I always thought Tony just didn’t know—he didn’t know what happened and who was responsible for it—therefore he made up some fictional account that was so crazy he just couldn’t bring himself to tell anyone else about it.
He’s the boss.
No one ever asked him to explain. They just took him at his word.
“I have over twenty-five whores working here and only ten came in tonight. They’re scared and they’re not even supposed to know what happened here.”
I flinch at the word whores.Felony isn’t a whore. Some of the others are questionable.
He rises from behind his desk, his face impassive and his words dry. “I went over the inside security cameras.”
We have inside security cameras?
“I’m the only one who knows about them. They’re in every room of the club except the game room.
“What did you find?”Did he watch me kneeling in front of one of his dancers like her pussy was my church and I prayed hard until she came?My pulse races.
“I found out that Franco had his hands deep in my pockets—touching things that were mine. That son of a bitch deserved what happened.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, not believing a word of what he says.
“He even came in here and went through my drawers, took a few of my Cubans. I thought I was smoking too much or losing my mind. Watched him take five at a clip, Corrado. What do you think about that?”
“I think you don't ever bite the hand that feeds you, Tony.” I lean off the edge of the chair. “You get a look at who it was that did him?”
“No,” he growls.
“No? What do you mean no?” I ask, confused.
“Someone made sure the security cameras got turned off before it happened and right back on when it was over.”
So this is someone with experience. “What are you going to do?” I ask.
“I don’t know. But I’ll tell you what I should do. I should find the guy and give him a job. Have you teach him how to clean up after himself, where to put the bodies and such. I could always use enforcers. This son-of-bitch should be on my side, on my payroll.”
* * *
I haven’t seenFelony all night. I heard her set music but Tony kept me too busy in the back, which only proved to me he must have watched me go down on her in the back room.
And get off with her in the lounge.
And get off without her in the lounge but watching her on my phone.
Twice.
I have no shame about it either. That girl tastes like gold and I was Fort cum-on-my-face Knox.
It’s after four in the morning and the girls are leaving. I hear them walking across the dressing area with their clunky shoes on. We're in the basement waiting on Junior. He was higher than a kite before, I’m betting he’s passed out somewhere. He does more blow than Tony, enough to kill a horse. But after what just happened with his old man, it’s understandable. Junior and Franco were as close as any dad and son could be.
Tony messes with his phone and music starts playing. He does this so no one hears us talk. The problem is his taste in music sucks balls and we’d all rather listen to Aunt Connie whine in her Jersey Shore accent about her nail polish chipping right after she gets them done.
I'm standing by the window when I hear someone shouting. I don’t know where it’s coming from at first, “Hey, Tony,” I shout over the techno crap he’s got terrorizing us. “Turn that down, I just heard something.”
He pauses the music and everyone cocks their heads to listen.
“You might be just hearing things,” Tony says, eyeing me doubtfully.
Enzo, another one of the boys, is in the other corner, laughing at me. “What’s a matter bro, you scared or something?”
