Teeth
feel fuzzy.
Been
working 27 hours straight.
Vest is
digging into his sides.
Last
shift.
Should be
easy.
Goes to
the storeroom.
Pulls out
a bar stool, top is disconnected but it will serve his purpose.
Kyng
perches on it, head swiveling, taking in every detail.
White
Chocolate is on stage.
Money
fills the air.
Sparklers
stream from behind him.
Barking
loudly, Kyng shines 3000 lumens in the waitresses’ path.
Observes
closely until the bottle reaches its destination.
Rests his
eyes for seconds at a time.
Asks Nia
the bar maid for another coke.
Rather
have an energy drink, does not want to fork over $6 for a knock-off of the most
popular brand.
While he
is aware that the club is set up to make money, does not feel it should make it
off him.
He needs
it too badly.
Patron
comes up to him.
Thinks to
himself.
“This
motherfucker better not try to shake my hand.”
Yes.
He is
Looks at
the extended appendage.
Unless
he’s a prestidigitator there is no money in that mitt.
Kyng
looks at him, his disgust, vivid and clear.
A Von
Gogh of revulsion.
“Wa’dup?”
Patron
sways.
Leans
closer.
“You Jes
gonna leave me hanging?”
Drunken
individual is in danger.
Has no
idea.
Reaches
towards Kyng’s shoulder.
If the inebriated Man contacts his person, Kyng is going to break
his clavicle, and dislocate his shoulder.
Might
break his right leg.
Has not
decided just yet.
But definitely
the arm.
General
manager saves the drunk.
“Hey
Greg. Come here man stop playing with my Wolves and let me buy you some Crown.”
Kyng,
files the man’s face for future reference.
Bob’s his
head to the beat.
All the
songs sound the same.
Blend
together into a monotonous, bass heavy, beat.
Same for
the dancers.
All have
a generic look as if they came from some stripper clone factory.
Notices
one of his team is not on the floor.
Not only
is he not at his post, but he is also nowhere to be found.
Makes a
mental note.
Walks the
club makes certain the missing man is not sitting in VIP.
Dancer
exits the stockroom.
Looks
like she has been busy.
Horse,
the missing bouncer, comes in the front door minutes later.
Kyng has
a feeling he knows what the man was doing. A quick survey of the man’s hands
and face confirm.
Glitter.
Most of
the dancer’s bodies are fairly coated in it.
You cannot
abandon your post.
No matter
how fine she is.
Even if it
is only a few minutes.
Shoots a
text to "OG Big Boy" asking that the long-faced man, nicknamed Horse
not be sent back to his club.
Text back is instant.
"You want him gone? U fire him."
At the end of the night, as money counters are buzzing through garbage bags full of one dollar bills, Kyng pulls the man aside.
"Horse, let me holla atcha?"
The 6' 9" man has a couple inches of height over the head of security, Kyng's dangerous demeanor more than makes up for the disparity.
"Listen, I know you were fucking Klimaxx, while we were on the clock. I can't have that. I don't want you back."
Horse's light features begin to darken, and his voice raises an octave or two.
"Fuck you mean? Fuck you thank you is? I'ma call OG!"
Kyng, absently loosens his pistol in his holster.
The man's raised voice makes him feel as if he might need to pull it.
Because he does security as well, Horse notices the movement and is instantly angry.
"Nigga anit scared of that motherfuckin pistol!"
Kyng drops his hands.
Doesn't want to have to do anything to this man.
"Bruh. I talked to OG. He told me to fire you. It don't have to be like this. If you act a fool with me I'm gone act a donkey with you."
His words are clipped.
Voice even.
Calm.
Soothing in a way.
His intent is lethal.
Has decided if Horse approaches, he's going to shoot him.
Amir, the General Manager saves Kyng a second time.
Wraps an arm around the tall light skinned giant.
"Hey Douglas, how's your auntie Vera? She know you been working for me?"
The older man gives Kyng a hand signal, one that lets him know that he has things under control and that the warrior can take his weary bones home.
Its been a long work day.
Kyng's made a couple hundred dollars, and a couple of enemies.
