Old, rich, and businessmen all in the same sentence would always have warning bells going off.
“The tips are incredible, especially the drunker they get,” she teased. “One time I made over five hundred in just a night.”
I would’ve said no right away, simply because a lot of red flags shot up when I thought about going to some obscure bar and serving drinks to old, rich men. But the money aspect had me not declining right away. “So what’s the catch?”
She grimaced. “Sometimes, they can get a little handsy. But they have staff—bouncers, I guess—who have always made sure nothing gets out of hand. Not unless you want to make a little extra money.” She lifted her eyebrows.
Sex for money was what she implied. I slowly shook my head. “I’m not a prostitute, Laura.”
She shook her head. “Neither am I. I’m just saying that's some of the stuff you could see—exchanging of money and… yeah, all that.”
Now it was my turn to grimace at the thought of crusty old men trying to cop a feel or worse, thinking I’d put out.
“I don’t want to pressure you, but I know you need the money just like me.” At my no doubt surprised look, she snorted and shook her head. “Come on, you don’t have to actually tell me you need money for me to know. You live in Desolation. Enough said.”
True enough. Although she’d mentioned at one point the possibility of us living together, I didn’t know what my future held. And with Henry and his thugs no doubt coming after me at some point, I didn’t want Laura thrown in that mix and dragged down.
I couldn’t deny it. She was right, of course. But I had to weigh the pros and cons of putting myself in a position where things could escalate and worsen.
“I just wanted to offer it to you. We are there to serve drinks, not give handjobs… not unless you want,” she said on a laugh, and I couldn’t help the way my lips twitched in amusement.
A little sliver of reality interjected itself into my thoughts because I knew I couldn’t afford to pass up an opportunity like this. I never got chances to supplement my income. And to be honest, any extra income was better than nothing. I’d be closer to leaving Desolation. And maybe if I did a good enough job, they’d let me work other nights there.
“Okay,” I said, and she grinned wider. “I don’t have anything nice to wear though.”
She waved off my words. “No worries. They keep a wardrobe, because they prefer the waitresses to wear certain things to keep up with the aesthetics of the place.”
I was feeling a little less sure about this. What kind of place was this where they had expendable clothing all because they wanted to keep up appearances? I understood uniforms, but I doubted this place gave everyone the same drab apparel, especially if they catered to rich and powerful men.
I should’ve just assumed the night in question would probably end up coming back to bite me in the ass. That’s usually how the events in my life went. But beggars couldn’t be choosers.
And I was absolutely a beggar at this point.
I’d left work twenty minutes ago, making quick time as I walked the dark, septic streets of Desolation. I’d been convinced someone would attack again, but fortunately aside from a few catcalls, I was left relatively alone.
Once I was inside my apartment building, I still didn’t let go of my canister of pepper spray. The sun would be rising soon, my feet ached, and my head hurt, but I couldn’t wholly complain. I’d made decent tips and even snagged some food from the diner so I wouldn’t go to bed hungry and wouldn’t have to stop at the convenience store for some prepackaged shit. And I had a job lined up that would—hopefully—make me some decent money.
I started taking the narrow, trash-laden stairs, the scent of stale cigarette smoke, old liquor, and the remnants of what was probably piss and vomit lingering in the air. I could hear the heavy bass of rap music playing from one of the apartments on an upper level. A couple was fighting loudly, and in another, there was the sound of glass breaking—normalcy in this building.
Once I got to the landing of the floor my apartment was on, I took a moment to catch my breath before I made my way to my front door.
I rounded the corner, and my steps faltered slightly when I saw my neighbor leaning against the interior frame of his door. A cloud of smoke filled his apartment and spilled out into the hallway, a dirty haze that made my vision slightly fuzzy. He brought his cigarette to his lips and took a long drag from it as he stared at me, the small cloud of smoke leaving his mouth as he exhaled.
He wore a stained, what was once probably white T-shirt, dark pit stains under the arms, a brown ring painting the collar, and a slight gut protruding from underneath the otherwise stretched material. His jeans looked like they hadn’t been washed since he got them, and his feet were bare, his toenails too long and too yellow. And the entire time he had his focus latched on to me like a damn leech, refusing to let go.
I averted my gaze quickly and stopped at my door, fumbling with my key for a second before I pushed it into the lock and opened the door. I shut it behind me, turned the deadbolt, and slipped the chain lock in place, then leaned against it.
The domestic shouting sounded louder and right down the hall, and I closed my eyes and thought about what it would be like to be someone else.
But fantasies weren’t real. They were fine when you thought you could escape, but once reality slammed back in, that pain was even stronger than before.
9
Galina
The cab pulled to a stop in front of the bar where Laura had told me to meet her. She’d said to be here at ten, which might have seemed late as hell to start a shift, but when you were in the city, it was when the darkness really settled in that life started to come alive.
“We’re here,” the cab driver said in a thick Eastern European accent. I handed him the amount it cost for the trip, an expense I normally wouldn’t have spent, given the fact that I was trying to save up, but I wasn’t about to hike it across town at this hour. Going a few blocks from Sal’s to my apartment was one thing. Walking to this bar would have been suicide.
I climbed out, and as soon as the cab door was shut, it drove away. No changing my mind now.
I tipped my head back and took in the three stories of the building in front of me. The entire structure was black brick, with twin black vinyl doors situated front and center and a small light illuminating it. Compared to all the other buildings on this block, it looked totally out of place.
The sign above the door was red neon and spelled out Sdat'sya.
I pulled out my cell phone and sent a quick text to Laura to let her know I was here. Aside from meeting at this place at ten, she hadn’t given me any other instructions.
I wasn’t brave enough to go through those front doors, which by the way were unguarded. Part of me felt a little bit of trepidation about what lay on the other side, as if I’d be walking into hell itself.
I wasn’t stupid in not assuming a lot of Desolation was controlled and owned by the crime syndicate. I knew in Vegas the Italian mafia had a large hand in things. In fact, many cities around the US probably ran the same way. It was just how the world worked, how things were done. And so I tried to keep my head down and my business to myself.