Chapter Nine: Hannah

Butch kept Danny busy—and away from me.

Three days had passed, and though Danny and I exchanged a few words, and lots of hot glances, I didn’t know any more about him than I had when he arrived for training.

He came in at noon each day, cheerful and smiling, relieved Jonell for his lunch break, and then Butch stationed him at the dance floor to guard the girls. He got along with the servers and the dancers. He was pleasant and respectful, and I hadn’t yet seen him make any advances, though he’d had to thwart a few.

I gave him credit for taking me seriously. The other bouncers had accepted him with no problem, which was unusual because often these men vied for territory in a strip club. Yet everyone took Danny in stride. I had to admit he did have a charming personality, a good sense of humor, and handled the job with ease, even with our most determined or rowdy customers.

So why was I disappointed? Every morning I’d bounced down the stairs actually looking forward to work. Not that I didn’t like my job, but it had a sameness to it that often felt stagnant. Lately, though, the dawn seemed to a bit brighter, and despite the heat that my little AC couldn’t quite dispel despite chugging like a champ, I awoke with a bright spirit and some long-forgotten enthusiasm.

I chalked it up to Danny. I liked watching his quick smile, those little winks he sent toward the girls when they vacated the stage, the easy way he chatted with Jonell and the others. I even liked the way he handled the men who’d clearly had two or three too many drinks. He’d put a chummy arm around their shoulders, bring them to the bar to sit quietly for a few minutes, and make sure they had a big glass of water. So many of the other men would have just hustled them to the door and kicked them out for the day, but Danny made sure that, when they left, they managed to walk down the street instead of passing out in front of the building.

I wondered where he’d come from, where he’d been, and how he’d managed to retain so much humanity living the hard life so many of these men had.

All the while Butch came and went throughout the day, casting Danny hard glares of displeasure and sending me stares that made my hackles rise in disgust. He spent most of his time in the back of the club or cruising the neighborhood, taking care of things for Richie.

My brother trusted Butch to hold things together and to make sure that all Richie’s evil little minions scattered through the South Side did their assigned tasks—gathering protection money, distributing drugs, and collecting money from his pimps.

I knew the sorts of things my brother had become involved in over the years, but I watched it all from afar, like a disinterested observer. I saw the activity, but I knew none of the details. It was safer that way.

My brother spent most of his time in his downtown office, where he oversaw several businesses the Silvestri family had owned for decades. Richie had two personas. The day one brought him into contact with some of the most powerful men—legitimate men—in Chicago. The second one, the one that came out after dark, brought him into contact with the most powerful men in the underbelly of Chicago. Richie was determined to be at the top of both food chains.

Butch returned in late afternoon from one of his endless errands in a very dark mood. I idly wondered which minion he’d had to slap down and why, but questions like that wouldn’t do much for my health or my sanity.

I slid a glass of ice water across the bar, and he snatched it up.

“Rough day?” I asked.

I didn’t really care, but I had to try to be pleasant until he did something to upset that. Our days went far better when Butch wasn’t raging and riling up my staff and customers.

“Goddamn, Archie Dee.” Butch gulped the water down and held out the glass for more. I grabbed the soda gun and refilled it.

“What’d he do now?”

“He’s scoring free pussy all over town,” Butch snarled. “That ain’t gonna make Richie happy.”

“Richie gets free pussy all over town,” I pointed out.

Butch rounded on me. “Well, Archie ain’t Richie, now is he?”

I shrugged. “Does it matter?

“It sure as fuck does.” Butch wiped his mouth with a big paw. “I heard from four guys their bitches are giving it away to Archie for bags of weed.”

“Then it’s not free,” I said. “He’s paying them.”

“Goddamn it.” Butch glowered at me. “Are you fuckin’ stupid? The point is the pimps ain’t gettin’ money. The girls are keepin’ that shit.”

“They did the work, didn’t they?”

“Jesus Christ, you’re dumber than a box of rocks.” He leaned over the bar, and his voice rose from grumbling-asshole level to irate-asshole level. “The pussy money goes to the pimp. Got it?”

The volume of his tone caught Danny’s attention, even over the beat of “Thunderstruck.” He narrowed his eyes at Butch and then swung his gaze toward me. I raised my hand a bit to let him know things were cool. It was my signal to bouncers that I had things under control.

“Gee, Butch, I had no idea that’s how any of this worked.” I leaned over the bar until our noses were almost touching. “If Archie is fucking the girls on their own time, paying them in weed, it’s none of your goddamn business.”

He slammed his fist on the bar and yelled, “And where the fuck do you think he’s getting the goddamn weed?” His bald head neon-glowed in the bar lights, sweat dotting his flushed skin. If I were lucky today, Butch would drop dead of a heart attack. I would buy Archie all the pot he could smoke as a thank-you.

Several of my bar customers actually lifted their faces out of their drinks and swung their heads toward Butch. Butch snarled at them, and they went back to their own thoughts.

I tapped my finger against my cheek. “If I had to guess, I’d say he must be getting it from Richie. Richie does give him weed, you know.”

Butch shook his head like an angry bull, spittle flying from his lips. “He’s stealing from my warehouse.”

“Your warehouse?”

“Jesus Christ, Hannah, you know what I mean. Stop fucking with me.”

I wondered how I could raise his blood pressure just a touch more, enough to cause a small stroke. I wiped the droplets of his disgusting spit off my counter, threw that rag into the trash, and gave him a casual glance.

“Are you angry because you think Archie is stealing, or are you angry because Archie is getting pussy and you’re not?”

Butch swiped his arm, and the water glass flew, clashing into a beer mug. The mug and glass both exploded, sending foam and shards of glass over the counter. Several glass fragments hit one of my best customers on the arm.

“Fuck!” Hank lifted his arm and pulled out a chunk of glass. “Jesus, Butch, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

I took Hank’s arm, inspected it, and pulled out several more pieces. Then I grabbed a clean bar rag and pressed it against the wound gently.

Butch had the decency to look embarrassed.

I blotted Hank’s arm with water, giving it several pats, and when I looked up, Danny was standing there.

“Problem?” he asked, glancing between Butch and Hank.

“Get back to your post,” Butch snapped.

“I think I’ll get the first aid kit first,” Danny said.

He disappeared while I continued to clean Hank’s cut. It wasn’t deep, so it didn’t need stitches, but the last thing I needed was for Hank to get an infection.

“Sorry, Hank,” Butch said. “Free drinks the rest of the week.”

“It’s Thursday already,” Hank muttered, giving him a baleful look.

“Free drinks all next week,” Butch said.

“Okay.”

“Hold that there,” I said, pressing the cloth back to the wound. “I’ll get this cleaned up.”

As I grabbed more rags, Butch came around the bar and tried to help me. I didn’t want his bulk taking up my personal space or him breathing my air. I hip-checked him to get him out of my way, and I felt his arm slide around my waist. I shuddered but held my tongue.

“Sorry, Hannah.”

“No, you’re not,” I snapped. “You’re just afraid I’ll tell Richie.”

His hand drifted a bit lower, and I slapped at his arm. It had no effect at all. When I leaned down to get another rag, Butch had the gall, and stupidity, to grab my ass and squeeze. I whirled around and clocked him in the face hard enough for him to see an entire cluster of stars.

All I saw was Danny O’Shea standing at the end of the bar. If looks could kill, Butch would have died a thousand deaths, and I’d have been happy to see each and every one. Danny’s dark eyes blazed with fury, and his hand clenched on the first aid kit so hard his knuckles whitened.

As Butch reeled back from my strike, Danny came forward, whirled Butch around, and slammed his face against the bar. Butch had time for one grunt before Danny did it again, and then he moaned before he slid to the beer-drenched floor mat in a heap.

The music cut off mid-drum beat. On the dance floor, Tiffany slid to the bottom of her pole and stared wide-eyed at Danny. The bouncers and servers stared wide-eyed too. From the other side of the room, I heard the sound of clapping. Jonell was giving Danny a standing ovation, and soon all the customers in the place joined in.

“Fuck me,” Hank said. “That was amazing.”

I stared at the crumpled form and then up at Danny.

“Girls,” I called out, and the four servers on the floor all twisted in my direction. “A drink on the house for everyone.”

I got a round of applause this time. I waved at Spinner, our D.J., to start up the music again. “Bad Medicine” picked up in mid-song, and Tiffany jumped back onto the pole.

“I could have handled it,” I said.

“And you did,” Danny said. “I just finished what you started.”

“Well”—I glanced down again at Butch’s bloody face—“thanks.”

“No problem.” He swept up the first aid kit and handed it to me. “I’ll get a few guys and get him out of your way. Where do you want him?” He gestured for a couple of the bouncers then started to heave Butch up off the floor.

“There’s an old sofa in the store room. Is he breathing?”

“Oh yeah, snoring like a champ. Got some blood of course. I can clean that up for you. Seen my share of blood.” He laughed. “Worn enough of it too.”

Connor and Jack got Butch out from behind the bar and drag-carried him through the door to the hallway.

As Danny turned to follow, I touched his arm. His skin was so warm beneath my hand, so appealing, so unlike most of the people I knew.

“I’ll bring you the kit when I have Hank taped up.”

He nodded.

“Thanks again…Danny.” I couldn’t help it. My voice was laced with hero-worship. I’d had guys try to protect my honor before but not quite as thrilling as what I’d just witnessed, and certainly not against Butch. I glanced toward the doorway. “We might end up paying for that.”

“Worth the cost,” Danny said. With a quick smile, he vanished as fast as he’d appeared. Superhero all the way. I was smitten.

I heaved a sigh and pressed my smile away. I rubbed my ass to get rid of the feel of Butch’s hand. I had a business to run, a wound to tend to, and about thirty free drinks to make. I really hated to give away drinks for free, but it would be worth it to make up for the little altercation. Hank, alone, would spiral me into near bankruptcy next week.

When Spinner began the next song, I couldn’t help myself. I danced behind the bar to Dirty Deeds Done Cheap, wiggling my hips, bobbing my head, and singing along. All in all, this afternoon had been great.