It was snuggled between a construction site and a massage parlor. The gaudy, fuchsia paint on the siding gave the place away.
A beefy man with a cigarette constantly burning between his lips guarded the door.
Ducking my chin, I palmed the guy a twenty dollar bill and kept walking. Years ago, I'd been a bouncer for a place not much prettier than this. I knew the drill. This man didn't care who I was or what I did, as long as I paid the price of admission.
Then he'd forget about me instantly.
It was dark inside, too dark for my sunglasses. In a quick motion I tucked them in my pocket. They weren't needed; in such awful lighting, my face would be a blur.
Brass poles stuck out of a battered stage. The girls who circled them did nothing beyond stretch, lean, and grind lazily across the metal surfaces.
Sitting at the tip-rail, I fed out some dollar bills to appear normal, bought a drink I never finished. I noted a few things: an exit that led into the back alley where people went to smoke, the second bouncer who hovered by the dance booths, and that, for all the patrons sitting around, few were spending any money.
It took me spying a woman sliding someone her card to make it clear; most of the girls weren't just dancers. Times were tough, prostitution was a tempting path. They probably utilized the massage parlor next door.
This place was so similar to my old club that it was unsettling.
I stood up, sliding out the exit door. Back there in the alley, it was grimy and poorly lit. No bouncers reigned here, just one girl with a cigarette between two long, neon pink painted nails.
She gave me a quick look, smoke fleeing her lips. The bottom one was bruised. “Looking for a special girl?” she purred.
Daisy, I thought helplessly. She reminds me of Daisy. I didn't want to think about the past, especially not something as depressing as the fate of a poor dancer I'd once known.
My smile was shallow. “No thanks. Have a good night.”
With a bored shrug, she turned away, engaged in her tobacco.
Heading back inside, I settled on a bar stool and simply... waited. I was early, I wanted to be able to see the man who was coming to 'sell' cocaine to me.
Ordering my second beer, I twisted it in my hands. The condensation left a ring on the bar. I hadn't taken a single sip before he entered.
Young. Jeez, way too young.
Hollow circles under pinprick eyes, skin the color of dishwater. He looked like he hadn't eaten well in days—or ever.
I hadn't really suspected an undercover cop would meet me, but it was always a risk. Now, seeing this kid's exhausted, lifeless face... I wasn't concerned about that. A face like his didn't happen accidentally. No one could fake this brand of desperation.
He stood by the door, hands deep in his ratty hooded sweater. Looking left, then right, then left again, he finally settled on watching the stage. He didn't have the patience to pretend he was here for the girls, though.
There were three other men in the club, two of them getting dances and one sitting across from me. The scraggly kid moved closer, perching on a stool and tapping his shoe on the floor. In our anonymous online chats, we'd agreed to meet at the bar.
When he glanced at me, I feigned a smile. That had him narrowing his eyes and looking away, fast.
Turning towards the other man, the kid folded his hands. Not so subtle, he drummed his fingers. He clearly thought this was the guy he was supposed to meet.
Smoothly, my seller leaned his way. He whispered, “Yo, man. You buyin'?”
Instantly, the thick fellow leaned away from the kid. Wrinkling his forehead, he laughed uneasily and hopped off the chair. “Not me. Sorry.” Escaping, he headed towards the stage.
The young guy made a fist, cursing under his breath. He was anxious now, and I imagined he thought his buyer hadn't shown, or had never planned to.
I bent towards him and flashed a knowing grin. I hoped it made me look both slimy, and sympathetic. “Your guy didn't come either, huh?”
“What?” Sitting so straight I heard his back crack, the kid stared at me.
“Sorry, I overhead you.” Lifting my beer, I pretended to take a deep swig. “I was supposed to sell to someone tonight, too. Nine on the dot, he said.”
His shoulders slumped, bitterness in his voice. “Fuck. Yeah, that's right. Son of a bitch, you think we got hit by the same flake?”
Shrugging, I put my bottle back down. “Seems that way. What luck, right?”
Groaning, he grabbed his hood and pulled it over his eyes. “Dammit dammit fucking—why do people gotta do that?” Peeking my way, he let the hood go. “Why waste our time?”
I shook my head. “World is fucked up. Used to be you could buy from your dealer and sell to whoever, and people would swarm at the chance to get a hit.”
His frown softened. “Yeah man, that's right. It's costing me more and I'm not fucking selling more.”
I chose my next words carefully. “Guy I used to buy stock from straight up vanished. Good shit, too. Haven't seen him in forever,” I chuckled sourly.