Not Much A Poet But A Criminal

-2-

*2 weeks later*

Today was just any other day at the club. Only half the dancers decided to show up, clearly not caring about getting paid. The ones that did show up only made a maximum of $25 in one day. Business was going down hill. Two dancers quit last week, their reasoning being the club 'just wasn't what it used to be' and that it was Franks fault.

Frank sat back in his chair, eyes closed, fingers running through his dark messy hair. There were thirteen unopened letters on his desk containing overdue bills and threats to close the company down unless he recruited new staff and started earning more money.

Workers were threatening to go on strike because their pay had dropped. Frank just couldn't afford to pay them as much as he used to. He had to face the fact. The club was going downhill and he couldn't do a thing to save it.

Pete opened the door to Frank's office, ignoring the signs saying to knock first and stalked up to the desk. He bent over, placing his hands flat on the surface so his eyes were level with Franks.

"Frank" He spat bluntly.

Frank opened his eyes and sat up straight in his chair, eyeing the young man up and down, curious of his reason to barge into his office uninvited.

"Boss" Frank corrected him.

Pete gave him an unimpressed look before continuing. "Boss. Look, we need money, but no ones coming through the door. I know what I signed up for when I took the job here four years ago, but come on man, you've gotta start advertising more or, I dunno, clean this shit hole up. Seriously the whole place could do with a makeover. Maybe that's why no one comes anymore"

Frank closed his eyes yet again, sighing. Yeh, the place was kind of a shit hole, but he couldn't afford to remodel the entire building. There's been barely any customer's this month and he'd already lost two dancers and three employees.

With less dancers bringing money in, he couldn't pay the remaining people who worked there their full wages. The place was going downhill fast and Frank didn't know how to keep it going.

"Look Pete, you know what's been going down here. People are leaving, I can't pay all the bills and now they're fucking threatening to close the place down. I don't like it any more than you"

"Yeh I know man but I need money and can't get a job anywhere else. I've got a kid at home and no mom to look after her, this is the closest job to my place I can get and afford to leave her alone during my shifts. You gotta do something about it or my only option is to quit. I can't come in 5 nights a week to perform for no one and not earn any money"

Frank exhaled slowly, staring at the letters still lying untouched on his desk. He didn't like to let people see him sweat. He never showed too much emotion or got too attached to people. He'd been fucked over a few times in the past, which had now made him the miserable soulless asshole boss of a gay strip club he is today.

But he couldn't lie any more. He was tired. So tired of denying the fact that his business was fucked. Soon he'd be out of a job too and scraping up any money he could find just to put food on the table.

Except there was no table. Frank had been living in the small apartment above the club since he started it. But if he lost the place, he would have to leave the apartment. It's technically property of the club and building so even if he could afford the rent, he wouldn't be allowed to stay.

Frank rubbed his tired face with his hands before deciding on his next move.

"I don't have the money to pay you Pete" He said reluctantly.

Pete stood up straight, removing his hands from the desk.

His face stiffened and his hands curled into fists at his side.

"Well then...I quit" Pete replied in a low tone, suppressing his anger towards Frank for ruining his life.

"I'm sorry Pete. I wish I could help but-"

"Fuck you Frank" Pete's voice stayed low and firm. His expression didn't change as he turned and exited Frank's office.

Today was a bad day.