“We’re gonna double the cover charge tonight. We’l make a kil ing.”
He wasn’t serious.
“Monk, we can’t play tonight,” I said.
Silence then, “Why the f**k not?”
I looked around at my band. They were al watching me.
“Wel , because we got shot at last night,” I explained.
“So?” Monk asked.
“With a rifle,” I went on.
“And?” Monk pressed.
“Pong nearly got his head blown off,” I continued.
“Last night, Pong had women drippin’ off him,” Monk returned. “That boy hasn’t been that lucky since the University of Colorado women’s vol eybal team came to see your show.”
I remembered the night the vol eybal team came to see the show. That hadn’t been a good night, at least not for me and definitely not for Mace. It had ended in a five o’clock in the morning phone cal that saw Mace extricating Pong from a situation where Pong lost al his clothes (but his black bikini briefs) in a game of strip poker. When he tried to get them back, he’d learned how strong a gaggle of col ege-aged female athletes could be. And let’s just say that Mace hadn’t been al that thril ed to have Pong sitting in the front seat of his silver Chevy Avalanche wearing only his black bikini briefs.
“Even so –” I continued to try to convince Monk of the seriousness of the situation which kind of pissed me off, considering there should be no convincing to do.
“Stel a, you’re playin’,” Monk broke in.
“Monk, you can’t think –”
“I can and I do. You don’t play tonight you never play the Pal adium again,” Monk threatened.
My body got tight.
“Monk!”
“Not only that, Stel a, you don’t play tonight, I start talkin’
to the other club owners. Talkin’ about shit like wandin’, searches and that f**kin’ Mace guy gettin’ in my face and puttin’ his hands on me.”
Effing hel .
“Monk, listen to me, we can’t play tonight. It’s too dangerous.”
“No, Stel a, you listen to me. You play tonight or you don’t play in Denver. Anywhere in Denver. Ever again.”
“Are you threatening me?” I snapped.
“It’s not a threat. Trust me.”
My luck sucked!
Before I could retort, the phone was ripped from my hand and I watched Hugo put it to his ear.
“Monk, you got Hugo,” he said into the phone, his deep, velvet voice an angry purr. “Yeah,” he went on. “No, you listen to me you circus freak cracker. We play tonight, you double the cover and we get the take.” I stared in shock at Hugo’s words as Hugo paused for a few beats then kept talking. “Quiet, you’re listenin’ to me now, motherfucker.” The angry purr got angrier and I held my breath. “You open the doors an hour early to get folks in. You fol ow the security protocol to the letter. The… fuckin’… letter. You understand?” Hugo paused again, nodded his head once then went on, “We play thirty minute sets, not forty-five. You put signs up that say no bags, purses or backpacks al owed.” I heard yel ing come from the phone but Hugo forged ahead. “No one wearin’ bulky clothes either, no jackets, no sweatshirts, nothin’. The minute you hit code maximum, you close the doors. No one gets in unless someone goes out. We clear, motherfucker?” There was more yel ing coming from the phone and I glanced around at the band. Leo was in the kitchen, three empty coffee cups dangling forgotten from his fingers.
Floyd had angry eyes narrowed on the phone. Pong was grinning. Buzz was biting his lip.
I looked back at Hugo when he started speaking again.