When he pulled into the parking lot of the Climax Lounge, he scanned the area looking for his brother-in-law’s truck. Nothing.
Inside, the lights were dim and it seemed as though it were nighttime. Waiting until his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he stood by the bar and looked around. The club looked like one from the 1960s, with red velvet chairs, red leather booths, and heavy full-length curtains. Smoky black mirrors lined the walls and the ceiling.
His eyes adjusted to the low lights and he saw a pretty brunette writhing on stage, touching herself all over. There was a sprinkling of men, which wasn’t surprising since it was midmorning on a weekday.
A man of medium height came up to him. “What’s shaking, Muerto? What brings you into my establishment?”
“Hey, Jimmy. Just seeing what the competition looks like.” He snorted while Jimmy laughed too loud.
Muerto didn’t trust Jimmy Delarosa one iota. The slimebag always tried to ingratiate himself with the Night Rebels, and it just rubbed him the wrong way. At that moment, Delarosa was acting like they were long-lost friends. The grease was just sliding off him.
As they spoke, Muerto kept his eyes peeled for Joe. While Jimmy was telling him about the newest thing to make money on, Muerto spotted a couple in a booth at the other end of the room. It looked like one of the dancers sat on a man’s lap, and he was running his hand over her curves. The rotating stage lights bounced off the customer’s watch, lighting it up.
Muerto breathed out.It’s Joe. Fuck!He recognized the watch on the guy’s wrist. The previous year, Laura had begged him to find a good deal on a Rolex she knew Joe wanted really bad. She’d wanted to give it to him for his birthday, so he looked up an old contact of his who dealt in stolen goods and bought the watch. Laura never asked where he’d gotten it, and she’d insisted on paying for it.
Yeah… I definitely recognize the damn watch.
“I’ll catch you later,” he said to Jimmy as he walked away.
When he came over to the booth, Joe had his face buried in the stripper’s cleavage. “How’s it going?” he said.
Joe jerked his head up, his face falling when his gaze fell on Muerto’s. “Dude….”
Muerto glanced at the woman, grasped her wrist, and gently pulled her off Joe’s lap. “Your dance is over. Scram.”
“What the fuck?” She looked at Joe. “You gonna allow that?”
Muerto took out a few hundred bucks and handed it to her. Her eyes grew as big as saucers and she smiled. “I like you. Next time you come back in here, ask for Joley.” The stripper sashayed away.
“You want a drink, Mateo?” Joe looked nervously around the room as if trying to tag a waitress.
“It’s Muerto, and this shit stops now.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Are you fuckin’ someone on the side? And don’t even think of not telling me the truth, ’cause if you lie to me you’re gonna be sorry you ever came into the family.”
Joe shook his head. “I’m not cheating on Laura. I know she thinks I am, but I’m not. At least not yet. I’ve thought about it, but I haven’t acted on it.”
“And you’re not fuckin’ gonna. You’re not gonna break my sister’s heart. What the hell’s going on with you two? I thought you guys were solid. Don’t risk her throwing your ass out over some different pussy. Shit.”
“It’s just the same thing all the time. Nothing different or exciting. All we ever talk about is money and the kids. Laura’s always too tired for sex.”
“Then talk to her. You don’t throw away eleven years of marriage on pussy and tits. I get that you wanna have more sex, so just talk to her. She’s your wife, dude. Fuck.”
“I love Laura a lot and I’d never leave her, but the thrill of sex with someone new is hard to fight.”
“You do that shit and it’ll never be the same between you. You talk to her and set this right. What you don’t do is break my sister’s heart. Instead of spending time here, you should be with Laura. Get outta here. Go home.”
Joe nodded and slid out of the booth. “You’re right. I’ll talk to her.” He put his baseball cap on and walked out.
With a heavy heart, Muerto watched him go. Jimmy intercepted him as he made his way to the front door. “I’m not liking what just happened.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Coming in here and chasing my customers out.”
“This was personal.”
