Page 83 of Dance of Devils

“Eh,” I grunt. “Pass.”

“You’re not getting any younger, Kir.”

Tell me about it.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number nine thousand and seventy-two why I shouldnotbe involved with Brooklyn.

“On that insulting note, I have shit I need to do, Frey.”

“Same.” She exhales. “I hope whatever’s bugging you works itself out.”

“Actually, I sorted it last night. Talk to you soon?”

“For sure. Goodbye,Father,” she says with sarcastic, dramatic flair.

But as Ipark the car down the street from The Mirage later that afternoon, I realize that I havenot, in fact, “sorted it”.

Otherwise I wouldn't be here, still looking for answers.

I gather that Brooklyn only works here evenings: I've checked and there’s no cocktail waitresses in the afternoons, plus, she has rehearsals earlier.

Which is why I’ve picked this time of day to come.

There’s a new bouncer out front, and a sign promising “early bird specials” on wings. For some reason, getting wings at a strip club at five in the afternoon sounds profoundly depressing.

I walk in lookingnothinglike I normally do: jeans, a Knicks hoodie, a fucking Yankees cap pulled low over my eyes.

I despise watching most professional sports unless they involve combat. They’re all so…boring.

Inside, I grab a beer at the bar and take a seat a little way back from the stage. A redhead on the pole is dancing to a Nine Inch Nails song. I love the tune, but I’ve never been able to get into the whole strip club scene.

Again, boring, andsofucking fake.

But I do admire the women who work at places like this. I sit there sipping my shitty beer, watching the game unfold with amused interest: the pathetic, sad men who eagerly hand overtheir money, clinging desperately to the illusion that any of these women might fuck them if they just gave themonemore twenty, or bought one more stupidly overpriced drink.

“You look lonely over here, handsome.”

An Asian girl with blonde streaks in her hair and asubstantialamount of silicone in her tits stops in front of me with a grin. She’s wearing a mint green G-string and a mesh triangle top that shows off her impressive, surgically enhanced assets.

She’s pretty. I bet away from the neon lights of this place, without all the heavy makeup, the outfit, and the hint of boredom in her eyes, she’s beautiful.

But that’s not why I’m here.

“Iamactually looking for some company.” I smile at her and gesture to the chair next to me. “Why don’t you join me.”

She smiles suggestively, her eyes dropping to my lap. “How about I sit somewhereelse, and we can?—”

“No. Right there is fine.”

Her brow furrows a little. But then she shrugs and sits next to me.

“So, baby,” she purrs, stroking my forearm, “what did you want to talk about?”

“Are you close with the other girls who work here?”

She bats her eyes. “You want me to bring a friend into this? That's cool?—”

I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant. Are youfriendlywith them.”