Shane hung his suit on the small, silver hook on the back of the bathroom door. He took off his t-shirt and pants, wadded them up and stuffed them in his backpack. His skin was sticky from dried sweat, so he washed his arms, chest and face in the sink, using the pink hand soap from the dispenser stuck on the wall. He dried off with the stack of white paper towels by the sink.<\/p>\n
He looked in the mirror, turned to the side and sucked in his gut. Then he faced the mirror and flexed his massive arms and his stomach. He turned to the other side and extended his arm so that his triceps stiffened into the soft shape of a horseshoe. He faced the mirror again, letting his arms relax at his sides. He unfurled his body, letting his wide shoulders hang, letting his stomach out.<\/p>\n
When he worked a day job for his uncle down on Water Street driving a produce truck, he felt like he got enough exercise. Every day, he loaded up the truck and unloaded it. He loaded himself with crates to see how much weight he could carry. But now, he looked softer and smaller. The only real exercise he got lately was walking to and from the nightclub.<\/p>\n
He looked in the mirror again, admiring himself dressed in a suit. The coat sleeves were a little long and the waist of the coat wasn\u2019t tapered. \u201cNot bad,\u201d he said, as he turned back and forth, looking at himself from all angles. It was the only suit he had. His uncle bought it for him when Shane was a larger fellow.<\/p>\n
He thought about his court appearance in a few days. His lawyer was a balding man with an avuncular disposition. He wasn\u2019t a criminal defense attorney. He negotiated contracts for Shane\u2019s uncle.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe prosecutor wanted jail time, but I think we can get probation and a fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow much is the fine?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cProbably about $1500, maybe more.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid my uncle say he\u2019d cover the fine too?\u201d asked Shane.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d said the lawyer. \u201cThat\u2019s yours.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShit,\u201d said Shane.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe scratches saved you from jail time. Good thing she got her claws into you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah. Lucky,\u201d said Shane. \u201cWhat happens if I don\u2019t have the cash?\u201d<\/p>\n
The lawyer paused. \u201cBring what you\u2019ve got on Monday,\u201d he said, sighing. \u201cWe\u2019ll go from there.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He put his shoes in his backpack. He unzipped a pouch, pulled out three small plastic bags of pinkish-white powder and put it in his coat pocket. He already had a buyer for them, a promoter named Blast who came to the club the same nights Shane worked. He still owed for the shit he\u2019d bought the week before, when he cleaned out Shane\u2019s stash with a promise.<\/p>\n
Shane looked in the mirror again, straightened his tie and headed to the lounge. Rabid and Diesel stood in the far corner, putting on their radios and adjusting their earpieces. Rabid was dark, bald and stout. He had a goatee and wore earrings with what looked like large diamonds. Shane\u2019s friend, Tommy Janeski, had introduced him. He was a cop who occasionally worked nite club security gigs. He said Shane used to play football and needed some extra money. Tommy told Shane that Rabid used to be the head of security for the P Stone Rangers. \u201cGuy\u2019s got a nice little rap sheet,\u201d Tommy said. \u201cDid three years in Joliet.\u201d<\/p>\n
Diesel was light-skinned and huge. Looking at him, you could tell he used to be a physical specimen who had let himself go. His belly hung over his pants. He sweated if he moved around too much.<\/p>\n
Shane stuffed his backpack and skateboard in the closet next to the bar. Diesel slid a radio toward Shane, then looked at him. \u201cDamn. Is that your suit?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou need a tailor.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe needs better taste,\u201d said Rabid. \u201cNo tailor could save that mess right there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDude looks like he got a job interview for a hobo,\u201d said Diesel.<\/p>\n
Shane knew the suit wasn\u2019t that bad. He could\u2019ve come out looking like an extra in a James Bond movie, and they would\u2019ve said the same thing. He liked Diesel. When he used to make his laps around the club, Shane sometimes stopped by Diesel\u2019s post and talked about football. Diesel played on the defensive line at a small Texas college Shane had never heard of. He\u2019d ruptured a disc in his back and quit playing his senior year. They also talked about pain\u2014inflicting it, as well as tolerating it. Diesel frequently mentioned how tired he was, working two jobs. He had a kid. \u201cMan, kids are expensive,\u201d he said. \u201cShit\u2019s crazy.\u201d When their conversation turned to the glory of God, Shane politely moved along.<\/p>\n
Still, in all their conversations, he never told Diesel how he was kicked off the football team his junior year of college. The coaches claimed he wasn\u2019t disciplined enough. Their patience ran out after he got into a fight. It was over some girl at a party who was talking to one of Shane\u2019s friends, a tailback name D\u2019Mon who was now buried on a depth chart, somewhere in the NFL. Her boyfriend came back from wherever he was and wasn\u2019t happy to see his girlfriend hanging on D\u2019Mon\u2019s arm, so he got in D\u2019Mon\u2019s face. When Shane tried to say it was a misunderstanding, the guy told him to shut the fuck up, pressed a finger against Shane\u2019s forehead and called him a punk-ass white boy. Shane hit him. The girl jumped in, trying to hold Shane back, and he hit her on a backswing. He told his coach, \u201cShe\u2019s lying. I slugged her boyfriend.\u201d Like that\u2019s better, said Coach. Time to go. At the end of the semester, Shane left school.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat the hell were you thinking?\u201d asked Uncle Mike, his round face growing red. He was an intense man whose broad frame was needed to carry his dense flesh.<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t want to be there anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat? Because of football?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJesus help me,\u201d said Uncle Mike.<\/p>\n
His mother never really made an effort like Uncle Mike did. He, at least, asked why Shane did something. He encouraged Shane\u2019s ability for football. But his mother didn\u2019t really care why he did anything. If it bothered her day-to-day agenda, he was wrong for doing it.<\/p>\n
\u201cJesus Christ,\u201d she said once, stretching out collar of her shirt, as she looked down into it. \u201cIf I didn\u2019t have you, I wouldn\u2019t have these saggy-ass tits. Then I\u2019d have a man who\u2019d pay my bills right now.\u201d She looked at him, then at a re-run of Roseanne<\/em> that was on the television. \u201cBut you wanna play football, not get a job and help your momma out.\u201d<\/p>\n The nights she drank her vodka sodas and he helped to her room, she\u2019d mumble what a good boy he was, how much she needed him, how it was just the two of them and how they needed to stick together. Or when she needed a favor or forgiveness, she smoothed back his hair with the gentleness only a mother\u2019s hand can provide, then kissed his forehead and said \u201cThank you, bubba.\u201d<\/p>\n If he got in trouble at school, she\u2019d remind him that he was acting like his daddy, like he knew what that meant. That was only thing he knew about his dad: he behaved like him sometimes. Sure, he\u2019d acted up a bit. But he never thought of himself as a bad kid, not compared to some of the guys on the football team. After he got into an accident with her car, she told him: \u201cI\u2019m not takin\u2019 any more of your mess. All you do is cost me money. You can take your shit elsewhere.\u201d A few weeks later, Shane went to live with Uncle Mike.<\/p>\n As Shane put on his radio and earpiece, Rabid issued the night\u2019s instructions. Rabid would watch the lounge, walk around and make sure everything\u2019s under control. Shane and Diesel would cover the ropes. No one enters without a wristband. No one leaves his post without someone covering his spot. \u201cKeep it tight tonight,\u201d he said. \u201cIt\u2019s going to be busy and you two been slacking lately. I don\u2019t want no bullshit. Pay fucking attention to what\u2019s going on around you.\u201d<\/p>\n When they were done, Diesel pulled him aside and gave him a handful of plastic wristbands the club sold at the door. It was their scam to make a little extra money. Each one was folded neatly into a tiny square and wrapped in a rubber band. Shane assumed Diesel got them from Rabid. \u201cThey go fo\u2019 forty tonight,\u201d he said. \u201cHolla if you need mo\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n Shane stood by the velvet rope hung between two gold stanchions and waited for the club to fill. Things were looking up. The last few Fridays had been slow. If Rabid said it\u2019d be busy, there\u2019s a good chance he was right. But that was only one night. Shane needed the whole weekend.<\/p>\n He looked over at the bartender setting up the bar where Vanessa used to work. It was odd seeing someone else there. When he first started at the club, he used to stare at her during the idle moments. Vanessa was a bit older than he was. Her skin was smooth mahogany. The first time he saw her, he thought she looked like the women he saw in the dirty magazines his friends used to trade with each other when they were aware their bodies were changing and were learning about women\u2019s bodies too. He loved to watch as she danced on the bar to gather a crowd.<\/p>\n If some guy was mulling around, acting too persistent, she\u2019d give Shane a look\u2014a slight shake of the head, an eye roll\u2014and he\u2019d let the guy know it was time to go. Sometimes, an older man stopped by at the end of the night. A different one each time, but they all looked about the same. They wore jewelry. Sometimes, a big gold watch. Other times a gold pinky ring and a gold bracelet. The clothes were expensive casual\u2014designer jeans, an expensive looking button-down shirt, maybe a sport coat and brown laced-up leather shoes. Most of them sounded Russian. It was hard to tell. The man would drink while she closed her register. Then they\u2019d leave together. It wasn\u2019t unusual if she returned to work in the same clothes she\u2019d worn the night before.<\/p>\n He got to know her after a cocktail waitress said she\u2019d been robbed while she waited for a cab. After that, none of the girls were supposed to leave alone, so the bouncers had to stay late to babysit. \u201cThat\u2019s some bullshit,\u201d said Rabid. They were having a few drinks at the main bar, after the club closed. \u201cShe didn\u2019t get robbed.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow do you know?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMan, she ain\u2019t got no bruises. She ain\u2019t got no scrapes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe she got lucky.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIn this neighborhood? A junkie woulda beat her ass for that money.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy would she lie?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPeople lie about stupid shit all the time.\u201d<\/p>\n Shane started walking Vanessa to her car. He was the new guy. He was the one who had to stay late. She asked about the knife Shane found after a stout Mexican guy had been thrown out for starting a fight earlier in the night. He said he\u2019d found it after the guy had been removed from the club. He had dropped his radio and went back along the path that he had dragged the man to look for it. That\u2019s when he saw the knife under a cocktail table. His radio was a few feet beyond that. He told her the man had struggled on the way out, and he had slipped his arm under the guy\u2019s chin and choked him until he went limp. He wondered if the man had been reaching for his knife before he passed out. Shane didn\u2019t know the man was out cold until he tossed him on the ground in the alley behind the club. \u201cHe was kind of flopping around,\u201d he said. She laughed when he did an impression of the man\u2019s flailing body. She told him she used dance at The Velvet Room. \u201cNo way?\u201d said Shane. \u201cReally? What was that like?\u201d<\/p>\n Drinking was part of her job. Some nights she\u2019d had too much. Shane said he\u2019d take her home. When he attempted to coax the keys from her, she shook her head. \u201cI can drive,\u201d she said as she fumbled to fit her foot into her shoe. \u201cJust get me to my car.\u201d Shane knelt down in front of her, grabbed the shoe from her clumsy fingers and put it on her foot. He looked up. She wasn\u2019t wearing underwear.<\/p>\n After he got her home, she asked him to park the car and help her upstairs. The floor of her apartment was strewn with shirts and dresses that looked expensive, Louis Vuitton and Gucci purses, DVDS of Scrubs<\/em> and Seinfeld<\/em> and old issues of Vogue. Her makeup case sat in the corner of the room, near a small mirror. An empty bag of potato chips sat on the couch next to a blanket.<\/p>\n She pointed to the bedroom. When he laid her down, her arms latched around his neck and she pulled him down with her. \u201cStay,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cI have to work,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cStay,\u201d she said, kissing his neck.<\/p>\n He thought he\u2019d stay until she fell asleep, but working two jobs caught up to him. All it took was a few moments of rest. When he woke up, he was late for work. Vanessa was curled up at the edge of the bed. Her ass peeked out from beneath her skirt. He called the warehouse and said he was sick.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n For the most part, Shane knew his job was to be present, a big meatbag with a stern expression and an unwavering ability to say no. If people thought someone was watching, they were less likely to do anything. Still, they acted plain stupid. A frat boy, out on the town with his friends, reached over the bar and stole a bottle of Remy Martin. When Shane twisted the boy\u2019s arm behind his back and escorted him outside, the boy said over and over, \u201cWhat did I do? What did I do?\u201d<\/p>\n You know what you did, asshole, thought Shane.<\/p>\n A fat guy, who looked Latino, passed out and puked on himself. The trail of vomit went down the front of his shirt to the floor, where it pooled around his shiny, black shoes. His friends tried to tell Shane someone had thrown the puke on the guy. \u201cHe went that way!\u201d one of them said.<\/p>\n Someone always wandered up to Shane, usually a group of guys from the suburbs, Indiana or down from Milwaukee who asked: \u201cHey, how do you get in?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou need a wristband.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere can I get one of those?\u201d<\/p>\n Shane made sure to make it sound like a hassle, telling whoever asked that they had to go back to the entrance, get in line and ask for a wristband. His special touch was, \u201cBut they might be sold out by now.\u201d<\/p>\n Inevitably, the guy felt like he missed out. \u201cYou know,\u201d said Shane. \u201cI have a few left I was saving for some friends. If you want to avoid the trouble, I could, you know, sell them to you instead.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow much?\u201d<\/p>\n Diesel had told him always to ask for a multiple of twenty, never throw out a number like fifty or seventy-five. \u201cThey gotta go to the cash machine,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd it only got twenties in it. You ask fo\u2019 fifty, then you got to give them change.\u201d<\/p>\n The first sale of the night was always the hardest. But then word spread or people became desperate or had enough to drink and thought, \u201cWhy the fuck not?\u201d Next thing you know, someone who had acted indignant at the suggestion of illicitly buying admission to the lounge earlier in the evening, suddenly handed over money. He needed to have a really good weekend to pay that $1500. Even if he got it, he wouldn\u2019t have enough to pay rent. Shane thought about the money he\u2019d make tonight, then he played with the small bags sitting in his coat pocket. He got it from a guy Vanessa introduced him to. Rocky. Or Rocko. Shane just called him Rock.<\/p>\n \u201cHow\u2019s Vanessa?\u201d asked Rock when he handed Shane the small, plastic bags.<\/p>\n Shane shrugged.<\/p>\n \u201cMan, she\u2019s wild, bro. Girl is crazy.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Shortly after they started sleeping together, Vanessa took him to Cavern, a club in a depression-era building somewhere in Uptown. Early in the night, while he was in the bathroom, she slipped molly into his drink. When they left, Vanessa had another girl in tow\u2014someone she knew from the scene, a brunette who claimed she was a model. They crowded into Vanessa\u2019s bed, alternating between primal passion and explorative caressing. By the time the sun came up, Shane leaned against the kitchen counter furiously masturbating while the women slept in the next room. One more, he told himself. One more.<\/p>\n He collapsed on the floor in exhaustion. He lay in a puddle of his sweat. His heartbeat was the sound of someone pounding on the wall from another room. Each beat made his body vibrate. He waited for his heart to slow. He couldn\u2019t stop playing with himself, feeling if he could simply finish one more time, he could finally rest. But his body wouldn\u2019t respond. He slowly drifted off to sleep. When he showed up late to work at the warehouse the next morning, he looked like hell. He dragged his feet loading trucks until one of them left almost a half hour after it was supposed to. Uncle Mike told him to go home.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Shane barely noticed when a small, thin blonde girl smiled at him. She had a wide mouth and large eyes. She was clearly very young, even though her face wore the weight of a nightclub lifestyle. She was part of Blast\u2019s entourage for the evening. They all sat at a table not too far from where Shane stood.<\/p>\n Someone once said Shane and Blast kind of looked like each other, which he took as a compliment. Shane didn\u2019t know what promoters did, exactly. But it seemed like they made a lot of money. He thought, maybe, someday, he\u2019d be a promoter, surrounded by attractive young women in the VIP lounge. The blonde girl and her friends danced in the space between tables. She kept looking at Shane.<\/p>\n Her movements were awkward. Her hands moved up and down her body. She danced closer to him and rubbed against him. She felt insubstantial, as if her skeleton were made from the hollow bones of a bird. The display was a quick jump over the fire.<\/p>\n Blast waved to Shane and came over to where he stood. \u201cYou got that shit I wanted?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n They shook hands. Blast put his hand back in his pocket. \u201cI got you,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cYou still owe from last week,\u201d said Shane.<\/p>\n \u201cI got you, son. I\u2019ll take care of you,\u201d he said. \u201cIt\u2019s all good.\u201d Blast went back to the table.<\/p>\n Shane watched as he held hands with one of the brunettes for a few seconds. She prodded her friends with an elbow and a nod. They all got up and went to the bathroom. When they came back, they danced. They sipped their drinks. The girls rubbed against each other and crowded around Billy. One of the girls ground her hips against his lap.<\/p>\n Shane leaned against the wall. He saw Blast whisper to the blonde girl. She looked over at Shane again and walked toward him. \u201cI need some help,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cWith what?\u201d said Shane.<\/p>\n \u201cCome with me,\u201d she said. She took his hand and led him toward the back of the lounge to the private bathrooms. Once the door closed, she pulled out a tiny silver vial she hid in top of her dress. She unscrewed the vial to reveal a small scoop filled with white powder. She held it to her nose and snorted it up. She re-filled the scoop and held it under Shane\u2019s nostril. He snorted up reflexively.<\/p>\n She kissed him while her fingers fumbled with his belt buckle.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d he said. \u201cPlease.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s a matter?\u201d She kissed him again. \u201cAre you shy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI have to get back to work,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n She pulled away. \u201cI\u2019m just trying to suck your dick.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t have to do that.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s your fucking problem?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI have to get back to work.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not a whore, ok?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOk,\u201d said Shane.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not a fucking whore, ok? My dad\u2019s a gynecologist. I keep my pussy clean, ok?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOk.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUgh,\u201d she said. \u201cYou\u2019re such a fucking loser. Let me out of here.\u201d<\/p>\n He opened the door. She squeezed past him and stormed back to her table.<\/p>\n When Shane came back to his post, Rabid stood at the rope. \u201cYo, man,\u201d he said. \u201cWhere the fuck you been?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA girl needed some help in the bathroom.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s some bullshit. Bitch was suckin\u2019 yo dick,\u201d said Rabid. \u201cWhat\u2019d I say? Don\u2019t leave yo\u2019 post without someone covering fo\u2019 yo\u2019 ass.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSorry, man.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFive people walked right in here. Now I gotta go round them up and get them out. Man, you costin\u2019 the club money.\u201d<\/p>\n Shane didn\u2019t say anything for a moment. \u201cI fucked up. Sorry, man.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDamn straight. Best not happen again.\u201d<\/p>\n As Rabid walked away, he saw Blast sitting at his table. His hands were up and his shoulders were scrunched. His body asked, \u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n Shane raised his hand and rubbed his fingers against his thumb. He mouthed the word \u201cMoney.\u201d<\/p>\n Blast rolled his eyes and waved him off.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n When Vanessa quit the club and started working at Limelight, Shane was relieved. Watching all those other men\u2014especially men with more money than he\u2019d ever had\u2014hit on Vanessa was too difficult. After a month or so, Vanessa started taking invitations to go out on some guy or another\u2019s boat. He knew that scene. He knew she was expected to parade around on a skimpy bikini, and schmooze with the guys. Make them feel special.<\/p>\n Some days she seemed disinterested in him. Other days, she was talkative and affectionate. Then she occasionally said she only wanted to enjoy their time together while it lasted. But in their most intimate moments, she whispered to him that she loved him and that she only wanted to be with him and feel him next to her. He understood the convenience of the lie, the necessity of it. She didn\u2019t want to be alone. Like any lie, if it\u2019s repeated too many times, it becomes the truth. So, in a moment when he wanted to believe she truly cared about him, he spoke about their future. It wasn\u2019t what he said. It was the confidence he said it with.<\/p>\n \u201cStop. Please,\u201d she whispered, softly stroking his cheek.<\/p>\n \u201cThen why do you say stuff like that?\u201d<\/p>\n She sat up, crossed her arms and scrunched her shoulders. \u201cI don\u2019t know. Sometimes I just feel like it.\u201d<\/p>\n It didn\u2019t matter how he felt. Because nothing mattered as long as she got what she wanted. He was, at best, a favorite toy, here to help her pass the time until someone\u2014or something\u2014better came along. But he needed something now. He needed something.<\/p>\n He slapped her. Then he grabbed her by the neck and pinned her in the corner of the couch. Her hands grabbed at his wrist. She scratched him as she tried to break free. He hammered his fist against the wall. \u201cTell me you love me!\u201d<\/p>\n The sound of gargled words vibrated in her throat. Spittle flew out the side of her mouth and her eyes bulged. He realized how hard he held her neck. He let go and sat back. She wiggled out from under him and gasped for air. She was back at him quickly, smacking his shoulders, arms and head. As he got up, she followed him. She scratched at his face then kneed him in the nuts.\u00a0 He pushed her away. Her head snapped back and she fell on the floor awkwardly. He didn\u2019t look back. He was out the door. A few hours later, two cops were at his apartment. They told him to come with them. While he waited in jail, surrounded by gang bangers and drunks, he tried to convince himself he wasn\u2019t wrong for what he did. She could have played along, if only that one time. His uncle let him wait before he bailed him out. \u201cWhat the hell is wrong with you, boy?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The lights came up on the dance floor. The bar-backs scurried across the club, collecting glasses and empty bottles. They filled black garbage bags until they were full and taut. In the lounge, people sat at their tables, waiting for waitresses to close out their tabs. The blonde girl was on wobbly legs as a chubby brunette with large, hoop earrings held her arm. The blonde doubled-over and began to vomit. \u201cTina! Oh my God!,\u201d she shrieked as she back away from the splash. \u201cTina! Gross!\u201d<\/p>\n She fell on the ground, her body convulsing.<\/p>\n Rabid swept in and picked her up by the arms. \u201cWatch out! Coming through!\u201d he said, as he took her down the back staircase. People parted way, rubbernecking to catch of glimpse of the skinny little girl who\u2019d had too much fun for one night. They talked to each other cautiously. One guy re-enacted the scene for a few people who missed it. Some shook their heads, others went back to what they were doing. Shane scanned the crowd, searching for Blast. He was nowhere to be found. Soon, the lounge cleared.<\/p>\n After the bar closed, Rabid and Diesel leaned against the bar down by the dance floor. Shane tapped Diesel\u2019s hip and handed some money to him under the bar.<\/p>\n \u201cYou want a shot of Patron?\u201d asked Diesel.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat was fucked up tonight,\u201d said Rabid.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou said she was only nineteen?\u201d said Deisel.<\/p>\n \u201cYup,\u201d said Rabid.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat the hell was she doin\u2019 in the club anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t understand that shit. Maybe she ain\u2019t got a daddy.\u201d<\/p>\n They drank their shots.<\/p>\n Rabid nodded to Shane. \u201cCome with me.\u201d<\/p>\n He walked away, expecting Shane to follow. Rabid stopped by the back staircase, then turned to face Shane. \u201cThe fuck happened tonight?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMan, I said I was sorry about leaving my post.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not talking \u2018bout that. I\u2019m talkin\u2019 \u2018bout that girl, man. She was more than fucked up.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI didn\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhachu doin\u2019 in the bathroom wi\u2019 her then? The fuck was goin\u2019 on wi\u2019 dat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe wanted to get down, man. You know how it is.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s not yo\u2019 job, tho\u2019. I told you, man.\u201d He exhaled forcefully. \u201cMan, don\u2019t come back tomorrow night.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI need this job.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShoulda thought \u2018bout that before tried to get yo\u2019 dick sucked.\u201d He walked away.<\/p>\n Shane went out into the alley and took a deep breath. The warm, humid evening air smelled like fresh garbage and grease. He walked to the end of the alley then took the wide industrial street to North Avenue. He walked over the bridge and took the cracked sidewalk that led to the highway overpass. He kept his head down as he strolled past the sleeping bums and held his breath so he didn\u2019t smell the dense scent of stale piss they carried. He crossed the street. Down the road, he saw a three hookers standing on the corner, smoking cigarettes. One waved to him. \u201cHey, sugar,\u201d she called. \u201cYou want a friend tonight?\u201d<\/p>\n He turned down his street. Cars lined each side of the road, parked for the night under the glare of the street lamps. Shane dragged a finger over the cool moisture that had condensed on their windows. A few steps from his apartment door, something on the ground caught his eye. Near the front door of his building, he saw something, several tiny green dots shimmering on the pavement near the edge of the halo of a light that shined from the building. He opened the gate and took a closer look. For one fading moment, he let himself go and hoped it was emeralds\u2014so he could be done with all of it and wouldn\u2019t have to worry every day about what would happen next\u2014before he realized it was only the shards of a broken bottle. Then he felt stupid for thinking someone would leave emeralds lying around. Even if they did\u2014in the minuscule chance that something like that would happen\u2014he knew he wouldn\u2019t be the one to find them. He wasn\u2019t that lucky.<\/p>\n While he thought about how the glass could never be emeralds, he stood over the shards, staring at them until they took a form. What was once a bottle started to look like a body lying on the ground, with an arm over a head turned to one side. The legs are spread, the knees facing out. The light hit the glass so the shards sparkled and it looked like the body moved\u2014like it was twitching. As much as he could see the body, the specific shape of it, he couldn\u2019t figure out who it was. As he thought about who it might be, the form faded away and all he saw were the fragments of glass.<\/p>\n He opened his apartment door and dropped his bag against the wall. He grabbed a pillow from the couch and tossed it on the floor, then he lay down with his hands clasped over his chest. He closed his eyes. He heard his uncle\u2019s voice in his head: \u201cThe Lord knows I have tried with you\u2026\u201d He remembered the calm and focused stillness of his mother\u2019s eyes whenever she told him he\u2019d messed up. He thought about the first time he saw Vanessa dancing on the bar for all the men, then about how happy he was when she\u2019d chosen him instead of all the others. And he fell asleep, softly, quickly, deeply.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" He looked in the mirror, turned to the side and sucked in his gut. Then he faced the mirror and flexed his massive arms and his stomach. He turned to the other side and extended his arm so that his triceps stiffened into the soft shape of a horseshoe. He faced the mirror again, letting his arms relax at his sides. He unfurled his body, letting his wide shoulders hang, letting his stomach out. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":14873,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[1111,1763,2621,1765,1764],"class_list":["post-14847","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-chicago","tag-empty-by-breaking","tag-fiction","tag-nightclubs","tag-s-grady-barrett","writer-s-grady-barrett"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14847","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=14847"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14847\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":14874,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14847\/revisions\/14874"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/14873"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=14847"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=14847"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=14847"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}