, before the girl had a chance to expect anything more. I wasn't looking to spend any more money, just go home. And not with her. I met my obligation.

As I was leaving, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the angry well-dressed guy run across the room like lightning to where I left her. The next time I saw her, she told me he fired her and threw her out of the building that second.

With no new girls passing through, I got really sick of these same two regular girls every day acting like they owned me. These girls thought they were pretty, and they sort of were, but they were nothing. I needed just one pretty girl to walk in there and give me a better deal. But that angry puritan doorman scared away all the free spirits breathing on them.

So finally one day there is a new girl Vegas. She is not the one, but I was going to at least act like she was to give those regular girls some competition. Vegas was not bad looking. She had straight black hair and blue eyes. She looked like a beer-commercial girl, except her legs were just slightly too short.

So I sat with Vegas, and she told me she was willing to do what I wanted. She wrote her number on a card and gave it to me. I was supposed to call her after work, and go to her house in Kissimmee. I don't remember if she said a price, or if I just imagined the price would be $400. I don't think she was actually that explicit, but she may have been. If she was, I wasn't paying attention because I was never going to call her.

Later on, I was sitting between the two regular girls against the back wall. There was like a bench that ran along the wall. And they were on both sides, so that nobody else could sit next to me.  Vegas came up and asked me if I still had the card she gave me with her number on it. She said "You still have my number? You still have the card I gave you with my number on it? Let me see it." She made me take out the card and show it to her, to show the Orlando girls who was boss. Then she asked if I wanted a dance. It was exactly what I wanted, to give the regular girls some competition.

The angry doorman fired every girl I talked to. Vegas seemed pretty desperate, and I didn't want to get her fired. She had no idea what she had walked in to. So I closed my knees together tight to make sure she didn't accidentally bump against my legs or something during the dance and get fired. And I cupped my hands tight between my legs, to make sure I didn't accidentally touch her and get her fired.

Vegas pulled her pants to the side, and sat her vagina right onto my cupped fingertips. With the regular girls on both sides. It was hilarious. I didn't think the angry doorman could see from his angle. But he came running up and said two sentences I will never forget: "You! Get your hand out of her! You! Get off of him!"

When I say run, I am not speaking figuratively. This guy was the only time I have seen an adult inside a business break into a full-speed run, on more than one occasion. He had an ability to become very animated very quickly.

I was sure she was fired and I would get thrown out. Because this was the angry puritan firing guy. But he just walked away back to the front door. I was stunned, like falling off a building and living. Never mind "Touch And Go Policy" I had four fingers inside her vagina.

Soon after, one of the shorter younger managers walked over with a clipboard, and told Vegas it was time to tip out. It wasn't quite the end of the shift, and they hadn't asked any other girls yet. This was a special trip. I felt like maybe he was sweating me for the money also. She said she didn't have any money, she only made $15 and spent it all  on cigarettes or something. The angry well-dressed doorman came over and said you don't have any money? Okay. On your way out the back, come see me in the office. I felt bad and gave her probably $40. I thought he was going to lecture her in the office, about improper behavior. And fire her.

The next day, I was surprised to see Vegas was still there. She marched up to me grinning like she owned the place, and said "Why didn't you call me?" I was wondering how the fuck is this girl still here?

One empty afternoon I was talking to a girl at the bar. I can't remember if it was a stripper, or I think it was one of the less prominent bartenders. She said the new manager was demanding sex as a condition of keeping her job. I didn't think too much of it at the time, because bar managers always have sex with the cute bartenders. Usually it is consensual, where girls throw themselves at the authority figure in their little world.  I imagined the bar manager was separate from the strippers, I didn't think about it very hard. Maybe it was a waitress.

Another empty day, I had occasion to talk to one of regular strippers who had been there for a while. I had seen her a bunch of times and she knew who I was, but we never talked before. She was a cute little latina girl, slightly curvy, probably a young single mom. I like skinny girls, she probably likes tall blonde guys. But on this day we talked just because me and her were kind of sharing the experience of being the only two people there.

I said look at this, it's empty, all the girls quit. She said "I'm quitting, or getting fired, because the new management wants to have sex with me. And I don't want to have sex with them." And they were kind of bullying her for sex right there in the club.

To me the angry well-dressed guy was a doorman. When she said "management" I pictured  someone higher up and less subhuman, coming and going behind the scenes in a back room. But at the same time, the doorman was extremely strict and puritan, kind of a new broom. I couldn't imagine how someone with his personality would allow that to go on while he was there, sex with strippers right in the club. It was completely opposite of how the place was being run lately with the new "Touch And Go Policy."

How is someone having sex with all the girls, in the same building where this guy acts like I broke the 10 Commandments sitting next to them? 

So I said something like "The manager is trying to have sex with you in the building while that angry doorman is here? I can't believe he would let something like that go on." She told me the angry doorman was the manager.

I was in disbelief. This guy was so wooden and angry all the time, he was asexual. I couldn't imagine him wanting to have sex with any of the girls he shouted at, or having sex period. He never seemed to have any social or human interest in the girls, or any human interest at all. He was a socially-stunted Norman Bates character. 99% of strip club employees are happy guys who are in it to meet the girls. I thought this guy was a completely different sort, totally non-sexual, calculating, just an angry high-school gym teacher.

None of the strip clubs I went to had legal trouble. Cabaret Internationale never had legal trouble. So when they put up that new "Touch And Go Policy" sign, I thought it was just for religious reasons. I thought it was some kind of abstract moral attitude, like respect for women. Like the new owners were puritans who did not believe in touching. That is what influenced my belief that the guy who enforced the policy, the angry well-dressed doorman, was some kind of wooden asexual person who did not believe in sex. He was like the Amish in his suit, telling the girls they would go to hell and sending them there.

When I found out the opposite was true, he was demanding the girls touch him or they had to go, my mind was blown. It seems a little silly in retrospect, to imagine strip club owners were some kind of religious puritans, because of a sign on the wall. But the angry guy in the reverend suit really seemed to believe in it.

Every strip-club manager is in the business to have sex with the girls. But most take a more casual approach to it. They are happy to get one two three four girls a year. This guy was not willing to live and let live. He was a control freak to have sex with every girl, and to know whom they were having sex with. But it wasn't just his demand for sex that drove girls away. It was his desolate need to be involved in everything the girls did. There are a lot of great strippers who bring a ton of business, who like to do their own thing. They are more freelancers than employees. Those are the best girls.

I was at Cabaret Internationale the first day they told girls they had to come back the next day at noon for their money. Some of them said they were quitting right then. At some point I think there was also a new law, that said girls couldn't ask guys to buy drinks. I know at Gold Rush Miami the girls would ask you to buy them a glass of champagne for $15, and it was just apple juice. I think that is against the law now.

There had been a problem at least since 2010, from guys who spent thousands on their credit cards at strip clubs. The next day they would tell their credit card companies the girls got them drunk and tricked them, and do a chargeback. Strip clubs installed cash machines, so the guys would pull cash and spend it. And they sold tokens, so you would use your credit card to buy the tokens, and then spend the tokens on dances or whatever. 

If the strip club gave you the tokens, there was no trick. Even if the tokens then got stolen. So you can't do a chargeback on the tokens. I first saw them for sale at Gold Rush which is now 7even, but I never saw anybody buy them. I guess at Stars and Dollhouse, they call them "dancer dollars."

Making girls come back the next day for the money, I think was supposed to somehow protect against the chargebacks. That is how I remember it, I know they at least said credit cards. I am not really sure if a guy who is drunk Friday night until 2AM is going to do a chargeback by Saturday noon. And I am not sure how the girls would have been making money off credit cards, if they couldn't do drink sales. One thing strippers are allowed to sell, and which guys would be very likely to want to do a chargeback for, is time in the "private room."

In clubs that have a private room, it is supposed to be a scam. A girl gets a customer really drunk, and leads him on that if he spends $1200 on a bottle of champagne, and $1000 for 30 minutes in the private room, he will get sex. Then he goes in there and gets nothing. The girl says "watch the hands, not allowed to do that." But there are enough strippers who will have sex in any dark corner of the club they can get away with, and enough strip club employees who will take $100 to look the other way, to make the "private room" interesting.

I didn't know all the details at the time, so far as what money girls had to come back for the next day, and why they started doing it at Cabaret Internationale. Now seven years later I remember even less. But making girls come back the next day daylight to beg for money from a manager, is totally contrary to the free-spirited style of a stripper.

The night Mulrenin died, they supposedly had no choice but to make the girls come back the next day for cash, because tips from credit-card customers using dancer dollars were higher than cash on hand. But given that I have never in my life seen a single guy use dancer dollars, I don't think that was ordinarily the case. I think the reason they gave for making the girls come back the next day at Cabaret Internationale was credit-card chargebacks. But in reality they wanted to make the girls come back the next day to make them beg for treats like dogs.

 

The girls who were complaining about it at Cabaret Internationale made it sound like a new policy every day, not just something that happened one day. And I don't remember it having anything to do with dancer dollars. I think it was some other kind of credit-card purchase like drink sales.

 

(Recent addition: A few months after the girls at Cabaret Internationale complained about having to come back the next day, I bought a dance and a drink for a new girl. A regular girl said "Where's MY dance and MY drink?" So I guess they were still letting the girls ask you to buy them drinks in 2012.

 

Also months later, a girl called me crying because she got fired. She said some guys bought her 12 shots. When another girl came up to get drinks also, she called the other girl a skank, and said the guys don't want you here. I wasn't there, but I assumed it was the angry guy who fired her. That sounds like a potential chargeback scene.)

It is my understanding one of the reasons Mulrenin gave Mandi to come to his apartment the night he died, was to get cash for her dancer dollars.

 

Dancer dollars supposedly don't have chargebacks. It is possible for a manager who actually wants to make his top girls happy, and retain his top earners, to prioritize it and keep enough cash on hand to always cover the dancer dollars.

 

I don't doubt that Mulrenin got more than he could handle from Mandi, and blew all the club's money on coke, and defaulted on dancer dollars. And all the girls knew exactly what happened, and blamed Mandi for being a home-wrecker, and that is why they helped build the railroad. 

 

[Chris Dahl did set it up, but not how that stunted-cranium Madara imagined]

 

I also mentioned how when the Veigles bought Cabaret Internationale they got rid of the dj's, who were at that time the point of contact for the girls. They brought in new ones who just played music. And the angry well-dressed manager introduced the new system were he and the two younger guys would walk around with a clipboard at the end of the shift, and demand money from every girl. In the past girls would just pass by the dj booth on their way out, to pay their house fee and whatever tip if they had a good night.

 

This new system was almost like a military ritual, with the well-dressed guy standing in the middle as they confronted each girl, and the shorter guys on either side which reminded me of an olympic medal ceremony. It was sort of an inspection like a military drill instructor. And the military ceremonious way it was conducted, was new.

 

It is a sad truth most people don't know, that most strippers on most nights don't make any money. The dj wasn't coming out on the floor to get them. He would just sit in his booth, and whenever they left they would stop by and say they are sorry but they didn't have the house fee. And he would let them go. But with this new system of hunting the girls down on the floor, the angry manager was putting them on the spot. He was saying you owe me money. Don't have it? Come see me in the office if you want to keep working here. There is no point hunting down girls who have no money to give, unless you want something else from them.

 

Even the girls who were making good money, they now had to come see the angry manager in the office the next day to get it. He was making them earn it twice. The girls had a business partner. It is just human nature when a person has the power to withhold something, he will use it as leverage.

 

Not every girl is going to go for this. Not every girl is going to have sex for a job and keep quiet about it. That is why all the girls were gone and Cabaret Internationale was empty after a few months. That is probably why the angry manager got demoted to tiny Dollhouse and, according to Gary Carico in his police interview, still had trouble finding girls willing to work for him. (In 2015, some girls even sued Stars for minimum wage. You look in those documents, the guy they were angry at was James Mulrenin.)

 

But the manager knows the girls he can pick on. The girls who come in off Orange Blossom Trail totally broke, and don't make any money and are giving out their phone number, letting guys touch their pussy and still not getting any tips, those are the kind of girls who will do what he wants. That and desperate hispanic single moms who actually want to have sex with the tall white manager guy.

One of the main differences between strippers and hookers, is strippers know how to talk. They schmooze guys, they lead them on. Hookers don't have that same skillset. They just give what they have. At the end of the night girls who are not good talkers are not making any money as a stripper, and suddenly the angry well-dressed manager is their new partner. Make him happy, and he will send some customers their way.

By fall of 2012 I gave up going to Cabaret Internationale. I dreaded the angry well-dressed manager being there. I would be sitting with a girl, and he would call her away to hang over some 90-year-old guy with diamond rings who looked like The Raiders Al Davis. He stared at me in the parking lot every time when I left. I couldn't even get up and go to the bathroom without this guy staring at me the whole way, and some of his girls thinking I must be drunk peeing and trying to steal my wallet.

There was a new bathroom attendant selling cocaine. He was dressed and looked kind of like the angry manager. I was afraid it was like a drink minimum.  If I didn't buy some cocaine from the guy in a suit like the angry guy, I would get thrown out.

I didn't come in for a few months. I think it was around February 2013 I came back one day, and just by chance the parking lot was totally full. The club had been closed for remodeling, and today was the grand reopening. Cabaret Internationale was now Stars.

The VIP's had a table in the middle toward the bar. There was a very cheezy blonde who looked like she could have been a special stripper at some time in the past, a few years and a few surgeries earlier. She was still special to someone. There were some really tacky-looking old guys. The angry well-dressed manager was sitting there also. He didn't have his glasses and I think his mustache was shaved off. He looked younger and goofier, like some kind of young dumb hothead or meathead.

A girl pointed to the angry manager at the VIP table and said "that is the owner." I thought that is not the owner, that is the doorman. Then I wondered if it was possible the guy collecting crumpled $5 bills at the door was the owner all along. I decided that was not possible. This was not a good day to meet free-spirit girls. This was a day for old men with fake teeth to hang out with their sugar babies with fake boobs. So I turned around and left.

Next time I came in after the grand reopening, it was all fresh faces. They found girls who looked like they should be working at Applebees. There were a lot of new lights and decor and employees, but not a lot of customers. Cabaret Internationale was a little sleazy, but it was also intimate and laid back. There were places you could sit with a girl in the dim light drinking happy-hour beers, and feel sort of private. Now it was more wide open and better lit, and the drink prices were higher. You felt exposed.

The Veigles were rumored to have taken a big loss on Cabaret Internationale. They spent some big number, I remember $250k, on the remodel. And they turned the place from something into nothing. Maybe it was $80k. I think $80k is the highest number I could not imagine spending more than on fake marble. I think $250k is the number some stupid stripper actually told me.

Cute girls do what they want like cats. I am not talking about the hardened 8 out of 10 girls with hustle, who are with the program. I am talking about a girl who if a guy comes to the strip club and meets her, he will come back to that same strip club the next night, the next month, the next year. 

If one girl like that passes through town and dances at the same club two days a week for a month, 100 guys will remember her. They will return to the same place looking for what they found. And other girls who come in to dance for a night or a week will meet those guys, and make money. Guys who come in of the street will meet those girls, and regulars will develop. After a year, you have a pretty steady business. And then when a pretty girl passes through town, that is the club she will pick to work at. If the regular girls are not territorial, and the manager is not treating his own issues.

No cute girls means the opposite, the guys don't come back. They don't feel that unconscious impulse to return to the same place a year later. With no dreamy guys who come in and get drunk and settle for whatever girl is actually there, the regular girls go broke and leave. And after a year you are down to nothing. Cute girls will not submit to predatory sex-addict managers, or the territorial regular girls he recruits in his scam team. The draw of uniquely cute girls, free spirits, freelancers who do what they want, cannot be replaced with any kind of marketing or promotion.

A picture of Jessica Rabbit on a flyer doesn't do much when you walk in and the girls are mud. And it makes no sense to pay for a flyer, when a girl who actually looked like that would work there, if the manager would just never look at her or talk to her.

One day I think in the Spring of 2013, I went into Stars and sat and stared at the new Applebees waitress girls. I saw the angry manager walking toward me, and wondered what the fuck does this guy want. He said perfectly politely "Can I help you find a girl? If you see one you like, tell me and I will bring her over to you." He acted like the very first time I saw him, like he had never seen me before in his life.

One-by-one, all the holdouts who had worked there for a while, but didn't want to have sex with the angry well-dressed manager, were gone. The only one left was the favorite bartender. She was everybody's favorite girl. It never happens that a bartender is the favorite. But the angry well-dressed manager ran off all the pretty strippers.

Her mom was a hooker. She started out fucking old guys at Wing Zone up the street, and got promoted to strip club bartender at 18. She had an attitude. She didn't have to have sex with anybody now. She owned regulars. She thought she was too popular for the new management to get rid of her. But it is my guess today that they did.

One day, one of the angry manager's new girls was unhappy about the uppity bartender acting like she owned the place. The new girl tried to schmooze me, to get me to lie and complain about the favorite bartender. She said "Complain that the little bitch did XYZ, and we can get her fired."

I thought this new girl is stupid to not realize the little bartender girl owned half the guys around the bar including me. The uppity bartender is the one we are there to see. So I walked up to the uppity bartender with the new girl, and stuck a $100 bill in the uppity bartender's pocket to teach the new girl a lesson about office politics.

I don't know if the angry manager saw me give her the $100 bill, or heard about it. I don't remember seeing him there that day. But after that, I never saw the favorite bartender again. He probably thought she must be fucking me, and he demanded sex from her, and that was it. I did know her outside the club, but she was no hooker, she played the long game.

I had the uppity bartender's number, but I never called to ask what happened. I didn't want to make her boyfriend unhappy. Instead, I called ahead to see if she was at Stars before ever driving down there again. She never was. They told me "maybe she went across the street and works at Dollhouse" and then "try Dollhouse."

I called Dollhouse and they never heard of the favorite bartender. My understanding is that a group of people migrated across the street to Dollhouse at that time. Since the favorite bartender wasn't at Dollhouse, and I never saw the angry well-dressed manager at Stars again, I can guess the angry well-dressed manager went over to Dollhouse with his group of girls, his scam team. And that is where he stayed.

I think he got demoted to Dollhouse. He ran the best strip club in Orlando into the ground. Losing the favorite bartender was the last straw. That's pure speculation on my part. But at least when I make shit up, young girls don't get two life sentences based on it.

That was it for me also. I only ever went to a strip club and met strippers one more time. I drove the whole way to Cocoa Beach. Someone told me the Italian family that owned Cabaret Internationale still owned a strip club in Cocoa. I don't remember if it was supposed to be Lido or Cheaters, but I went to both of them. The girls at Cheaters were awesome. Girls come up I-95 from Georgia, South Carolina, Tennessee, get off the highway and head out to the beach, and there it is.

The most surprising thing was the prettiest girls at Cheaters drove there from Orlando to work each day. I think some were UCF students, and another said she didn't want to strip where she lived. That meant Dancers Royale was too close to home, people they knew might come in. I asked why not drive over to the Veigle clubs on OBT? It's less than 30 minutes from East Orlando to the main clubs. They said the management in Orlando is intolerable. They would rather drive an hour to Cocoa and actually make some money and not be harassed.

So after six years of strip-club addiction, I never met another girl at the strip clubs again. I never went into a strip club and met a girl and tipped her on stage again. I never went into a strip club and bought a dance and got a girl's number again. I went in and stared a few times just to see. But there were never any girls I wanted again. Except Mandi May. I visited her a few times on her insistence.

From 2013 to 2016, I went into Stars maybe once a year just to check. There were always one or two, or even zero girls on the floor. They told me "There are girls in the back getting dressed, they are coming." I tried waiting. There were no girls in the back getting dressed.

I credit Angry Well-Dressed Doorman with breaking my strip-club habit.

 

9. CONTROL FREAK - 1964 to 2016

All my ex's live at Rachel's

That's why I hang my hat in Seminole

When Mandi got arrested, James Mulrenin was someone I never heard of. He worked at Dollhouse, I never went there. He was happy and friendly and handsome and everybody liked him. I didn't remember anyone like that. It wasn't until August of 2017, I was out shopping, and I ran into an old stripper I used to know back in the day. I got to thinking about those days when she was at the strip club, and the angry guy in the wedding outfit, the guy who was taller than the other two guys, the doorman who stalked me in the parking lot and looked blonde in the dark and demanded sex from all the girls.

Suddenly I realized GQ Jim, happy guy, the one whom everyone loved, the "Human Ken Doll" who "can have any girl he wants" was the angry well-dressed doorman. That weird Gary Ridgway impersonator got my angel baby Mandi May. She had sex with the most socially-stunted sex addict in Orlando, that creepy Norman Bates in a reverend suit. Which is no surprise really, it's what God made her for. She is like a dog that eats garbage.

Now that I know about his prostitution and racketeering conviction at Rachel's, and his battery conviction as James Mulrenin, it makes more sense why the angry well-dressed doorman was such a puritan tyrant. He was a puritan tyrant who also demanded sex with every girl who worked there at the same time.

The "Touch And Go Policy" sign had nothing to do with abstract morals or beliefs. It was just a response to their previous legal problems at Rachel's. For whatever reason, they believed they were a target of the law more than the Cabaret Internationale owners had been. And they had to be more careful.

Every strip club has girls breaking the rules. It is hard to bring money and pussy together, but stop them 12 inches apart. It is one of the main problems of a strip-club owner, to stop hookers from just setting up shop right inside the club. Sex with customers is one of the main opportunities for lower-level employees to make money. Owners need legal revenue.

The Flamingo apartment complex, on Biscayne Bay in South Beach, was known for Eastern European hookers who lived there. They were famous for making the hot tubs dirty. Two or three operated out of Club Madonna straight across the island. I remember the first night in maybe 2007 or 2008 .when one offered to give me a handjob on the lapdance balcony in the back for $50, the price of a lapdance for two songs. At the time it was surprising and very unusual.

I saw her sit right in front of the employee who guarded the lapdance balcony and collected $5 for each dance. She had her back to him, blocking his view. He had no idea what she was doing. When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she spent a long time checking her clothes carefully in the mirror. Within a few months there were girls offering me hand jobs all the time at Club Madonna, usually new girls. Though I think it was always in the private-booth balcony in the front, which would have been $400 not $50.

I always tried to hang out with the prettiest girl in Club Madonna. Except the few months when it was one of the hookers from the Flamingo. The prettiest hooker was very sweet and told great jokes and volunteered at the dog shelter. But she had the body of a 12-year-old with giant fake boobs. One time I called her and she couldn't talk. She said "Baby, I'm not alone." Disgusting. Another time I called her and asked if she wanted to go see the alligators in the Everglades. She said "You call me Tuesday night, and we will see alligators!" So I moved on to the second-prettiest girl.

The second-prettiest girl in Club Madonna was usually a regular Colombian girl. Howard Stern once said she was the prettiest girl at Scores in New York. The first time I talked to the Colombian girl, I was waiting to meet the prettiest girl  that night. The prettiest girl was still in the back getting dressed. But I promised the Colombian girl I would come back the next night. It wasn't until more than a year later in 2009, I finally went back there with nothing else going on, and the Colombian girl was the prettiest girl that night.

At some point in between, I told her she could move into my house. She brought over her most prized possession, a black leather sofa type seat thing. But I changed my phone number before she could move in. I fucked another girl on her sofa, and then my dogs made it into their bed. So I thought why not throw some money at this sweet girl who has been waiting two years, and my dogs turned her most prized possession into a dog bed. So I sat down next to the Colombian girl. She said "You kept your promise, you came back."

She immediately asked if I wanted to do a private booth dance, on the balcony in the front. I said okay. I might not talk to her again for another two years. $400 is not much money for a sweet girl over a four-year period, after your dogs ruin her sofa. She said it was $475 which was a little bit of a price shock. At the top of the stairs, she immediately handed the guy who guards the place the extra $75.

I sat down in a private booth on the Club Madonna balcony with her. And before I could think what conversation to make, my dick was in her mouth. It is probably normal to beg a girl all night and get a blowjob. It is extremely unusual to get a blowjob when 5 seconds earlier you did not want or expect one, from a girl you hardly know, in a semi-public place. I don't think any of the money she paid the balcony guard to look the other way, made it upstairs to the owner. He profited indirectly.

A sexy Russian girl offered to give me a blowjob on the private-booth balcony around that time. I said I don't like blowjobs, only actual sex. She said something like "I would love to fok you. But it's like then I have to fok him and him also." I thought she was being figurative as Russian girls often are, talking about customers. It made no sense she would have to fuck other customers. I thought that was just her way of saying no, as I expected. I realize today, she was most likely talking specifically about the two strip-club employees, who were at that moment watching us.

By 2011, the last time I was in Club Madonna, you could see girls having sex with guys in the private-booth balcony all the time. I heard stories. There was an ugly thirtyish girl who had three kids and looked it with stretch marks. She had crazy hustle. She never even tried to talk to me. But guys who came into town with their own three kids saw her as the freaky cheating version of their own wives. She was in their league. She tricked them out of $3k $4k $5k $6k on the private booth balcony, hoping for sex.

Finally, when the guys were so angry they were ready to call the police, or come back with a gun, she would pay one of the hookers with less people skills $1k to come fuck the guy. The hookers were better looking anyway.

It wasn't just Club Madonna. My regular girl at Solid Gold Broward got a new boyfriend who started tracking her every minute. There was no way she could sneak out to my house. She promised we could do the same thing we did at my house, inside the private room at Solid Gold.

I saw a girl sitting in a dark corner at Dean's Gold who I know was a hooker, because she was my neighbor in South Beach. A girl at Tootsie told me her best friend gave her sugar daddy a bare blowjob in the Tootsie private room, and became her ex-best friend. A girl asked me for rent money after she had sex with a guy in the private room at Gold Rush, and the manager grabbed all her money and fired her.

None of those places ever had any legal trouble so far as I know. The only times I ever heard of anyone getting legal trouble was when the dreamy hookers at Cheetah Hallandale were screwing guys right in the open around 2008 (the same ones who beat down my Russian friend in the locker room her first day), some girls at Wonderland Miami who touched guys' dicks through their pants or something (I am not sure it was even a normal strip club at the time), and Mulrenin at Rachel's. What was different? How does Club Madonna run a sex factory right in the middle of Washington Avenue in South Beach without consequence, and another place a girl gets arrested when a guy licks her nipple?

My best guess is two ingredients put a strip club in position to have bad luck with the law: 1) The corruption has to go to the top, the highest manager on site has to be profiting from it, and 2) Someone has to be an asshole or make enemies.

I have known people who survived a lifetime in crime. They had a common survival trait: They were pathetic and dorky and overweight. They stayed loyal to one wife who was ugly, like Bernie Madoff. None of the people in their inner circle, or even the next level of people they did business with, ever felt provoked to take them down. It takes effort to build a criminal case, and it helps to have someone on the inside or at least near. So there has to be a motive, a customer on whose behalf a legal problem is created, with an emotional need to see it happen. If you don't make enemies, if you don't scam the locals, and you don't steal anyone's girlfriend or make anyone jealous, you are less likely become a priority or an opportunity for the law. Nobody in a position to make trouble has the impulse to hurt you.

That was not James Mulrenin. He had sex with everyone's girlfriend. He created conflict everywhere he went. Some of the girls at Stars were so offended by how he approached them for money at the end of the shift, and fired them, they sued Stars in Orange County Circuit Court for minimum wage. It had to be Mulrenin!

Rather than being a gifted manager, he was socially stunted. I believe his deep psychological need to control the girls and have sex with them was driven by this low self esteem from being socially stunted. His whole life he felt like he was missing out, compared to guys with more charm. He probably got accused of two rapes, for every one he was actually guilty of. He felt a need to be involved in the lives of the girls he managed, and have sex with them, to make up for it. And BFF Barbara Mellinger boosted this childish creep's self esteem with some weird enabling symbiotic thing.

Mulrenin was a control freak. He took the girls' car keys away, and gave them back at the end of the night. I never heard of that at any other strip club, or any other business of any kind outside Saudi Arabia.  And because he had the desolate need for everything the girls did to run through him, when they got in trouble he got in trouble. And he made enemies. Especially the girls, who wanted him off their backs. So he didn't keep a low profile and just settle for three or four girls a year. He wanted money and sex from every girl that was doing anything. He involved himself and made himself a target for legal problems. That's my theory, anyway. I wasn't at Rachel's in 2001.

Mulrenin first appears at the fanciest strip club in Orlando and Palm Beach, Rachel's. He gets arrested, prostitution, racketeering, probation, the club gets sold. Next thing he is involved in a little more modest endeavor, the Plaid Rabbit, some kind of shithole bar in Michigan. He fucks a female employee like every bar owner in the world, and somehow gets run out of the state for rape. His own childhood friend and partner throws him out, buys him out.

Next he ends up at Rachel's North, probably why he got his apartment in Altamonte Springs. He does okay. So after they buy Cabaret Internationale they need someone with legal experience to go down there and make sure the hookers don't give the new owners legal problems. They give Mulrenin a chance. But there weren't even any real hookers at Cabaret Internationale and he blows it. He just runs off all the free-spirit girls who won't have sex with him, and their regulars with them.  He runs Cabaret Internationale into the ground.

So they send Mulrenin across the street to Dollhouse, after they gave up trying to use Dollhouse to compete with the better strip club across the street and just bought it.

So after 20 years of stumbling downhill, Mulrenin finally finds his level at Dollhouse. The middle-class black decor at his supposedly upscale apartment, that was new for him. It's an egg carton strangely situated in the middle of a heroin-county strip-mall, which only real estate agents would think to call "The Lofts at Uptown." But if all you have to compare to is the roach ranches in the area, who would know better. The sofa he was shot on, that came to Rooms To Go from China on a 2014 import license, that was new. The aspirational Detroit car the Chrysler 300, all that was new for him.

Mulrenin started getting girls more naturally, he relaxed a little, he wasn't quite as creepy. The girls coming through the door at Dollhouse trend a little shorter, darker, and sleazier than the other places he worked. He's a little more attractive to them, it's a little bit easier picking for a tall white guy. The short guys he hired looked up to him. But as usual, he was overdue to fuck it all up, snorting coke with the town space cadet and falling off a balcony, still over twice the alcohol limit for driving three days later.

Even Scott Love was doing better than Mulrenin. Before Mandi start hanging out with Mulrenin, Scott had a job. Even after she started hanging out with Mulrenin, Scott was not doing coke. And after Mulrenin no doubt escalated the conflict he found himself in, Mulrenin is dead and Scott Love is alive and may walk out of prison someday. Do any coke addicts who work at strip clubs ever have happy endings? Kids, this is why cocaine is illegal. It is an off-ramp from whatever life you may build for yourself.

 

10. HUSTLERS AT SCORES - December 2015

One of the things that bothers me most about this case is the ridiculous mischaracterization of Mandi Jackson as an evil stripper, often by evil strippers. Mandi is extremely sweet, too sweet and friendly to be successful as a stripper. She just hands the pussy right over without playing any games. But you have all these strippers who actually are vicious and evil, and do bait-and-switch every day as a business, parroting the non-reality that Mandi is the evil one.

There are at least three kinds of strippers. Additonally, when you meet enough strippers, you can also say this is one of the ones who was raped as a child, by her stepfather or something. The really young ones who think sex is their identity, that is usually the case. But those are more hookers or just freaks, or more extreme versions of the first kind of stripper. Among strippers, there at least three kinds.



First are the ones where one or both parents died of cancer or in a car accident. Now they march to the beat of their own drum, living in their own little world with their dog. This is also the prettiest group. There are perfect 10's with brains, who just got broken somewhere along the way. This is the group I like. They were at Cabaret Internationale before the Veigles bought it, and there are still some at Dancers.



Next are the hard sociopathic hookers, who spend their lives practicing tactics to get guys drunk and steal their wallets. This is the kind they often have at Rachel's and the kind that Mulrenin likes. Girls in the second group are not too pretty, generally in the 8 out of 10 range. 



Then there are desperate unintelligent single mothers. These are the ones who couldn't get hired for the day shift at Stars or Rachel's or Dancers. This is the kind Mulrenin was stuck with at Dollhouse, after getting knocked down the corporate ladder his whole life for bringing conflict everywhere he went. Mulrenin tried to coach them up to be like the second group, the hardened hustlers. And they had no choice but to follow him.



Because Dollhouse was on OBT, pretty free-spirit girls from the first group would come in and apply. But Mulrenin hated them because they were not with the program. They met guys in the club without his help, and then made money off them outside the club without giving Mulrenin a cut. And they were obviously having sex with the guys, but not with Mulrenin. So he fired them. He fired every girl who ever talked to me, and ruined the strip clubs to where I stopped going.

According to some people, Mulrenin demanded sex with the pretty girls the moment they walked through the door to apply. So they turned right around and left. But it would be hard today, to locate girls with that experience. Of course Mini-Jim would probably tell you they had sex with Mulrenin and stayed.

 

Mini-Jim told me where the story of Mandi using GHB to incapacitate Mulrenin originated, in the main room of Dollhouse. And it made sense why. The Dollhouse girls saw Mandi's false GHB arrest story in Google. And they projected their own scamming nature and tricks onto her. Strippers are trained to get guys drunk and take their money. Years earlier, a stripper told me that is what Mulrenin himself trained her to do. That is what strippers at Dollhouse were trained to do. They didn't know Mandi was the exact opposite of that.

But there was another reason beyond the common nature of females and gossip, why the story of Mandi drugging Mulrenin rather than the other way around, caught on as much as it did. It turns out there was a "viral" New York magazine story in December 2015 about strippers drugging customers. On December 28, 2015, Jessica Pressler published an article for New York magazine called "The Hustlers at Scores." The plot follows some desperate strippers in New York City who begin to embezzle money by drugging bond traders and CEO's who visit Scores. 

Mandi didn't use social media in December 2015, or consume any media. I don't hang out with girls who consume media because they are annoying, parroting left-wing dogma and lines from sitcoms all day. I only hang out with girls who march to the beat of their own drum. In December and January 2015 Mandi was primarily taking G at Chris Dahl's house all day, or fucking me on xanax. Or sitting in her car crying for hours on end at 7-11, begging me to buy her a tank of gas. It would be June before she ever worked as a stripper again.

So there is almost no chance Mandi read the story about the Hustlers at Scores. And even if she did, she sees herself as a hooker who makes more money, more easily, than strippers. Why drug a CEO when you can fuck him? Mandi never knew a world where the CEO wasn't interested to fuck her. I am sure some jealous skank will say no CEO wanted to fuck Mandi, and in the same breath claim she hypnotized beloved scammer Mulrenin.

But the hustlers at Dollhouse probably did read the story. The type of ugly and over-age, but ambitious and sociopathic, strippers Mulrenin paired with at Dollhouse probably read the New York magazine story in search of how-to instructions. This article was available online, and was widely shared on facebook by the same type of ugly female sociopaths who were on Mandi's "Jackon" facebook page, calling for he death on December 20 2016. I never heard of the "Hustlers at Scores" story myself until 2019 when they made a movie.

I have dated some of the prettiest girls who worked at Scores. They didn't need to drug anyone. The prettiest ones never envy the power pretty girls have over guys. For the ugly ones, the thrill and revenge of that power is more important than the money. The pretty ones have it too easy and are just complete hippies with no anger toward guys. They just find older and older ones, and never recognize the hard realities the ugly ones are born into. The pretty ones are like dolphins not hyenas.

Old guys were always the cushiest company for Mandi Jackson, so far as money. She never was aware of a world of hustling and manipulation. Mandi was a terrible stripper. This has long been the thing that bothered me most about this case, evil girls projecting their own nature onto Mandi Jackson when she was almost certainly nicer to Mulrenin than any of them ever were.

To me, this case is a very ordinary story of sick evil people like the hustlers in New York magazine, trying to destroy an innocent girl with the mind of a child out of jealousy. It is a very ordinary plot in a world of aggressive and evil people.

Mandi's biggest flaw is that she thinks being sweet to old guys is a daily chore of life, like brushing your teeth. When she calls me from jail I sometimes forget that I don't interest her at all. She is just doing what she thinks she is supposed to do. She spent her whole trial flashing smiles at the white-haired senior sheriff's deputy sitting behind her.

Mandi Jackson has never liked me, and will never be good for me. But that is not a crime and I am not so sick as others who want to see her punished from their own bitterness. I cannot let the vicious and dishonest side of man win such an evil victory over a sweet person. Jackson owes me nothing and owes Mulrenin nothing.

For the hustlers who idolize The Hustlers at Scores, taking Mandi Jackson's life is all about aggression and revenge in a world they feel slighted in.

 

11. ALWAYS ANOTHER GUY - 5000 B.C. to present

There is one thing Mulrenin knew for certain that people who don't know strippers won't appreciate: Mulrenin knew there was another guy out there waiting for Mandi. Girls, and people who have been married, might not know that there is always a guy lurking. Guys who get married at age 19 and never meet another girl in their lives, might not know this.

A married guy, or a cop, might not understand or appreciate how Mulrenin would have known there was a guy following Mandi. I learned this the moment I started hanging out with girls in high school. Mulrenin knew it better than anyone, after 20 years of meeting 10,000 new girls at the strip club. If you only met one person your whole life, I will tell you what you have been missing.

The first time I met a younger girl, I don't even know how, but I already knew there was another guy. I had never met a hooker, and I was not even aware strip clubs existed. I had only met a handful of girls in my life at that point. But when I was 27 years old in Colorado, and a 19-year-old girl picked me up hitchhiking and her car broke down, I was 100% certain there was another guy who would come pick her up. And I was not looking to have sex with her and get shot that day.

I was hitchhiking down to the valley to pick up my car. And some little girl pulls over and picks me up. And next thing her car broke down out in the middle of nowhere. This girl had been taking too much ecstasy, so right away she is talking about sex and trying to have sex with me in the back of her broken down red Ford Explorer, between speeding cars and a farm field. I thought she may even have pulled a fuse herself, just to have sex. She was good looking too. But I was not looking to get shot that day.

This was before cellphones, so we couldn't call anybody. But I knew she had to have people. I knew there was a guy out there. I knew any minute, that guy was going to come pick her up. After three hours of listening to her talk about sex and about "wrestling" out in the corn field, I finally gave up waiting on him. So we got out and hitchhiked, and she tried to have sex with me in a bush by the side of the road a few times. But I was not looking to get shot that day.

So a stranger drives us home, and I tell him drop us off at the local pub. Because I know she has to have people in there. Either the guy who is wondering where she is, or one of his friends is in there, and it is a good place for him to come pick her up. But instead she follows me home on foot.

Next I got a sense that whatever guy follows her around was outside looking in my picture window with no curtains. from across the hillside. The little girl was running around looking for curtains to close because she was afraid someone was looking in. But I didn't have any curtains, because I am not a crackhead.

So I said don't get in bed with me. Because it is right in front of the window and I still wanted no part of it. Finally I went into the shower, and I let her come in with me just because it was better than worrying about her screwing around out there unsupervised. And she came in there and I fucked her where no one could see.

You think I am paranoid?

She stayed at my house, and the next night she made me rent that movie "Fear" with Mark Wahlberg where the angry murderous ex-boyfriend breaks into the house. She told me it was very important for me to watch! 

A few days later we were driving out to the reservoir to "go swimming" (another one of her euphemisms for sex) and I told her I value relationships and I would never want to screw up someone else's relationship.

She was like "Are you kidding?" She pointed out how I stole her away from her fiance the day she picked me up hitchhiking. She said I broke his heart, and he was going to kill me. I was like what the fuck? I had been trying to get rid of her for the entire day! I never knew for sure the guy even existed! I never wanted to steal some guy's little girl.

There was a guy in her car when she first picked me up hitchhiking. She dropped him off like a minute later, before we drove to the valley. It turns out the guy in her car was her fiance! And he did know her car was parked at my house, and people had been looking across the hill through my picture window!

Everybody in town knew she was at my house. I went to the dentist the next day and he told me "I don't know what you have been doing, but I heard it's not good." And her fiance eventually came up to me at a gas station and started shouting "you got to put your dick in her."

It turns out I was right the whole time about the other guy. Not just her fiance, but also another guy she promised was next in line if she ever broke up with her fiance. The second guy was also looking for her all day and then looking at me all day. And he shouted at her, for skipping him to fuck me.

She eventually got pregnant, and she and her fiance got married. And I could never walk around that town again, without worrying that guy or someone else was going to shoot me. And facts proved I was right to be paranoid the entire time. I never saw them, I didn't know their names, I never met the girl before, but I knew they were there from the first hour.

That was a teenage ecstasy slut in her hometown. That is 50% of every girl who applied to every strip club Mulrenin ever worked for, the past 20 years. You think he didn't know that little coke sluts in their hometowns have two three four guys following them around? That's what he stood out in the parking keeping track of at the end of the shift every day. They all have some losers or pimps in beater cars coming to pick them up, and that is why Mulrenin took the girls' car keys away.

Here are some variations. I met this stripper "Ruby" Jen at Cabaret Internationale who just drove in from Atlanta. She was born in July, ruby was her birthstone whatever that means. I went back to her motel with her, the one at 4855 S OBT that always changes its name. She was 22, and said she hadn't had sex with a guy in years.

As I was walking out, a girl who looked like a short chubby version of me came running the other way crying uncontrollably. It was Ruby's girlfriend. I guess you are better off when the other guy is a girl.

When I met Nadia Nitro the night before Thanksgiving 2009, she just moved to Miami. She said she paid some movers to carry her sofa up to her apartment. Poor little lonely girl has no men in her life? Here is a girl who is willing to have sex with strangers on tape, guys will pay to see her do it, and there is no guy in her life who can carry her sofa?

How does a porn star of all people break the always-another-guy rule?  All I could think is maybe a porn star is just too disgusting and shameful, that not even one guy will follow her around.

Nadia invited me over to her house, and I accepted. And then I figured out the other guy was a gay porn star flying in from LA that night, and it was a setup. I guess you are better off when the other guy is a straight guy.

I went over to the house of a girl from Rachel's, and she had some men's high-top sneakers like size 18 sitting in front of a chair on her porch. I am thinking this is like a scarecrow. She wants guys who are thinking of breaking in and raping her, to think a gigantic man lives there and has been sitting in that chair.

So we were doing what we were doing on the sofa. And she tells me "Don't take your pants the whole way off." And she is looking at the door the whole time and says "Just in case someone comes in."

Turns out he was the biggest guy on his football team.  I guess you are better off when the other guy is an OG who doesn't pay child support and loses his drivers' license and can't stalk his girlfriend. After that day I had not just Mulrenin, but also that guy staring at me in the Cabaret Internationale parking lot at the end of the shift.

Here's a funny one that probably never happened to anyone who reported for jury duty in Seminole County. A girl from Orange County jail who claimed to have been a stripper at Dollhouse, wanted to come hang out with me for money. And she had a black guy text me, in ebonics, from his own phone number, to pretend to be her and claim he was not with her.

 

Mandi tells all the girls in jail that I once gave her $15k cash, which I absolutely did not. So when this girl got out of Orange County jail, she was visiting all her sugar daddies one-by-one who supported her when she was in jail. And she was texting me every day from a different guy's phone asking for money. I guess she didn't see any need to have her own phone.

 

Back when she was in jail, she once asked me to call some guy Leroy who pretends to be a pimp. He is probably an accountant or something. So she is out of jail texting me from different guys' numbers, and finally she texts me from this guy Leroy's number. She doesn't know I know his number. But I called it once, and he has a voicemail where he tries to sound as hood as possible, talking in like overdone jive ebonics.



So she texted me from Leroy's number, and asked if I could order her a pizza, which I did do for Mandi once. This is a white girl who speaks perfect English like a news anchor. And of course her texts were in perfect English. So I texted back "I have no money. Doesn't Leroy feed you?"



She texted back "He aint wit me."



I texted back "you never said ain't before" and that is the last I heard from her for a while.



Every girl at Dollhouse had a Leroy. This is the world Mulrenin lived in. It wasn't like Miami where the guy was named Yuri and he was 1000 miles away in Brooklyn. This is Orlando where every Leroy lived a few minutes away. And all the Leroys knew Mulrenin, from seeing him standing outside the door at the end of the shift, glaring at whoever drove into the parking lot.

Even when I would walk out into the parking lot, those other guys would be glaring at me. Because I knew some of those girls from outside the club. There was a guy who drove a cab staring at me, from the little blonde girl I mentioned who went Fatal Attraction after I bought one dance from her.

So the strip-club parking lot in Orlando was a whole bunch of crazy jealous angry broke local guys staring at each other, while their bisexual girlfriends smoked weed and did what they pleased. Mandi may have been the best looking girl to ever not run the other way when Mulrenin breathed on her. But even the ugly ones had guys attached to them, big ugly guys.

So when Mulrenin got into Mandi's car seat outside The Lofts that night, he immediately knew there had been a guy sitting in that seat. The passenger armrest was worn out and sticky. There was a drink in the passenger side cupholder. The seat was way back. It was cold in December, the seat may even still have been warm from Scott sitting in it.

I have gotten in Mandi's passenger seat, and I immediately knew there had been a guy sitting there. Mulrenin has been way deeper in this business, for way longer than me. He has to know like tying his shoes when there is another guy around, which there always is.

I don't want to cause any trouble. I would shoot the other guy if he came to my house. But that is why Mandi never even knew my address for the first year, so that I did not have to worry about a guy coming to my house. And as soon as she did know my address, there was conflict and she was gone.

Mulrenin invited conflict with the other guy. He was the big strip-club manager. He walked Mandi right across that parking lot and kissed her, and brought her right to his house.

How is there any mystery, when Mulrenin is screwing the "Don't Tread On Me" guy's girlfriend, and gets shot? The only mystery to me, is why Mulrenin didn't get shot sooner.

 

12. LURING YOUNG GIRLS

Miami is expensive for young girls. In Orlando, young girls can be independent. If you are an old guy in Miami and you are not married and you have a house, sooner or later you are going to stumble into this world of sugar babies.

A while back, a guy who was new to all this was complaining to me. He had just bought a house, and found out for the first time in his forties, that these girls existed. And he ended up saying what to me was a really funny line.

This young girl he hangs out with needed a ride to South Beach where she sort of worked. (She never got paid, but that is how it goes with these girls.) She picked up some other girl who was staying at a hostel, and they said "Do a U turn and drop us off here." They smoked weed in the car because it is legal in South Beach, and got out of the car.



Then this old guy got pulled over for doing an illegal U turn to drop off the little girls. The police found weed in the other girl's backpack she left in his car, and the old guy spent the night in jail.



The first girl's sister got Baker Acted. In Florida, that is when a girl is cutting herself or wandering in the highway, and they commit her to a mental hospital.

So the girl whose sister got Baker Acted said drive me and this new girl to the mental hospital to visit my sister. The new girl was hearing voices, so she told the hospital guards she was high. They said where are the drugs? She said I left my bag in this old guy's car before we came in. So the old guy got arrested with drugs again.



The old guy was complaining to me in exasperation: "These girls do drugs their whole life, and they say they have never been arrested! I have been arrested twice in a month, and I don't even do drugs!"



I said "You have two drug court dates, and you don't even do drugs? Sounds like you need to do something different, I am not sure what. What are you going to do?"



His solution: "Well... After all of this, now I started keeping drugs at my house. If all these girls know I have drugs at my house, they will be more likely to come over."

See how quickly the light went on? An old guy doesn't have to like weed to keep weed at his house. He has to like pussy. And specifically, vulnerable mentally-incompetent young girls.



 

 

13. VULNERABLE MEN - 2007-2009

South Beach Miami police is at least somewhat a gay department. One popular local policeman used to bring a girl cop with him to Tequila Chica's at 15th and Ocean, as a cover while he picked up guys. I saw another cop sitting in his patrol car in the empty beach parking lot at 83rd street on a weekday morning. He was pulling up web pages on his laptop. I checked the public wifi with wireshark, and all the http requests were to gay porn sites.



I saw a gay-looking cop in line at Ace Cash Express near 7th and Washington, paying off his paycheck advance. I asked him "What is the most common crime that nobody would guess in Miami Beach?" He said it is these awful young girls who take advantage of old male tourists. They go back to their hotel rooms when they are drunk, and steal their watches while they are in the shower. I asked is it like the same group of people every time, like operating as a gang? He said no, they wish. It is just pathetic little bitches, a different one every time.



This in a city, Miami, where I met at least 40 hookers under the age of 18.



My first weekend after I moved into my awesome new house in South Beach, I walked down the block to Lincoln Road and met some young people. They came over to see my new place. It was a good looking young blonde guy from upstate New York 21 years old named Joe, an 18-year-old girl named Ginger, and another guy. After a while the girl left, and soon the guys were gone too. As soon as the guys were gone, the girl came back and knocked. I think I knew those people for another year or two before I figured out they were all hookers.



It is an invisible industry that can walk right into your house, and people from other places don't recognize it.



There was another teenage girl who worked at a snack bar. She was a model whom a local lesbian business owner put up in a studio apartment because she was a customer magnet. She was short. When she was 16 or 17, she was posing as a 12-year-old in clothing catalogs. She was a junior model.

Every typical guy who came into the snack bar would offer her money for sex. Sometimes I heard it. A guy would say "How about you get up on that bun for $300?" Most of the time I wouldn't.



Shaq would sometimes come in to the snack bar, and I knew he would take a shot at her. There was a girl Dominica Westling who moved to South Beach around the same time I did. I paid her to do a promo video on Ocean Drive, and she invited me to hang out at the Cardozo. I declined. Girls with stubby legs prefer tall guys, which I am not.

But Shaq got Dominica. There was even a rumor that Shaq almost bought her the five-storey which condo which I later moved into. So when Shaq came into the snack bar, I made sure to sit a long way away, to give him space to sit right in front of the junior model, and say whatever he wanted. I knew she needed the money.

The junior model never said anything about it until years later. She finally told me Shaq offered her $20,000 and she didn't take it. In her late 20's, she said this in a tone of regret, in a conversation about missed opportunities.



When the junior model found out I went to strip clubs, she told me she knew a stripper who got pregnant. She got pregnant off a rich Arab guy, and he bought her a Mercedes. Half these girls in North Miami would get pregnant and become single moms by age 20 anyway. There was one Ruby who had three or four kids off two or three guys, and the welfare checks were enough to rent a big house where they could all have parties and take mushrooms. So the story of a local girl who was unusually successful in life, by getting a Mercedes out of the deal, traveled a long way fast.



There were underage girls making money everywhere. The prettiest girl at Gold Rush told me a strip club manager in Atlanta paid $5,000 to have sex with her when she was 16, out of $8,000 total. I turned her down. When my 17-year-old niece came to visit, she could not walk across the lobby of the Fountainbleau without old guys offering her money. 

One day, one of the regular girls at Club Madonna saw me do my usual routine of coming in to look at all the girls, and then leaving. I ran into her on the sidewalk. She said “Go to Tootsie. You will find what you are looking for.” I said how do you know what I'm looking for? She said “I am a people watcher.” I said I'm a people watcher, too. She said “You're not a people watcher, you are a predator.”

So I went to Tootsie. On my first night there were 156 girls on the board. Some nights there were over 200. Most of them were young girls who had no idea what they were doing, would make zero money, and be gone in two days. They were not interesting enough to me at the time to think "These girls look like they are in middle school." But for years I remembered what I had seen, under the curiosity of "What is the value to a strip club, what is the management philosophy, of having a high turnover of clueless little girls who have no idea what to say, or how to make money as strippers?"



One of these random young girls refused to be ignored. She was a long wavy redhead with green eyes called "Fire." She kept looking at me in the upstairs hooker area which they called "The Next Level." Finally she walked straight up to me, and pulled her thong aside, to show me her vagina. I don't remember if she said anything, but she communicated to me that she was willing to have sex for money.



I was a little surprised at myself for having no interest. I have a thing for skinny white girls, and this girl was as skinny as they come. Skinny, but still having correct curves and proportions. As a guy, when a beautiful naked girl offers to have sex with you, money or not, you are supposed to have some reaction.

So I began trying to understand why I was not turned on by this girl. She could tell I was thinking about it. So she turned around and showed me her back side. I decided the reason I wasn't turned on is she was just too narrow. Even though her shoulders and hips were wider than her waist, they were all too narrow. Especially her rib cage and even her skull, were just unattractively narrow.



That was winter. The next summer, I was driving through South Beach and I saw Fire standing on the corner around 10th and Collins. I said "Hey Fire" and she said "Who is Fire? I am Neely Dockpost" or some ridiculous thing to deny she worked as a stripper.

Maybe a month after that, I was driving with the junior model, and I saw Fire on the sidewalk again. I said "Hey there is that funny stripper Fire. She denies she is Fire and claims she is actually like Neely Dockpost or something." The junior model said "That's not Fire, that's Veronica. I used to live with her in North Miami."



Then she said "You know, Veronica would have sex with you for money. She once had sex with a guy for $400. All her friends were shocked. But she said he got something he wanted, and she got something she wanted." I said I know Veronica would have sex with me for money. The junior model was surprised that I was so choosy, that I was not interested to have sex with Veronica.



Over the next few months, the short girl started to talk about sex every time I drove her somewhere. And she would also complain about having no money. After a while I figured out that she wanted to have sex with me for money, to achieve something the beautiful Veronica had not been able to do. To prove she was prettier than Veronica.

Finally she ran out of patience dropping hints, and said "Come pick me up after work at 5th and Alton" which I think was a Starbucks. She said she needed some money to rent a new place or something, and she was coming over to my house. I really did not want to have sex with her and I was short on cash. But it is like picking your friend up at the airport. If something is really important to your friend, and you are a good friend, you have to do it.



So I decided I had to stop being such a stick-in-the-mud, and have sex with her for money, if that is what my friend wanted to do. I picked her up on my way home from work, and we went to my house. She started talking about how much Veronica had charged for sex. And then she said "Guess what my price is!"

Suddenly I went into a panic that she might say "free." If it was not because she needed money to pay rent, and she

had nothing to prove that she could sell herself for a higher price than Veronica, then it was casual sex. Worse, she wanted a relationship. So I said "I just got home and my dogs are going to pee on the floor if I don't take them out." I ran out of there with my dogs and never had sex with her.

I learned a lesson from that young girl. The whole time I knew her, I thought she was super cool. She ran her mouth, she drew her own tattoos, she had personality. I took some spring break girls to her house to buy weed, and they were blown away by the tattoo doll with her own South Beach studio. They brushed her hair. They wanted to dress like her, they wanted to be her. Did that make me romantically interested in her? I didn't have a good answer. Not knowing what I wanted from her, made her uneasy. And our relationship was always awkward because of it. That's why I fucked Mandi on the first day.



10 years later, that girl was still bent out of shape about it and jealous of Veronica. I said "I remember that girl Veronica showed me her vagina and it was really big and puffy." She said "Yeah, from getting fucked by so many black guys. She's a high-price hooker in Atlanta now."

I reminded her of the time Veronica was on the corner in South Beach and denied being the same person as the stripper “Fire”. She said "Yeah, because she didn't want her family to find out she was stripping. They were shocked when they found out, because she was only 16 when you saw her on Collins Avenue."



Working backwards six months to the previous winter, I can guess Veronica was as young as 15 /12, when she showed me her vagina at Tootsie, and offered to have sex for money.



It turns out the stripper who got pregnant off the wealthy Arab customer at Tootsie was Veronica's older sister. The older sister was the actual friend the same age of the junior model. Veronica was a younger grade. A large part of the clueless girls in Tootsie were from the younger age group of Veronica.

They were all in Tootsie with the fake id's they used to get into bars, trying to have sex with a rich old guy to get a Mercedes, like Veronica's older sister had done.

The point being, there were dozens of girls under age 18 having sex for money in Miami. And the only crime this gay dipshit South Beach cop saw, was innocent old guys getting robbed by evil young girls. Probably at least partly because that is the only crime that was reported.

The old rich guys are much more sophisticated than these young girls who would literally come up to me speechless. The old guys knew how to work the system, and get the young girls in trouble if they stepped out of line. The young girls were basically totally naive and defenseless, having no clue or any idea of what to say to anyone about anything. Like mute animals.

In the fall of 2011 I had been living in Orlando, but I went to Miami to do some contract work. As I said before, the hotels that let you stay with two dogs are the same hotels with tile floors that let hookers stay for an hour. They don't mind cleaning.



The Royal Motel across from the Royal Budget Inn, had just been remodeled with new tiles and refrigerators. I was the only guest, maybe because my room was not quite done. There was a black guy leaning over the south side railing above my room on the second floor. The owner said that's Jeff or something, "he watches over the place for me."



Sometimes when I would walk my dogs across the parking lot, a sweet girl who looked like tenth grade in high school would say hi to me. Like she was bored and wanted to meet my dogs. I wondered what room are this sweet girl's parents staying in? And what kind of parents let their school-age daughter talk to strange guys in a motel parking lot? I expected someone to come intervene when they saw her talking to me, but all the motel windows were dark and empty.



One night walking my dogs at like 2:30 AM, I accidentally locked myself out. I decided to sleep in the car rather than ring the buzzer, and pay the $50 fee to wake up the owner. It was hard to sleep, because about every 20 minutes someone would pull into the parking lot and their headlights would shine right through my windshield for a second as they turned in. It went on all night, non-stop. In the morning, the parking lot was empty.



I came back to Miami 23 months later in August, and slept on my friend's sailboat that was originally mine. He told me a good place to park it if I wanted to walk my dogs on land, was next to the Little River bridge at 77th Street. I didn't realize this was only a few blocks from the Royal Motel.



People would walk over the bridge all night to the gas station, or cast-net fish. One night a drunk rich guy came wobbling north up Biscayne Boulevard on like a $5000 cruiser bike. He shouted at everyone who almost ran him off the road. Right on the bridge, the Miami city police pulled up and arrested him, leaving two homeless people to fight over his bicycle.



And then came walking over the bridge the black guy from the second floor of the Royal Motel, and the school girl who said hi to my dogs in the parking lot. They had no idea anyone could hear them. The school girl was complaining passionately in the exact words "They call me the dick-sucker, because I suck dicks raw!"



Her pimp reassured her in a gentle voice "Oh come on, you know I never called you that, that you heard."



So a drunk guy could not ride a bicycle over that bridge without getting arrested. But a girl I don't think any older than 16 the first time I saw her, was able to stand in the same place somewhere around 76th and Biscayne, and give blowjobs for money to any guy who drove by, continuously for at least 23 months.

 

I know there are people who think hookers at any age should get the death penalty. The sluts are never victims, no matter how dumb and helpless. My friend Luke the sex addict's best friend Joanie, a girl who is his soul mate, is one of these girls. She can't understand why I would care if Mandi spends her life in prison, after having sex with all these guys. Another is my bartender. She said “A whore is a whore is a whore.”

Maybe that is how it is in Iran. The best thing I can say is I have never been to Iran. It may be the place is so fucked up, they have to stone little girls to death just to keep the lights on. But in the US for whatever reason, we have achieved a lower level of human misery. Maybe it is feminism, individuality, or something else.

In the US, an old guy who amuses himself, by exploiting and wasting the life of a young girl, with no concern for her future, is a criminal. You may not agree with that. At the very least, an old guy who wastes a young girl's life to amuse himself, is not a victim. Can there be two victims? Not when one is a person in authority and the other is a subordinate.

At least none of the old guys in South Beach who whined about getting their watches stolen, were the girl's boss. That kind of entitlement, that sort of bold lack of discretion, that level of incontinence, is likely to get an old guy shot.

But I know, James Mulrenin was a lonely old guy. For some reason he was permanently single. Girls with more sense than Mandi Jackson wanted no part of him. He was a vulnerable man. He was a wily 52-year-old veteran strip-club manager. He knew a 21-year-old girl's naive psychology, it was his business, his career, his life.

Mandi May was girl number 10,000, at which point Mulrenin had perfected his craft. But to people in the alternate universe, Mulrenin was a saint, he was taken advantage of.  The man with a racketeering conviction for running a prostitution ring was targeted and tricked, by a little blonde brain patient on meds who never said no.

 

14. PRIVATE ROOM - December 13, 2016

Did Dollhouse really take in $20k that night? Did Mulrenin really die on the biggest night of his life as a strip-club manager? Was one related to the other? Did Mandi have something to do with it?

According to police, two customers at Dollhouse spent "upwards of $20k" on the night Mulrenin died. I challenge you to go spend a year at the Dollhouse, and report back when someone spends $20k. On a Tuesday no less. More likely Big Mike was afraid Mulrenin got found with money from selling coke at the club, and wanted to get out front with an explanation for it.

I have dated at least 8 strippers, including top strippers who were feature attractions at major strip clubs in New York, Miami, and Texas. One of my friends was a strip-club bottle hostess who also made $500 a night bartending at a sports bar.  Across the 10 biggest strip clubs in Dade and Broward, you hear a story of two people spending over $20,000 at the same place in one night, maybe once a year. That doesn't include cash under the table, I am talking about money that a manager would in any way be aware of or get his hands on. 

That includes bachelor parties at Tootsie, which is bigger than every strip club in Orlando combined. A typical bachelor party with bottle service, or an old rich guy who got really drunk, would spend $2700 that anybody knew about. Maybe $5000 on the high side. Do people spend $8,000? $10,000? Sure. It happens at a strip club with 300 dancers, across from billionaires row in Miami. And even then, the people on the receiving end have no incentive to share the story with anyone.

Dollhouse is a shitty drug den on Orange Blossom Trail, the sleaziest white strip club in Orlando. There are hookers on OBT on both sides of it. The idea that some rich guys with $20k cash in their pocket, would end up for some reason at the tiny Dollhouse on a Tuesday night, and spend all that money in a way that the manager ever saw it, is not credible to me. If someone even spent $2700 cash, it would be a better night than I thought was possible in Dollhouse over an entire year.

Even two groups of four guys, that each had two rounds of bottle service, two rounds of shots, two rounds of the most expensive drinks, a private dance from every girl, and an hour in the private room with the prettiest girl there, would not make it to $20k. But if someone did spend that kind of money at Dollhouse and the manager saw it, there is only one way it happened: the private room.

Barbara Mellinger said the two customers who spent $20k did it all on their credit cards. They bought $20k in dancer dollars. She said they were across the street at Stars the previous night. And she said at the end of the night, Dollhouse somehow owed in excess of $40,000 dancer dollars to the girls, including some that were purchased at Stars and said "Stars" on them. And because the club only had $7k in cash at the end of the night which is far less than $40,000, they only could have paid some girls, making the other girls angry. So Mulrenin chose to not cash out any of the dancer dollars.

Mellinger said Mulrenin left a note to call him before they gave girls cash for their dancer dollars next day. Because he needed to explain something. But he never got to explain it. And the next day for some reason the club chose not to give cash for all the dancer dollars. They only gave out enough cash for the first girls who showed up, and then defaulted on the rest of the dancer dollars, and screwed over the girls who had them. And somehow it was related to 1) some of the dancer dollars said Stars on them meaning they were purchased at Stars, and 2) Mulrenin was not there to explain what to do.

What Mellinger said did not add up or make sense. She exaggerated the amount of dancer dollars. She said some coming from Stars created a problem when it shouldn't have. It is not complicated to explain changing dancer dollars for money the club got from someone buying the dancer dollars on a credit card. You exchange the ones that say "Stars" at Stars if you have to. And Mellinger is plenty smart to explain it. But there was something missing. Rather than say the truth, Mellinger chose to leave it confusing and leave something out. And then simply attribute it to Mulrenin being dead and only Mulrenin could explain it.

When Mulrenin got home and went up the elevator, he was holding his keys and looking at a piece of paper. A piece of paper that looked the same was found on his kitchen counter next to his keys. It should be noted, the handwriting was different from the handwriting on his to-do list, and inside his bootbox with cash. I would guess this was written by a female. It contained the following:

Doll House Dollars

---------------------------

Jessenia $1700 10

Phoenix $380

Ivey $100

Kierra $410

Melanie $790

Serenity $200

Gia $530

Leah $850 10

That totals $4960. I don't know what the two 10's are. But let's suppose each customer did buy $10k as claimed. Maybe those two girls who got the most, are also the ones who handled the credit card sale, $10k each.

Mandi's lawyers seemed to imply during Barbara Mellinger's deposition, that Mandi was also owed some Dollhouse Dollars that she didn't get to cash out. But even if Mandi did a private dance and went on stage as they suggested, that would still probably not be more than $140. Even if another 10 girls were there and each made $150 in dancer dollars, both of which I consider highly unlikely, that would still only get to $6600. 

$7k should have been enough to pay the girls. Unless the missing witness was right, Mulrenin really did get $2500 dancer dollars - half as many as all eight dancers listed - and cashed them out. Most of the money in the boot box in his closet was in a black plastic bag. But there was some money outside the bag that looked like he could have just thrown it in there, that looks like maybe $2500. If he really cared about the business and the girls and keeping the big earners working there, he woud have done the opposite. He would have gone home and got the money from his box to pay them.

And if it was really known that Mulrenin had a lot of cash, they would have demanded he pay the girls with it. Or some witness would have pointed out he had cash and complained that he didn't pay them with it. No witness at the Dollhouse mentioned more than $2500, or Sprague would have put it in his arrest affidavit. Mandi's motive for robbery was supposedly knowing Mulrenin had some huge amount of cash. But these are the girls who have been to Mulrenin's house and done drugs and had sex with him. And apparently they accepted he did not have enough cash to pay them. Barbara Mellinger didn't say in her deposition "It is strange that Mulrenin couldn't pay them, and the girls were angry, because everyone knows he has heaps of cash." Nobody knew about his box. Mini-Jim told me the opposite, Mulrenin never took his money home with him.

$6600 plus $2500 is still only $9100 in dancer dollars. Where did the other $10k go? Did the customers take it home with them? Did they buy $10k in drinks, a thousand drinks? Did they spend $10k buying time in the private room? And why was  Mulrenin obsessed with the Dollhouse Dollars list when he was on the elevator about to meet Mandi?  And where did the missing money go that they didn't pay the dancers the next day?

My best guess is Mulrenin spent the missing money on cocaine that week from Chris Dahl. Or it went into his box, or who knows what. And he was too sloppy and coked up and out of his mind fucking Mandi, to care about it.

Carico said Mulrenin was angry when he had to stay after and do the books from the big customers that night, and impatient and smoking in the club, which he doesn't usually do. He was a sloppy coke addict staying up all night and embezzling money from the club and stiffing the dancers. What else do drunk coke-addict sex-addict strip club managers do? They get jealous and won't let girls leave and escalate confrontations and fall off a balcony. And Mandi was around the club all week, and everyone knew exactly what was going on, and they blamed her for Mulrenin's irresponsible behavior.

And when they didn't get paid, the dancers imagined Mandi stole their money. People who knew better, Barbara Mellinger and Big Mike, encouraged this lie to cover up the bad management. And everyone told every lie and hid every fact they needed to, to help get Mandi convicted. And they did it to protect their business from further damage from Mulrenin's irresponsible behavior. They weren't going to get fucked like the Plaid Rabbit in St. Clair Shores got fucked, when Mulrenin got accused of raping the girl who worked there. So they just deleted the video and said Mandi was never there before, never at Dollhouse, never at Stars. And idiot Detective Sprague helped them do this, because he is clueless.

And what was "the money" that Mandi was saying to her mother on the jailhouse phone the police were "wrong" about? Did Mulrenin simply not have any money so far as she knew? Were they simply wrong that he came come with $2500 when he didn't? Did he owe her $500 for sex, $300 for cocaine, $200 for her dancer dollars which she never got because he died? Mandi said the police were wrong about the money, and it was somehow tied to her having to borrow $200 from her father. My interpretation is she went to Mulrenin's house to get some small amount of money from him, most likely her dancer dollars, and she didn't.

Mellinger said the big customers were in the back. I have bever been inside the Dollhouse private room. But I don't think it is big enough for two customers and eight girls to spend a whole night. So I assume Mellinger means a VIP room back there. If so, that might be why they came across the street from the nicer club Stars the previous night. Stars does not have a private area. So maybe they came to Dollhouse in hopes to get some privacy after not getting lucky in Stars.

The customers bought something other than dances and drinks with the missing $10k in dancer dollars. The only things I can think of, are time in the private room and cocaine. My guess is the customers spent something less than the $40k or the $20k stated, though lying and saying they spent that amount served someone's purpose. And what money they did spend, they blew in the private room, that is what they came over from Stars to do.

But than rather than turn the private room money over to the club, Mulrenin did some funny bookkeeping to make it look like some strippers earned it and he cashed them out. And then he took the private-room money home himself to spend on cocaine. And that is the funny accounting Mellinger said Mulrenin was not there to explain. I knew that guy had an off-mark perception of himself and the world, the first time I saw him in that crazy suit in Cabaret Internationale day shift.

And that is why everyone was angry, and inventing crazy stories about the amount of money he must have had that Mandi stole. Where real evidence is Mandi went to Walmart with Mulrenin's cards and zero cash. And she was arrested with $6 and a month of trash that had not been thrown out, and no signs of having spent any money on cocaine or meth or even sushi. Like Mandi said, she had to borrow $200 from her dad. And Mulrenin's money was still in his box that nobody knew about.

As I said before, the private room is a carnival scam. It's a little room where they close the door or a curtain. It's the biggest scam going at strip clubs. Girls who are good at getting guys drunk and leading them on, trick guys into imagining they will get sex in there. They have some lines for letting the guys down once they pay and go in there. Unfortunately I am not rich enough to know them. I once heard something like "This is a strip club where girls take their clothes off. Guys keep their clothes on!" Touch and Go Policy.

Who are the guys going to call and complain to, when they pay for sex in the private room and don't get it?

There are some easy strippers who will have sex with customers. And that helps the older smarter meaner strippers who won't have sex with customers make money. Because the customers don't know which is which. Some unfortunate girl who is addicted to heroin, or has no people skills and sits alone all night in the corner, will have sex for $200. But the bitchy girl with people skills and fake boobs and veneers, the one who teams up with the manager and charges you $1000 on your credit card, will not have sex with you in the private room.

They don't even have a private room at Rachel's and Stars. They sure have that one at Dollhouse. The door is clearly marked with a sign.

PARADISE ROOM

2 SONGS $50

15 MINUTES $100

30 MINUTES $200

1 HOUR $300

And you know if James Mulrenin is running it, the angry well-dressed doorman, the puritan tyrant who is afraid of another prostitution conviction, the guys who went into the private room at Dollhouse were not getting sex. They were getting led on and scammed.

They have that same sign at Dollhouse "Touch And Go Policy." But the theory is the manager can't see what is going on in the private room. So you can finally do you want in there, right? Just need some privacy from that arrogant fuck in the suit. I have the money, I can tell him to fuck off, everything has its price. It's a neat scam, right?

The Dollhouse private room prices are even close to standard hooker prices on the web. The prices would be suggestive to someone who is familiar with the hooker pages, but has never been to a strip club before. Suppose you know "escorts" cost $300 for "an hour", and you have never been to a strip club before, and some half-naked stripper says the private room is $300 for "an hour" and that's where the fun is. What would you think?

I went into Dollhouse a year after Mulrenin died. It was day shift. As was typical, there were only two girls. The prettier one claimed to be a 40-something hooker. She said "I'm willing to do stuff for you, but I'm new here. I don't know how strict the management is. I don't know what they let you get away with." So what's going to happen, if I pay $200 for 30 minutes in the private room with her? Is she going to have sex with me? Or is she going to say "Oh well, I didn't know, but I guess they don't let us do that here. Sorry."

So Detective Sprague walks into Dollhouse on December 14, 2016, to find out who the blonde girls is on video at Mulrenin's apartment. And he doesn't know it, but the people he meets have just scammed two guys out of supposedly $20,000. They have just led two guys on with a false promise of sex in the private room, and tricked them and taken their money. $20,000.

And somehow Sprague walks out of there with a new theory. His new theory is that Mandi Jackson tricked Mulrenin to bring her into his room with a false promise of sex, so she could steal his $13,000. What a coincidence!

That is the money Mulrenin himself stole from the club, and ultimately from the dancers who didn't get paid, and from the people who were led on in the private room. Sprague found stolen money and didn't even know it.

And now the people in Dollhouse are in a rage over the poetic justice. They think Mulrenin is supposed to be running the scam team, he is the one who trains the girls to get guys drunk, and lead the guys on to follow them into the private room and take their money. But somehow the world got turned upside down, and Mulrenin became the victim of a private-room scam in his own house. Crazy! It was all completely invented inside their crazy scammer heads, imagining Mulrenin was the victim of his own scam in his own house, the scam he ran the very same night.

Strippers are jealous to the point of schizophrenia. And they hate and envy Mandi Jackson with the passion of a religious figure. For being the worlds greatest scammer, who turned the tables and took down the beloved leader of their scam team.

The easiest girl in Orlando! The girl who lets you tie her up and drug her and rape her! The girl who lets dudes who look like Santa Claus do it! The girl who would have had sex with every guy and girl in Dollhouse, starting with Neisha Cintron, and including the bartender she smiled at like the cheshire cat.

The girl I personally fucked raw 57 times waiting for her Malcolm Sayer awakening. And she still doesn't like me.

The idea that Mandi tricked James Mulrenin, and led him on using his own private room scam, was even crazier than when the DCF believed she was a drug kingpin.

So again I went back to Dollhouse three years after Mulrenin died. I just wanted to confirm the prices in the private room. To confirm even with the private room, it would be very hard to get to the $20k they claimed the Dollhouse made that night from two people. In Miami the price of the private room is sometimes like $800 or $1000 for an hour. I think at Club Madonna it was at least $500 or $1000, and at Tootsie it was at least $300 for 15 minutes. At Dollhouse, the sign still said $300 1 hour.

$20k? I don't know. The video of the main part of the room at Dollhouse was missing before Mandi's lawyers got it. I am thinking cocaine. 

Again it was day shift when I visited Dollhouse, and again there were only two girls there. Again the prettier one comes up and talks to me, and says she is new here. She says "Hi, I'm Onyx, what's your name?" I have been over 100 times to at least 24 strip clubs. I know how an experienced stripper sounds and moves and looks when she comes up to me, compared to someone on her first day. I asked "This is your first day here?" She said no, it is her first day ever as a stripper, anywhere. Given I was the only guy in there, that would make me the first strip-club customer she ever talked to. Not believable.

I said "The way you came up to me and sat down, and the way you talk to me, makes you seem like someone who has experience as a stripper. Like you have done this before. You are very comfortable doing this. You know what to say to a customer."

She said "Oh, I'm not shy! But I'm not sure how much they let you get away with here..."

I don't know if for real they just let new hookers come off the street and set up shop each day shift, or if it is a scam or what. I can see how Mulrenin was getting lucky off these girls or at least rich.

I told her I just got a text and had to run!

Barabara Mellinger had a line in her deposition "treat all the girls with respect and honor and bring out the best in them." I guess Mandi's vagina is her best, and cocaine brought it out. By randomly not paying the girls who showed up late to cash in their dancer dollars, Dollhouse management seemed to assume those girls had nothing to do with the decision by the customers to spend $20k. It would be just as likely to happen again if those girls never came back.

Carico said Mulrenin had trouble finding girls to work there. Every time I go in there it is a handful of ugly new girls. If there was a dancer whom those big customers saw fit to hand $850, and the club didn't think it was important to pay her, it makes sense there are never girls there I would want to hand money to. The last girl they were lucky enough to get in there that I would want to hand money to, the manager coked her up, fucked her, got into a standoff with her boyfriend by not letting her leave his apartment, and sent her for two life sentences.

I tried to provoke Mandi's other guys to come over to my house so I could shoot them or get them arrested. I always knew they were waiting on her, and I always had a plan for if they came. But Mandi always left my house because I didn't give her cocaine. And because I wasn't her boss she always felt free to go. And nobody ever knocked on my door to get her. I still wouldn't expect anybody to call what I did "respect." Mulrenin treated her like a disposable sex doll.

Anybody who reads this don't lie to yourself, Mulrenin was a straight crooked creepy asshole. There is a story out of Michigan (aka "witnesses" in Seminole County) how The Plaid Rabbit took all the bar revenue under the table, and then complained when they couldn't get a loan. Because they hid their revenue to avoid taxes. That is the entitled motherfucker whom all his little dorky boys say "he can have any girl he wants." And yet he somehow gets accused of rape for doing the same thing every bar owner does every day. And Carico is still there saying how hard it was to find strippers to work for him.

How is that "any girl he wants" working out for him now? It's not fair is it, send the little ho for life. Uncle Jimmy deserves to have any girl he wants blow his little red nose for him. And the Florida taxpayer will pay for it.

-------------------------------

Four years later, my final conclusion is Mandi drove to Mulrenin's house and met him at the sidewalk, to get cash for her dancer dollars. Regardless of whether she liked Mulrenin and had been there previous nights, and regardless of whether Scott knew where she was. She had no choice. She had zero money. That made every other factor irrelevant, Mandi had to take Mulrenin up on his offer.

When I first saw the handwritten “Doll House Dollars” list, it was years before I knew all the business was in dancer dollars that night, and before I knew the dancers never got paid. I may have thought the list was credit card sales for each girl, or how much they made, I don't remember. I would not have guessed it was all dancer dollars.

When I mentioned the list to Mandi's mom, her mom asked me what seemed like an angry rhetorical question: “Why wasn't Mandi's name on that list?” I assumed it was because Mandi didn't make any money, because she is too nice. I thought Mandi's mom was angry based on what Mandi said on the phone, and what Mini-Jim said, that Mulrenin wouldn't leave Mandi alone that night. He gave her no chance to work and make money.

I realize today, Mandi's mom may have known it was a list of how much each girl was owed in dancer dollars. And Mandi's mom knew Mandi was owed for some dancer dollars. And she knew Mandi's name wasn't on that list, because Mulrenin made Mandi come to his house to cash them out. And Mandi's mom was angry Mulrenin made Mandi come over.

After all these years, everything resolves and clarifies. I realize Mandi's lawyer Bark would not have asked Barbara Mellinger about dancer dollars in her deposition, if it wasn't somehow a central feature in what happened that night, an explanation of what happened. Bark did not even understand what he was talking about. So he must have been trying to understand this supposed reason Mandi was there. You don't ask about things you don't what they are, unless they matter.

It is funny because the first action I remember by the new management after the Veigles bought Cabaret Internationale, the first thing that made the girls angry before I ever noticed Mulrenin, was them complaining how the new manager made them come back the next day to get their money. That and I guess firing the dj's. But the first anecdote I got about the new manager Mulrenin himself, before I remember laying eyes on him, was the girls being angry that they had to come back the next day to get their money.