Chapter 1
Rip
Ladies’ night. Ladies. Night. Those two words make my teeth ache. They are enough to cause a vicious throbbing behind my eyes. Those words make me want to set the place on fire so that I won’t have to endure this shit for another second. And the night has just begun.
I turn my neck until it cracks, then put my hands down on my desk and take a deep breath.
On the third Friday of each month, ladies are admitted free of charge and receive their drinks at half price until ten p.m. That means in about an hour, my club will be filled with nothing but scantily clad young women eager to get drunk before the half-priced drinks end. That leads to the inevitability of stupid young men showing up, hoping to hook up with one of them.
It’s always a shit show. Last month, several people vomited in the ladies’ restroom. Security handled a fight before the police had to get involved, and I hate getting the police involved in anything. I resolve shit like that myself, but there was a new guyon the security team who didn’t know that I don’t abide by the boys in blue. That was the last time he worked here. After that mess, my bartender informed me that a man had put a substance in a woman’s drink.
That last incident, I handled myself. And I took glee in it. The only justice that gets served is the kind I dole out. In here, I’m law and order, and I get to decide what punishments are meted out.
I hate this night, and I hate that I have to be here, but it’s work. And this is a thriving business used for other, less savory enterprises. I’d rather be at the casino or one of the many gyms, but that’s not my assignment. The boss assigned me to this club, so here I am.
I gaze down on the main floor from above. I can see everything from here. And what is not in my line of vision can be captured on the video monitors in my office. Other than staff preparing for tonight’s clusterfuck of a ladies’ night, the floor is empty.
Tonight is a warm night for March. Nice weather means more people, which will likely bring more chaos. At last month’s ladies’ night, there was an ice storm, and people still showed up, though not as many. I guess it didn’t matter because the night was a shit show.
As much as I don’t want to be here, I can get a lot of work done while the idiots below get drunk on discounted alcohol and gyrate to loud, obscene music. I twist and crack my neck again. I grind my teeth, too.
If I believed in prayer, I’d ask for a calm and uneventful night, but I know better than that. If there’s a higher power out there somewhere, they aren’t listening to me.
I plop myself down, but I’m not alone for long. Like clockwork, Mysandre barges into my space, holding a clipboard. You’d think someone her age would use a phone or iPad, butnope. She has an antiquated clipboard, paper, and a pencil riddled with her teeth marks.
“Hey, sunshine,” she says, smiling at me.
I don’t return it. I barely even glance at her. She looks the same every week. She’s in all black, just like I am, except mine is not the club uniform.
She reviews the details for tonight, and I listen with half an ear. She emailed me this shit earlier. I know about inventory, security, both uniformed and plain clothes, as well as the housekeeping company responsible for cleaning this shit up so we can do it over again.
“Mm,” is all I say. It’s barely a grunt, but that’s all I have tonight.
“Perk up, buttercup,” Mysandre says. “I’ve got it under control.”
I eye her up and down. She’s probably five feet tall in her shoes but has the heart and courage of a lion wrapped in a body that’s probably one hundred pounds.
“It’s going to be a good night.” She gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
I curl my lips in disbelief and turn to the monitors, giving her my back. As usual, there are employees I’ve never seen before. The place is a revolving door of staff, and Mysandre is responsible for hiring bartenders and servers.
I tilt my head to the door, she smiles again, and I shake my head. When I reach over and ding the septum ring in her nose, she flinches and swats my hand.
She’s one of the few people I let touch me. She tries to block me, but I manage to flick the ring on her bottom lip, too. I cringe and shake my head in disapproval.
“Whatever, Grandpa.” She knows I disapprove of piercings. “At least I’m not tatted from neck to toe.”
I tilt my head to the door again, whistle, and point. She gives me a fake salute and a low curtsy before she leaves.
Down below, a tall, lanky kid is putting up signs on the table with QR codes so patrons can order cheap, watered-down drinks to pour down their throats so they can let loose and have fun.
Turning away in disgust, I decide I’ll endure for the night.
It’s too quiet. Not only do I not like it, but I don’t trust it. It’s not silent in the literal sense. Despite having a soundproof office, the music thumps so loudly that I can't relax or concentrate on anything else.
Three hours into this, everything is as expected. The music is too loud, and the place is too crowded, even though we are never above capacity. We have enough problems keeping people out of our businesses. We remain compliant with all relevant laws for public-facing businesses. There won’t be so much as a pin out of place.
I look down below. The dance floor is packed. There’s no space at the bar, and I notice a group of girls squeezing through a throng of guys. All the booths are taken. The camera in the kitchen shows a flurry of activity.
