Page 114 of Rut Bar

“Shake, point, and press,” I tell her. “We’ll take out their security cameras first. Keep your chin down until we get past the other buildings.”

I check for traffic, then throw my door open and climb out. Vee does the same. I meet her on the other side and zip the heavy backpack closed, slinging it over my shoulder. The coast is fairly clear. Only a few people are around in a sketchy area of town like this at this time of night.

Once we’re closer, I angle my head and scan for cameras. There’s one on each corner of the front aimed at the door and a dome in the back by the parking lot. I shake a can of black paint so it mixes and take the cameras out of working order one by one.

Vee checks our surroundings while I draw the first dick on the side of the building. Paint drips and splatters until I get the hang of it. Sort of. Graffiti artists make it seem so easy. When I add hair to the balls and an arc of jizz with droplets, Vee laughs.

“I want to try,” she says, pulling me back so she can rummage through the backpack. She pulls out a can and zips it closed again.

“Go for it.” I grin and watch as she gets into it, painting her own graffitied revenge on the building. She draws a bigger purple dick whose stream of cum crosses mine, then she draws a bunch of smaller dicks all shooting their load into one big puddle like they’re a jizz factory.

When her can runs out of paint, I take her empty one from her and hand her a hot pink can while I switch out my black one for metallic gold. We make our way around the building, making sure nobody’s coming. The empties go back in the backpack as we pick up after ourselves as we work. Can’t leave evidence around while committing felonies.

Some cans don’t have much paint left in them. I swiped them from my cousin’s garage because you need to show ID to buy them new and I didn’t want a cashier to remember me in case we ever get questioned about this. I can’t be there for my girl from prison.

Vee finishes tagging the front, which we’ve covered heavily. There’s not an inch of bland beige paint left. Dicks overlap dicks. She also scrawled the wordsfuck offdirectly above the door in thick red letters. Red paint drips down the door like blood.

“You have no idea how cathartic this is,” Vee says as she puts the finishing touches on her work. She paints mustaches on the dancers on the window posters.

I keep an eye on the street to make sure we’re still good, then snag her around the waist and pull her against me. The top of her sweatshirt rides up, and my thumb makes swirls over her stomach. “It’s gonna take them fifty coats of beige to cover all of this. They’ll be painting and scraping glass for days.”

She turns in my arms and goes up on her tiptoes to kiss me. When she wobbles in her awkwardly too big boots, I steady her and try not to smile as I kiss her back. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “It might not be enough to stop them for good, but it’s a start. I was going crazy because the lawyer said there was probably nothing we could really do.”

“That’s because you’re asking the wrong lawyer.” I give her one last peck and rub at the paint splatters that dot her cheeks like freckles. “Told you that you should’ve used my cousin.”

“I thought you didn’t want to involve your family with this stuff,” she says, reaching up to rub my nose. Her finger comes away smeared with black. We’re gonna need to stop somewhere and clean up before we go back to rut. I’m not sure the baby wipes I brought will cut it.

“If it’s for you, baby, I don’t mind. You’re gonna be family. We take care of our own. Now, are you done?”

“Yeah.” Vee sighs and looks at her handiwork.

“Good. Let’s get out of here.” God damn, it’s a fucking wreck. I’ve never been prouder of her. I spot one of our spray paint cans on the ground and go over to grab it and add it to the backpack.

After this, I need a smoke. Every good or bad moment in life is better with a cigarette. While Vee is admiring her handiwork, I pull out my cigarettes and lighter and flick the metal wheel until it sparks.

“Maybe one more,” Vee mutters.

I hear the hissing of her can just as the orange flame flickers to life on my lighter. Before I can stop her or shout a warning, the aerosol spray catches fire.

“Oh, fuck!” Vee yells, jumping back.

I stare in horror as the fire spreads quickly. All of the dripping paint and fumes feed it. “Oh, shit. Fuck! Fucking shit, man!”

I shove my lighter and unlit cigarette into my pocket and pull off my dark gray sweatshirt, using it to beat at the flames. All that does is make the flames spread more and my shirt catch on fire too.

“Oww! Son of a bitch!” I drop the sweatshirt and stomp on it to put out the flames.

When the fire hits the coming soon banner and rope and moves to the roof and wooden front door, smoke rises. That’s when I know it’s over. It’s gone way too far for us to put it out. There’s too much paint and too many fumes and too many posters all over the windows. This club’s a tinderbox.

“Why the fuck don’t they have a fire door? This shit hole’s not up to code,” Vee bitches as she steps back from the heat and flames.

“I don’t know, baby, but we gotta get out of here. Come on.” I grab the backpack and my charred shirt and her hand, and together we run into the night.

We make it to the car without incident, and I unlock it, shoving everything into the back. I stick the key in the ignition and turn the engine over. It sputters because I’m cranking it too hard.

“Why isn’t it starting?” Vee asks, her voice panicked.

I force myself to take a breath and try again. My hands are trembling. I try again, careful not to flood the old engine, and it purrs to life. I pull out of my parking space and drive past the club to get onto the highway. Glass shatters as the strip club’s windows explode. The smoke rising from the building is thick now.

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