I got to work just in time to see the bouncer, Big Mike. Big Mike really likes me. Likes me a lot. And would like to like me in the biblical sense but I can’t go there. He’s like seven feet tall and at least 400 pounds but that’s not the issue. The issue is that he looks like an ogre but doesn’t smell like one. He’s cute in his own little ugly way but not cute enough to bump uglies with. And then he’s only 24 and I made it a rule never to hook up with someone younger. Younger men never know how to treat a lady. Although to be honest, I think Big Mike might treat me very well but I shudder just thinking about it.
“Hey there, Miss Phillips” he rumbled as he opened my car door. “That’s a good looking car you’re in this morning,” he beamed at me. I’ve been trying to get Big Mike to call me “Brandy” for 3 years now. He refuses.
“I know, right?” I said as I slid out of the car. “Jacko gave me a pretty good deal on it.”
“I think we’re going to have a busy night tonight, Miss Phillips. There’s a St Peter’s convention in town” he said.
I shifted my skirt down my hips where it slid up while I drove. “St Peter’s eh? Last time they were in town, most of the girls were sick on Monday from partyin’ all weekend.”
He smiled down at me and looked like he wanted to speak but didn’t.
“See ya later, Big Mike” I smiled up at him.
I stepped into the dark of the club from the bright sun and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. Strip clubs and casinos and grocery stores all have the same thing in common: no visible clocks. Owners don’t want you to realize how long you’ve been there. Also, there’s always music no matter what time of the night or day. Another way that you’re tricked into staying longer than you mean and spending more than you should. Still <BAR NAME> is nice. I’ve been in plenty of dives over the years and this is one of the cleanest and best run titty bars. Even better is that it’s in a nice neighborhood near the ritzy side of town. From the outside, the only thing that tells you it’s a titty bar is the name - <BAR NAME>. There’s no naked silhouettes or anything like that. The cars in the parking lot are all average cars except for a few limos and Hummers on the weekends. The patrons during the week are mostly regulars. On the weekends, it’s mostly bachelor parties, 21st birthdays and conventioneers with the occasional sports star wandering in.
Inside, I saw the owner, Santino Puchinello - Sonny for short. Sonny is a good guy. He looks like the stereotypical Italian guy and his family is definitely tied somehow to the Mob, but he’s always respectful, always wants to make sure that “his girls” are taken care of. He won’t allow the patrons to get too grabby and isn’t grabby either. On top of that, his wife Barbara is the house accountant and looks every bit as good as any of the girls. I also happen to know that he worships the ground she walks on.
Additionally, I think Sonny’s not all human. He’s got a little red twinkle in his eyes. My spidy senses have never picked up exactly what he is - although I suspect he might be a lesser demon - and like I said, he’s a nice guy who’s just running a business. From the way he dresses, you’d think he was a funeral director, not a Strip Club owner.