“This is outrageous!”
Bomber stood impassively at the door. The man wore a Victorian cape, top hat and even carrying a cane, was pale, but his face had an angry countenance.
“I need to stay in business, Aaron.”
“Five hundred dollars a month? That’s insane.”
“It was going to be a thousand, but I talked my owner away from that.”
He hmphed, and went into his pocket, taking out money with a moneyclip. He peeled off some money, and ended up handing over everything. “Here, it’s all I have.”
“Thanks.”
“I plan to be here every night to get my money’s worth.”
“Anyone in particular?”
“Anyone new?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” He pointed to a red-haired girl on the dance floor, dancing all by herself. “That’s Amber.”
“I hope she likes Victorians,” Aaron said, and strode away toward her.
Why do I feel like a pimp? Bomber thought.