The Emerald Gentleman's Club

I. Elio

Elio

Twentieth street during rush hour isn't the best place to be speeding like I'm being chased by the police, but I trust myself and my control of my Ferrari enough to be comfortable driving like a maniac, even if it is in the most traffic congested part of Manhattan. I weave my vehicle in and out of honking cars, ignoring the blunt curse words and obscene gestures thrown my way from open windows. I just manage to make it through every light before turning red.
I'm alert for police, as getting pulled over now would slow me down and be a huge pain in my ass. The win is so close I can taste it, and fuck do I want it. The better, bigger office isn't just something I want though. It's a necessity.
There's maybe a block and a half left between me and my victory, and each time I look up expecting to have lost the red Ferrari tailing me, we're neck and neck again. It's a dangerous game to play. One of us could lose control and hurt ourselves or someone else, but we both know we won't, and we're both too driven by the intense competitive nature we share to talk ourself out of our foolish ideas.
Our cars pull up behind the crossing line, at the first red light we've hit since eight street. Luck seems to be favoring us in equal measure today, slingshotting an assist to one of us get ahead each time the other thinks we are in the lead. We were bound to hit a pause somewhere.
I see him trying to get my attention out of the corner of my eye, but I don't give him the satisfaction of turning my head to acknowledge him. He's just trying to distract me, when we're both aware that I don't distract as easily as he does, not when I have my sights set on something at least.
My foot idles on the break, feeling heavy, and itching to switch back to the gas and accelerate so fast that my body has no choice but to jolt back against my seat. Why is this fucking light taking forever and a day?
When he fails to get me to look at him, my stereo speaker rings with an incoming call from him. I answer, but remain facing forward, a smirk pulling at the corners of my mouth, though I don't let the smile reach its full height. Showing any sign of amusement is equal to showing him attention.
"I've been letting you think you're in the lead so far, but don't think I'll let you win." He revs his engine twice to spook me, but my foot and hands remain steady, ready to move the millisecond the light changes.
"You know what your problem is D? You're always so focused on distracting your competition-" I notice the light turn green half a second faster than he does, but the second is all I need to peel out while he's still turning to face forward. "That you get distracted yourself."
A satisfied laugh forms deep in my chest as I hear him grunt. He tries to speed up and zip in front of me, but his car is forced to slow and move behind me to avoid smashing into Lincoln that swerved into his lane without warning. He curses and violently punches his horn.
"Where'd you get your license cock sucker!" He hollers. The driver of the Lincoln, obviously wanting no part in a road rage incident, merges back into the lane from which it came, getting as far away from the red Ferrari as possible.
"Could have been avoided if you had just a little more focus," I taunt, turning onto twenty second street. I end the call as he begins to direct his angry tirade of choice words at me.
Slowing my speed, I pull into an empty parking spot that's miraculously right in front of the building where I need to be. Killing my engine, I adjust a pair of Versace sunglasses over my eyes to protect me from the assault of the blazing sun, but there's not much to be down about the heat. As it quickly approaches summer, the city is heating up, and why shouldn't it when it's almost entirely made of concrete and metal.
I lean against my car as I wait for the loser of the race, posing cockily just to piss him off. It wouldn't be a win if I didn't get to gloat.
"That shouldn't count!" Dario is already pleading his case as he crosses the street toward me, wearing a deep scowl. "That cunt not only almost crashed into me, but made me lose."
"Hey man, you agreed to the bet. There are no rules in street racing. I won, so I get the better office."
"Yeah yeah, luck is on your side today you stupid bastard." My twin brother swipes at my face, but I dodge his hand, shoving him off of the curb.
"Is it luck, or am I better and faster than you?"
"You'll never be faster than me," he smirks. "You weren't faster than me the day we were born, and you're not faster than me now."
"I can't help that you were born eight minutes before me, and that was also the last time you beat me at something."
"Ha," he fake laughs humorlessly. "That's really funny."
"Hope you enjoy the view from the floor below me bitch," I grin devilishly, and if we weren't rounding a corner on a sidewalk filled with people, I'm sure he'd childishly try to hit me again.
"Oh good, the fucker is actually on on time for once," Dario smiles, nodding toward the side of the building where Garrett the sweaty real estate agent has his phone pressed to his ear, obvious panic etched onto his tired face. His eyes go wide when he spots Dario and I coming.
"I'll have to call you back," he mutters into his phone when we are a few feet away. He hangs up, plastering on a wide toothy grin on. "Elio...Dario," he greets, eyes shifting nervously between the two of us, unaware how off putting it is that we can see every tooth in his damn mouth. "How are you?"
"What's going on Garrett?" Dario demands, cutting to the chase before the agent has time to distract us with pleasantries. He again, let's his gaze flicker between the two of us, fresh sweat stains forming in the armpits of his dress shirt as we speak.
"I- uh- well it's not necessarily good, but it's not... so bad when you consider that by the end of the week, this place will be emptied and gutted anyway so really it's-"
"What are you rambling about?" I raise an eyebrow. "Just spit it out?" He releases a deep sigh, looking like he's in way over his head.
"I think- it's probably best if you just come see for yourselves." He turns to unlock the rusted old door leading to what locals now know as the Kitty Club, a strip joint that was barely hanging on by a thread when we offered to buy it.
The owners, two stubbornly idiotic brothers, refused to sell, banking on the fact that they would be able to miraculously come up with enough money to continue paying the mortgage on the property. That month, they had one of the worst months they have ever had since opening, but they still weren't ready to budge when we came to them with second higher offer.
The poor fucking fools.
Realizing their club was slowly slipping through their fingers, they tried one last ditch effort to keep ownership of the place. They tried to trick us into renting the space from them so that they could still maintain ownership, as if Dario or I would be content having landlords or working under them.
We walked away with our offer, playing the waiting game until Wayne and Fred lost the club to foreclosure, then we bought it on auction for a fraction of what we offered them in the first place.
The events of that day played out dramatically, but so satisfyingly. Wayne, Fred, and the family members they brought with them to protest the auction caused a scene as soon as the auctioneer announced that Dario and I had won the bidding.
They had to be forcibly escorted out by security, a fact that much to their embarrassment, was covered by local newspapers. It's not like we hadn't warned them that we would win in the end. When Dario and I set our sights on something collectively, we are unstoppable.
Garrett finally gets the key to turn in the lock, but hesitates as if he's changed his mind about going in, The heavy doors swing open, and he shoots us one last worried glance before we step inside.
Trash litters the floor of the entryway, covering every inch of walking space, and the stairway leading to the club. The windows of the booth where patrons pay to get in has been smashed, glass mingled in with the trash all over the ground. The antique chandelier hanging overhead is majorly damaged.
"This unfortunately isn't the worst of it," Garrett admits, rubbing the back of his neck as we follow him up the flight of stairs. He pushes open the next set of doors and the scene before us is even more chaotic and jaw dropping than the last. Paint has been splattered all over the floors and the main stage, and every table top and chair. Profanities written in spray paint line every wall.
The bar shelves have all been broken, the wooden bar cabinets splintered and left holes, looking like someone took an ax to it. All of the remaining alcohol bottles have been smashed, the place absolutely wreaking of liquor. It's shocking that they were able to accumulate this much trash.
"They're fucking dead," Dario mutters under his breath, jaw clenched so hard it's shaking as we assess the damage.
"Easy," I warn him, my eyes flickering to Garrett in warning. If we do decide to get back at them in any way, Garrett shouldn't hear about it.
"I wish I could say that they stopped here, but they've damaged everything. They smashed windows, and all of the VIP room mirrors have been shattered. They took down every pole, slashed all of the upholstery, smashed the sinks in the bathrooms, clogged all of the toilets, spray painted every inch of the walls. They poured flour and oil down the kitchen sinks, and emptied the contents of the walk in freezers all over the floor, including raw chicke. They trashed the the dancers dressing rooms, broke off all of the locker doors off. I found bullet holes in the walls of almost every room."
My stomach churns as he goes on and on, but I don't stop him, wanting to hear the full extent of what they did so I can use it to fuel my rage later.
"It looks like they started to try to flood the basement rooms too, and they umm-" he swallows hard. "Well they... they defecated in both of the upstairs offices."
"They fucking what?" Dario barks, eyes shining with rage as they find mine.
"Defecated as in shit?" I ask even though it seems like a stupid question. I just need confirmation. The man may have hesitated, but he didn't stutter.
"Yes, as in human excrement," he confirms, shaking his head and shuddering. "Listen gentlemen, I've been working with foreclosure proprieties for close to twenty years, and pardon my French, but I've seen a lot of bullshit. Sabotage from bitter old owners, resistance of the new owners taking over, written and verbal threats of violence, and plenty of vandalism. That being said, this is admittedly the worst of the worst. I can understand how upset the two of you must be-"
"Upset!" Dario scoffs, taking a step toward Garrett that makes him back up two steps. "Do you really think that upset even begins to cover the anger boiling in our veins right now?"
"Perhaps that was the wrong word to use, I-"
"Perhaps, Garrett," Dario's tone tells me he's fighting for control. "You should stop trying to find words to describe what we feel, and you should contact the Barnes' lawyer immediately and ask them how exactly they are going to be paying to clean all of this shit up!"
"Yes well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. As I said, I'm so understanding of.. all that the two of you must be feeling walking into this, but the Barnes are known to be wild cards, even when threatened with legal action. They don't have much to loose, so taking them to court won't mean much. Retaliation of any sort will be met with more hostility, and unfortunately people consider them important and well known in this community, so they have some public support. My advice, as someone who wants to see this business thrive, and to have it protected from any further damage or sabotage, is to... call this a loss and move on."
He rushes out the last words quickly, obviously scared to verbalize his opinions, scared of our reactions to what he is suggesting we do. Garrett was the agent who helped the Barnes figure out how to move through the process of a property foreclosure, then was appointed as our real estate agent when we bought the place. He's been here for it all, so I can understand that he's probably ready to be done with this, but he's not done until we get something our of the Barnes for what they've done.
Dario looks seconds from snapping, and a dry humorless chuckle crawls up my throat. "I'm so sorry Garrett but maybe I'm misunderstanding something here. The previous owners of this establishment broke in and damaged every last inch of the property, after it was already bought and signed for by us. And it sounds to me like you're suggesting we just let it go?"
"I realize that sounds crazy, and believe me I'd be livid if someone did this to my property too, but in all the senses that matter, you've already won. You've secured the property for a small portion of what you would have paid for it before, and you were both already planning on gutting and completely renovating the entire club, so really they just started the demolition process for you." He finishes with a nervous laugh, and the hint of a smile meant to get us to lighten up and see the bright side.
There is no bright side, and while I'm normally the more collected one out of Dario and I, I'm seeing red.
"Is that your idea of a fucking joke Garrett?" Dario stares the man down, murder in his eyes.
"No, no sir," Garrett panics, shaking his head. "I was just- all I meant was that the bones of the place are still intact. Everything damaged was going to be tossed out anyway, and umm..." he struggles for a way to finish, trying to paint this all in a half glass full light.
"Listen very carefully to what I'm about so say," Dario simmers, jaw grinding together. "My brother and I, we aren't theprofessional, level headed entrepreneurs you're probably used to dealing with. Okay? We aren't to be dicked around, and we don't fucking accept disrespect of any kind!" He kicks a nearby chair, sending it crashing into the already damaged bar cabinets.
Garrett freezes where he is, and for just a moment it looks as if his knees are trembling.
"And this is disrespect of the highest fucking form Garrett. This is so disrespectful I can't even find the right words. I don't just want repayment for the damage. I want the two of them hand delivered to me so I can bash their heads together until I hear bones cracking!"
"But," I interject, realizing one of us needs to appear calm and collected. "We will settle for contact with their lawyer as soon as possible, assuming the broke fucks can even still afford a lawyer after they drained every ounce of money they had trying to keep this place afloat. We don't care about your advice to just let this go. We have no intention of doing that, and if you're really on our side the way that you claim you are, you'll see to it that this crime doesn't go unpunished, won't you."
Garrett watches in fear as Dario storms around the room, kicking and throwing everything in his path, like a baby throwing a tantrum.
"Yes, yes of course I will. I'll contact their lawyer right away and have him get ahold of you. Of course I didn't mean the crime should go completely unpunished. I just meant-"
"Yeah we got it Garrett. Just go," I warn, nodding over my shoulder to my raging brother. "We need to discuss next steps."
"Very well," he nods, swallowing thickly. "Again gentlemen, I'm so terribly sorry about all of this. I'll be in touch as soon as I have news or updates."
"Yeah you had fucking better!" Dario spits, tugging at the roots of his hair. He manages to find one unbroken bottle behind the bar that is already half empty.
Garrett excuses himself, collecting a briefcase from the glass littered bar top. He scurries away quickly, the sound of the heavy doors closing behind him echoing through the mostly empty space.
Dario untwists the cap on the bottle clutched in his hands and begins guzzling the contents inside.
"What the fuck is that?" I eye the swirling liquor as he grimaces.
"It's either whiskey or scotch," he scrunches his nose, struggling to swallow it all down. "Ugh it's fucking cheap is what it is. It tastes like moonshine."
"Pass that to me." Rubbing alcohol or not, I could use something to take the edge of, and we're going to have to inspect the rest of the property for ourselves before we can go get a drink. Dario recaps the bottle and tosses it me.
"I can't believe you're actually okay with the idea of just suing them and letting the court system handle this," he shakes his head as we bound back down the stairs.
"I'm not," I let him know. "But I wasn't going to start planning how we're going to torture them in front of Garrett. As far as anyone in the business side is concerned, we're going to let the justice system handle it, but you're crazy if you think I don't want us to get justice our way."
"Now that's my brother talking," he nods approvingly. "Thought I'd lost you there for a minute."
With nothing else to do but to contact our PA's to get a cleaning crew out here immediately, we decide it's best to leave for the day. Neither of us have any intention of rolling up our sleeves and doing it ourselves.
"We gonna tell pop and Dom about this at dinner tonight?" Dario chews the inside of his lip as we lock up.
"I really don't want to, because they already thought us investing money into this place was a bad idea, but we might have to. I'm sure we'll have to endure an I told you so moment, but they will both be so pissed that someone did this to us, that they will be more focused on helping us get even."
——
Before either of us left the building, we called our assistants to get in contact with a clean crew, making sure to have them warned that the messes in the offices would require extra special care and deep cleaning. I feel sorry for the poor sap that has to clean up the shit of two grown men, but I'm grateful I'm not the one doing it.
"Maybe we should call someone out to set up security cameras that can monitor the place, just in case they come back for a repeat performance," Dario suggests.
"I have a feeling that after what they did, they are going to be staying far away from this place for a while, but I've been wrong before. It couldn't hurt," I shrug.
Just as we are turning to leave, a group of women led by a six foot tall redhead in leopard print heels approaches us out on the sidewalk.
"You the new owners?" The redhead asks, eyeing Dario and I like she's seen us on an America's Most Wanted poster.
"Who's asking?" Dario says, crossing his arms over his chest as the group of five or so women surround us.
"I'm Naomi Carter," she responds confidently, crossing her own arms over her chest as if to mimic my brother. "I'm the house mother here at the Kitty Club, and these are some of my girls, the dancers." I study each of them quickly; a brunette, a blonde, a girl with raven black hair, and a girl with dyed purple hair. The girls standing behind Naomi don't look upset the way their leader seems to, but more so curious.
"Great to meet you all," Dario says sardonically. "Have any of you by chance seen the previous owners today, because we'd like a word with them."
"None of us have seen Wayne or Fred since a few days before the auction," the girl with the inky black hair answers for the group.
"Why? Is something wrong?" The blonde one with the animated blue eyes asks.
"Yeah you could fucking say that," Dario mutters under his breath, pulling a cigarette from his pack and lighting it.
"Are you guys twins?" One of the brunettes asks, twirling a piece of hair around her finger.
Naomi's head snaps back to her in warning that she'd better not be cordial with us. The girl shrugs her shoulders as if to say 'what? It was just a question.'
"Wayne and Fred ain't been right ever since they lost this club. The two of you have no idea what this place means to them, how much they've sacrificed for it. You could never understand the history behind it."
"Well with all due respect miss, we can't really bring ourselves to care about the history or sentiment here. We bought this place fair and square on auction," I explain. "Wether we bought it or not, Wayne and Fred were still going to lose the club."
"Well thanks to the two of you, and everyone involved in this bullshit sale, an entire staff of hardworking people are now questioning if we all still have jobs. No one has told us anything about what's happening, and seeing as you two just showed up and we're the ones who've been here being the backbone of this club, we deserve a chance to stay, and if you know what's good for you, you'll keep the current staff."
"Ladies, while we respect that you guys have been here longer than us, we can't guarantee that all of you will still be employed here after the re-opening."Dario takes the liberty of breaking the news to them."It's nothing personal but-"
"Nothing personal!" Naomi raises her voice an octave as the girls behind her whisper nervously to each other, looking scared now that they know their jobs might really be on the line. "So you're just getting rid of everyone who's put their blood, sweat, and tears into keeping this club open. Fuck the old owners, me and my dancers are the heart of this place."
"We aren't getting rid of anyone," I correct. "At least not anyone who can work hard and prove that they deserves to be here anyway. Any dancers that want to stay will all be given a fair shot to audition, and you miss Naomi," I give her my brightest most charming smile. "You'll of course be offered an interview with us to continue your position as house mother, should you wish." The promise of opportunity doesn't seem to comfort her, the lines of obvious vexation depending the wrinkles by her mouth and eyes.
"You want me to interview for a position that's been mine for twenty years? How old are the two of you anyway? You were probably still shitting in diapers while I was here setting the standard for house mothers everywhere! My name is known in clubs from here to Miami."
Dario, a lot less tolerant of exaggeration and bullshit than I am, blinks rapidly to keep his eyes from rolling around in his head. Call it twin telepathy, but I feel a dig at Naomi's expense brewing, so before he has a chance to retort with a cutting remark, I attempt to smooth things over.
"And no one unworthy could have so much accomplishment and experience under their belt. I'm sure you're just as good at your job as you say you say you are, so consider it a formality, this interview. So long as we feel that you'll help us rather than hinder us, we don't mind keeping you on. Our main concern is that everyone mesh well together, and that you are all willing to hear out and accept the new changes and expectations."
"Changes?" Naomi's widened eyes flicker from me to my brother and back. "What changes? You better not go fucking up anything at the Kitty Club. The regulars won't like it. There are people who have been coming here since its opening. It's perfect the way it is. Ain't you boys ever heard the term of it ain't broke, don't fix if?"
I have no desire to further rile her up, nor the heart to tell her that we couldn't give a shit less if any of the loyal customers return after the reopening. They aren't our target clients. We intend for our client base to be wealthy and willing to spend, not broke losers who clutch the stack of ones they came in with the whole night.
"Look lady, this club isn't exactly the shining fucking jewel of lower Manhattan okay?" Dario snaps. "Even if the wood paneling, the torn up floor boards, and the seventies carpet were still in style, Kent and Dale saw to it before handing over the keys that we'd have to do major renovation on every room, top to bottom."
"What do you mean?" One of the girls behind Naomi tilts her head, her blue hair tied into two high pigtails."
"I'd generally agree with the saying if it ain't broke, don't fix it, but they quite literally broke this club, smashed and vandalized everything the eye can see. We have no choice but to fix it, but it's a challenge we're ready for, and you can all rest assured that any changes made will be for the better."
"What?" Naomi shakes her head. "Wayne and Fred inherited this club from their granddaddy. They wouldn't do that. They love this place too much."
"Oh but they did, just to spite us love. Took shits on the upstairs carpets to welcome us."
"Eww," all of the girls say together, disgusted after learning the truth.
"That had to be Fred," the one with the blue pigtails says.
"What all of you have to understand is that we don't intend for this club to go under ever again. We want the best of the best, and nothing less, so to put it simply, if that means cutting dead weight, than that's exactly what we will do." Dario makes sure to make direct eye contact with Naomi.
"Christ," Naomi shakes her head, tears welling in the corners. "Does no one respect tradition anymore. Can no one admire the beauty of something as old as this club. You couldn't just try to restore it to its former glory?"
"Oh come on Naomi," Blondie attempts to cheer her up. "Change can be good," she nods to all of her fellow dancers, smiling at me and my brother. "I for one wouldn't mind some updates around here, as long as the name stays the same of course. I'm Brianna by the way," she sticks her hand out for both of us to shake.
"Change whatever you want," she says as if she had a choice in the matter in the first place, as if we needed her permission. "I'd really appreciate if you could leave the name of the club alone though, cause my dancing name is Kitty, so it really works out well for me that it's called Kitty Club. I'm sort of the resident headliner here."
Dario chuckles low in his chest, closing his eyes and shaking his head like he can hardly believe she said something so ridiculous. Flicking his cigarette at the ground, stomping the glowing red end out, he takes a step toward her, towering over her.
Not the least bit intimated by his height versus hers, she stares him up and down, from his feet to the top of his head, a smile that says she's satisfied with what she sees tugging at her lips.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, pretty little Kitty," he smiles wickedly, the grin disappearing as fast as it appeared. "But for a club, that name is as juvenile as it is lazy, so we will definitely be updating it to something that doesn't sound like it was made up in a playground sandbox. That alright with you?"
Briana's smile fades, but she nods slowly, retaking her position with the girls behind Naomi.
"We gotta get out of here," I tell him as I read the text from Chiara asking what time everyone should expect us at Dinner.
"Alright everyone, listen up. I'm going to give a card with my contact information to Naomi here. Naomi will then get in touch with me, so that when we have the club back in a presentable manner, we can set up dates for auditions for the dancers, and interviews for any of the staff or security that wants to keep their jobs. I guess in due time we will see who really wants to be here."
"You have to keep everyone," Naomi has resorted to using a softer tone. "Please. We're all like a family," she begs, and I nearly snort remembering what she said moments ago to support her sentiment about her and the dancers being the body and soul of the club, or whatever.
So one minute it's 'fuck the old owners', and the next it's 'we're all a family.' Sounds legit.
"Well if you care so much Naomi, then I trust you to spread the word to everyone you want to see around here again to be prepared, and don't take this opportunity lightly."
Dario taps on his watch and nods in the direction of our parked cars. "We'll be seeing you soon ladies. Be well," he winks as we move around them.
"And start considering opportunities for other employment, because I can tell not all of you are going to make it," I say just low enough for Dario to hear. His loud laugh reverbs off of the high buildings, audible even over the roar of Manhattan.
____