Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I follow him to the club. I’d rather stay behind but the car’s like an oven in the direct sunlight. He doesn’t look over his shoulder as he reaches the front door and goes inside. I slip in after.
The club’s dark. Long bar on the right, stage on the left, scattered tables in the middle. Cheap rug on the floor with geometric patterns throughout. The bartender’s leaning on his elbows, looking bored, a middle-aged guy going bald and built like a brick wall with a tucked-in button-down and black jeans. A girl’s on the stage, writhing against a pole and looking like she might fall asleep. Two young guys sit at a table up front, drinking beer and throwing balled-up dollar bills at the dancer.
The bartender perks up as Casso approaches. He glances to the right, toward a hall that leads into the back, and smiles nervously. There’s nobody else nearby, and Casso seems utterly confident and at ease, but I feel exposed. I don’t love the topless girl, or the guys throwing money at her, or anything in this extremely sad place. It’s like a facsimile of a club, like everyone inside is just going through the motions, pretending to act out what a real strip joint would be like and getting it nearly wrong.
“What can I do for you two, uh, fine people? We got, uh, drink specials.” The bartender spreads his hands awkwardly, looking from me to Casso, but mostly at Casso, who leans with his hands on the bar top and cocks his head. He’s a big man, massive almost, with hands the size of watermelons.
“I’m looking for the Stazek brothers.”
The bartender coughs and rubs his balding head. “I’m Joey,” he says, glancing to the back hall again. “Mickey’s not here, he’ll be back soon, if you want—”
“That’s fine, I don’t need you both. My name’s Casso Bruno and I’m here to buy your club.”
Joey stares, open-mouthed, like the heavens just opened and a real angel came through. He’s gaping and not moving, and the guys near the stage laugh as one of them hits the dancing girl in the face with a wadded-up single, and she doesn’t skip a beat as she grabs the cash, shoves it in her underwear, then flips the guys off and keeps on dancing. They crack up, loving it.
“You want to buy this club?” Joey asks stupidly, and he keeps glancing at the hallway. There’s nothing over there, only a few other doors, more grimy carpet, more ugly walls. “What the hell would you want it for?”
“I have my reasons. You know who I am, correct? You know my family?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course I do, I know you. Don Bruno, uh, welcome to our club, sir.” Joey’s grimacing, wringing his hands, acting like he’s terrified, but I find that hard to fathom. Casso’s big and strong, but Joey’s an absolute giant of a man.
Casso smiles like it’s almost painful for him. “I’m prepared to make a very generous offer. More money than you know what to do with. All I ask in return is some discretion. You do know how to be discreet, don’t you, Joey?”
“I’m real discreet, but uh, I don’t think the place is for sale. I mean, my brother would have to be consulted and all that, and like I said, he’s not here right now.” Joey picks up a rag, wipes his face, and inches to the right, over toward the hallway.
Casso stands up. “Let me ask you something.” He walks toward the end of the bar going deeper into the room. Joey doesn’t like that, and every step makes him grimace. I follow after, ghosting along, feeling jittery. Joey’s staring at Casso. “What’s a place like this cost? A million? Two million? I bet it’s a pain in the ass to keep running. You’ve got to deal with all the girls, all the customers, payroll, the IRS at tax time, all that shit. Lots of stuff you’ve got to do. So why not make a profit and move on?”
“I, uh, can’t make that decision.” The whole group reaches the far end of the bar. Joey clearly wants to step out under the counter, but he doesn’t move, like he’s transfixed.
Casso leans forward, smiling almost sweetly, like a shark looking in the eyes of a big, juicy whale. “What do you have down that hallway, Joey?”
“Nothing, just the bathrooms, our office, that’s all. Changing room for the girls. Supply closet. Nothing else.” He’s clearly lying and sweating, bouncing on the balls of his feet, making himself look even bigger than he already is.
Casso walks toward the hall. Joey sweeps under the counter, surprisingly agile for such a beast, and moves to intercept. I call out a warning, but Casso is quicker. He pivots, turns to Joey, and slams a fist into the monstrous man’s shoulder. He grabs at Joey’s wrist, and I bite back a scream as Joey grunts, raising up a knife—where the fuck did that knife come from?—as he tries to jam it down into Casso. Joey’s huge, but he’s all bulk, and Casso’s clearly done this before. Casso turns and uses Joey’s momentum against him, twisting his weight to knock the big man off balance until Casso’s able to get one meaty wrist in a tight grip. He turns it, jabbing fingers into little bones, and kicks Joey’s knee so hard I think it breaks. The big man drops down, crying out in pain as the knife drops, and Casso wrenches that massive hambone-sized arm up behind the giant’s back.