I glance over at him, barely paying attention. Something inside me is deeply distressed by that encounter. How much have I missed of my little girl’s life so far?
And most importantly, how can I get back the time that’s already passed?
3
EMBER
The misting rain on my windshield glows pink as I pull into my reserved parking spot. The new sign looks really good over the roofs of all the cars and against the shine of rain on the pavement. That thing started going bad about a week after I was hired and then over the course of a month, I had to have the electrician come out seven times just to fix that stupid flickering cat. By month two, I was petitioning to replace it completely. It took some convincing, but Omar eventually approved it.
Now, we’re in the spring and it glows like an invite, the cursive lettering of “Kitten’s Paw” in the shape of a beautiful woman lying seductively over the words. It’s still provocative, but nowhere near as sleezy. Omar was skeptical at first, but the moment he saw the whole parking lot lit up like Christmas, he was a believer.
I get my umbrella and step out of my car. Tonight, I’m planning on going through Jorge’s old ledgers and notes. I’ve been noticing that the books are balancing weirdly over the last month. At first, it was just a few dollars here and there—negligible losses in the grand scheme of things. But then those losses started to grow. Just last week, we were short close to a thousand dollars.
I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s on me to find out. I’ve been getting on so well with everybody. I’d hate to think somebody’s stealing from us.
As I walk up to the door, Junie’s standing under the awning. He’s about a hundred pounds thinner and is dressing nicer. The old T-shirt and jeans are gone, as is that greasy old baseball cap. The suit he’s wearing tonight is nice and fits well on him, complimenting his smaller waistline. He’s still a big guy, but the blob sitting on a stool at the door is long gone. I’m proud of the discipline he’s put forth. He smiles and nods respectfully at me. “Evening, Ms. Lorenzo.”
“Good evening,” I say as he opens the door. “Any problems so far tonight?”
“No, ma’am. Everything’s cool tonight.”
“Good.” I walk into the club and pause to survey the area. It’s Saturday, so we’re packed to the rafters tonight. The bartenders are working like an assembly line at the bar, serving the throng of customers standing at the bar. Every table is occupied, and most of them are being served by a dancer or two and there are plenty of lap dances going around.
“Give it up for Na-TAsha!” the DJ echoes over my head. I glance up to see Natasha in nothing but a G-string, her perky breasts bouncing as she gathers dollars on the stage. She sees me as I pass by on the way to my office and rushes up to walk with me.
“How’s the night going for you?” I ask.
She shrugs. In addition to the fistful of dollar bills in her hands, she’s got dollars sticking out of the straps of her G-string. “Pretty good. Already topped about five hundred and I’ve only been here an hour. Saw one of my regulars come in, so after I stash all this, I’ll be in the VIP room.”
“Have fun,” I tell her, “And don’t do anything that’ll get us shut down.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She walks into the dressing room to stash her money. I glance through the door to check whether Cynthia is sitting there watching the lockers, and she is, sitting on a chair in her gaudy red tracksuit the same shade as the red wig on her head. She sees me, nods, and gives the cane at her side a tap on the floor. She doesn’t look like much, but she’s got a presence about her that tends to keep everybody back there in line. Money well spent on hiring her.
I get to my office. A lot of Jorge’s trappings are still in here, including the heavy scent of cigar smoke stuck in the carpeting. I’ve wanted to have this old desk either replaced or refinished. I haven’t decided which is cheaper. I’ve covered up most of the chips and scratches with a calendar blotter, but it’s still pretty cruddy looking.
I set my things down and turn on my computer. It’s old and slow, but for my purposes, it’s fine. I’ve been going over his old ledger and inputting the information in Excel in the hopes of making a chart that will make these discrepancies make sense. I keep thinking that maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe all these missing pieces can be explained somehow.
Jorge was pretty crummy at keeping track of this club’s revenue. Since I’ve been here, we’ve more than doubled our nightly take. That’s mostly because of some of the changes I’ve made, but since I’ve been looking through these old ledgers, I’m beginning to see the other problem with Jorge’s bookkeeping.
I sigh as I look through the latest entries. Jorge had a bad habit of not marking where the money was going. And there’s also this other strange expense that Omar’s never given me an explanation for. He’s only marked it as ‘Security’. At first, I thought it had something to do with our bouncers, but it’s too much money for that. Roughly ten grand a month. An amount that, up until last month, had gone up from seven grand.
I think Omar and I need to have a talk about whatever this is. I’m sure it’s something reasonable. I mean, maybe the alarm for a place like this is especially high… though,ifthere’s an alarm system here, I’ve never been privy to it.
There’s a knock on my door. “Come in,” I call out.
The door opens and one of the dancers, Candy, peeks her head in. She’s usually got a bright smile on her freckled face to match the blonde ponytails she wears every night. Right now, she looks as pale as paper.
“You’re not busy or anything, are you?” she asks.
“No. Everything okay out there?”
“Everything’s fine in the club,” she responds. “But Omar… you should probably check up on him.”
I tilt my head. “Why? What’s wrong?”
She steps all the way in the room as if she doesn’t want anyone to hear her. “So, I just went up there because he had some…something for me.” I ignore that. Despite his claim, I’ve noticed that sometimes, he does indulge in messing around with the dancers. I don’t like it and I promised myself if I ever caught him, I’d call him out on it.
