Page 27 of Wicked Lies

They’d called in some favors owed by city planners to expedite Club Wicked’s paperwork. “Nothing says thank you like a donation to a charity dinner.”

“Yeah, sure,” Samson mumbled.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re acting like somebody cut off your dick.”

“Maybe things are going too smooth.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Frank’s made himself clear on us branching out on our own, and you think he’s suddenly just gonna back down?”

“This is different. He won’t have a choice. The inroads we’ve made at the Oasis over the years has given us our own power. Cops in our pocket, city officials who enjoy special favors at the Oasis were willing to push permits through. Favors they might not want the public or their wives to find out about. It all adds up to success.”

“Just makes me nervous.” Samson drummed his fingers against the black onyx bar.

“It’s finally our turn.” Nick clicked glasses with him. “Our time to break out.”

“All the big promoters say we got a good chance of bringing this to LA, Chicago, and Vegas.” Nick leaned in. “We’ve managed to take the Oasis, a sleazy strip club, to one of the highest earners in Brooklyn.” Nick waved his hand around the empty space. “And now we’re bringing that concept to Manhattan with Club Wicked. Do you know what that means?”

“Yeah, Frank will come down even harder.”

“Frank was right. We were punks back then, but now we have powerful people behind us.” Nick sipped the bourbon. “Don’t you get it? The people we’re currently involved with don’t wanna deal with thugs like Frank. They wanna deal with businessmen.”

“You better tell Frank that 'cause he’s a fuckin’ psycho.” Samson gulped the bourbon.

“Forget the shady deals and backdoor arrangements.” Nick spread his arms wide. “We run our club like a corporation with health insurance and pension plans, not like some afterthought to wash Frank’s money. This time, we do it our way. We do it right.”

“And how do you see this going down?”

“I’m tired of skimming money and watching Frank walk out with the biggest share. I’m tired of sweating my balls off to make that fucker richer.”

“Pisses me off, too, but I also like breathing.”

Nick rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t do anymore late night beatdowns on the docks.” He held up his arm. “Getting slashed by strung-out tweakers is bullshit. We stand firm on this, and we got a future. Who the fuck knows, we might even make it to thirty.”

Sure, Nick was being flip, but plenty of guys they came up with were either doing a bid in Rikers or spending all eternity out at Green-Wood Cemetery.

“Yeah, I get it, but it’s all we’ve ever known. Gonna be hard to change.” Samson swiveled on the stool. “Sometimes I think about the old days. I kinda liked the guys we were. Living by our own rules, taking it all day to day, no schedules, no bank loans, no mortgages—doin’ what the fuck we wanted when we wanted.”

“I remember living hand to mouth, getting hauled in by the cops every time we took a shit, and never knowing where we were gonna lay our heads at night. That’s what I remember.”

“But there were those times when we laid our heads next to some hot fuckin’ tail.” Samson threw Nick a sly look. “Like those twins we picked up at that after-hours joint up in the Bronx who were into all kinds of freaky shit.”

Nick laughed along with him because Samson was right; they’d done and seen some crazy shit along the way. “We were lucky our dicks didn’t fall off after sticking it in those two.”

“Good times—but I get what you’re saying.” Samson traced his finger around the cut glass tumbler. “I’m just have trouble with changing shit up.”

“I know, man.” Nick stared off trying to organize his thoughts. “It just all gets to me sometimes. I wake up in a fuckin’ sweat with my heart pounding outta my chest so hard I think I’m gonna die.”

Samson sucked in a breath then blew it out. “You can’t become a good guy overnight.”

“Even Frank can’t fight against big corporations and people with real power.”

“Yeah sure, you’re out popping champagne, and Frank’s popping .45s.”

“It’s a new day.” Nick brushed Samson off, not wanting to admit he’d had the same concerns.

“I hope you’re right, 'cause every time I come here, I expect to see the place tossed.” Samson spat out the words as though he’d been holding them in way too long. “Frank’s version offuck you.”

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