“May you come with me, please?” The thug's tone betrayed his polite words. I also saw a metallic glint hovering right above his pocket. Great.
“Girls, if you excuse me again... I don't think he'll let me say no to his polite invitation.”
He harshly guided me to the restroom. There, five other thugs, each bigger than the last, were leaning on the walls. The dealer was presiding the stinking room, his arms crossed, the bulge under his jacket way too obvious. I took a deep breath. Careful now. Making a mess wasn't part of the plan. And neither was taking unnecessary risks.
“So, Mr. Not-A-Cop.” The dealer greeted me. “Can you explain what just happened? … Two cops enter the club, you talk to them, they stare at me for a full minute, and then they simply leave? And you tell me you're not one of them? Are you fucking kidding me, boy?”
I sighed. “Look, I'm not a cop. I'm after the girls, okay?”
“You talked to them.”
“Yeah. They were going straight for us. Those girls are underage, and we were smoking your crap. I thought I'd rather shoo the cops out instead of the girls, you know.”
“So, how the fuck does a guy like you shoo a cop out? Without being one of them?”
I raised my hands slowly. “Okay. Let me show you, yes?” I wiggled the damned tie loose and proceeded to undo the first few buttons of my shirt. If they didn't recognize the mark on my cheek, at least the chest tattoo would mean something to them.
At first, they stared at me as if I was crazy, but once the fourth button was undone, and I pulled the collar open, leaving the tattoo in sight, their jaws dropped open. I simply smiled. “Let's just say, I have some contacts and those cops didn't really want to get in trouble.”
The thugs started murmuring. “Oh, shit, whoa.”
The dealer took a step towards me. He still hadn't bought it. “So, you know the guy?”
“Andrei?” He flinched as I said the name. “Yeah, I work for him. Call him if you want.”
His smirk made me realize I had made a mistake. “That isn't what I'm seeing. So, Mr. Not-A-Cop here doesn't even know what his fancy tattoo means.” He glanced at his thugs, signing them to get ready. “... Winter. It tells me you're Mr. Zima's number two. Not the errand boy of a fucking psycho.”
Well, shit. See, my problem was, I wasn't that used to all the mob technicalities, let alone to Andrei using a different name. But I couldn't really share that with the dealer, never mind expect him to believe it.
A subtle cough behind me made my heart skip a beat. “There's no need to call anyone, Sandy. I'll tell him. Personally.”
If I was... shocked about him being there, the dealer's face was priceless. He started ranting, babbling nonsense. “Oh, fuck, Mr. Zima, I didn't mean– Fuck, I'm sorry, man, I...”
“Shut up.” Andrei cut him off. Then he friendly patted my shoulder, getting almost awkwardly close. It felt more like a proper hug from the back. “Are you alright, Sandy? … Have they bothered you? At all?”
The dealer's face was whiter by the moment.
I couldn't hold back an icy smile for him as I replied to Andrei. “Nah. I mean, they thought I was a cop, since, you know, nobody in this place actually wears a suit. But it's okay, they haven't really bothered me.”
“Okay, then. Back to work. I'll stay here, I want to have a few words with the rat.”
I turned around to leave and saw it. Andrei was wearing all black. Shit. That was never good news – for anyone involved.
And so I left the restroom and went back with the girls, not wanting to know what would happen inside. I tried hard to show interest in the girl's rants about their idols and their shopping and their nonsense, but my mind and my eyes were constantly glancing at the restroom door. He came out not five minutes later, only to quickly disappeared among the crowd. How on earth did he manage that, I seriously don't know.
The dealer also came out shortly after, with a visible limp, the expression in his face betraying his attempt to hide the pain. He went straight to his corner and sat awkwardly. Meanwhile, the girls kept smoking and making stupid jokes about the people around us. I hugged my beer with my hand, laughing out of habit on the outside while fighting the inside urge to punch them in the face.
