Before Cass, I could pretend that these strippers I kept safe might actually have wanted a sliced up, tattered old warhorse like me. The trouble is, once you know you’re telling yourself a lie, it stops working. My odometer was going to click over to forty-four in October, I guess it was time I started telling the truth, if only to myself.
I was heading back in when I noticed a red Porsche down in the lot. Big buck rides almost never park in the back. We don’t valet, we don’t patrol, like the sign says, PARK AT YOUR OWN RISK. The street in front of the club is better lit and there’s enough traffic to keep it reasonably safe. Staring hard through the sunroof I could make out the driver. His hands were laced into a woman’s platinum blond hair. He roughly forced her head down onto his lap.
I moved down the stairs with as much stealth as my building rage would allow. Crossing the parking lot I could see in the Porsche’s rear window. Driver’s face was caught in the mirror, contorting with a mixture of anger and pleasure. He had a two hundred dollar haircut, the kind meant to look like he just crawled out of bed, and one of those stupid soul patches growing under his lower lip. Getting within a few feet, I could hear his choked muttering: “…right bitch, suck hard bitch…”
When I ripped the door open the driver’s face snapped around. But instead of fear, he looked indignant. “Dude — what the fuck?” He released his grip on the platinum hair and the bobbing head shot up off his lap.
“Moses?”
“Marina.” She was a new Russian dancer. I motioned with my head for her to get out.
“What the fuck, dude, she’s busy, take a number.”
Grabbing a fistful of his suede sports coat I dragged the driver out. His legs got tangled under the dash. I yanked hard. The leather tore. He flopped onto the pavement fighting to get his legs working. Whatever he was screaming I couldn’t hear it over the blood rushing in my ears.
My fist caught him under the chin, lifting him up and bouncing him off the hood of his Porsche. I was about to smash him again -
“Moses! No, stop!” Marina was behind me, screaming. I let go. He was a kid, maybe twenty. Blood smeared his gums and teeth.
“You bwoke my fucking tooth.” The swelling gave him a lisp. “My dad ith tho going to thue your ath.”
Marina pushed past me. “Baby, you are ok, yes? So brave.” She was cooing in the little fucker’s face.
“You know him?” I asked. Stupid question, sure, but I was trying to play catch up while my pulse rocked adrenaline into my tiny brain.
“Fuck yeth, she knowth me. I just paid her fifty to polith my knob.” Standing up, he zipped his pants closed.
“You paid her for sex?”
“Yeth, you fucking deaf? — one of you owth me fifty buckth or a blow job. Not to mention a god damn tooth.”
“Sex for hire is illegal, pal, I don’t think you want to push it,” I said over my shoulder as I walked away. I knew if I looked at him I might explode. It had been years since I had been in the joint and I didn’t plan on returning, not over a creep like this.
“Tell that to your hot little thlut there, thee’th the one who offered it. I jutht went along for the ride.”
“You really need to stop talking,” I said soft. Still turned with my back to him, I stopped walking. I felt my muscles tensing, they knew a dogfight was coming, even if my brain was in denial.
“Look ath wipe, your bitch took my-” I felt his hand grabbing my upper arm. His touch unleashed me, like a snapping high-tension spring I spun around. If he had more to say, I’ll never know; my fist shoved his words back down his throat. The blow rocked his jaw two inches out of alignment and sent a fine spray of pink mist gracing the night air.
He was fit and gym tough, I’ll give him that. He took it and threw one of his own. I ducked to the left and took his fist on the side of my head. I could hear bones in his hand snapping against my skull. Grabbing him by the ears I slammed my thick brow down. His nose went with a thick wet crunch. Blood streamed down his face. I gave him two quick shots to the gut, he doubled over gasping for air and spewing bile and blood. I was in full tilt berserker mode. No mercy asked, none given.
I swung my arm back, preparing to ruin his pretty boy face. A powerful hand grabbed my arm and held me back.
“It’s done, Moses.” Uncle Manny held my arm, staring me down. He was a good foot and a half shorter than me and fifty pounds lighter, but I’d never think of taking him on. I relaxed my muscles and formed a smile. As soon as Manny released his grip, I spun and laid my boot to the punk’s chest. I heard the crack of ribs and the squeal of deep hurt.
“Moses!”
“Fine, fuck him.”
The punk in the suit was curled up on the ground like a puking fetus. Uncle Manny turned to his nephew. “Turaj! Clean this up.”
“But Uncle, Moses did-”
“Get him in his car and off my lot.”
Turaj gave me what he hoped was a withering glance and moved over to follow his uncle’s orders.
Marina stood watching us, her eyes wide with fear. She was a frozen rabbit I was the headlights on the highway. I tried to say something to her but only a low rasp came out.
Uncle Manny walked me up the stairs. He was the club’s owner and one of the few older men in the world who actually trusted and respected me. He was a tough man who escaped Iran in the middle of the revolution. He watched his brother die in a firefight at the border, but against all odds, he made it to America and raised his children soft and comfortable. Insuring they would never understand him. Not the way I would.
“Sit the fuck down, you piece of shit.” Through the walls of his office the dance music thumped.
“Manny, I can-”
“You can shut the fuck up. That boy sues me? I lose my club? Who pays for my kids’ college? You?”
“Fuck this, Manny.”
“Sit down.” I did.
“I was doing my job.”
“I pay you to hurt my patrons?”
“Marina was giving him a blow job.”
“These things happen. Moses, think… we sell the pretense of sex, sometimes it crosses the line. Do we like that? No, but it is the cost of doing business.”
We always had a zero tolerance rule about freelancing. Get caught with that crap not only will Vice take your license, they’d put someone in the can.
“We can’t let that shit pass.”
“Calm down. You look ready to explode. You are a hand grenade and the pin is lost.”
“I’m cool.”
“You don’t look cool. When was the last time you got laid?”
“What?”
“When, was the last time, you got laid?”
“That’s none of your business, Manny.”
“Bullshit answer. Weeks? No? Months?”
“It has been a while, ok?”
“That’s no good. Keep that up and you will kill one of my customers.”
“He came at me, I was defending…” Even I didn’t believe it.
“You, me, we can stop these boys with one word, a hard look. It’s bad business, what you did.”
“I’m sorry, Manny… He just, I don’t know…”
“No, you don’t know. I’d rather have blow jobs than killing in my parking lot.” From out of his safe he took a small wad of bills and passed them across the table.
“What’s this?”
“Two weeks’ pay.”
“Firing me?”
“For now.”
