Bomber – not dressed in leathers for once, but a simple black t-shirt and blue jeans – hung his head down in embarrassment as he walked by the plywood that covered the window’s frame. He debated on going in to see if Anilia was there.
A really large man was heading his way. “Oh, hey, Boss.”
“Hey, Bear,” he called to the head of the bouncers.
“The boys took care of that asshole with the torch.”
“‘Took care of’?”
“Yeah, Barry, Jamal and Nick beat the crap outta him. He won’t be bothering you anymore.”
Bomber found himself taking a deep breath and looking up for a moment at the ceiling. “Goddammit,” he whispered.
“We do something wrong?” Bear drank the coffee too. He looked genuinely concerned that he did something to offend his master.
“No,” Bomber said. “Not really. I usually like to take care of my own shit.” He smiled a little. “With backup, of course.”
“Oh, oh, yeah – I’m sorry, boss. I’ll tell the guys they shouldn’t’ve done that.”
“No, no. I’ll tell them.” He knew, from being a ghoul to Mr. Cobb and blood bonded, how a person thought about the “master”. He had wanted to do anything to please him. But if he was told he did something wrong, he’d never, ever want to do it again. He’d seen some other servants of Cobb take things so close to heart that they were depressed for weeks. He always wondered why; now he knew. “Who did it?”
“Jamal is around.” He pulled out his iPhone and looked at the schedule. “Barry’s off. I can call him in…”
Bomber shook his head. “I’ll catch him when he’s on again.”
“And Nick…he’s on tonight.”
The bouncers usually started coming in around 7:30, only two hours from now. “I’ll hang around for him, then.”
He turned the corner to go into Anilia’s office, but she was already there, leaning on the doorframe. Bomber gasped.
She was dressed in what could be considered in most circles as a lace teddy. She wore a spiked leather collar and cascading down from it was sheer black material that he could easily see through. The material popped out slightly due to her breasts, and then flowed down to her waist. Another thin strip of lace covered her there. The belt was necessary for the garters of fishnet stockings and stilleto heels.
She grinned, and he saw those pointed teeth. “No leather?”
He couldn’t speak, his tongue having fallen out onto the floor.
“Let’s go into my office. At least this time I don’t have to shut the shades.”
He recovered, and they went in. She shut the door. She smiled at him and tilted her head in offering. However, the collar covered her tattoo. He knew he’d have to take it off. He knew what would happen next.
“Oh, fuck it,” he growled, and unsnapped the collar.
“I hope so,” she purred as he bent his head to her neck.
——————–
The whole break room stopped talking when the boss walked in. They stared at him. There were the six bouncers for the night: three for the front instead of the usual five, and one each for the back door and one for the side door, and one floater; four bartenders as opposed to the usual eight on a weekend, and a three-man maintenance crew.
“She’s a screamer,” said one of them that Bomber knew was called Ant.
He let a smile cross his face. “I din’t come here to give a report. Where’s Nick an’ Jamal?”
The two raised their hands, one a huge black man, the other a smaller white kid. “C’mere,” he said, nodding out the door. The rest of them watched the two file out. Bomber heard Bear get their attention and start assignments.
Bomber only went out into the hallway. “I know what y’ did for me,” he said. “I ‘preciate it, but you din’t have to do it.” He leaned closer. “I take care o’ my own shit, in my own time. If I’m in big trouble or I need help, I want y’all there, capice?”
“Yes, boss,” said Jamal. “Yes, sir,” said Nick.
“Good.” He patted both men on the shoulder. “Now try not to kill anybody.”
“Hey,” said Jamal, “did she get the five grand?”
Bomber grinned again. “Almost.” He headed out to the club to tell them that the manager was going to be indesposed for the evening and that he was in charge. It was a Monday – what could possibly go wrong?
Words: 755 (even with rewriting)
Inspiration: Continuation
Music: Thank the Lord for the Night Time – Neil Diamond. Stop laughing.
Comments: “What could possibly go wrong?”