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Two daysinto the job at Delirium and things were… ok. I didn’t want to get my hopes up but the money was fantastic. Way better than Dalton’s and I thoughtthatclientele had been rich. I mean, they were rich, without a doubt, but they were nothing like the patrons at Delirium. There were a lot of foreigners, as I’d expected. Mostly Russian or Eastern European based on their accents and everything Nolan, my trainer, told me. Wherever they were from, they were a fuck ton more generous with the wait staff than the good ol’ boys at Dalton’s.
I was somewhat disappointed to learn Misha, Mystery Man’s real name along with a last name I couldn’t even hope to pronounce, was barely there most nights. Frankly, I didn’t know how he managed much of anything with his sporadic work hours. It’s not like the club was a regular nine-to-five, but still, I thought he’d be around more. Nolan said he did a lot of shit for Sergei Sidorov, the club owner and basically a czar of his own empire, and hanging around Delirium was only part of it.
“What are they? Like the mafia?” I asked, only half-joking since I already assumed they were.
The humor vanished from Nolan’s face. “All I’m saying is, don’t piss off any of those tattooed guys. The last general manager was dragged out of here, one guy on each arm. No one’s heard from her since.”
“What?” I stopped polishing the glass and looked at him, trying to see past his grave expression. “Are you serious?”
He nodded, tipping his chin up at a pair of guys sitting at a table across from us. I recognized the one on the right from Dalton’s. He was tall, dark, and scary as fuck even though he didn’t look that much older than me. The guy next to him was also big but in a lumberjack sort of way with a longer beard. He was equally scary, like he could open canned goods with his teeth kind of scary. Both of them had tattoos on their hands and necks; I’m sure there were even more beneath the suits.
“Steer clear of anyone with a tattoo and an accent. Got it,” I said, putting Misha at the top of that list.
“Valery’s the one on the right,” Nolan said, sidling closer and lowering his voice. “He’s Misha’s go-to guy these days. Maxim is on the left. Other guys come and go, doing different shit. You’ll get to know them but these two are at the top of the pecking order. And you’ve probably seen Anton around too. He says he’s Misha’s driver but why the fuck does a driver need to carry a gun?” He blinked and snapped like he just remembered something. “Speaking of… those shotguns under the bar top? Don’t touch them. If shit goes down, don’t be surprised if those guys take cover here.”
“Oh, great. Just like being at home.” When Nolan looked at me, I chuckled. “I grew up dodging bullets there too.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve been here for three years and nothing like that has ever happened. The worse we get are a couple ODs and some fights. People doing dumb shit. The bouncers lock it down pretty quick, though. Plus, if they’re here”—he tipped his head toward Valery and Maxim again—“you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’d have to be really fucking stupid to try something in front of them. I saw Valery break a guy’s arm on the dance floor this one time, like, compound, bone-sticking-out break with blood all over. Then the dude was just… gone. Two other guys swarmed him and carried him out while someone else cleaned up the blood. In less than a minute, you’d never even know it happened.”
“Holy shit.” I blinked and reassessed the man on the right again. At that moment, he laughed at something the lumberjack said and tossed back a shot like it was water. In the short time they’d been sitting there, they’d managed to go through half a bottle of vodka. Each. Note to self, don’t challenge them to a fightora drinking contest.
“Uh, excuse me,” a snarky voice said as Hayden, one of the junior managers and our direct boss, came into view, glancing between the two of us with a wrinkled nose. “How about a little less chit-chat and a little more work? We open in twenty.”
I wanted to punch him the first time we met and the feeling had only grown with every interaction since. We were so similar, appearance-wise, that it was like a bizarre version of Good Twink/Bad Twink. Normally, I would have categorized myself as the bad one but he was such a fucking prick that it was no contest. I was an angel compared to him.
“All done,” I replied with a smirk, stacking the last glass on the rack.
“Then go make yourself useful in the kitchen,” Hayden shot back with a fake smile that bordered on a sneer. “We’re not paying you to stand around all day.”
“Wow, I didn’t realize Sergei sold off part of his club. Good for you man,” Nolan said, clapping slowly. “I guess suck enough dick and good thingscanhappen.”
Hayden scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Grow up.”
At least he left after that, hurrying over to harass a girl named Mila about her “poor” work performance at the coat check.
“What a dick,” I muttered.
“He’s gunning for the general manager job so he’s been up everyone’s ass lately. Try not to take it personally. Oh, and one more thing.” Nolan glanced over right as Hayden flapped a dismissive hand in Mila’s face and stalked off to ruin someone else’s day. “I don’t know which way you swing but there’s a strict ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy around here. Homophobia’s still a thing, at least with guys like that.” He glanced at Valery and Maxim again. “Anyone with a rainbow flag tends to steer clear of this place for obvious reasons. But then again, Natasha lured Hayden away from one of those boutique hotels and got him a job here, so…”
“‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’?” I made a face at him. “I think Hayden literally started salivating the second Misha walked in the door earlier. Pretty sure he was going to hump him right there in the staff meeting.”
“Well,Inever asked and Hayden’s never told,” Nolan replied with a chuckle. “But yeah, pretty safe to say he swings that way.”
“Misha swing that way too?” The question was out before I could help it. I tried to disguise my curiosity by hurriedly topping off a napkin dispenser.
Nolan laughed louder. “Why don’t you ask him the next time you see him? Let me know how that works out for you.”
“Yeah, I’ll pass. I don’t feel like having my face rearranged today.” I stole a glance at my watch. “I’m going to go grab a smoke real quick.”
Nolan nodded.
Grabbing my book from beneath the bar, I headed out to the back alley. A chilly October gust swept over me the second I stepped out and I resolved to buy a new coat as soon as I got paid. I cupped my hand around the cigarette and lit it, inhaling a quick drag before the wind could blow it out again.
I kicked an empty crate over and sat down, flipping my book open to the dog-eared page. Bending the spine, I wrapped the cover around the back, holding it in one hand so I could smoke with the other.
A biography on James Garfield probably didn’t seem thrilling to most people but the man was a fucking stud. Born into absolute poverty, he ascended to the presidency only to be shot a few months after he took office. He lived for another two months before finally dying, thanks largely in part to his doctors’ incompetency. But in the months hehadbeen able to serve? He accomplished more shit than most presidents could dream of. It was too bad all the fucking glory went to guys like Washington and Lincoln. If Garfield had lived, who knows what he could have done for this country.
I inhaled another drag, turning a page as a black Escalade rolled down the alleyway and rocked to a halt.
