Chapter 2

The show starts just as we get our drinks, which is a mercy as at least I can hide behind my glass. Although right now I’m wishing I’d claimed Irish ancestry and ordered a Guinness, as I can still see way too much of the action through my beer. The girl on stage is wearing a Stetson and not a whole lot else, and I resign myself to a long evening.

With all of this female flesh on display, I figure there’s got to be some muscle around somewhere to make sure the clientele stays in line. I look around between acts, guessing if I don’t have my eyes glued to those titties while they’re out there, sooner or late Rufus T.’s going to ask me why I’m not watching the show, and then I’ll have to tell him. And trust me, I’ve been there before, and it ain’t pretty.