Cassie bit her lips as the bartender did her best to get her to leave. She would simply control the woman, but so far, the bartender had been doing what was in Cassie’s best interest. Cassie could do it, but she didn't feel like it when she had alternate options.
Perhaps she should go find someone else to talk to? Just as Cassie was about to come up with an excuse and leave, someone solved her dilemma. Another bartender, a redhead that looked a little older than the first blonde bartender, made her way to where Cassie was at. She had a name tag that said Rose.
“What is going on here, Jesse?” She demanded with authority in her voice. The first bartender, Jesse, tried to speak up, but Cassie cut her off before she could say anything else. As much as Cassie respected what Jesse was trying to do, this wasn't exactly the time for that.
“I want something with alcohol.”
“She’s likely underaged!” Jesse cut in and tried to explain.
Rose looked at Jesse for two solid seconds before she suddenly scoffed. Without paying Jesse any more attention, she nodded at Cassie with a fake smile. “Of course. Just wait here for a moment please. I'll be right back.”
Not giving Jesse another chance to speak, Rose grabbed onto the blonde’s arm and pulled her away despite her protests. Cassie threw Jesse an apologetic look. She was going to do something about this, later. For now, she had more important things to do.
It didn't take Rose too long to deliver a glass of what looked like beer to Cassie. She left empty-handed, believing Cassie had paid already. As cheap as the drink was, there was no way Cassie was bringing any revenue to this club. She was here to cleanse it, not finance it.
In a sense, Cassie could be really petty. Or maybe she was just cheap.
Just as Cassie found herself staring down on the glass and wondering what to do next, she sensed someone sitting down in the seat beside her. One glance to the side revealed a twenty-something man with long curly hair and a warm, innocent smile.
Seeing the small bag that was poking out of his pockets, Cassie did her best to conceal a smile. Jackpot.
“So, lady…” The man quickly scanned Cassie from top to bottom. Hmm... short-sleeved t-shirt. Jeans. Most likely a student who decided to come here for some fun after school behind her parents’ back. She might be packing a fortune. And judging from her white teeth and focused eyes, she might be new to drugs. Good. This meant he could sell her less for more.
Instead of trying to sell the merchandise outright, the man started with some small talk to lower the girl’s guard. He considered himself a professional, and professionals like him prided themselves in being able to appear polite and approachable to potential customers. Made it easier for them to rip the same customers off.
But Cassie had no time for games. She still wanted to go home for dinner!
Under the illuminating light in the club, the dealer failed to see the glimpses of silver in Cassie’s eyes.
“What do you know about the Reese Cartel?”
“The Reese Cartel?” Once again, this minor dealer’s willpower was practically non-existent. Within moments, he started spewing secrets that would otherwise take police officers many interrogations to extract. “Oh...I work for the Reese Cartel. In fact, this entire strip club is the property of the cartel!”
“Wait…” Cassie paused for a moment. For a while, she thought this strip club was just another random club that the cartel was abusing. ‘The entire club?”
“Yep. Why else do you think you don’t have to pay a nominal fee to enter the door? It’s the boss’s orders. We aren’t making money on entrance fees. We want as many people inside as possible so we can profit on the drinks and tips and, of course…” He snickered and rubbed the bag of pills in his pocket. "the real product. If it was entirely up to the manager, we would at least be collecting a token fee."
“Ok…” Cassie raised her eyebrows. Nominal fees? What was that? Either way, she continued. “Is everyone working here at the club under the cartel’s payroll?”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Yep. As I said, they own the place.”
“Fair enough…” Cassie originally planned on coming in here, finding and controlling a low-level dealer, and then tracing all the way up the chain of command. Steps one and two were done already, and step three seemed a lot easier than expected. The only problem was that now she had to deal with everyone working here, and not just a single dealer.
“Fine. How many employees are in the club?”
“Hmm...maybe 30 or so? Most of them are bartenders and strippers. We’ve got 4 bouncers. Oh!” The man suddenly remembered something important, and under Cassie's influence, he quickly started turning the memories into words. “I think one of the higher-ups in the cartel is here right now. The third-in-command, I think...big guy. Terrifying. He has a few bodyguards. All of them are armed.”
“Where are they now?”
“They were in the office on the second floor twenty minutes ago. I think they’re here to escort the cash back to the cartel headquarters. Our manager was with him last time I checked.”
It was at that moment that Cassie truly appreciated her lack of procrastination. If she waited a day or two more, then she would not only miss the cash transport, but she would also miss a prized target. Turning an entire club of cartel members to the police was good. Turning in the cartel’s third-in-command? Even better.
At this point, the girl got all she came for. Ignoring the glass, Cassie stood up and turned to the dealer.
“Lead me to your manager’s office.”
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At the same time, on the second floor of the club, not far away from the staircase, was the manager's office. Truth to be told, the office was extremely well-decorated and fancy for a strip club. It had several leather sofas across the room, with a table and a chair at one end. There was even a layer of carpet on the ground. The walls were so sound-proof that most of the music blasting down on the first floor couldn't even reach the office.
Right now, there were three people in the office. The first was the owner of the office, the manager of the club. He was a bold man in his fifties. The man looked more like a businessman than a cartel member, and that was indeed true. The Reese Cartel hired him to make money, and that was what the manager did. He knew very well what was going on here and the illegal aspects of this business, but he was paid enough to pretend like he didn't know.
In a sense, money was magical, for it could twist truths and create ignorance.
The second man was an accountant. He was going through a stack of paper files while moving around stacks of paper money on the table. He was confirming that the cash at hand matched the cash on the book. In other words, he was confirming that the manager didn't skim anything from the profits this month for his own. If he did, well...there would be hell to pay.
The third man stood out from the other two. For one thing, he looked like a bear. A very muscular bear. The man was at least six foot four, which allowed him to tower over both the manager and the accountant. An old scar dragged across his face, something that the man wore like a badge of honor. Behind his expressionless face was a clear disregard for both the law and human lives.
“Wow, Mr. Patricks...I really didn't think Mr. Reese would ask you to run menial errands like this!” The manager said to the large man as politely as possible. He was trying to use words to break the tense silence of the room. “Weren’t things like this usually handled by John and his crew?”
Mr. Patricks glanced at the manager, and for a moment, the manager came so close to wetting himself. For a moment, he cursed himself for speaking up. It was only when Mr. Patricks replied in his deep voice that the manager let go of a breath of relief.
“There are other groups in the city that are trying to steal our money. Sons of bitches who think they can somehow compete against the Reese Cartel. Mr. Reese was concerned that they would think stealing our money is a good idea. I’m here to make sure if they did that, it would be the last mistake they make.”
The manager nodded. Fair enough. Out of the three leaders of the Reese Cartel, Mr. Patricks was the best fighter. That was for sure. Legend said that the man had never been in the military, nor had he ever received any professional training. All his combat experience came from the fights and skirmishes on the streets of Chicago. All his skills were learned from defeats and injuries. He was a beast, and that was a proven fact.
The accountant had finally finished his calculations. The manager watched in relief as he started packing the money into a suitcase. Thankfully, as the manager rubbed his hands anxiously, the accountant remembered something. With a scoff, he counted a stack of hundred-dollar bills and handed them to the manager.
“Keep doing your job well, and maybe Mr. Reese will up your compensation.”
With that promise made, Mr. Patricks picked up the suitcase and went for the door. Before he could reach it, the door was pushed open, and two figures walked in.
The room got very quiet for a while. At first, Mr. Patricks wasn’t quite sure what was going on. He had four bodyguards outside of the office, all of them armed and ready to fight any intruder to the death. But...they just sat there and did nothing as the two entered. One of them even helped hold the door open for them!
So...maybe these two were friendly? Perhaps this young girl was the manager’s daughter? The man turned back and glanced at the manager, only to find the man as confused as he was.
Ok...what the hell was going on here?