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So much for wanting to meet with Paul and Dominick about the Antonovich brothers.
“Dominick cannot keep his filthy mitts off the girls. How many times do I gotta tell you, Bobby?”
Dominick is a problem. I keep him managing the club because he is great with customers. A good businessman. The club always makes a profit. Not so great with the girls. A middle-aged horny chauvinist pig. Very old-world Italian. Believes women should either be in the kitchen or the bedroom. Married once to a reformed drug-addict call girl who died a year later of an overdose. Treats the girls like his personal whores. Most of the are girls are tough enough to ward off his advances. Miranda is not tough.
Miranda walks back into the office with an ice pack. Her tits and ass jiggle when she walks. She reluctantly hands the ice pack to Dominick. He sneers at her. He stands up and walks over to his desk. He rights his chair and sits down. He puts the icepack on his swollen nose. His slick downed, dyed black, combed over hair is hanging in his face and no longer covering his bald spot. His short-sleeved white shirt is covered in blood. His light blue Mom jeans from the 1990’s are twisted. Not a good-looking guy.
“Miranda, what happened?” I ask.
I rub the scruff on my face. Need a shave.
“Dom told me he wasn’t going to let me dance on Saturday nights anymore unless I..”
Miranda looks at Paul Jr.
Paul Jr.’s face turns red. He curls his fists. He is about to attack Dom again. Saturday nights are the most lucrative for strippers. It is a coveted shift. All the girls wanted to work Saturday nights.
“Paul! Sit the fuck down!”
Paul Jr. rights a fallen chair and sits in front of Dominick’s desk. He glares at Dominick. Miranda walks over to Paul and sits on his lap. She presses her tits to his face trying to calm him. I shake my head.
“Miranda?” I ask trying to get her attention off Paul Jr.
“He wants me to do anal with my customers – and wants me to practice with him. I don’t do anal Bobby.”
She is stroking Paul Jr.’s head.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, honey.” Paul Jr. murmurs.
Dominick starts yelling, “this is fucking ridiculous! You are a whore, Miranda! You do anal! What difference does it make what hole men fuck you in – mouth, pussy, asshole. All the customers ask for it! You are just being a bitch!”
“I don’t do anal, Dom!”
I sigh. I need to say something before this turns into another fight.
“Dominick, we don’t force the girls to do anything they don’t want to. We never have and we never will. What is the problem?”
“The problem, Bobby? It is the Russians! The Antonovich Brothers strip club offers everything. Anal, S&M, underage girls, bondage - anything goes over there. They are even planning to open a BDSM club. They are killing us. We are losing customers. Two of my best broads left and got jobs over there! The marketplace is changing. We need to keep up if we want to be competitive. Our profits are down. The customers want more.”
“Mara and Queenie sucked as dancers – and they are drug addicts. The Russians lured them over to “Velvet Handcuffs” with the promise of unlimited drugs. The men who go to “Velvet Handcuffs” are scumbags! Mara and Queenie hate it there, but the money and drugs are too good.” Miranda argues.
“Mara and Queenie did anal! Who the fuck cares how they danced? Scumbags have money too!” Dom yells.
My interest is peaked. Maybe I will find out something useful on the Antonovich brothers.
“Dominick, how do you know all this?” I ask.
“Jasmine.” Dominick and Miranda speak at the same time.
“Jasmine fucks one of the Antonovich brothers’ top soldiers. He likes American girls. He has a thing for her.” Miranda explains.
Jasmine is tiny, five feet tall. Pretty. Skinny. Some guys have a thing for small women.
This is an interesting development.
“What else does Jasmine say, Miranda?”
“Her secret Russian boyfriend is always bragging about the Antonovich brothers. He told her to keep their relationship a secret. She only talks about him when she gets drunk.”
