The one I’m in right now has that in spades.
The full tour has left me with a rotten taste in my mouth. It has the usual smell, but it also has the added coat of grimy sleazebag and jizz.
The owner is as questionable as the rules of no extras in the private dance rooms. I was propositioned the moment I sat down at one of the tables next to one of the stages.
Shit, Simon refuses to sit down at the table period. Instead, he stands behind me to one side. I have to laugh at that.
With three tumblers of whiskey in his hand, the owner plops himself down in a chair across from me.
His voice is gravelly from too many years of alcohol and smoking. “What do you think of the club? It’s got some charm, right?”
For an early afternoon shift, it’s surprisingly full of dancers and customers. The location isn’t too bad for where it’s located within the city. Looking around myself, I see it has both blue-collar workers and suits.
I can hear Simon, though, scoff loudly over the pounding music. “If you like contracting fifteen types of diseases. I can feel them climbing on me just standing here.”
He has the rights to it, though, the place is filthy. I can’t imagine what it would look when they turn on all the lights.
“What do you want for it outright?”
Charles, the owner, studies me for a long moment. “One point two million.”
Shaking my head at him, I lean forward and say, “Not a chance. I know about your debts with the Morelli family. Five hundred and fifty, and I clear all debts with them.”
His cheeks puff out for a moment before saying, “One million, and any lower is an insult.”
Shaking my head, I stand up from the chair. “Have a good night.”
“Lucifer, wait. Seven hundred fifty thousand.”
Nodding my head, I say “After a building inspection goes through, and I have one of my men check over your books with the actual reported earnings. I don’t want a single surprise.”
Nodding his head, he says, “Deal.”
“You won’t be staying on in any capacity.”
Rolling his eyes, he says, “What, ya don’t trust me?”
“Fuck no.”
Walking out of the building and into the sun, I grin. I have been watching the place for the last couple months. As soon as I remove the crackhead dancers and get a few good ones in, that place is going to be an earner. Its location is just about perfect.
All I need to do is to take a good scrub brush to it.
“Simon, get the deal written up and finished. I want it taken over as soon as possible.”
“You’re really going to buy that STD shit hole from hell?”
“Yeah, it’s going to be an earner.”
“Only if you burn it to the ground and claim it for insurance.”
“Want to make a bet on it?”
Sighing loudly as he climbs in the front seat, he says, “No, Lucifer.”
Laughing, I look at Andrew. “Care to make a wager, Andrew?”
He just shakes his head. “No, thank you, sir. I prefer to actually keep my money.”
They know me only too well. I know what it takes to make a business like that thrive and it won’t be much. A change of management, new dancers who aren’t all coked up, clean the place from top to bottom and a bit of word of mouth. We will be pulling in a decent income in months.
Andrew pulls us into the compound as the moving truck for Lilith pulls out of the gate.
Good. I’d prefer not to deal with strangers inside my home any longer than I must. Especially now that I have to have the whole place swept for bugs and surveillance equipment.
I wouldn’t have made it this far in life if I slacked on security. Security, in fact, is my top investment.
Andrew drives me to the front door where he drops me off.
It’s been a long night and today was mildly stressful with the whole Mickey situation. Not to mention all the other odds and ends I have to see to with the daily business.
Opening the front door, I pause in confusion as Paul comes barreling down the stairs with a little girl screeching behind him. She is stomping down each stair as she holds up a small teddy bear in one hand and a pink brush in the other.
Coming to an instant halt in front of me, Paul says, “Boss… This isn’t… well… she’s trying to make me do another tea party.”
Looking at him, I don’t think I comprehend the words that come out of his mouth until I look down at his hands.
Paul looks like most of the men I surround myself with in size and build—which is large and capable of anything thrown at him.
But when I look at his bright pink fingernails, I instantly ask, “What the fuck happened to your fingers?”