Twist and Shout

"Prance back to my girl?" I said as I tried to stifle laughter.

What year did this girl come from? She was funny, though not intentionally. I was gonna let them be assholes for the rest of the day and order another drink. But then she decided to intervene. Actually she only tried to help the guy I was talkin' to, must like the guy or somethin'. How "saved by the bell." I grab the paper she's lookin' down at and rip it into confetti. I tossed it in the air so that it would rain down on her.

"Thanks for the assessment," I said to her.

I looked at the "two retards" next.

"Guys, do we have a problem or what? I mean, lemme know while I'm still here."

"Thanks for the assessment," he says after his done ripping the lyrics to pieces. This guy has just officially become asshole of the month. I study Zack who looks truly heartbroken.

“See what did I say to you about being organised,” I say to him. He laughs.

"Guys, do we have a problem or what? I mean, lemme know while I'm still here." The rapper says.

“We do now cypress hill, you just tore up my man Zacks lyrics,” I roll my eyes and almost laugh at myself I was angry, yet it’s not okay for them to be angry. I think it’s because they stereotyped him. Next thing you know they’ll be calling him pimp. I almost feel sorry for him till I look at Zack again. This guy is like my little brother I don’t like what this man is doing. I might be a cop, but it doesn’t mean I follow the law to a t.

“Maybe we can take this outside?” I suggest.

“Why moron?” Tool asks. I really do hate that man…

“Can it,” Nick says and Tool looks hurt. At this point Alex has remained. Silent this guy is a body builder, but he’s also a gentle giant I’ve never seen him snap before. He looks worried. Zack and Alex share looks. Nick, Tool and I stand up.

The nerve of 'em. All of 'em. And the chick just challenged me outside. I see Vanna gettin' up from the table, but I give a little wave to her, code for everything's alright. I'm actually saving them, but I'd get no credit for it, nor would I expect any.

"So you wanna go outside?"

I scratch my head as if I'm thinkin' about it. They're all standing by now, easier to drop 'em. Fine, we can go outside. They just called me Cypress Hill. Now it's a must that somethin' happens.

"Very well. Come outside and I'll show you just how sorry you should feel for me."

I'm lookin' at all of 'em now.

"Very well. Come outside and I'll show you just how sorry you should feel for me."

I feel like banging my head against a wall. I feel like telling him I processed people like him all the time back at the station. I couldn’t which made me mad as hell.
Nick and tool are out the door in a flash. I try to decide if they are doing a runner or just can’t wait to fight. Zack sighs deciding he might as well judge the happenings outside.

“I won‘t be going no place, outside with yer. I don‘t fight.” he continues to sip his drink and I shrug walking outside the bar. The bouncers look ready rip us to bits if we cause trouble so we decide to move down the street into an ally way. Nick and tool are already there.

Zack and I lean up against a wall. Zacks hands shoved into his tatty black denims mine on my hips the leather pants to tight for me to have pockets. Nick and tool are talking about how they’ll kick ass and Zack’s shaking his head.

“I‘m going to get you back for this later you know,” he says to me. I laugh at him.

I hear the talk, but I'm not impressed by it. Vanna gets up from the table again, and this time, I won't stop her from intervening. Punk ass rockers... I knew they were talkin' sh*t. That's aiight, cuz I'm finna handle it like I should have been done. Still, I can't help but to notice the girl and one of the guys were reluctant to mix it up. Too bad.

As Vanna comes closer, I whisper to her.

"As quietly as possible."

She nods. Just then, a police car is makin' the block, eyes fixed on who else? I heave a sigh and push on as if I don't notice him, but the rockheads are too amped for the cop to leave it alone.

"What seems to be the trouble here?" he asks me.

"None at all," I said as I continue to walk in the general direction of the rockers, hoping the lawman would go away.

Out the corner of my eye, I can still see the bacon-mobile on our side of the block. I looked at the rockers again, especially the chick who asked me outside. Nice pants. Anyway, back to work... as soon as the piggie go bye bye.

I spot the squad car and frown, what are they doing around here. I sigh there’s about a dozen criminal reasons I can think of. It’s not like every police officer I see is going to know what I’m doing or where I am.

“We should ditch,” Zack suggests.

I shrug, “I called him out over your lyrics we can‘t just back out I‘d look stupid.”

“You and your ego” he mutters.

So now we all have to wait for the cops to go, they’ll take there time considering Tool and Nick are making morons out of themselves again.

“Damn cops,” I say and I really mean it for a change.

“You‘re going down B boy soon as the cops are gone.” Nick says.

“Hey,” Zack and I shout at him at the same time. “shut up jerk off,” I finish off.

Oh my GOD. Just go away already. I put my arm around Vanna, and pretend to turn on the next street. That way, the cop might just go do some actual work. Ha, I'm trippin', them fools never do any actual police work. Even the good ones just play the background while the corrupt go play.

So from the other corner, I can see the car finally leave. It's about damn time. I come back around with Vanna. I have a razor blade under my tongue, ready to slice up the bitch that called me Cypress Hill and B Boy. He's the first to go. I fake a cough to slide the blade out. I ball my fist around it, pretending that I'm actually interested in gettin' my hands dirty. Not if I don't have to.

"Ready when you are," I say to the alpha male of the group.

"Ready when you are," I say to the alpha male of the group.

I look up and the cop car is gone. The rapper has himself at the ready and Nick being the loser he is has struck some fancy boxing type stance.

Zack and I hang back a little further and watch, deciding that we will get involved if things get a little more bloody. I don’t want to get to involved due to what I’ve been taught. I know what I need to…

“Come on then,” Nick says putting out a flashy display of punches that get him nowhere. I can tell by the way his holding himself that there is no weight behind his punches.

Children these days. Well, children; they must be about my age, yet they are behaving like they just crawled out of the bitch that spawned them. Ripping up papers, talking in a threatening tone. Spoiling the atmosphere, if nothing else. Damn punks. I take out my pocket watch, only to put it away without giving as much of a glance. God I’m bored. In my opinion, there’s a few ways to pass time; get a drink, do some business, have a chit-chat with a pretty girl, go back to my place, her place, any place. But hell, I’m new here, and in Russo’s bar; last thing I want to do is offend them by getting drunk and hitting on a waitress.

I pick up my glass and walkover to the bar, throwing a quick glance at the lovely behind of the waitress that is cleaning up the paper shreds one of the punks threw on the ground. When I look back, I’m treated to an even more pleasant sight; a Mexican beauty, well hello! Barman seems pleasant enough, for the time being. Then again, saw him shoot down one person already, although that fool tried to talk business at the bar like these were the seventies and there were no cops.

Now I’m usually not one to interrupt a conversation between a potential employer and a beautiful lady, even if she’s way out of his league, but for this once I’ll make an exception. “Excuse me, beautiful.” I give her a combination of my ‘respected equal’ and ‘hot woman in maid's outfit’ smile before turning to the man behind the bar. “I’d like to place a bet.” Taking out an envelope, I count half a dozen fifty-dollar bills and place them on the bar. “Put it all on Moneyonme.”

Clearly the employees of Twist & Shout are fastidious about keeping up appearances; as soon as I remove my raincoat it’s whipped away by a waiter who politely suggests I might want to visit the restroom.

My first thought is a somewhat annoyed, Do I really look that bad?, but remembering who runs this place I smile graciously and, after setting my drink down on the table, I make my way across the bar, clutching my bag. Confidence is key, I remind myself. If you are sure of yourself, other people will be.

The restroom is styled much the same as the rest of Twist & Shout; classy, black and white décor with atmospheric white lighting. Large silver mirrors hang above each of the sink, and I stand in front of one of these now and give myself a frank assessment.

My newly-dyed hair is still very wet, but starting to dry. A few stray tendrils are beginning to curl against my cheeks. The cold weather has brought a blush to my otherwise pale face, and I frown slightly as I realise the rain has smudged my eyeliner quite badly. Then there’s my clothes; saturated by the rain, they cling to my skin and reveal far more than I’d like. In particular, my tank top, made of thin white cotton, is now see-through.

The make-up, at least, is easily fixed. I wash my face with warm water and a small bottle of cleanser I have with me, cleaning away the eyeliner. After retrieving my little make-up kit from my bag, I then reapply an outline of smoky grey at the base of my lashes and add a coat of mascara for good measure. Not heavy make-up by any means, but effective in the results.

The clothes are a more difficult matter. I have a dress that will do in my bag, but chances are the rain will have soaked through and ruined it.

I rummage through my things, muttering a silent prayer though it’s been a long time since I’ve believed in any god. If I did, I’d have no choice but to believe I’m headed straight to hell.

I find the dress right at the bottom of my bag. A little crumpled, but dry. My lucky day.

Stepping into a cubicle, I lock the door behind me and strip off my jacket, top and shorts. I don’t think I realise just how much the rain soaked me until I’m stood there in my underwear, holding my saturated clothes in my hands. With a slight grimace, I fold them up and put them back in my bag. They’re going to ruin the rest of my things, but I don’t have much of a choice.

I rub my hands together to dry them off a little, then slip the dress over my head. It’s an off-white, silky material, with elbow length bat-wing sleeves and a hemline that comes to mid-thigh. Thankfully the boots I’m wearing match perfectly, so I don’t have to worry about them. The sweetheart neckline is a little lower cut than I’d like, bringing up memories I’d rather forget, but I know it looks good. I will at least no longer look out of place when I return to the bar.

I give my hair a little fluff in the mirror before I leave the restroom, still surprised by the bronze colour and the shortness. It’s definitely going to take me a while to get used to it.

When I come back into the main bar, I catch the eye of the waiter who tipped me off to my ragged appearance. I raise one eyebrow questioningly, and he smiles and nods. I relax a little, relieved.

As I make my way back to my table I notice that others have come in to T&S during my absence. One group in particular seem pretty het up and it’s not long before they make their way outside. I shake my head a little as I sit down, but it’s not exactly a scene I’m unfamiliar with.

Nor am I unfamiliar with the easy confidence with which the Hispanic woman at the bar carries herself. Everything about her says she’s beautiful and she knows it. It was the way I used to be; the way I was trained to be. A man’s guard is never down as much as when he’s trying to seduce someone … except maybe if he succeeds.

I sip my white wine spritzer, focusing back on the music filling the room. I don’t want to remember, but it would be dangerous to forget. Otherwise, they might find me. I have to keep one step ahead.

Always.

As I ask the question about family ties within Twist & Shout, Carnie’s eyes focus past me and I hear the little group who had been all comfy on one of the couches starting to get loud. Following his gaze I see that either they’re starting something with the rapper or he’s starting something with them and roll my eyes. Apparently they’ve nothing better to do.

“Excuse me, beautiful.”

The voice seems to appear along with the dapper man right out of the surroundings of Twist & Shout. Seriously, if the décor could have somehow evolved a human, this is what he would look like, I think. Retro looks good on him, the black case he carries mysterious, the watch a prominent statement.

His look and tone are admiring without being over the top and earns him a polite smile and a sultry look back from me before he turns to Carnie.

The noisy group is leaving, apparently, though perhaps for a street fight, who knows? At least they have the good sense not to do it in here. They must have seen the bouncers moving in to toss them out.

A girl I saw earlier, shorter than me although Hispanic as well by my guess, comes out of the bathrooms in a different outfit than she went in, receiving a nod from a waiter. Well, no wonder, the girl knows how to present herself for sure and any man breathing would notice her in that dress and boots.

I can’t help a tiny grin. I’m not a big fan of women, honestly, I just like men more in general. Women are catty and difficult. Believe me, I know, I’m one of them.

But I can bet that this girl is of the same independent stripe as I am. I wonder what her story is, briefly. She might even be worth talking to.

My attention goes back to Mr. Handsome at the bar as he slides money across the polished bar. I look away idly.

“I’d like to place a bet. Put it all on Moneyonme.”

His gambling life is no business of mine and the wire-haired hotel desk clerk’s reserved tone comes back to me. It might have nothing to do with gambling. Again, no business of mine.

I simply sip my drink, leaning on the bar companionably but giving Carnie and Mr. Handsome some space.

A disturbance between two parties gets my attention briefly. I'm bothered that people are so feisty so early, but whatever. Security would handle it if the situation escalates. Fortunately it doesn't, as both leave. A man comes to the bar asking to bet on the races.

I nod at him and grab a betting card and pen. "Name and number in case you leave and we have to call you."

I take the money and open up a lock box underneath the bar, placing it in and waiting for him to fill out his information.

"Anyway," I say and turn back to Juana, "Cousin Vinny keeps it in the family here. He owns the joint, his son, Junior, is head of security and his daughter manages the books. Trey never showed a knack for leadership or was gifted numbers wise, but he always loved to play the piano. Vinny built that stage just for him, so the boy always makes it a point to stop and see his mother and father. You know, show his appreciation for them fitting him in somewhere."

Cousin. Like I said, never hurts to make the bartender your friend.

That stage is quite a gift. One might even call it a masterpiece. Or maybe it’s bait. I wonder now if Trey has ever wanted to head off for parts unknown and his family has found a way to tie him here.

Maybe they’re just lavishly generous to family members by nature. Still, something to consider. We’ll have to see what this Trey is like. And I hope they’re just as generous to other employees. Singers for instance. Now if I can get him to see me as a desirable employee rather than competition for his own act and get a chance to audition, maybe I’ll be home and dry.

Looking at the rain sliding down the broad front windows, that’s more than just a metaphor.

“Good to know,” I reply with a smile and a nice tip, “If he’s going to be some time yet then I believe I’ll make myself comfortable.”

I share out a smile between Carnie and Mr. Handsome, who I know notices even though he’s scribbling down his information, and push my hair back so that it falls down my back.

Taking my half-finished drink I head over to a couch near the other girl. Really nice boots, makes me want to head out for shoe shopping while I wait for Trey...if only it wasn’t so wet out.

I give her a small smile and nod of acknowledgment, taking care to sit far enough away that I’m not invading her space but close enough that she can talk to me if she wishes. Ridding myself of the still-wet coat I find a waiter at my elbow and he spirits it away, presumably to a coat-check. When he returns with a ticket in a moment I nod and smile thanks, tucking it in my nose-breaker bag.

Mr. Handsome is still at the bar with Carnie and the noisy group seems to have left for an indefinite period, which is a relief.

Nice place, I think, sinking into the embrace of the black leather couch, drink in hand, smoothing the silky cinnamon colored fabric of my dress with the other. Very nice indeed.

Either I just put money on a horse with a terrible name, or the information three separate bums gave actually holds up and I just made contact. Either way, I’m pretty sure I’ll never see that money again. Not that it matters. Plenty of money to go around, especially if this contract goes well. I smile as I take out my, knowing that the fact it is a Montblanc Meisterstuck Hommage will be lost on both the bartender and the Latin American woman. A 200$ pen. A bit expensive to carry around like that, then again, I travel light, and leaving the pen in a hotel room is, by far, more dangerous than carrying it with me.

‘Joshua Pastor’

I suppress the urge to add ‘son of’. If they need to know the name, they know the name. Besides, there is no telling who my old man pissed off in this city. Better keep my relationship with the late conman for myself, lest I want to run into the unforgiving kind.

I add the number of my cellphone to the slip of paper, hesitating a moment before adding a line of text below it. There. The subtlety of it should not be lost on whoever this goes to.

‘I’ve heard Moneyonme is the most reliable horse in town.’

With that, I slip the piece of paper to the bartender, who not as much as glances at it before it disappears under the bar. I give him an honoured smile before raising my glass at him. “Thank you, sir.” Well, that went rather smoothly. I remember a time, several times actually, when things went down differently. It was good to see that this crew, at least, believes in subtlety and class. Most organisations in the business are far more fond of the whole ‘hood, trunk, badly lit room’ procedure.

I turn around, leaning against the bar. The smile the Latin woman gave me could be misinterpreted as an suggestion to join her, and the couch she is now sitting on does look terribly inviting, especially since she is now sitting there. I chuckle as I take a lazy sip of my single malt, enjoying the roughness of the drink before scanning the rest of the room.

I let out a pleased hum as I spot another woman, short haired, wearing a dress that reveals just enough, or just too little, depending on what kind of person you are. Truly, we are blessed to have such women amongst us on this earth. My mother would tell me to be careful, of course. According to her, there are two things infinite in this world; rich, dumb man, and ladies to relieve them of their funds. Luckily for me, I’m just rich, not dumb.

There was something about this particular woman though. The way she watched her immediate surroundings. The shape of her face. It was like trying to remember a memory of a tale of a description. Foolishness, I realise, just as I realise I’m now staring at her. Shrugging, I get up, and walk to the couch where the Latin woman is sitting. I smile at her as I sit down next to her, far enough not to make her feel threatened, close enough for a conversation.

“I hope you don’t mind if I sit here,” I say as I put my suitcase next to my feet and my bowler on a nearby table. Sherman and sons. Love that hat. “But the couches seemed comfortable, and the company seemed lovely.” A moment of eye contact that lasts a perfect half a second too long.

The music just about blocks out the relentless battering of the rain against the windows. I don’t envy the group that went outside to, ah, settle their ‘philosophical differences’, as an old friend used to say; they’ll end up soaked as well as bruised and bloody. Idiots.

The wine, combined with being in dry clothes, has taken the edge off my nerves, and I’ve relaxed a bit more into the black leather couch. My legs are crossed casually, showing off my boots, but my arms are in an open stance, elbow resting on the arm of the couch, drink in hand. An act, of course, but trying to remain inconspicuous is a sure way to draw attention to yourself. Another pearl of wisdom from my training.

I look around at the sound of heels gently clacking on the tiled floor, and see the Hispanic woman making her way over to the corner I’m sat in. Catching my look she gives me an acknowledging smile and nod, which I return, then takes a seat a short distance away.

As with me, when she takes off her rain-soaked coat a waiter appears apparently from nowhere to whisk it away. I remember the mild surprise and smile, commenting briefly, “Efficient service, isn’t it?”

A few moments pass in silence as we both sip our drinks, then I feel an uncomfortable tingling on the back of my neck. I can sense someone’s eyes on me, admiring the view. It’s a feeling I’m used to, though I get no pleasure from it. Being attractive never brought me anything but trouble.

This isn’t just an appreciative look though. He keeps looking, and after a few minutes I start to think it’s ridiculous. I turn, and meet the eyes of a man leaning against the bar. Early thirties, handsome, and smartly dressed with a bowler hat and briefcase. I don’t know him, but he’s watching me with a distant expression, as though as trying to place me.

My description has no doubt been thoroughly circulated by Alan. Maybe he’s read it. Dressed like that, who knows who he’s working for? I can only hope the hair is enough to throw him.

By now I’ve turned away, but I keep him visible in the corner of my eye. After a moment he stand and starts towards this corner. I try not worry, but the briefest of glances assures me that he’s only looking at the Hispanic woman now. A low sigh of relief escapes my lips.

I’m safe. For now.

On the other hand, maybe I should just dirty my hands. This guy is a wimp. A chicken-sh*t. And by now, he seems to be the only one wanting to fight. Fine by me. I slide the razor blade in the inside pocket of my coat as I take it off and hand it to Vanna.

"Come on then," he says to me.

One more look to be sure nothing's out there, and I close the space on this jerk-off. He threw a punch at my face, I let him hit me to measure his power. I almost wanna laugh, he's a typical street fighter. Good for me. I smirk at Vanna after eating the punch, she shakes her head with a grin. I chop the guy in his throat and watch him fall like a sack of potatoes.

He's holding his throat now, tryna say somethin', but I can't make it out. I didn't hit him that hard, I was just more deliberate than he was. I toy with him, actin' like I wanna know what he's sayin'.

"What's that? I can't hear ya, baby! Speak up!"

Fun time's over now, I have work to do, and I need to get back in there. Vanna puts my coat back on me as we walk back to the spot. I really hope I didn't give people the wrong idea, but that little pansy and the girl, they brought that outta me. The asshole I was gonna ignore, but when that other dick started talkin' bout no harm, I knew they were sayin' more about me than "There's Othello."

I get back in the place and flash a hundred dollar to the bartender.

"Another Long Island, please," I solemnly requested, putting the c-note on the bar. "Keep the change."

Damn punk ass rockers. If they've f*cked this up, I will kill them.

The other woman seems friendly enough as we exchange brief pleasantries over the efficiency of the service here. Lapsing into silence feels all right, too, the rain on the windows and the music providing enough background accompaniment to just relax.

Then Mr. Handsome strolls over to us, his interest unmistakable but not blatant. Nice to see a man with some class, my weakness. I smooth my skirt again so that the hem covers the top of my knee, legs crossed at the ankles. I promised myself I would keep my distance after Vander. No more men till they had proved who they were, that they were really worthy of trust.

“I hope you don’t mind if I sit here,” Mr. Handsome takes a seat not far from me, not crowding but definitely close enough for conversation. I can’t help noticing that he wears a suit as it is meant to be worn, with thoughtlessly casual panache. “But the couches seemed comfortable, and the company seemed lovely.”

He catches my eye and I swear he knows what I was thinking and in a slightly longer moment I’m certain that he’s intending to change my mind.

“Not at all,” I reply, flicking my gaze to the other woman in order to break the eye contact with Mr. Handsome and use the other woman as a shield in the conversation. From the corner of my eye I see the rapper return along with his tightly wrapped blonde Christmas present.

With the distraction it takes me a second to notice that the small woman in the white dress and nice boots is wearing an odd expression that is hard to define. Something between nervousness and relief. Before I can decide what I’m seeing it’s gone, replaced by a bland pleasant look.

Making eye contact with Mr. Handsome again I give him a nice smile. I can’t help noticing that he has a very nice smile himself. Trying not to think about it, I indicate the case at his feet.

“Are you in the city on business?” I ask him politely.

With so many distractions, it was a miracle we got any talking done. I was less then pleased to see the punk had returned from the street. In my opinion, it would have been better if the man had stayed on the street; rats belonged outside, with the other rats. Talking about other rats, the small group that had gone out with the man hadn’t returned yet. Maybe he had cut them up and dumped them in an alley. I smiled as I swirled the single malt in my glass, returning my attention to the woman sitting next to me.

It was part amusing, part endearing how hard she tried not to make eye contact, instead staring at the woman I knew sat behind him. For a moment, the image of the two women touched my mind, but I dismissed it. Keep it civilized now. She returned her attention to me.

She indicates the case at his feet. “Are you in the city on business?” she asks me politely.

I smile as I take another sip of my single malt. “Business, yes. Pleasure, if my schedule allows it.” Very little subtly in that remark, but I kept my tone civil, casual. “I’m an advisor. Everyday people like you and me getting scammed everywhere, conned men and women, looking for a way to pick up life. I help out, for a minimum fee.” I lean back, enjoying the softness of the leather couch and the amber swirling of his whiskey. It wasn’t all a lie. In a way, I was simply a different kind of vigilante. One who didn’t like to get his hands dirty, and didn’t mind dealing with people who did.

“Now you don’t strike me as a business woman.” I lean my head even further back, tilting my head just enough to give her a small smile. “So what brings you to New Avarus, miss..?”

“Now you don’t strike me as a business woman.” He leans his head even further back, giving me a small smile. “So what brings you to New Avarus, miss..?”

“Fuentes.” I give him a mid-wattage smile, “Juana Fuentes.”

Pleasure, if my schedule allows it. About as obvious a hint as any woman could wish for.

“I emigrated from Mexico and with one thing and another,” and a boyfriend who turned out to be a rat, “I ended up here. Asked around and heard that Twist & Shout was a good place for a singer to try to get in.” I smile, enjoying the interest in his gaze, “Apparently they have high standards…someone mentioned that there aren’t many successful auditions.”

I realize I’ve been studying his lips as the tumbler of amber-colored liquid presses against them. They’re well-shaped as the rest of him and I look away, sipping my own drink.

Too much like Vander! Cool, smooth, obviously not hurting for money…I am not falling for this one. I realize my chin has taken on a haughty tilt at the thought of Vander and I abandon that, sipping my drink again.

“Anyway, it’s nice to have some agreeable company as I wait for my possible audition.” I know I’m holding his gaze that extra moment too long again. What’s wrong with me? “And who do I have the pleasure of waiting with?”

I’m greeted at the airport and swiftly taken to a place called the twist and shout to speak with my fathers man.

He is a Asian American called Isaac fisher. In the true Japanese fashion however he opens doors for me and waits on me like a good son. I am offered a seat and take my place, while he finds me and American meal. he tells me I will find this much to my liking. I am given a photo to look at. It’s of a red Kawasaki motorcycle which he has graciously gifted me with. Unlike the bikes and cars I will be dealing with this bike isn’t hot. My father forbids any of us owning things that in a previous life were someone else’s that we took with force or with stealth so to speak. Isaac returns to our table.

He greets me in Japanese and I put my hand up and signal him to stop.
“You don‘t need to do that, I am hear now and I will speak English like every other American person.”

He nods his head. “I hope your father fairs well,” he says.

“Yes,” I reply.

“He would like to see us do some very constructive business. He would like to come here. However now is not the time for him.”

Isaac nods again, “we are glad that he has sent you.”

I doubt that, nothing stirs an nest of ants like a queen. While I am studying him, considering if he is faithful to my father and our cause. He is making assessments of a more manly manner. Looking me up and down like a dog.

“Does something bother you?” I ask.

He shakes his head. My meal arrives and I smile in thanks. Isaac waits for me to take a bite.

"Well, would you like me to show you some other places of interest?"

I nod my head

A Mexican. Oddly enough, I had taken her for a Boricua, then again, it has been a while since I met a woman from that area. For some reason they’re not to typical in the type of places that I visit. I count myself lucky to have encountered such a beautiful lady here today. And a singer! I always had a soft spot for singers, mainly since I sound like a crow who swallowed another crow, then got swallowed by another crow. I enable revenge, let others create the music to accompany it.

“Joshua Pastor.” A smile that mimicked her own. Quiet a heartbreaker, this woman. Beautiful, and very aware of it, yet classy enough not to linger on it. Not my common catch, as those usually throw themselves into my arms. Besides, if she would indeed be hired here, things could turn ugly. People in the business don’t appreciate it when you sleep with their girls. Even so, a ‘friend’ in this place couldn’t hurt. Especially if she did not get hired.

“And this place does look like it could use a singer.” I sit up and gesture at the black and white piano’s that occupy one of the stages. “I’ve heard good stories about this place. The players are supposed to be excellent, one of them is the son of the owner, a new Mozart or so some claim.” In truth, I’ve heard very little of this place, but I’m not beyond teasing a helpless young woman. “So at least the music that accompanies you will be excellent.” I give her a smooth grin, pleased with the spin I gave to the conversation. Her area of expertise, giving her control over the conversation, while at the same time getting to know her a little better.

“Nice to meet you,” I realize I’m studying him again with a small smile. Pastor. Advisor. Seems to be a theme.

I break eye contact smoothly again, shaking my hair back and glancing at the pianos, “I would prefer to work with the best musicians possible,” I realize that sounds a little arrogant and go on quickly, “so that I don’t have to think about the accompaniment.”

Glancing at the other woman I give her a polite smile, not wanting to cut her out of the conversation. I’m also glad I’m drinking something non alcoholic or Joshua could prove to be a major weakness.

As it is he cloaks his interest in polished civility. Enough so that I’m pretty sure that he would be happy with any presentable woman at this point.

I prefer men to burn for me. It happens. The problem is when I get caught in the flames myself.

Turning to Joshua I cross one knee languidly over the other, running my fingers through my hair and settling it more neatly so that it falls to one side of my neck.

“So in your professional opinion as an Advisor, I am in the right place to audition, Joshua?” My tone is teasing, “Or is that information something I would have to pay for?”

He obviously doesn’t have money problems. Either he’s a very good advisor or he’s something more. My instincts tell me not to probe. They also tell me he’s probably not good for me.

Damn instincts.

I give her an amused smile and lean back again, swirling my now nearly empty glass around as I look around the establishment, pretending to give every corner an appraising onceover, then looking at Juana. I had never learned how to undress women with my eyes, and frankly, I had never had to, as my hands were in perfect working order. That did not, however, stop me from sliding my gaze over her body, from her feet upward, lingering at certain… hotspots, so to speak, then briefly making eye contact, before suddenly averting my gaze and focusing my attention to one of the stages.

“My professional opinion as an advisor would be, considering all aspects of this room, and your,” a brief glance, “features, I would have to say…” I prolong her suffering a moment longer as I raise my glass and down the last of my single malt, enjoying the moment and the taste of oak.

“My professional opinion as an advisor would be that I need another drink.” I give her another smile, and maybe it is the moment, but it is gesture of kindness and reassurance. “I do not know if this is the place for you, mainly because I don’t you, but partly because I know very little about this place. But I do know that when you get on that stage tonight, you will have already stolen the heart of one of the men in the audience.” Another genuine, comforting smile as I lean forward and get to my feet with relative ease, making a small performance of straitening my suit and brushing of none-existent dust.

“Now, Juana, allow your newest fan to buy you another drink.”

I eavesdrop a bit on the Mexican mami and her new stalker. Juana, huh? I might have to come back some time and check her out. She's right up the Russos' alley. They'll hire her, I'd be willing to bet my whole damn estate on it. Hopefully, she wears dresses like that everyday. The broad knows what works for her.

After stealing a couple peeks at the form her dress fits over, I start to think a bit about the task at hand. I wanted very badly for this asshole to be out here early, but in reality, this place is like any other watering hole. The freaks come out at night, that's when I get my licks, so to speak. I finish my Long Island and give a slight nod towards the door at Vanna, and we leave. Later tonight, dickhead, yo' ass is mine.

I make a show of hanging on Joshua’s words as though his opinion will make the difference between me auditioning or storming out the door vowing never to return.

He brings another smile to my lips with his answer, especially the assertion that I’ve stolen his heart. He’s quite good at playing the gallant gentleman and as he straightens to his feet, straightening the suit so that it falls flawlessly about his frame, I do have to admit that he has a very nice smile.

“Now, Juana, allow your newest fan to buy you another drink.”

I had finished my first drink a little while before, sitting it on a nearby table where it was whisked away by the same apparently-hyper waiter.

“Why thank you,” I respond with a warm smile, “I always sing better if I have a man’s heart on offer.” I can’t help a little wink.

I feel other eyes on me and notice the rapper looking before he averts his eyes quickly to Miss Christmas Present. A quirk of a smile as I think that he must have very broad taste in women before I return my gaze to Joshua.

“Just ice water with a twist of lemon for me.”