Chapter Ten: Danny
I’d been a good little bouncer all week. Despite Butch’s insistence that I needed to train for a week or so, he learned after the first day I wasn’t just a dumb ex-jock with muscles. I stuck to my post, kept my eyes away from the girls, and though he wanted me to throw deadbeats out on their asses, I found that the simple approach worked best. If you pointed out they were halfway out the door, they rallied and became model bar flies. When Butch saw I could actually handle remedial bouncing, he pretty much left me alone and disappeared from time to time.
Where he went I’d yet to discover, but I would.
I’d noticed a couple of things in that dark bar under the neon glow. First, Hannah was beautiful framed in neon. Second, a big monkey could do my job, and the biggest monkey in the place was Butch. Scratch that. It gave monkeys a bad name.
Butch was a bad man. No question about that. He wasn’t like some of the other men I worked with at Pussy Whipped. They were all doing their jobs, biding their time each day until they could get back to the parts of their lives that mattered. To Butch, this was the part of his life that mattered. Maybe the only part. Except Hannah.
I’d been waiting to see him put the moves on Hannah. I knew it was coming, could smell it even above the stink of the beer-soaked wood and see it through the haze of the pot smoke. The lust poured off of him in waves. His eyes never left her tits or her ass. His nostrils flared every time she walked past and he got a whiff of her perfume—at least I hoped it was her perfume and not her pussy. I rarely got close enough to smell anything about her, but not for lack of trying. Butch, however, stayed close, like a tick on a boar’s ass.
So far, he’d been a good little monkey all week, but like a hungry lion waiting at the feed slot, he’d been prowling around the cage just waiting for an opportunity. Hannah gave him a wide berth, at least as wide as she could when he sometimes helped himself to things behind the bar. As far as I knew, though, he hadn’t helped himself to Hannah.
I’d taken advantage of plenty of opportunities over the years—Charity came to mind—but I’d never foisted myself on an unwilling or uninterested woman. Granted, in my experience, those were hard to find. Women followed me around like I was the Pussy Piped Piper, and that was good for me. I got plenty of pussy, even more blowjobs, and sometimes got to indulge in a three-way when two women insisted they both needed a spin on the old cock rocket. Always happy to oblige a pretty woman, or even an okay one, I gave them a good time and then went out and played the piper again. My life was an endless series of pussy and ass and tits.
But that did not make me a bad man. It made me horny and accommodating. I was nothing if not willing to please—and be pleased. Butch was not that kind of man.
After I’d decked him, I checked on him a couple of times, just to be sure I hadn’t knocked him into next Tuesday and left him for dead, but each time I found him still breathing. The next time he touched my girl he might not be.
I probably had broken his nose, but that bulb of a nose had been broken more times than I could count so his pretty face wouldn’t be more messed up. He would sport some bruises, but I didn’t find any teeth on the moldy old couch so I figured he should count himself lucky.
Me, I wasn’t sure if I’d be lucky or not. I didn’t know how Richie would get his retribution or if he would even try. Butch might have been his right-hand man, and I wasn’t sure how he viewed Butch’s unwelcomed forays into Hannah’s territory, but I had a feeling Richie might side with his sister on this one. Maybe I’d get a bonus. Of course, the only bonus I really wanted was a chance to slide into Hannah’s pussy, and that bonus would be on her to give out. I’d wait like a good boy anticipating my dessert after a dinner of liver.
Hannah made sure to wave goodbye to me when she left at six. The night bartender had arrived, and though Steve and I didn’t say much to each other, we worked well together for the remainder of my shift. Steve was a hardcore barkeep. Everything in the place changed at six from the caliber of dancer to the type of customers to the overall atmosphere.
Hannah lorded over her domain like a benevolent dictator, and the majority of her “girls”—both servers and dancers—were pretty, nice, and relatively decent, just trying to make a living. Steve, with his Mohawk and piercings and tattoo-covered face, ran the place like a loose cannon. I never knew what to expect. It was rowdy, noisier, and a bit more dangerous—to both the working girls and the bouncers.
The bouncers were more hardcore and built like the proverbial brick shithouse, and the girls looked like they’d been around the block a couple dozen times. Although they were all stacked with double DDs and a couple of higher alphabet letters and their pussies drew men like flies to manure, these girls had that vacant look of a well-used whore. They danced, and did it well, but I sensed somewhere inside they’d lost whoever they once had been. I felt sorry for them, but I couldn’t save the world.
Things started revving up around seven, and when the clock hit nine o’clock, the party was getting started. Drugs made an appearance, girls disappeared through the black curtains behind the stage, and neighborhood gangbangers strolled through the place and headed down the hallway. I never saw much because the shift bouncers herded me out as soon as they pushed their way through the front door. I never had to worry about forced overtime. I was still considered day shift, and day shift had to go when nighttime rolled around.
Butch lumbered out of the storage room around six thirty that night, looking like he’d gone a couple of rounds with Ali back in his prime. I smiled to see my handiwork because it looked much more devastating under the flashing lights. I hoped the asshole had a wicked headache. He went behind the bar, poured himself a highball glass full of Wild Turkey, and slumped down on a stool. Occasionally I felt his glare burning a hole through the back of my head, but I kept my gaze moving from the pool of light on the stage and around the perimeter like a good little soldier.
Richie made an appearance around nine thirty, and his first glance at Butch had him signaling toward the back. Butch peeled himself off the barstool, blinked his bleary eyes, and followed his boss. When no one called me back after twenty minutes or so, I figured I was in the clear.
Boy was I wrong.
The boom came down at five after ten when I stepped out into the muggy night air. A couple of guys were hanging outside smoking, and I pushed through the haze, heading toward my car. I’d gotten about two doors down when I heard my name being called. The smart thing would have been to keep going, and usually I do the smart thing. For some reason, I turned around.
Richie stood in front of the door to Pussy Whipped, dressed in a gray pinstripe suit that probably cost more than three of my mortgage payments. Butch, I was delighted to see, had to hold the building up with his gargantuan bulk. Next time maybe he’d think twice about touching an ass that didn’t belong to him.
I sauntered back to accept my punishment, or maybe I’d luck out and get a reward. I’d wanted to be on Richie’s radar, though I’d never thought it would take me stepping in like a white knight to get it.
Even in the heat, Richie managed to look cool. We stood under the glow of the Pussy Whipped sign. It was a blue whip, and every time the neon shifted, the whip seemed to strike and a crack would sound into the night air, along with a burst of red sparks. I actually thought the sign was pretty cool. It was certainly classy for this neighborhood, where most of the signs either advertised beer or had been scrawled in Sharpie and propped in the window. Some of the storeowners in the neighborhood should have pooled their money and sprung for a proofreader.
Richie gestured to the bruises on Butch’s face, a nice kaleidoscope of color under the flickering sign. “You do this?”
“Yep.” I gave Butch a stare-down. Butch stared back through blood-shot eyes. Not sure if that was my handiwork or if he’d had a bit too many highball glasses of booze. “And I’ll do it again if he doesn’t keep his giant shovels to himself.”
“That could be a problem,” Richie said.
I sent him a questioning look. “Why? My job is to keep the hands off the girls. All hands. All girls.”
“No, not all girls. Just the servers and the dancers,” Richie said. “I hired you to be a fucking bouncer, not a champion for workplace harassment.”
I opened my mouth, but Richie snapped his fingers together like a small clamp, so I shut my trap. I didn’t want to be fired for pissing him off personally.
“Hannah takes care of herself.” Richie adjusted his silk tie. “If she won’t—or can’t—she’ll take it up with me, and I’ll handle it.”
“Then handle it,” I snarled. “His prints are all over her ass. And I’ll bet it’s not the first time.”
“This is an employee issue,” Richie said. “How I handle it is none of your concern. Got that?”
That cool veneer had started to crack a bit. I sensed a heat inside of Richie ready to boil to the surface. That small dot of sweat on his forehead indicated something about this situation had gotten to him, maybe for the first time. I could have made an educated guess and said Butch had done this dozens of times—with impunity. What the hell went on between these two, and what did it have to do with Hannah? Or me?
“I got it,” I said, my gaze drifting to Butch, “but I don’t like it.”
“My level of interest concerning what you care about wouldn’t fill your pencil cock. You’ll do your job, you’ll keep your eyes away from the bar, and you’ll do what you’re asked to do. Anything beyond that is outside your jurisdiction. Understood?”
I gave a sharp nod, but Richie wasn’t finished.
“Hannah is a Silvestri. I don’t give a fuck how much you want in her pants or even if she wants into yours.” He pressed his face so close to mine I smelled the peppermint on his breath as he enunciated each word. “It’s never going to happen.”
“Shouldn’t that be up to Hannah?” Sometimes I couldn’t stop myself. Words just fell out of my mouth when personal shit flew.
Richie laughed, the kind of laugh that would make anyone hearing it want to crawl into a hole, anyone but me.
“Hannah’s future is mapped out, and you, I’m sorry to say, are not anywhere on that map.”
Me, I never know when to quit. I needed to push this cocksucker. I needed him to push me. All in all, this evening was working out to my advantage. Hannah seemed to be my way in because, now that I’d shown a bit of interest in his sister, Richie would make sure that never happened.
I rocked back on my heels. “Does Hannah know about this map you’ve drawn out for her? Maybe I should tell her that her future is already pre-ordained.” I shook my head and murmured, “She probably isn’t going to be happy.”
“Shut up,” Butch growled.
Then it hit me. I wasn’t getting a reward, but someone thought he’d be handed one eventually. If Hannah had any idea what these two planned, she’d puke out her guts and her lungs and any other organ she could heave out.
“I see,” I said quietly.
“You don’t see shit,” Butch said, pushing himself away from the building. He took a step toward me, and Richie put his arm out, stopping him in his path.
“What exactly do you see, Mr. O’Shea?” Richie asked curiously.
“For starters, I see a big baboon who waits for any scrap you’ll hurl in his direction.”
Butch lunged, but once again, Richie held him back with ease. A mere touch of this man’s hand could bring Butch to heel.
“I also see a man with power…who might have made promises. Is that true, Butch? Did he make you promises?” When Richie just stared at me, I decided no one was going to join in, so I just kept going. “Easy to keep a dog on a leash, doing your bidding, when you have a big juicy bone waiting at the end of the day. You’re waiting, aren’t you, Butch? Waiting for that day when a pretty little bartender just falls into your lap and becomes yours?”
“I am going to cut off your cock,” Butch said.
I shrugged. “I think Hannah might have something to say about that. She doesn’t seem the kind of woman who just takes orders about who gets to dip his wick into her honey. I think Hannah has…standards.”
“You’re a dead man,” Butch said.
“He’s definitely an interesting one,” Richie said. That anger still simmered beneath the surface—probably always did—but I’d caught Richie’s attention now. I was more than just an out-of-work drifter trying to get to the next town. “I think you and I should have a sit-down, O’Shea. Maybe you have too much talent to be stuck in Hannah’s little day camp.”
The way he said made me want to hang a fist right into his gut and just pound away until his guts poured out of his ass. But that wouldn’t get me into the inner circle, which is exactly where I needed to be.
“Am I right?” Richie asked. “Are you so bored you have to worry about a couple of stray grabs here and there? So tightly wound you feel the need to pound the face of my most stalwart soldier against my bar?”
I shrugged.
“I like your style, O’Shea. I’m not happy with your choice of punching bags, but we’ll let that slide for the time being.”
“Like hell we will,” Butch growled.
“I said,” Richie ground out, “we’ll let that slide for the time being.”
I had him right where I wanted him, but my time had run out.
Richie drew in a breath and huffed it out. “I have business to attend to.”
I followed his gaze to a couple of low-life scum coming around the corner. I recognized them. I’d studied this section of town and all its denizens for weeks before I hooked up with Archie Dee. These two were dealers who handled distribution a few neighborhoods over, not nickel and dime crap, but higher volumes. I doubted Richie had drugs on the premises, but deals were definitely going down. I needed on this shift.
The dealers pushed open the door to the club and vanished, leaving behind a wave of pulsing rhythm.
“So, Richie, about my shift.” I’d opened the door. All he had to do was walk through.
“Finish up tomorrow on days. Next week, show up at eight. Steve will get you set up and show you the ropes.”
“Sure you’re up for it?” Butch asked, narrowing his eyes.
“I took your ass down for the count, didn’t I?”
He didn’t move, but his fists clenched. So score one for me.
“The pissing contest ends here,” Richie said. “Need I say more?”
“Nope. Got it,” I said.
“Butch?” Richie kept his eyes on me.
“Got it.”
“Get out of my face, O’Shea. Don’t make me regret this.”
I turned and headed to my car.