Satisfied: The Hangover Part II (Phil Wenneck)

Chapter 8

Looking at the neon sign, (Y/n) sighed, not wanting to go into a club at the moment. She hoped this was actually a clue and not an excuse for Alan to go to a strip club and drag them along so he could roofie them once more. "What do you think, Alan?" Phil asked as they all looked at the sign.

"Uh, this is the place," Alan said, reading it.

Patting his shoulder, Phil said, "Come on, let's go," and they all headed into the club. Of course, as soon as they walked in, it was a headache's best friend. Strobe lights, neon lights, and loud music played around them as girls danced on the built-in stages/tables with their poles. The four of them looked around, and (Y/n) had no recollection of being here.

"I don't remember any of this," Stu yelled over the loud music.

"Yeah, Alan, are you sure this is the place?" Phil asked, taking his aviators off and putting them in the button of his shirt.

"Yeah, pretty sure," Alan called back, bouncing up and down slightly to the music.

Walking in further, they looked around to see if they could remember anything, but nothing was coming back to them. All (Y/n) was getting was a massive headache and eye strain. She was a party girl, yes, and she could dance at a club all night. But right now, she wanted to get the hell out of Bangkok, and a strip club was not the answer to her problems.

"Bros, finally!" they heard a man say from beside them, and looked to see a man standing behind a counter looking at the four of them. He looked oddly like the Eddie they met at the Vegas chapel two years ago. "Is he coming, or what? I've been waiting all day for him!"

"Sorry, who's coming?" (Y/n) asked over the music.

"Chow. That dick-ass fuck," the man, Samir, answered, his face sour at the mention. The four of them shared a look, knowing very well that Chow was dead in the ice machine they stowed him in that morning. "Why, what's wrong?"

"Nothing! Nothing's wrong," Phil shook his head.

Samir glanced between the four of them for a moment before saying, "Okay, good. Look at this. Look what I bring for him." Samir set something covered in a white cloth on the desk, and when he pushed back the towel, he reveal it to be a small gun. "Check it out. Huh?"

"No, no, no-" Phil tried, but Samir interrupted him.

"6,000 dollars, American."

"Wow, it looks so real," Alan said as he picked up the gun. Before (Y/n) could speak or move, he put his finger on the trigger and didn't let go, the machine gun setting off round after round into the ceiling, causing shards of glass to fall over them as the music stopped and the dancing girls screamed and ducked, Stu, Phil, and (Y/n) dropping down and covering their heads to avoid glass hitting them. Regaining himself and putting the gun down, Alan looked around in shock as he said, "Sorry! Sorry."

"Alan! What the fuck??!!" Phil shouted, looking at him in fury.

"It's okay! It's okay. The gun, very sensitive. Very sensitive " Samir brushed it off, but (Y/n) wasn't going to blow off Alan being such an idiot so easily. Everyone should know to never put you finger on the trigger of a live gun. It was just common sense, which Alan had very little of. "Everybody okay? Okay! Then get the fuck back to work! Come on! Music, please!" The music turned back on and the girls went to dancing again as Samir looked back at the four of them and asked, "Who has my $6,000?"

"What- Six thou- No, no, no, no, no. That's Chow's deal. We got nothing to do with that," Phil said, waving his hands about and giving more gestures than he usually would.

"Un-fucking-believable, man," Samir said, and picked the gun from off the counter, holding it in his hand, which made the four of them a little wary. He actually had the gun pointing directly at Phil, who let out a 'whoa!' and stepped back. "This guy, if he backs out again, this shit's gonna catch up to him, okay? He's made a lot of enemies in this town, and now they're gonna be your enemies."