Page 50 of All Out of Love

“I’m not your baby,” he said to her as he zipped back up. “Get lost.”

‘But what did I do wrong?”

“I said get lost!” he blared out so harshly that she jumped in fear, pulled up her panties, and hurried out of his office.

They were in his Baltimore strip club. It didn’t open until noon and it was only ten a.m., but he made every employee show up two hours early to clean up from the night before, and to make sure when the doors opened, they were in place. Unlike many clubs, they had a big lunchtime crowd. It couldn’t compare to the nighttime crowd, where his best dancers performed, but it was holding its own.

Vinnie wished he was holding his own, too, but lately he felt as if he was losing his grip on everything. That was why he stood there, in his office, and composed himself before he went back up front. He was forty-six years old. He was soon to be pushing fifty. And he still felt as if he was pushing upstream. He still felt as if he didn’t stand a snowball chance in hell of ever finding some happiness in his life. Or the right woman. Or even just little peace.

But who was he kidding? Peace? In his line of work? Get real, Marino, he said to himself. Get real!

Then he exhaled and made his way back up front where he sat down behind the bar counter, next to Pauly Farentino, his underboss/bodyguard, and held up a finger for a drink.

The bartender was one of his made men too, and so were the group of guys playing cards at the table beside the bar. They were all older than Vinnie, who came to power when he was in his early thirties after his uncle on his mother’s side was gunned down and he took over. To this day, they still didn’t know who gunned him down. Even though the crew wanted to put the blame on their nearest rival, Vinnie didn’t play ball like that. He dealt in facts, not fiction, and no way was he putting his reputation for fairness on the line on a maybe. Not when it came to life and death. No way.

The bartender slid a beer mug over to the boss. Then he leaned against the counter smiling. “Taylor came running out of your office like her ass was on fire. You lit it up, Boss?”

“He don’t lite up no blondes,” Pauly said, “unless they’re black chicks with blonde weave.” The guys at the table laughed.

“Very funny,” said Vinnie. “I lite up all types of women.”

“You fool around with all types of women,” Pauly said, “but you only lite up the black ones.”

“Bullshit.”

“Sure, Boss, say whatever you wanna say. But I pay attention. You favor the black chicks over all them other chicks you fool with period. Which is fine. I favor them Russian bitches. I can feast on that accent and that ass all day long.”

The men at the card table laughed again.

“It is what it is,” Pauly added. “Everybody’s got a type. And I know who your type is. I know what I’m talking about.”

The bell on the door clanged and everybody glanced over and saw Bearcat walk in. Bearcat was a general pain in the ass, but he was a good intel person. He kept his ears to the ground. And Vinnie was always first on his list to sell his intel to.

“We’re closed,” the bartender yelled out at him.

“I’m here to see the boss,” Bearcat yelled back and continued to make his way to Vinnie.

But Pauly stood up and put a hand to his chest. “What part of we’re closed didn’t your ass understand?”

“Vinnie, I need help. I’m in trouble over here.”

“Then go over there,” Pauly said, “but you getting’ out of here.”

Bearcat frowned. “What?”

“Let him through,” Vinnie said.

Pauly didn’t want to, but he stepped aside and sat back down.

Bearcat happily hurried over and sat down on the other side of the boss. “How you doing, Vinnie?”

“What you want?”

“I can’t come by and say hey?”

“You heard the boss,” Pauly said. “What your ass want?”

“I need twenty until I can get back on my feet.”