Dante had thought up the original idea for what eventually became The Fun House one night when we were out celebrating his release from a short prison stint.
"I'm not going back there," he'd said, shaking his head as he’d pounded a shot. "There's gotta be a better fucking way. I've been thinking about it."
"Oh yeah?"
"These fucking girls just flock to us," he'd said. "And we need to capitalize on that. We've always made money off of whatever we have at our disposal, so why not make money off of our looks?"
"Cheers to that fucking fantastic idea," I'd responded, as we’d thrown back another shot.
"We can make all our dreams come true just by getting these girls to do what we want."
"How do you know?" I'd asked him.
It was a silly question. Dante always ended up being right. And he'd proven it, right there and then.
"Hey Bartender," he'd called out, motioning at the hot blonde behind the bar.
"Yes?" She'd asked, coming over to us and looking interested. "You need another shot?"
"Of course," Dante had said. "But we need something else first."
"What's that?" she'd asked, batting her doe eyes, all innocent like.
"We need to see your tits."
"Oh my God."
She'd blushed. She was a real goody two shoes, for a bartender. We'd been going to that bar for ages and she'd never seemed like the type to flash a guy her boobs. But then again, I guess no guy other than Dante had ever had the balls to ask.
"Come on," I'd chimed in, flashing my famous grin at her. "Just a little bit. Real quick."
I'd picked up really quick on what my role here was going to be. I was the good cop charmer. And Dante was the bad cop hunter.
"Fine," she'd said, and lifted up her shirt for us, revealing perfectly round and perky breasts. She’d even held up her shirt a few seconds longer than necessary and winked at us.
I’d known she was going to do it, but I hadn't counted on how much she'd enjoy it.
She had a big smile on her face, proud of herself.
"There you go," Dante had said, with a shrug. "Wasn't hard."
She'd looked crestfallen, and I knew it was my cue to lift up her spirits. So that maybe one day she'd come lift up her shirt again for us, and a whole lot more than that. On stage. For everyone to see.
"Good job," I'd told her. "Nice tits."
I'd winked back at her, and she'd blushed again.
I’d had no idea why she'd done it. Sure, we’d tipped her well, but no more than normal that night. She’d seemed to be elated just by the thrill of showing off her tits to us.
And that's when I knew that Dante really had stumbled onto a genius plan. My big brother was brilliant.
He'd always had good ideas about ways to make money and keep us afloat. But I could just tell from the look in his eyes— and the smile on the bartender's face after she had done exactly what we'd wanted her to, for no other reason except for the fact that we'd asked her to do it— that this idea was different. It was his greatest idea yet. It might even make us rich.
And he was right. Because plenty of girls after the bartender had done the exact same thing. Now here we are, a couple years down the line, running the show.
Sure, we have our share of problems. Investigators. Threats of criminal charges. But no one rises to power without others wanting to pull them back down. No one is in the spotlight without extra scrutiny.
Dante had built the strip club he'd wanted to build and I'd helped him do it. I owed my brother so much.
So tonight, on his birthday, I stand guard while he's on stage getting lap dances from the hottest girls at The Fun House: the club we’d built together. We employ a slew of bouncers but none of them could be trusted to be informed about tonight.
They're as scandalous as we are, and they would have spread the word. We need tonight to be extra quiet. Nothing needs to get in the way of a birthday for Dante.
That's why when Little Miss Innocent- Looking comes to the door, I have no idea whether to let her in or not.
"Hello?" she says, rather timidly, after I crack open the door a bit for her.
"What are you here for?" I'd asked gruffly, but then I look her up and down and my tone instantly softens.
She has dark brown hair and matching brown eyes. Full breasts but not the fake kind. A perfectly normal sized waist with a curvy ass. Just the way I like them.
She's fucking hot all right. So hot that all I can think about is bending her over and fucking her right here and now. I'm popping a boner right here where I’m sure she can see. How fucking embarrassing.
"I'd like to see about working here," she says.
I give her a skeptical look. While telling my cock to quiet down so that my brain can think.
"Who sent you?" I ask her, suspicious but hoping that she can hurry up and start doing what she came to do. I want to see her naked. I want to be inside her. "How did you find out about us?"
"There was an ad…" she says, holding up a copy of the Local Gazette.
She points to the free classified section in the back, where we continually run an ad looking for fresh meat. I mean, new dancers. I wouldn’t expect a girl like her to be reading that section, let alone applying for it.
But times are tough. It's hard for these girls to get a job out of college, let alone high school. She doesn't look much older than twenty.
And she doesn't look like a normal stripper, the part of my brain that isn't seized with testosterone points out. She looks like some rich preppy girl who's trying to look like a stripper. Or like what she thinks a stripper should look like.
The rational part of my brain is trying to tell me it's not a convincing act. I should listen to that part of my brain. I should ask myself why she's here.
But maybe she's rebelling against Daddy Dearest. Or a clingy boyfriend. Or a boring suburban life. Who am I to judge? I am only a guy who wants in her pants.
And then I remind myself that it's all up to Dante. He's in charge. And he's the man of the day. The birthday boy.
To be fucking honest, he’s always the man of the day. He always makes all the decisions. But it’s better for me that way— safer, and more secure. So I’ll let him make this decision like he does all the rest.
I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that she's here. I just know for sure that Dante will want to get a look at her.
I kind of wish I could keep her all to myself. But he's my big brother who always helped me out, and now the tables have turned. I’ll let him make the final decision, but I know he’ll be glad that I’m bringing her to him. He's the birthday boy and he needs to lay his eyes— and hands— on this hot little number.
So I call his name. And I smile as he gets down off the stage and says, "Marino, this had better be fucking good."
Oh, it will be, Big Brother. Just you wait.