Who Am I ?

The roar of music that has convulsed drinks in glasses is momentarily drowned by the loud howling and long whistling of the audience as two girls show up on the stage. 

The stage is not too big, a half-circle with a pole in the center. The music, spat out from the loudspeakers, regains control of the room, but the audience's attention is now more focused on the girls' attraction. One of the girls is hanging on the pole, while the other snakes erotically on the edge of the stage. 

They are still young. They perhaps lied about their ages when they made their IDs. As they keep dancing, their clothes fall to the floor, one by one. They are left wearing only bras and G-strings, barely covering their bodies. The audience grows more excited. Some urge toward the stage to tuck money into their G-strings or bras. 

"Scott!" A call forces me to shift my attention from the stage. I wave my hand to Andy, who tries to breach the crowd to reach me. Just as he makes it to the bar bench beside me, the two girls finish their performance. 

"Martini," Andy orders his drink before his butt touches the bench. "It's so crowded tonight," he says as a complaint. 

"You should go to the cemetery if you're looking for silence," I tease him. Andy just snuffles. He's never been a fan of crowds. "How is it? Everything ready?" I ask him. 

Before Andy can answer, his martini arrives. He sips it a little before nodding. "Ready," he answers shortly, as once again the crowd grows loud and hysterical when another group of performers appears. 

Three women come onto the stage. They are a bit older than the previous ones, perhaps around 25. Two of them have incredibly huge, round boobs that make the men in the room drool even before their nurses' costumes are taken off. Well, almost every man. I'm not interested in that kind of big, fake boobs. Andy, on the other hand, isn't interested in any woman's boobs. 

Unconsciously, my smile grows when I see the third girl—a brunette with some highlights—throw her costume to the audience. 

"She is new, isn't she?" I ask Simon, the bartender, raising my voice to overcome the music. 

"What? Which one?" he asks me back. 

"The one that has no boobs," I answer him. Well, the girl actually has decently sized boobs; it's just that compared to the other girls, she seems like she doesn't have any. 

"Oh, yeah... I don't even know her name yet," Simon answers my first question after looking at the girl I mentioned. I grin as I finish my vodka. 

"Hey, don't drink too much. You have to work tomorrow morning," Andy warns me when he sees me asking Simon for another shot of vodka. 

"Don't worry, I won't get drunk," I promise him. He just snorts but says no more. 

"By the way, how did you know?" Andy asks me while pointing at the girl with his chin. 

I turn my head slightly to glance at the stage. "Of course I knew," I reply before sipping my vodka. 

"Her movement is still stiff and shy. Besides, she also threw her costume to the audience, something none of the other dancers do because the costumes are Momma's. Momma will be angry at her later," I explain my observation. 

Vaguely, I hear Simon click his tongue in admiration. "You are good at observing," he praises me, "like a detective." 

"A detective specializing in striptease," Andy says to tease me. Simon and I laugh with him. 

Within his laughter, Simon pours whiskey into his own glass. "Cheers to the striptease detective!" he shouts, making my laughter louder. We raise our glasses and cheer. 

---

For no apparent reason, I suddenly wake up with my eyes wide open. I feel refreshed, like I just had a good workout. That reminds me of what happened a few hours ago. I turn my head to the left, to the back that's facing me, naked. This is what is good about the world, I think, letting my eyes wander across the naked back. We only had one round. A love game is always good as a warm-up before... 

Suddenly, someone knocks on my door. It isn't that loud, but at four in the morning—well, twenty past four according to my clock—it might as well wake the whole of NY city. I sigh as my thoughts say, "There goes my imagination." 

"Just a sec," I call out, half-shouting. I turn to the girl still asleep next to me. "Hey... hey," I say while shaking her shoulder. "Hey, wake up," I say again, shaking her harder. I forget her name. 

"What?!" the girl protests, annoyed at having her sleep disturbed. 

"It's time for you to leave," I say, then stand and pull the blanket off her, exposing her body clad only in bra and panties. 

"What do you mean?" she asks, confused, grabbing the blanket to cover her chest. I let her watch me put on my trousers. 

"I have to work," I tell her, gently casting her out, then walk to my closet and open it. 

"Work?" 

I nod to confirm. After buttoning half my shirt, I turn and snort when I see her still lying on the bed. 

"What work do you do on Sunday?" she asks mid-yawn. I answer her by handing her a hundred-dollar bill. That stops her yawn. 

"What's this?" 

I pick up her clothes from the floor and drop them on her lap. 

"Hey, what's this? Do you think I'm a whore?" she asks, her voice rising, blue eyes glaring. 

I meet her glare with the sweetest smile I can produce in the morning. "No," I reply calmly. "It's for the taxi. No buses operate at four in the morning. Now, will you please dress up?" 

My smile works as intended, and the girl snorts before she starts dressing—albeit slowly. Knowing she'll take her time, I decide to open the door for Andy. 

"What took you so long ?" Andy grumbles as he is entering my apartment. 

I don't need to answer him since he soon understands by the appearance of the girl out from my room.

"Call me," she says, slipping a small tissue paper on my hand when I deliver her toward my entrance door.

"Sure," I reply her. She is quite good in bed, so there is a possibility in the future to have fun with her again. But for now, I need to get her out of my apartment immediately.

"Wait…" she pauses right when I'm about to close the door. "you haven't answered my question," she reminds me.

"What question ?" My face expression asks her back.

"What work you have to do in Sunday morning ." She repeats the question. She then squints and looks at me full of disgust, "Are you a priest?"

---

8:41 AM 

The doors of a church on R Avenue open, spilling people out who seem impatient to leave. A group of kids is running around the churchyard, their laughter carrying in the crisp morning air. Their parents shout warnings, reminding them not to play too close to the street. Like always, the roads of NY city are bustling, even on a Sunday. 

Two minutes later, William Miller steps into the double doorway. The man, wearing a toupee, is engaged in a friendly conversation with another man. Judging by the latter's attire—a black suit over a black shirt with a white strip at the collar—it's easy to tell he's a priest. The priest enthusiastically shakes Miller's hand as the sixty-year-old billionaire speaks. 

William Miller is a key shareholder in a globally renowned beverage company and the owner of the largest supplier of car components from Country J in the nation. He has three wives—his first wife passed away two months ago—and four children: a son and three daughters, all of whom are married. 

Miller sighs, restless, his large hands buried deep in the pockets of his size-42 trousers. He doesn't seem like a man who enjoys waiting alone. But the reality is, he isn't alone. Though he can't see me, my eyes have never left him. 

Finally, the couple with the chubby child ends their conversation and walks to their car, taking the child with them. Miller watches them with a hint of envy as the family drives away. As the vehicle disappears from view, Miller once again turns his head to the left. His face grows more impatient, beads of sweat forming faster as he wipes his forehead again with his handkerchief. 

That's when he notices me. I can tell by the way his eyes widen and his face drains of color. 

This is the moment I've been waiting for. 

My index finger, which has remained steady until now, shifts slightly. Two seconds later, a bullet tears through William Miller's forehead. 

He collapses onto the pavement with a light thump. His body is still, his eyes open but unseeing. Asleep. Forever. 

---

Skipping the last stair, I step casually onto the pathway and begin walking. The guitar case slung over my shoulder lightly pats my back with every step. I keep my gaze forward, enjoying the icy wind as it brushes against my face. 

A police siren wails faintly in the distance. There's no need to wonder where the car is heading—I know exactly where it's going. Just as I know that, 200 meters away from where I'm walking, a crowd will soon gather around the lifeless body of William Miller. 

I wave my hand to hail a yellow taxi. It pulls over beside me, and I slide into the back seat, placing the guitar case next to me. As I close the door, the taxi begins to move. 

Andy, who's driving, glances at me briefly through the rearview mirror before shifting his focus back to the road ahead.