“I threw an innocent woman out of a ten-story building,” I said, and before I could stop myself, swatted at the angel bobble head. It jerked wildly side to side. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
“A werewolf woman,” Danton said, taking another drag on his cigarette so the red end glowed brightly. “Werewolves are barely people, and yes, before you ask, I consider some of you monsters people.” He squished his fingers together. “You’re like this far below lawyers.”
“Good to know,” I said, pushing the dented, scarred door open and getting out. My feet splashed into an ankle deep puddle, soaking through the cuffs of my sodden jeans and getting into my work boots. I looked down at myself, and as a wave of rage swelled inside of me, I could have sworn the angel on the dashboard was laughing at me.
“It’s always good to know where you stand,” Danton replied, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stepping onto the sidewalk. Three quick steps later, he was standing under the lime green awning. No sooner was he under cover when it began to pour again.
“I feel like your buddies are screwing with me,” I growled, stomping onto the sidewalk and making my way toward him, pausing only long enough to throw some change into the tip jar in front of a homeless guy trying to keep dry. He looked up at me and smiled brightly. I nodded to him.
“Probably.” Danton shrugged. “If you haven’t noticed, you’re not their most favorite person.”
“Yeah, yeah. Bankers and lawyers,” I said as he pushed the heavy oak door open. A burst of sound exploded from within the darkened entrance. I couldn’t see very far inside, even with my demonic-night vision, but that was more to do with the interior being completely walled off with black plastic.
Danton disappeared inside before I could comment, and I followed him to the left into a tiny hallway with a burly bouncer with a Viking beard sitting on a stool at the far end. He glanced up at us, let out a loud huff of annoyance, and held out one meaty hand to stop us.
“Have you paid the cover?” he asked, gesturing to his left. A tiny machine that sort of looked like a parking meter was mounted inside an alcove in the wall. I wasn’t sure how I hadn’t seen it before, but now that the bouncer had pointed it out, it seemed obvious.
“Yes,” Danton replied in a strangely melodic voice. He pulled out what looked like a sodden lottery ticket and held it to the guy. “As you can see, I paid for both of us.”
The guy took the used up scratcher and examined it closely. After what felt like this side of forever, he handed it back to Danton. “Seems like you have paid,” he said in a dreamy, half-glazed sort of way before pushing open a heavy steel door and revealing the harsh glare of pink neon light. The crash of Highway to Hell by AC DC thundered into my eardrums. “Try not to start any trouble.” His lips peeled back into a sneer. “I’d hate to have to throw you out in the rain.”
“We’ll do our best,” Danton said, stepping past the bearded bouncer and into the main part of the bar.
I followed him, and what I saw made me extraordinarily uncomfortable. Now, let me start by saying, I’m not homophobic. I don’t really care what people do together in the comfort of their homes, nor do I have anything against men in general, but that didn’t mean I wanted to see them naked and shaking their stuff.
The sight of a huge, musclebound black man wearing a teeny tiny leopard banana hammock gyrating on stage assaulted me like a bag of hammers. As I tried to turn away, I found myself staring at a bare-chested Asian man wearing a bowtie and little else. He was flexing his biceps in front of a group of women who had looks of embarrassment and lust etched upon their faces. Everywhere I turned stood a man wearing very little and possessing a body that made me feel incredibly inadequate. Maybe when this was all over, I’d go the gym. You know, after I bleached the sight from my brain.
“Are you kidding me?” I cried, turning to find Danton and glaring at him. “Are we seriously in a male strip club?”
“What kind of bar did you think the Brass Monkey was?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me. “A Beastie Boys tribute lounge?”
“I don’t fucking know,” I said, flailing at him in frustration. “You talked about pool. I didn’t expect a Chris Hemsworth body double to be standing behind the bar with dollar bills shoved into his thong.”
Danton glanced past me toward the bar and smirked at the blond bartender before rummaging in his pocket and pulling out a twenty. “Why don’t you be a dear and get us something to drink.” He offered me the bill. “Tell him to keep the change.”
“We aren’t friends anymore,” I said, snatching the bill from him and making my way toward the bar. It was crowded by a group of sorority girls wearing tiaras.
“You keep saying we’re friends. I’m not sure you know the meaning of that word,” Danton said as he sat his happy ass down in a chair behind a buxom brunette with a dollar bill between her breasts. On stage, the guy in the leopard banana hammock was crawling toward her and fake growling.
As I turned back toward the bar, the very nearly naked Chris Hemsworth flashed me a smile made up of perfect white teeth. “Need a drink?” he asked, voice friendly and amused. “You seem like you might.” He pulled out a bottle of Bud Light and popped the top. “Let me guess,” he added, nodding toward Danton. “Your friend is gay, and you’re doing him a solid by taking him out for some kind of special occasion.” He pushed the bottle over to me. “It happens more often than you’d think. Don’t worry, no one is going to hit on you. Most of us are pretty good at sensing who is likely to give us a tip.” He cracked a smile. “In both senses of the word.”
I took the bottle and tossed back half of it in one quick gulp as Chris turned and grabbed a blender full of pink liquid and poured it into several cups. He topped them with little umbrellas and pushed them into the hands of the blonde girls next to me. One flashed him a devious smile before scampering off with the rest of her friends.
“Hey, can I get two shots of your best whiskey?” I asked, not even sure if a place like this would have whiskey worth drinking. Well, it never hurt to ask.
“There’s no need to act hard. If you want I could make you a daiquiri too.” He held the pitcher up to me as I drained the last of my beer. “They’re actually pretty good.”
“I actually like whiskey,” I said, glancing back at the stage to see a stripper pull a redheaded girl wearing a glow in the dark veil on stage. She was clearly way too drunk to enjoy what was happening, but judging by the catcalls of the women surrounding her portion of the stage, they obviously were excited for her.
The stripper pushed her down on stage and spread her jean-clad legs before miming eating her out. Something about the scene twisted my gut, although I couldn’t tell you why. Part of me wanted to go on stage and throw the guy off of her, but at the same time, her or one of her friends, had paid good money for this “privilege.” It was even weirder because I was pretty sure that a scene like this would never happen in a female strip club, and even if it did, I wouldn’t feel the same way. Well, if that wasn’t a lesson in objectification and personal beliefs and prejudices, I didn’t know what was.
“Here you go, two shots of the gentleman,” Chris said from behind me, and as I turned back toward him, the grin fell off his face. “Buddy, you need to calm down.” He gestured behind me as I picked up the first shot and downed it so quickly I didn’t even taste the alcohol. “Those women are paying for this experience. It’s fun for them. The absolute last thing they need you to do is go save them.”
“I know,” I said, dropping the twenty on the bar and wondering if it was even enough. I had no way of knowing in a place like this. I was pretty sure it wasn’t since places like this tended to overcharge for drinks, or at least seemed like they should. “But it goes against my desire to protect women. I’m old fashioned that way.” I grabbed the other shot and took a sip. Gentleman Jack. Better than I expected, but not by much. “You might say it’s my fatal flaw.”
“Yeah, it was weird for me too, especially since a portion of them don’t like it either, but are going along with it for the sake of their friends.” He shrugged. “You get used to it after a while, or you stop working here.” Chris shot me a conciliatory look. “Look, my break is in a couple minutes. If you want we can head to the back and wait for your friend to finish making it rain.” I must have given him a weird look because he put his hands up casually. “This isn’t me hitting on you or trying to bilk you out of more cash either. We have a pool table back there. It’s pretty crappy and no one uses it, but maybe it’d make you more comfortable.”
A pool table, eh? Well, that was certainly interesting. I threw back the Jack and looked back to see Danton flinging fistfuls of dollar bills at a well-built white dancer in red leather pants. It was weird because I had no idea he was gay.
“Yeah, pool sounds great,” I said as Chris pushed another beer in front of me.
“Awesome,” Chris replied, turning toward another bartender who sort of reminded me of Robert Downey Jr. “Hey, Rob. I’m going to take my lunch.” He gestured vaguely at me.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Rob pulled down his expensive black sunglasses and gave me a once over in a way that made me feel like a piece of meat. “Remember, whosoever holds the hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor.” He smiled, showing his teeth, and a strange mix of horror and embarrassment settled over me. Did he think I was gay? “Are you worthy, friend?”
“It isn’t like that,” I said, feeling my face heat up because he clearly thought Thor and I were going to the backroom for some hanky panky. I definitely didn’t swing that way, but at the same time, I was pretty sure he would dismiss my protestations.
“That’s what they all say,” Rob replied, pushing his shades back on and turning toward another pack of sorority girls.
Chris smirked, grabbed a couple more beers from behind the bar, and began walking toward a door at the far end of the room that said employees only in gray block letters, and like a dumbass, I followed him.
Chapter 17
Chris was right. Their pool table sucked. It looked like one of those tables someone might buy at Costco to keep in a den. Good for a couple games with a friend while knocking back some beers but nothing more serious than that. Still, I was a little surprised it was even here at all. After all, what use did a strip club have for a pool table?
“I’m glad there’s a distinct lack of naked men back here,” I said, glancing around the tiny space. The pool table took up nearly the entirety of the room, making me think someone had converted an office for use as a game room. I just wasn’t sure why.
“That can change at any time,” Chris said, pulling a couple of sticks off the rack and tossing me one. He had managed to pull on a pair of jeans and a skin tight Thor t-shirt. I wasn’t sure if he was just fucking with me or going with it, but I wasn’t about to argue since he was more or less clothed now. “But not because I’m going to strip down and do you over the pool table.”
“Yeah, strip club. I got it.” I caught the cue stick and was surprised at how balanced it felt. I rolled it across the felt and was surprised to find the table pretty balanced as well.
“Let me guess. You were expecting the table to suck,” Chris said, flashing me his perfect smile as he pulled out a set of balls and began to rack them.
“Well, yeah.” I gestured at the surroundings. “What else would you think?”
“We think sometimes people come in here with the best of intentions but aren’t quite comfortable in this type of atmosphere. Usually someone trying to be a good sport or hoping their girl gets hot enough to bang them afterward.” He shrugged. “We find it’s sometimes better to take those guys back here. I’m actually getting paid for this.”
“So this is like the champagne room for guys?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as he pulled the rack away, leaving the balls in a tight triangle on the table.
“Well, it’s not quite the same. There’s no sex in the champagne room.” He grinned at me, and a look must have crossed my face because he burst out laughing. “I’m kidding.” He waggled his blond eyebrows at me. “Or am I?”
I let out a sigh and tried not to be annoyed with him, or how I was playing pool in an all-male strip club while my family was God knows where. Instead, I consoled myself with the fact Big Sal was going to show up soon, and I’d get to punch him in the face. Repeatedly. Then put some bullet holes in him.
“You want to break or should I?” I asked, chalking my stick. I had a good feeling about pool, although I couldn’t tell you why. Maybe it was because I was good at darts and drank whiskey. It seemed like pool ought to go with that list of skills.
“You should break.” Chris handed me an open beer before taking a swig of his own. “That way you’ll get at least one turn.”
“Whatever, bro,” I said, setting my beer on the floor before lining up my shot. I hit the cue ball solidly, sending it flying across the table like a gunshot. It smacked into the racked balls, and they exploded apart in a flurry of activity that neglected to send a single ball into a single pocket. Well, that settled it. I was wrong. I sucked at pool. A lesser man would have pouted. I wasn’t a lesser man, so I just looked around for a jar to open.
“You know, we have other games,” Chris said, lining up a shot and knocking in the two ball without even really trying. “Pool might not be your thing.” He sank another ball with ease.
“What other games do you have?” I asked, raising my eyebrow as he sank a third ball. I wasn’t sure what he had in mind, but I was really glad we weren’t playing for anything in particular. Otherwise, I’d have already lost my shirt.
“Well, we have strip poker, mud wrestling, and my personal favorite,” he sank another ball, “naked charades. I do a pretty good elephant.”
“Thanks, I’ll stick to pool,” I said, ignoring his jab as he finished off the table in one sweeping flurry of motion. I wasn’t quite sure what his deal was, but something about him seemed a bit off.
“You rack this time then.” He polished off his beer and glanced at the wall clock. “How long are you guys planning on staying?” He shot me a well-meaning smile. “Not to say I’m not having fun, but while I do get paid for this, let’s just say I do a lot better when I take my shirt off.”