Marco hesitated, then turned back to the two men sitting in front of his desk, their backs to a regular window that overlooked the staff hallway.
“Flat, unfortunately. Patrons are holding more tightly to their wallets these days.”
“So revenue per patron has dropped off. Well, that has to change.” One of his guests steepled his fingers, his menacing tone at odds with his good looks. “Once the next phase begins, we’ll need to funnel a lot of cash and we’ll need a good cover. A failing club won’t cut it.”
Marco narrowed his eyes. “Who said anything about failing, Tyson?”
“And furthermore, Proxy was in here just a few weeks ago. He said we need to recruit a lot more candidates.”
“Proxy was here?”
“Yes. He was highly complimentary of the dancers, but said there just weren’t enough that will work. We need more; more than the usual bimbos. We need more of the right kind of girl.”
“You know that we’ve been steadily recruiting, Tyson.”
“I know and he knows. But you know what we’re looking for, and so far you don’t have it.”
“I disagree. We have two new girls that started just last month who are prime candidates. They’re bright, well-spoken, tall, and have all the right assets.” Marco motioned out the one-way window to the stages, where the activity was beginning to heat up. “One of the girls is out sick tonight, but Tiffany—excuse me, her stage name is Sasha—is on. We have, of course, held you a table where you can evaluate her potential for yourselves.”
A small smile appeared on Tyson’s face, and he leaned back in his chair. “Excellent. You know I won’t pass that up.”
“I thought not.”
“But …” Tyson steepled his fingers again. “It’s not enough. We need more. We have to have them active as soon as possible, and there’s no way we’ll make our schedule if this element lags behind.”
Marco stood up. “I’m well aware of the plan and our needs. You stick to worrying about your side of things, and I’ll worry about mine. I know how my industry works. There’ll be no problem delivering on schedule.”
A passing movement in the staff window caught his eye, and his lips pressed together in a flat smile.
“Why don’t you let me show you to your table, gentlemen?”
He ushered them out the door, took two steps along the hallway, then raised his voice slightly. “Excuse me, Maris.”
Maris and her trainee turned from the door of the kitchen, surprised looks on their faces. Maris stepped forward. “Hey, Marco. What’s up?”
“I’m just showing these patrons around the back and wanted to introduce them to some staff members.”
“Gee, why am I not surprised?”
Marco gave her a quelling look and made the introductions. “Maris and Ronnie, I’d like you to meet …”
He watched Tyson’s eyes as the man shook hands with the new girl, watched the flicker of a smile that came and went as they made small talk. With satisfaction, he noted the expression on Tyson’s face as the waitresses turned away and continued with their duties. Marco waited a few moments, until the two visitors dragged their eyes back to him.
Marco smirked and leaned forward slightly. “Told you so.”
Maris gestured Ronnie forward to meet the kitchen staff. She showed her the electronic system used to place the orders and take payment, and described how to serve the customers and clear their tables.
“Keep in sight as much as possible, and ask regularly if they want more drinks. Be sweet and pushy and keep ’em spending. That’s how you’ll make your money. It’s all about your take. The sassier you are, the more they like you.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“Yeah, good, just like that.” She was through the swinging kitchen doors and halfway down the hallway before Ronnie caught up.
Maris pushed open the door to the main room and strode around the back. Ronnie forced herself to look at the stage as they passed.
A young woman in a bright pink dress and high heels strutted on the main stage, accompanied by a pulsing beat and cheers and applause from the audience. Ronnie started, and looked closer. It was Tiffany!
She slowed her step, staring at her friend. She looked beautiful! Ronnie stopped and watched, transfixed. By the time Tiffany was done, she had collected a garter full of bills and pranced offstage with a cocky grin on her face. The crowd yelled for more, but soon another girl came on and the audience turned its attention to her.
Ronnie leaned against the wall that separated the walkway from all the tables, her intended task all but forgotten. Tiffany really did look like she was having fun. How was that possible?
She felt a touch on her arm and gave a start. Maris was standing next to her, a sad smile on her face. She started to say something, then held up her hands. “I won’t say anything. Come on, we’re running behind.”
She led Ronnie to a sunken bar area on the other side of the walkway, and introduced her to a middle-aged man with long hair pulled back in a ponytail. “This is Nick, our bartender. One of them anyway.”
Nick winked at Ronnie. “The best one, babe.”
“Ronnie’s new and I’m showing her the ropes. Will you give her a crash course in the different drinks when I’m done?”
“Will do.” Nick winked and his voice grew silky. “We can even arrange a private tutorial later if you’d like. I can show you everything I know.”
Ronnie snorted. “Great, that shouldn’t take long.”
Nick laughed and went back to shaking a silver tumbler. “You’ll do. Come back whenever you like.”
Maris pulled Ronnie along the back of the room and said under her breath, “Always get in good with the bartender. You’ve got to pony up part of your tips to them, and how fast they serve you is how fast you serve the customer. And that equates to your overall—”
“My take, I know.” Ronnie paused as they neared a glass door set in the wall. “What’s this?”
“The gift shop.”
“The what?”
“The gift shop. You know—porno movies, that kind of thing.”
“Gross.”
Maris laughed and gestured her onward. “You are a sweet young thing, aren’t you?”
They circled to the opposite side of the main room, passing behind one of the stages and into a circular foyer lined with doors. “This area houses our V.I.P. rooms. These are smaller rooms used for private parties, that kind of thing.”
Ronnie walked across a plush carpet to a door that was standing slightly ajar. She pushed it open. The room housed a few low tables and a private bar.
“Do I really want to know what goes on in here?”
“Not what you’re thinking, obviously.” Maris leaned past her and firmly shut the door. “Our regulars often request private dances, but that’s all that happens.”
“Whatever you say.”
“I’m serious. The customers aren’t allowed to touch the girls. The bouncers are pretty darned serious about enforcing that rule.”
“I haven’t met the bouncers.”
“Really? Well, come on. You need to meet more of the staff anyway.”
She led Ronnie back to the front door and walked her around the room, introducing her to the bouncers and several other staff members.
Ronnie nodded and smiled and shook hands. The names were a blur. At least everyone seemed nice. What were such normal people doing working in a strip club? She shook her head in exasperation. She was here, wasn’t she? Everyone had her reasons.
“Maris, there you are! Are you two ready to start?” A young woman in a waitress uniform was hurrying toward them, cocktail tray in hand. “I should’ve been out of here ten minutes ago.”
“Oh, Tina, I’m so sorry!” Maris took the tray from her. “Tina, this is Ronnie. I was just showing her around. I completely forgot about your son!”
“That’s okay. I just need to get out of here.” Tina ducked behind the bar, took off her silver apron, and retrieved a smal
l carryall bag. “If I hurry, I can get to the clinic before it closes.”
“Go.” Maris gave the girl a gentle shove toward the door. “We’ll cover here.”
“Thanks!”
Maris grabbed an order pad and several pens from the bar and gestured for Ronnie to do the same. “I can’t believe I forgot! I promised Tina we’d start a bit early so she could take her baby to the doctor. He has a fever or something.”
“She has a baby?”
“Two. One’s a toddler, the other’s just a month old.”
“Wow. She looks great for having just had a baby.”
“Yeah, there’s a gym around the corner. She’s getting back in shape to go back up.”
“Up where?”
“Up there.” Maris gestured at the stages and shoved the order pad in her apron. “Come on, we’ve got to hustle.” She strode onto the floor and made her way among the tables.
“Well, Mr. Travis, nice to see you tonight. I’m taking over for Tina. Can I bring you anything? … Hey, honey, welcome to The Challenger. What can I get ya? … Bob, you and that beer getting married or are you gonna want a fresh one any time soon?”
Ronnie watched and learned, ferrying away dirty plates and glasses and bringing out fresh ones. She was astonished to find that she was sweating from the pace her trainer set. At least this job would keep her in shape.
On her third trip out to the tables, Ronnie delivered a round of Tequila shots to a rowdy group of Japanese men wearing conservative business suits. They knocked the shots back and began cheering and clapping as a girl appeared at their table. Ronnie hurriedly collected the empty glasses as the girl started to dance beside the table.
One of the businessmen pounded on the table, pointing to the girl and then to the table. The others joined in, gesturing for her to climb up. The girl caught the eye of one of the bodyguards, who nodded and moved closer. The businessmen went wild, hooting and gesturing.
Ronnie glanced at the girl’s face, and was astonished to see her roll her eyes in private annoyance. Just as quickly, the exasperated look was gone, replaced by a dazzling smile. The girl nimbly stepped on a chair, then to the tabletop, and continued her dance.
Ronnie backed away and served another group, watching as the girl finished her dance to appreciative yells, climbed down from the table, and walked away, her smile vanishing.
Ronnie hurried to place an order with the kitchen, her mind whirling. That girl didn’t look like she was having fun at all.
She checked the order with Maris, got it to the cooks, and was starting back toward the door when Marco came in.
“Maris, table twenty-two needs two orders of nachos and another round of rum-and-Cokes on the double. They asked for Sasha ten minutes ago, but she must not’ve gotten the message. They want the Platinum Room for a large party next week, and they aren’t happy.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got a call to make. Take care of it, please.” He vanished inside his office, closing the door behind him.
Maris yanked the empty tray from Ronnie. “I’ll get the drinks and nachos out to twenty-two. Go find Sasha on the double and get her out there.”
Ronnie grabbed her arm. “Wait, which one is Sasha?”
“Your friend Tiffany. Snap to it, girl. Two of our best customers are at that table, and if they walk out, heads will roll. The dancers’ changing room is down that long hallway and to the right. Green door.” She vanished inside the kitchen, her voice raised.
“Priority order, two Nachos Grande!”
Ronnie half-jogged down the corridor, her eyes frantically searching for a green door. Why did they call Tiffany, Sasha? She could hear female voices and hesitated. Cracking the door open, she poked her head inside.
“Tiffany?”
A girl standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror turned toward her, lipstick in hand, a confused look on her face.
“Uh—sorry—Sasha?”
The girl gestured toward the back of the room. A long, low mirror and counter-top littered with makeup bags, hairspray, and other accessories ran the length of the room. Several girls were clustered at the far end.
Ronnie spotted Tiffany’s distinctive dress in the group and hurried back there. The girl who had just danced for the Japanese businessmen was seated before the mirror, reapplying mascara with violent jabs of her wand, her voice raised in agitation.
“And if they think I’ll do a bunch of table dances for them for a lousy twenty bucks, they’ve got another think coming! I can’t believe I’ve only made two hundred dollars tonight! And not even that, once I cough up twenty to the DJ.”
Another girl was spraying her hair as she talked. “Girl, did you see my table earlier? Dan and his buddies were slobbering all over themselves as usual, but hardly coughed up a twenty.”
“What idiots.” The other girls chimed in. One girl told a crude joke mocking one of her customers and the others laughed.
Ronnie quickly circled over to Tiffany and tugged on her arm.
“Table twenty-two wanted you. Ten minutes ago. Marco had me come get you.”
“Oh, my gosh.”
They hurried toward the door and down the hallway.
“I thought you said this was fun.”
“It is fun. Just not when you’re making no money.”
Ronnie slowed to a stop as Tiffany pushed on through the door. “Oh, is that how it works? Yeah, great job, Sasha.”
FIVE
The third floor of the old war-era building was no longer empty. The vast room was packed with people, mostly men, sitting on rows of folding chairs. Weak sunshine filtered in through windows set high in the twenty-foot walls. A low rumble of quiet conversation rolled around the room as the clock ticked toward ten.
Tyson finished his phone call, made a few quick notes, and left his cluttered office. He chuckled as he looked over the rows of people. It wasn’t every day these men were asked to sit on plastic folding chairs. Too bad he couldn’t take a picture.
He worked his way to the front of the room, casually greeting several people by name. Proxy had previously identified a few key players, and Tyson had his eye on one or two others. If he could recruit a few leaders for Proxy’s plan, it would solidify his standing in the boss’s eyes … and propel him into the elite financial strata he had been aiming for his entire life.
His Ivy-League MBA had given him financial means, but he was limited, always limited by the system, by the egos in the corner offices, by the overzealous regulators of capitalism. The system was broken and needed to be fixed. True capitalism needed to be refreshed, restored. And Proxy’s plan provided just the means to do it. It would come at a price, sure, but history would admit it was for the best.
Tyson stood for a minute by the platform, watching the hardened faces in the room—all hardened, but not all clever. All bold, but not all skilled. Dealing with people like that had been the story of his life. But not for much longer.
It was always for the best when the weak made way for the strong; when those who had the true skills and ingenuity were not hampered by the leeches of capitalism—the unskilled and uneducated, politicians and regulators, those who did not understand the proper use of economic power. Survival of the fittest was as old as the primordial soup, and it needed to be restored. It would be restored. And in the meantime, Tyson would gain wealth beyond imagining. All true innovators deserved their rewards.
Tyson carefully hid his disdain and stepped up to a small platform at the front of the room. He tapped on a microphone. The conversations stopped and all heads turned his way.
“Good morning. Thank you for coming and for your flexibility with this location. I know we had originally agreed to hold this gathering at the beach compound, but I think you’ll agree the change is more than worth it. Allow me to demonstrate.”
Tyson picked up a small box and pressed several buttons. Shades came down over the windows, plunging the room into near blackness. Two giant panels on the wall behind Tyson slid smoothly sideways, rev
ealing a massive, state-of-the-art multimedia screen.
He allowed himself a careful smile as murmurs rippled around the room. It had been a long wait, but his value was finally being recognized. He would succeed where others had failed.
“Gentlemen, many of you may be concerned about our prospects in the current environment. I’ve heard as much in many private conversations. However, I have to tell you that I’m not concerned. I’m enthralled. I’m invigorated by the possibilities. The turmoil in our country provides us with opportunities that are virtually unprecedented. Allow me to set before you a vision for the next year.”
He clicked the remote and the screen came to life. He clicked through his presentation as he spoke, outlining strategies that most of these parochial captains would never have had the foresight to recognize.
After a few minutes, a silent video clip appeared, showing police patrolling a major airport.
“Many of you have been worried about the ever-increasing presence of law enforcement on our streets, at our borders, and in the air. You are right to be concerned, which is why we’ve revamped our procedures over the last few years. But I have news for you.” He leaned forward. “This time presents our greatest opportunity thus far.”
The next slide was a comical drawing of a police officer barely visible under a stack of paperwork. The audience chuckled.
“As you know, gentlemen, for the foreseeable future, law enforcement will be fully preoccupied with bolstering homeland security against foreign intrusion. They’re looking for terrorists, not traffickers in substances that shouldn’t even be illegal to begin with. Their technology is outdated, they’re overloaded with new demands, and their abilities lag far behind their new requirements … much less their old ones. A longtime informant recently confirmed that our law enforcement agencies have been given official—if confidential—orders to prevent violent terrorist actions even at the expense of pursuing other illegalities such as drugs, prostitution, and the like.
“Given this reality, Proxy believes the time is ripe for this organization to expand its activities. At first, we contracted, intimidated by the visibility of law enforcement. But now we believe distribution and profits can be increased by at least 20 percent with very little increased risk. Here’s how we foresee using your networks in the coming year.”
The Lights of Tenth Street Page 5
