Fife considered his response for a moment. “It amazes me how naive some men can be. I didn’t think you were one of them, considering your nighttime activities. But let me educate you on how this world works.
“A man like myself provides the needed goods to make the businesses of men like yourself run. Without my goods, no one would attend your lovely little club. Well . . . maybe to engage in some degenerate fucking. That would make you nothing more than a madam, a den mother to whores. You strike me as the kind of man who’s a little too well-bred for that.” He paused.
Dash held his breath.
Fife continued. “As in any industry, there are competitors. Others who provide the same goods—inferior goods, I must add—and they act aggressively to compete. You understand economics, don’t you?”
Dash nodded, never taking his eyes off the gangster’s face. His knees began to stiffen, but Dash refused to adjust his position.
If I had to, could I make a run for it?
Probably not. He wasn’t poised for flight.
But the windows are open. People can see in. Surely, he wouldn’t kill me in broad daylight.
Yet how many stories had he read where gangsters had done exactly that? Too many to mention.
Fife’s pleasing voice said, “I see you are a quiet student. I hope that means you’re listening.” He smiled, then just as quick as it formed, the smile uncurled itself and settled back into a flat line. “Economics, to be uncouth about it, is a form of war. Everyone is trying to be on the positive side of scarcity. That’s what war really is, by the way. It’s not fighting injustice or defeating an evil enemy, like a warlord Kaiser. It is, simply put, the acquisition of limited resources. Land. Gold. People—especially people. All are elements to be used in the creation of more wealth and more power for those in charge. The goal is to be the leader everyone fears so no one will come after you and take what you’ve killed to get.”
The gangster began to adjust the cuffs of his sleeves.
“The Romans were quite effective in this regard. The slightest infraction, however minor, was met with brute force. It was said that a Roman could walk down any street without fear of harassment because of the unspoken, but always executed, threat of the Empire.”
The cuffs now fixed, Fife smoothed out his sleeves, running his hand from shoulder to wrist and back again.
“My competitors have never tried to come after me. Nor have they ever tried to steal a club that’s under my control. A free agent, like yourself, is vulnerable to their attack. You see, while you’re paying that sack of lard of a policeman to protect yourself and your employees from jail, you’ve left yourself wide open for someone to waltz in and take your club by force. And they. Will. Do that.”
Dash flinched at the sudden surge in intensity.
He knows about us bribing Cullen McElroy, just like he knew about the delivery truck we use. How long has he been watching us?
Sleeve inspection complete, Fife then adjusted his collar. “I am a fair and reasonable man, Mr. Parker. I do business; I don’t do anarchy. Some of the others in this city?” He shrugged. “They have bullets and liquor and no idea what to do with either. You can be under their control; in which case you will find yourself in the middle of endless turf wars. You’ve read the papers. You’ve seen the damage they cause on a regular basis. God forbid an innocent bystander be hurt by that. You. Your customers. Your doorman. The Irish bartender who loves you so thoroughly.”
Dash’s face turned red.
The gangster smiled. “Oh yes, my associate has been following you for quite some time. You really should get better shades in your window. But then, I don’t think my associate would’ve enjoyed the view half as much.”
Dash tried to speak. “Mr. Fife—“
Fife raised his hand to cut him off. “I don’t care what you do with your cock. Or what the Irishman does with his, for that matter. We all have our appetites to satisfy. Unfortunately, my competitors are not so understanding. They’ll want to own your club, but they’ll have disdain for the clientele to which you cater. Which begs the question, how much will they protect you from the police? From the Feds? From their own rivals? They may even sell you out to the highest bidder. Law enforcement, tabloids, or both.”
Dash replied, “I can re-read your contract again, if you’d like. I still want to see the goods you would be providing my business.” He refused to be completely intimidated, dammit, even if it was foolish to hold onto any crumbs of pride.
The gangster paused for so long, Dash thought he had crossed the line. Again.
And this time, I won’t survive it.
Fife’s expression changed to one of admiration. “I can respect that. It will be arranged. Just remember this. Whomever you make the deal with, always consider if that agreement will keep you on your knees”—he lowered his hand, causing Dash to flinch. The hand grasped Dash’s own and pulled him up from the floor—“or let you stand. I let people be on their feet.”
Dash now stood face-to-face with this man, practically toe-to-toe. That smirk again. That damnable smirk.
Then, without warning, the gangster cupped Dash’s face with both hands and gave him a long, gentle, wet kiss. The lips were surprisingly tender and deft, inspiring Dash’s own mouth to naturally respond.
When Fife pulled back, he whispered, “I know you’ve wanted to do that for quite some time now.”
He winked before turning away to collect his coat, hat, and cane. Once he was put back together, he strolled to the shop door and opened it, letting in the hellfire of the August heat.
Full voiced, he said, “I’ll be in touch.”
