“That chick right there is gorgeous,” Tex exclaimed. He was checking out a petite brunette with tiny pert tits who was grinding her bare pussy on some Wall Street type’s slacks.
"Ain’t nothing here that interests me in the least," I said. We made our way to the bar. “Say what you will and point them out, but I’ll never agree with you.”
"What's it with you and strip joints?" he asked. “You always act like you’re above it. You don’t like to fuck or you don’t like easy girls?” Tex asked me plainly.
I couldn’t help but crack a grin at his interpretation of my behavior.
"Nothing good happens in a hell hole, kid. If the club sold this place tonight, I'd be happy. I don’t deal in the negative, Texas. I only do good. The way I see it, you could burn this whole place to the ground and humanity would lose nothing of value."
“Oh really, so you’re too good for it all, huh? You’d let these girls burn?”
“Nope. But I done this all before and I know firsthand where it gets you. Miserable or dead. Choice is yours.”
Texas shrugged and took in the dancers like a wide-eyed kid in a candy store.
I remembered running around in hell dens like this as a child, and I had no plans of reliving those memories as a grown-ass man.
"Hey Tommy," Tex said to the manager. Tommy waved back from the table where it looked like he was consulting. He stood up and pushed his way out of the booth before lumbering toward us. Tommy was a burly man with a huge gut and a long, greying beard. He was a happy fella, but if you messed with him, you’d better get on your knees and pray. Tommy had been an assassin in his day. That was one of the reasons the club liked him. We knew he could be trusted, and no one could mess with him. The guy managed to still look good on paper, and the local police all got along with him. He had allies everywhere—all of his enemies were dead.
"Drink up, boys," Tommy said. He plucked a bottle of Blue Johnny Walker from behind the bar and poured generous lowballs. His fat fingers looked like little sausages and they were covered in tasteless rings. Tommy was a troll and Tight Ends was his seedy underground lair.
"We fixed the tax issues," Tex said.
I just waved my hand, letting him know I was done being in here. I didn't really like drinking much, especially on the job; I didn't want to let my guard down.
“So I can rest assured that the IRS won’t be breaking down these doors like mobsters and shutting me down?” Tommy asked.
“My brother Rafa took care of it. You’re straight. Just keep the accountant tracking ever dirty dollar that walks in and out of here and we won’t have any more problems.” I took the shot and threw it back. It’d already been a long night.
Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s Gone, by Bill Withers came on and it was exactly what I needed to hear. The trap music they usually played with the auto tune and canned base gave me a fucking headache. This song was so good that I would almost watch a girl dance to it.
As if on call, a tall brunette with far too much makeup passed by me, her hand slid easily up my arm. I gently took it off and lowered it to her side.
"Thanks for the offer, kid, but I'm not buying," I said. “I only come to this place for business.”
"Too bad, cause you're so hot. I’d do anything you want me to.” She puckered her lips and blew out her cheeks signaling that she wanted to blow me. She was beautiful, but I wasn’t into getting my dick sucked so that somebody could feed their fucking kids. I reached in my pocket and pulled out a roll of cash, leafed a fifty off the top and put it in her hand.
She was quiet and looked up at me, her eyes had gone serious. I knew most guys would stick it in her bra or try to cop a feel with a single dollar.
“What’s this for?” she asked. Her face fell like she wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or honored.
“Your boys. Take ‘em out, get em ice cream, fuck if I know what they like.” I read all these girls’ profiles when they applied. I was a businessman and needed to know who I was working with at all times.
She crumpled the money and put it in the tiny bag leashed to her wrist.
“Aww, Mav, you lost out, she gives a good one,” Tommy said. He thumped me on the back.
Easy Like Sunday Morning came on then and I instinctively looked up to the DJ stand. It was dark up there and I wondered if Tommy had resorted to an iPod to provide tonight’s playlist.