by Glaze, JH
Nearby there was cacophony of rap music streaming from quite a few cell phone speakers. She pulled one of her résumés from the folder she was carrying and studied it looking for anything she might improve on. All of a sudden some guy started yelling something she couldn’t understand. He seemed to be speaking English because every couple of words made sense, but she just couldn’t make out the rest.
She was startled but she couldn’t assess whether it was a threatening situation or not. She looked around but no one else appeared to think anything unusual was going on, and most of the people who rode the train on a regular basis would know if any shit were about to hit the fan. Wouldn’t they?
Emily convinced herself to relax a bit and she strained to hear what he was saying. “It will all end in a flash of blazing glory, the Lord will come and take me and all of his believers, and the rest of you will be left to be eaten by the monsters, your bones crunching in the jaws of hell beasts, then you will know that I am not crazy, yes crazy like a fox is crazy…” he took a breath, “yes…when they surround you in your white pants country club, drinking your drinks and playing pool and ping-pong, the end will fall on you like graffiti from the spray can. It will!” He stopped to wipe the spit from his beard.
Sighing with relief when she saw they were pulling into her station, she jumped up and moved to the door as it slowed to a stop. Two steps out of the car and moving toward the stairs, she could hear the tirade continue behind her as the doors slid shut.
She exited the station at street level and she closed her eyes and tilted her head skyward letting the brightly shining sun warm her face. It was a great day to be alive, and she was planning to enjoy the rest of it just as soon as she got these other two interviews out of the way.
The Players Lounge had advertised for an assistant bartender, but had not set any particular time to come in for an interview. She had decided to simply drop in and see if she could talk to the manager. Since it was late morning, they might be cleaning and getting the bar stocked for later. It could be a good time to get a face-to-face.
As she glanced at the crumpled paper in her hand and walked toward the address she had written there, she began to notice that the neighborhood looked a little dicey. Not really ghetto, but more of an industrial-type area. There really weren’t a lot of shops after the first block from the station. After passing a couple of boarded up store fronts covered with graffiti, she saw the relatively new neon sign for the Players Lounge.
It seemed like a nice enough building and it was larger than she expected for this part of town. Obviously the clientele came from the warehouse and manufacturing district surrounding the place. That could be a good thing with regular customers who would tip well, if they were treated right.
There were a few cars in the parking lot and a couple of black SUV’s with gold wheels. There was no doubt that folks had money here, but just what kind of money? Maybe this club was one of those dives where celebrity rappers hung out. If that were the case this could be a really good job, and her spirits lifted at that.
She walked up and opened the red door. It looked like a nice place so far, with its plush red carpet and a very well stocked bar. Softly curved sofas lined the border of the room behind black enameled tables situated to face a small dance floor directly in the center. The lights in the main area were dimmed and she could see that it would be an interesting place to work to say the least… that is if she actually got the job.
There appeared to be several adjoining rooms off the main area. She assumed they might be V.I.P. or private rooms. If that were true, big money could be made taking care of the clientele in those rooms if a girl could get that assignment. But then, she thought, what would taking care of those customers involve? She tried to push those thoughts out of her mind. “That would be so gross!” she said softly, but she quickly regained composure and turned her negatives into positives. “Focus, Positive, Focus,” she repeated to herself quietly.
From one of the other rooms, she could hear voices, occasionally loud, perhaps angry or upset. Maybe someone was getting written up, or fired? Emily considered whether she should just head back out and forget about interviewing here for today. Since she really needed to consider what to do about the video work for the documentary, she quelled the urge to go and mustered up her courage.
Guessing that the only other people in the place were employees and maybe one of the managers, she figured she should follow the sound of the voices to find someone to talk to. As she stepped through the doorway, she expected to see a few people at most. “Excuse me…” was all she could manage to say before suddenly becoming aware of what was actually happening in the room.
There were about five men, two older men sitting at a table, and two other younger and very large men standing behind a man who was on his knees and half mumbling, half screaming something through the bloody foam pouring from his mouth.
“Excuse…” was all that left her lips before there was a loud report. A gun was fired into the back of the man’s head blowing skull fragments and brain bits all over the tile floor. The impact threw him face forward into the bloody debris. “…Me!” All heads turned in her direction as she squeaked out the word before her hand came up to stifle her scream.
Then, as she turned to run from the room, she saw the man with the gun raising it toward her. She was determined not to stay long enough to see what happened next. She ran toward the front door, which seemed a much longer distance than when she had first entered the building. The room seemed to stretch out before her as she ran, taking forever to reach the exit. She launched herself through the doorway just as a slug from the big guy’s gun slammed into the doorframe beside her sending splinters flying.
Emily’s feet hit the street and she knew full well she was running for her life. As two large men burst from the building, she ducked down an alley. They stood there for a moment looking both ways, their eyes adjusting to the sunlight. They scanned as far as they could see but there was no sign of her. They could see no place for her to hide, no dumpsters or fences in the immediate area around the building, so they ran full out in the direction of the alley.
When Emily had come to the end of the alley, she headed off in the direction of the train station using every ounce of strength she could manage. As she ran down the street, she could hear the footsteps of the two thugs running behind her, clomping the pavement in their three hundred dollar Italian dress shoes. She did the only thing she could think of, run faster.
The thugs were catching up to her and Emily was terrified that they might succeed, and then the worst thing that could happen, happened. The folder she was carrying, which contained her résumés, slipped out from under her arm. She was running so fast by the time she was aware of it, all of the papers were scattered far behind her. Reflexively, she stopped to go back and get them. Shit! She knew she didn’t have a chance.
The men were gaining on her and the papers dotted the street ahead of them. By the time she could get to them, the men would get to her. Even if she could somehow get to the mess before they did, there was no chance of picking up every last sheet of paper. So she turned and ran again toward the train station.
As she rounded the corner of the last block to the station, she glanced back over her shoulder. The men had stopped and were holding up one of the résumés. Her heart sank as she realized that her home address and phone number was at the top of the page in bold letters. She could see one of them pointing at it, and then at her, while one was bent over laughing and trying to catch his breath.
Ten
Mark Woo sat in his apartment with a bag of ice resting in the crook of his arm while holding another on the side of his head in an attempt to take the swelling down. He tried to recall the details from the previous night. Though he ached from head to toe, he felt confident that he would be feeling better in a couple of days.
He had a scheduled flight to make tomorrow but did not expect it to be a problem to fly the group from the univers
ity up to Seattle. He had chartered the fifteen passenger plane over a month ago and had to go to the local airstrip later in the day to check the plane out, review its maintenance records and create his flight plan.
The weather for tomorrow was supposed to be clear all the way up the coast so he was grateful that this flight, his twenty-first this year, was likely to be uneventful. He had information about the purpose of the trip, the date, and the destination but he hadn’t really paid much attention to any of the other details. When that girl had sat down across from him at the restaurant where they met to finalize the deal, most of his attention was distracted by her amazing, perfectly shaped breasts.
The conversation as he remembered it went something like, “Taking some students, blah, blah, blah, will be staying for two weeks, then flying back, blah, blah, blah…” In fact the only thing he really heard was his payment for the job.
While most commercial pilots these days came from a military background, Mark had begun his flying career when he was only sixteen years old. His friends were working on getting their drivers licenses but he thought it would be a lot cooler, and more impressive to the ladies to get a pilots license instead. While his friends would be taking their dates out to a movie at the local Cineplex, he would be able to take his date out to some other, more exciting destination.
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Mark had a problem with thinking things through. He hadn’t even considered that a lot of parents of teenaged girls might frown upon their daughters flying to Denver with their date for a weekend romp in a ski lodge.
By the time he figured it out, he already had his pilot’s license, and a small four-seater that his dad let him borrow from the company hangar whenever he wanted. What followed were a few flights a year just to stay in practice, and twice he flew a few of his buddies to the beach for spring break.
Ultimately, he got a convertible sports car to go with his new driver’s license. However, even with all of these enticements, relationships with the fairer sex did not come easy. When he managed to get a girl on the hook, it only lasted a few weeks at a time.
It ate at him that most of his intimate moments involved money changing hands. Maybe it was the friends he hung with. Perhaps he wore the wrong clothes? The truth was that the problem with Mark was his attitude, the all consuming desire he had to kick the shit out of anyone who even dared to look at him for more than a few seconds. He had decided that he just might be a fighter, not a lover and had become quite fond of that idea.
Last night had been a lot like other nights. Mark had sat on the sofa drinking shots of cheap tequila, playing video games and waiting for the bars to fill up. He didn’t have to worry about going to work the next morning like most folks, because he didn’t have to work. He lived his life like a lot of his rich kid friends, sleeping all day and partying all night.
Actually, Mark did not really party all night. He would quit drinking just before leaving the house, then switch to club soda when he got to the bar. This tactic enabled him to overcome his social difficulties early in the evening, then take advantage of others who were drunk in the early morning hours after the bars had closed. For Mark, this method worked out very well. Around midnight he would start to sober up and his attitude would begin to shift, making him more aggressive and more likely to start a fight.
Of course, he didn’t get into a fight every night. No one could do that and survive. Usually he just sat and looked for the right ‘victim’ as he called them. They had to be at least a foot taller than Mark and physically built like someone who went to the gym a lot. Most importantly, the guy had to have at least two gorgeous women hanging on his arms.
It was that last requirement that kept Mark out of trouble and allowed him to spend many a night in the clubs without any confrontation. He saw a lot of big guys in the bars where he would hang out that fit the profile, but typically they’d be there with just one woman.
Almost by accident, Mark had discovered that when a man had two women with him, one could be vulnerable to the offers of another interested party. Likely, at least one of them was in love with the guy. The other resented the favored one and was glad that someone else could intervene, cause a disturbance, or maybe even kick his ass for being so stupid and selfish.
Often, if things went as planned, Mark could talk one or even both of the girls into going home with him. This usually happened when he really poured it on thick. If he was having a good night, he might even get laid.
Last night when he was out, he thought he had hit the jackpot. There was a guy who had three women with him. They were so hot he thought he was going to have a boner before he had time to start some shit. So he waited a bit longer than usual to make his move on the girls and gave himself time to deal with his uncontrollable urges and raging hormones.
Mark always began his approach by staring, not so subtly, at the women for a long time. He paid close attention to their every move. He did not try to hide that he was watching because that always got the guy pissed off, making him easier to beat. A man who fights with emotion makes mistakes because he allows his passion to make the decisions. Mark had learned that during his martial arts studies, and he used it to his advantage.
He found a seat within about ten feet of their table. The music was thumping and, though he could see them talking, he had no idea what they were saying. Next he began looking at the women, staring until he had eye contact with each of them. He would smile, like he was glad he’d been caught, which of course he was. As usual, the guy ignored him for the first hour or so, and Mark waited for him to ask that golden question, “What the fuck are you lookin’ at?”
A guy with two babes often has a bit more self-confidence than the guy sitting there with his wife. It takes a lot of money or a lot of mental control to land two fish, but how awesome that this guy had three! This had to be the Super Bowl of all women wrangling events, and Mark was ready to earn the ring.
Problem was, the other team appeared to be a real pro. This guy seemed to not give much of a shit who was staring at him or his ladies. In fact, he would look at Mark, smile, grab a breast, suck some face, or just plain thrust his hand into a crotch to piss him off. So Mark bided his time. He was waiting for his chance to exercise the restroom maneuver.
The restroom maneuver meant waiting until the girls went to the ladies room together, then he could intercept and proposition. Around midnight, two of the girls started to gather their small club handbags as though they were ready to make a move. Mark saw his opportunity and headed to the hallway where the restrooms were located. As the girls approached, he made his move.
“It’s a beautiful moonlit night out there, and you two girls look like thrill seekers. Wouldn’t it be awesome to fly to Vegas, check out that moon from above the clouds, hit some casinos, have a few laughs, and then head back at dawn?”
The girls looked at each other and the blonde spoke first, “Are you smoking something, asshole?” She said in a husky voice. The brunette interjected, “Oh hell, yeah! Vegas, baby! I’m in. We’ll fly down there, get a hotel room, do some gambling, and you can suck our dicks till the sun comes up!!!” Her voice was not quite right.
Mark realized what was wrong as the two ‘girls’ stepped into the men’s restroom. “Dicks?” he said aloud as his mind processed the words. “Oh shit!” he muttered under his breath as he came to the full realization he had just hit on two guys. “Fucking San Francisco!”
He just stood there somewhat stunned. He could feel the heat spread across his face, as he turned red with anger and embarrassment. He didn’t realize how long he had been standing there, and by the time he started to move toward the rear exit, it was too late.
As the two came out of the restroom, they saw Mark slowly heading toward the back of the club. They walked over and grabbed him, each one by an arm, escorting him back toward their table. Had his reflexes been just a little sharper, he would have broken their grip right there in the somewhat secluded part of the club, but by
the time he came to his senses, they were about to cross the dance floor. “Fucking let go of me!” He tried to yell louder than the thumping music the DJ was playing.
“What? Come on baby, come and meet Mitch and Candy, they are just gonna eat you alive.” The blonde yelled over the music while doggedly dragging him as he tried to wrench himself free. It was then that Mark had a near out of body experience and he realized what was happening. Everyone in the club could see two dudes dressed like really hot chicks hauling him across the dance floor.
Were his feet really dragging as they pulled him? Were they thinking he was looking forward to some hide the popsicle session? He had thrown out the invitation and volunteered his plane to take them to Vegas! “Oh, hell no!” He felt the surge of adrenalin as his inner animal began to emerge.
“Fuck this shit!” he yelled, sweeping his right leg out and knocking the blond off his heels, sending him slamming and skidding face-first into the parquet wood dance floor. At the same time he brought his left fist up connecting with the nose of the brunette putting the guy on his knees as the lights went dim before him. The scream went unnoticed as it melted into the thump-thump of the music, but the dancers were becoming aware that something was wrong and began to clear an area around the action that was unfolding in their midst.
Two people were writhing and bleeding on the floor and more and more dancers had stopped and were standing there looking at them in shock. Right about then was when Candy stood up. The fierce look of an assassin shot across her face as she stepped out of her 6-inch spiked heels, reducing her to about five feet and one inch of lethal female aggression.
Mark was busy kicking the blonde who was now lying on the floor in a fetal position with his arms wrapped around his head. With each kick, he screamed profanities. “You.. (kick) fuckin’.. (kick) think.. (kick).” He was so involved that he didn’t see Candy coming up from his left side. He finally noticed that the stunned crowd around him was looking in that direction.