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So far, so good, but upon further inspection, none of the women here are desirable to me. That isn’t to say they’re not beautiful, but they’re not my type. They’re all cookie-cutter copies of one another, scrambling to choke down a row of colorful kamikaze shots before hitting the dance floor.
If someone asked me where these girls came from, my best guess would be that they’ve all emerged from the same hive of bored, try-hard wannabe models that have exploded all over social media lately. Every group of girls acts like they’re being filmed constantly, every expression and emotion exaggerated or heavily practiced as their friends take an excessive number of photos.
Each of them is wearing foundation that’s a shade or two too dark, and even in the ever-changing lights of the club atmosphere, it’s obvious. They all wear false lashes that curl up nearly to their eyebrows, which have, of course, been drawn on without a hint of subtlety at all. I’m certain that all of them have spent the entire night squealing about how great they look despite their obvious flaws.
I examine each group of women, making the same judgment.
Is this all this city has to offer?
I’m ready to call some different girls over to the club until I notice someone at the far end of the dance floor, standing awkwardly to herself along the wall. It appears that she’s here with a friend, clearly someone who is a bit more confident in herself, maybe to a fault.
I try not to stare, but the girl along the wall catches my attention like the glint of gold in the desert sand. She’s not the most polished girl here, at least not by conventional standards, but that’s what draws me to her.
She’s real.
Her hair is long and dark with side-swept bangs, possibly straightened but nothing more complicated than that. She’s wearing a red dress with long sleeves and cutouts on her waist, which she doesn’t seem entirely comfortable wearing.
But she wore it anyway.
Because shewantssomeone to look at her.
Right now, that someone is me, and it doesn’t look like that will be changing any time soon.
I study her longer, taking in the way that she moves, the way she pulls her shoulders back as though to say, “Hey, I’m confident too, just like all the other girls.”
But she isn’t like the others. Despite her revealing outfit and dark eyeshadow, she doesn’t seem to want to attract any attention to herself. This is an entirely new venture for her, and she’s terrified of being noticed.
Unfortunately for her, I’ve noticed her, and I like what I see.
Just as I’m considering going to talk to her, Luka, the son of one of the most prolific Italian mobsters in the city, steps up beside me. “Akim, this place is badass. Why didn’t you tell us it was going to be like this? We would have invested had we known,” he says, slapping me on the back and taking a swig of his beer.
“I wasn’t really sure what to expect myself. This is all kind of new for me,” I lie. I’ve managed tons of businesses in my time, many of them being bars. None quite to this caliber, but I’ve gained more than enough experience to know what I’m doing.
As long as it keeps the IRS and the cops off my back, I’m good.
“Damn it, you’re always so humble. Have a drink with us!” he says, motioning over to the small posse he’s brought with him.
He’s not here to hang out with me.
He wants something.
“Nah, I really have to stay sharp. It’s the first night. If something happens, I have to be the one who fixes it,” I lie again. I rehearsed these lines before I came. I knew I’d be bothered by some jackass who can’t mind his own business.
“Fine, fine. Hey, my father wants to set up a meeting with you,” Luka says, suddenly appearing more self-conscious than before. He knows I hate it when he asks for favors. We’re civil, but our families are not friends. Russians don’t fuck with Italians and vice versa.
“You already know that’s not a good idea, Luka,” I say, trying to choose my words carefully to avoid a confrontation. I’m at least thirty pounds heavier than him with far more muscle mass, but I know he fights dirty. I don’t feel like causing a scene tonight.
“Come on, Akim. We could join forces, and you would have twice the territory to run your shit around,” he continues. He must have been drinking a lot before confronting me because he’s entirely too confident about asking me to let him into my success when I hardly know him.
I don’t have time for this. Any more questions and I’m likely to have one of my bouncers throw him out.
“Luka, the answer is no, but even if I wanted a meeting with your father, now isn’t the time for you to be asking. It’s basic decency,” I say, rolling my eyes.
He slinks away without a word, retreating to his group of goons in the corner. I’m certain he’s going to complain to them about how much of a buzzkill I’m being, but I can’t say I’m too concerned with his opinion of me. The only reason his father would want to join forces is to gain back lost ground from his unsuccessful underground fighting ring.
Luka might be an overindulged child, but he’s extremely well-connected in the world of organized crime due to being a part of the family business. If there was anyone I should be trying to win the favor of, it’s him.
But I find him so fucking irritating that I would rather never see his fucking face again than make triple what I’m making now.
