He took pride in his success. He considered himself an example of evolution in action. What Arnie Buckler had was the kind of low cunning and determination that got you places, despite all his disadvantages. Look at him now – manager of Clown Town, a Las Vegas resort and casino. All right, it was pretty much the worst one, and overdue a date with a wrecking ball, but under his guidance it made money.
All those Ivy Leaguers and wheeler-dealers running the other casinos – they had to invite him to the meetings. They had to accept him as an equal. He could tell they hated doing it, and that made it all the sweeter. Arnie got off on people’s inability to hide how distasteful they found having to deal with him. Left with no other option, he fully embraced his own awfulness and wore it as a badge of honour.
This was why Cherise was one of his three favourite dancers. She did the necessary, but he loved looking up and seeing that look of revulsion in her eyes. She couldn’t fake it with him, like she did with other customers, and he didn’t want her to. Her loathing was a massive turn-on.
It was coming up to his favourite part where Cherise would bend over, pert ass in the air and upside down. He’d be able to see the disgust on her face as she looked back at him from between her own legs. Just before she could get to it, though, Freddie Draper slid into the booth and extended a hand to her.
“Thank you, sweetheart. You’re done.”
Arnie crossed his legs. “Freddie, Paesano. Kemosabe.”
Cherise put her hands on her hips. “He hasn’t paid yet.”
Freddie pulled a money clip out of his pocket and snapped off a crisp hundred-dollar bill.
Her eyes lit up. “Do you want—”
“No. We’re good.” He looked down at Arnie. “I’d imagine you want to go clean yourself off.”
Cherise said something Arnie didn’t catch and headed back towards the changing rooms.
“Freddie, bubala, what gives? You finally decided to come out on the town with the Buckler Boy? I’ll show you the time of your life.”
Freddie sat down. “No, Arnie. I … No. Not in a million years.”
He picked up the bottle of Champagne from the ice-bucket and gulped a couple of mouthfuls.
Arnie was concerned. Freddie Draper was a cool cat. This was very unlike him. “Is everything OK?”
Freddie tossed the empty bottle back in the bucket. “No, Arnie, it isn’t. It is very far from OK. I don’t know how, but she’s in. Do you understand? She has got in. She has infiltrated the whole damn thing.”
“OK,” said Arnie, feeling increasingly alarmed. “Whatever it is, we’ll work it out.”
“Arnie, Arnie, Arnie,” said Freddie, running his hands through his hair. “I trust you not to be trustworthy. That is very much the basis of our relationship. Now, all the money you’ve taken in from the conference. Where is it?”
“Don’t worry, it’s going straight to the bank.”
“No, it isn’t. Can’t trust banks. I want it in cash. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? I can’t do that.”
“You can and you will.”
“Freddie, muchacho, relax.”
Freddie leaned in and wrinkled his nose at the same time. “Don’t tell me to relax, Arnie. Tell me you have my money.”
“I’ve got some of it. I can cancel the cash pick-up tomorrow.”
“Do it.”
“OK, but how about you tell me about this woman and we—”
Arnie was interrupted by Freddie grabbing his most sensitive of areas. Arnie liked the Pussycat’s Parade for its pretty lax interpretation of the no-touching rule. Still, what Freddie was doing was breaking even that.
“What woman?” hissed Freddie. “Who mentioned a woman?”
When Arnie spoke next, it was in a higher register and he chose his words extremely carefully. “You mentioned a woman, Freddie. You said, ‘She has infiltrated the whole thing.’”
Arnie could see Freddie think about this, and after a moment he slumped back into the booth and released his grip on Arnie’s testicles.
“I did, didn’t I?” He took a deep breath before adding, “Sorry.”
Arnie took a moment to gather himself and move some things around. He caught sight of Pat, the bouncer, looking over at him, but he waved him away. Arnie cleared his throat. “Do you want to tell me what is going on?”
“No. Just get my money. Tomorrow – 10am.”
Again, Arnie chose his words carefully. “I’ll do everything in my power.”
Freddie nodded. “And Arnie, don’t trust anyone.”
Arnie tried to laugh. “I never do.”
Freddie looked around the room, as if suddenly worried he was being watched.
“Freddie,” said Arnie. “If you don’t mind me saying, you seem to be wound a little tight.”
“I am.”
“OK, hear me out. What you need is to relax. I know another place – not as classy as this, but … You. Me. Big pile of blow. Couple of girls. How about we have ourselves some good times?”
Freddie reached across and put an amicable hand on Arnie’s shoulder. “Arnie, I mean this from the bottom of my heart. If I ever agree to do that with you, promise you’ll take a shotgun and blow my brains out.”
“OK, well …”
Freddie stood up. “Tomorrow – 10am. I want my money. Don’t let me down.”
“Sure,” said Arnie. “And we’ll call that a rain check on the …”
Freddie turned and left.
Arnie watched him go and then picked up the bucket of melting ice. He placed it gently – oh so gently – in his
