Money Over Everything

Money for Nothing

Swan

Enrapture was still prepping for tonight's opening when I arrived. Quincy mentioned that D'Angelo would be at one of his other spots tonight, giving me more than enough time to talk with the Damon, the general manager, and find out what's happened to my money. He was in the middle of measuring the bottle girls when I rolled up on him. The girl he was measuring stared daggers down at his baldhead as he smoothed the measuring tape over her ass.

"I'm sorry, but what the fuck does this have to do with any of these girls serving?" I barked, scaring him right into the poor girl, who pushed his head away from her pussy and crossed her arms.

Damon's smile faltered for a minute, becoming bright again despite the daggers I was shooting him. "Swan, what's good?"

"What the fuck is this?" I said motioning to the women, standing there with the biggest smirks on their faces as Damon tried to explain away his misconduct.

"You see, the bottle girls were hired as 'Models who serve,' meaning that they have to remain at a certain weight and proportions to continue working here. We do this every week and D'Angelo ain't got a problem with it."

"Because D'Angelo is a fucking idiot. If any one of these girls come to me and tell me that you're still weighing them, we gon' have a problem. Understand? " I said, taking a step towards him, letting the half a foot I had on him do the talking. "D'Angelo may be the face of this club, but let's not forget who owns it on paper."

Damon held his hands up appeasingly, wiping off the shoulders of my suit. "You got it, Swan. This a real nice suit you got on, too. What is this? Plaid? Linen—" I glanced at his hands and back at him. He moved them, and asked, "Did you come down here for anything in particular?"

"Yeah," I said, beckoning him to follow me upstairs to the office, waving at the ladies as they shouted their thanks to me. "I need to talk to you about the robbery last Friday."

"I thought Michelle was the one that was behind that shit?" he asked, entering the office behind me and slamming the door shut.

I took a seat at the edge of the desk watching him, looking for the slightest inkling of a lie. He must've thought he was a prime suspect because he started stammering and explaining himself.

"When all that shit went down I was in the middle of checking on everyone in the VIP section. Doing like you taught me to. I was steady talking to that nigga Jehoshaphat about having his girl Nemesis perform when all of a sudden there was a boom and people started screaming. Security was scrambling to get down here because they thought a bomb went off of something. I swear I don't know what happened after that and I would never steal from you."

"And you're positive that there isn't any surveillance footage?"

Damon shook his head. "Nothing. D'Angelo said if we put in cameras then we would decrease the chances of these hood niggas showing up and buying out the bar."

"What was D'Angelo doing before the robbery?"

"Oh," Damon replied, placing his hand over his mouth, "you think D'Angelo had something to do with this?"

"Where was he, Damon?" I asked, refusing to give this simple nigga any insight into my investigation.

Damon scratched the back of his neck. "The last time I saw him, he was at the bar with this shorty he been bringing around a few times. I never got her name. She was here last week and D'Angelo gave her a 'tour' of the place."

"Did he giver her a 'tour' the night of the robbery, too?"

"As a matter of fact, he did take her upstairs. I heard she was held up during the robbery, too." Damon paused thoughtfully. "Wait...you think shorty had something to do with the robbery? I mean that would make sense. They come up here to plan it and then she shows up later on in the week..."