| the hospital visit |
[21 Apr 2005|10:55pm] |
I couldn't believe I was laying here on a gurney for this. With him in the chair over there being all matter of fact and answering the questions that the doctors asked as they filed in one by one to see what had happened. The fact that he brought me to a teaching hospital was humilating enough. Every intern had to come view the damage. And as each one looked I had to look over at him and say Thank you Master. I hate him, only I don't. I love the bastard. Enough to go through this horror.
He makes demons look tame at times. The first time he tackled me in the library I thought I would die, until I experienced what life was all about. It's about secrets and collars and feeling damn good. Anya may have had the female tricks, but my Master, he has all the tricks. All the trades.
( just kill me now )
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Play
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| Familiar Face |
[01 Mar 2005|11:06am] |
My first stop after spending as much time and energy with Faith as I had was, of course, my office. With as much of his mysterious pick-me-up as I was imbibing lately, I needed to speak with Lorne regarding whether or not the stuff was addicting at all. I hoped not.
After a refreshing nip of the drink, I rifled through my briefcase, looking for the gift I'd gotten from my father that I'd never thought to use before. I found it-- a small, sterling silver pocket flask engraved with a simple "WWP", and filled it with the green liquid before popping it into my inside breast pocket.
I busied myself with a few more mundane details, such as employee paperwork and the first batch of receipts for the club. Checking my calculations against the spreadsheet on my computer, we wouldn't need too terribly long before we recouped our investment-- perhaps only a month or two.
Bolstered by that particularly good news, I walked again into the main room of the club, shaking hands and making arrangements for the clients. Business had yet to flag, and things were looking exceptionally pleasant.
As high as I was flying, I was entirely unprepared for the shock of a familiar face stepping into the Pad. Whether it would prove to be a pleasant or unpleasant surprise would remain to be seen.
Adjusting my jacket, I crossed the floor to greet the woman.
"Hello, Lilah."
((Open to Lilah))
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6 Clients Come to Play
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| This Should Be Interesting... |
[14 Feb 2005|01:45am] |
Huh.
Well, I thought back refering to many an afternoon in Xander's basement watching old movies. Okay, that and a few other things. But thinking back to those thoghts?
Of all the Pimp Palaces in all the places, I had to end up here.
I guess not so much had either. There was a choice involved. Looking back to graduating top of my class, to journalism school at Oxford where I became learned in the ways of AP style and the appreciation of accents - I never would have picked Vegas as my final destination. Or at least the one I would end up in, for now. That 'for now' made it sound just a little less 'finally'. Because I really hadn't made up my mind.
However, when things in my last relationship had soured, it seemed important to get out of London. In the health-type way. A teaching posistion at UNLV and a side job with the local paper later, here I was.
And here I was. In Vegas' shiniest, newest toy.
Of course I was willing to bet that while it was most certainly shining, there were bound to be some things around here that were umm -- less than new. Oh yes, but that there was without doubt, toys.
And my job was to cover the Grand Opening.
Why did that suddenly sound dirtier that two words ever had before?
I asked around, trying to locate the manager before someone nodded to what I believe was a dressing room. I went up to knock, but at the -- sounds -- inside, I took two quick steps back. That would most certainly wait until later.
Settling onto a barstool, I nodded to the bartender and made eye contact. Soon I was happily sipping my Grey Goose and cranberry, waiting for someone to interview.
Anyone.
((open to Spike))
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7 Clients Come to Play
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[10 Feb 2005|11:17am] |
| [ |
mood |
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 naughty |
] |
Was outside the bint's room, smokin' another fuckin' fag. Hadn't been bad. She'd used her fuckin' little toys on me and shit, which had left some nice marks that I was sure my fuckin' asshole of a lawyer would be right-pissed 'bout, but sod it all - I came here t'get shagged good and proper and I hadn't had my fill just yet.
Walked 'round the place, finally findin' some bloke's office and stepped inside.
Empty. Huh.
Oh... but lookie what we have here...
Some fuckin' flask. Perfect, I needed me some liquor after that chit. Wasn't bad, but wasn't fuckin' great, if you catch my meanin'. I needed me some more sweet little things willin' t'spread open their legs t'me so's I could fuckin' get all this shit outta my system right-quick.
Well... yeah, not quick. That was one thing I wasn't.
Took a sip of whatever was in the bloody fuckin' flask - which, bugger, tasted like shit! - then put it back.
'Course, it made me hard as a fuckin' rock right away, and yeah, so that's happened once or twice, but never this fuckin' fast. Oh... fuck yeah!
I smirked, takin' another drag as I eyed the place and licked my lips.
What other fuckin' bird would have her life forever changed thanks t'fuckin' me tonight? Hmm... decisions, decisions.
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Play
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| Goddamn bitch... |
[10 Feb 2005|11:02am] |
| [ |
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 horny |
] |
Fuck it. Fuck her. Getting cold feet and shit after everything I did to her. Bitch.
I stormed outta the closet and went straight to the bar, pouring myself a nice red-headed slut and downing it quickly. I rolled my shoulders a bit. Fuck! Wasn't fucking fair. Bossman had gotten me my job, but also gotten me all horny, and B hadn't helped out on that angle like I'd thought she would. Fine. Fine, didn't need her.
I put on a few fake smiles and welcomed some clients, taking them to rooms and fucking their little brains out, but nothing worked.Dammit!
Fine then, I'd just take care of my little prob all by myself then, since everyone else was all busy.
I slammed the door, loud, behind me in one of the rooms and licked my finger as my other hand pulled my pants to around my knees. Started playing with my clit a little, my eyes closed and thinking of B, but no. Nothing.
"Oh, you gotta be kidding me," I whispered. "Can't even bring myself off anymore?"
I slumped on the bed. Permanent horniness looked like it was in my future no matter what.
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11 Clients Come to Play
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[23 Dec 2004|09:19pm] |
There was little I could do after I left Mr. ... Wesley's office. It had always been strange for me, after having sex with a person, how did you act when you had to see them and it really wasn't a romantic situation?
And here I am. Dawn the big slut o'rama. But I'm not, not really. I have this problem. I never did get a chance to fully explain it to Mr ... God Dawn his name is Wesley, Wesley, you had wild passionate sex with this man, you must be able to say his name.
Buffy would kill me if she knew I'd come to a place like this. I could practically hear her go on about mom rolling over in her grave. But I think Mom would understand, in some weird way she would, because she was mom and mom was like that. But I couldn't worry about what Buffy thought of me for my entire life. I was an adult, and my therapist said my problems in school and general life goings on had to do with suppression of my natural instincts.
I'd felt dead for the past few months, I'd never known that I couldn't be that way anymore. My story was a long one that I didn't like to think about, but I knew what people in high school thought about me, what they said about me. Being addicted to sex when your sixteen pretty much just makes you a slut. Maybe I had been a slut, but it was like breathing.
And Dr. McDonald said complete supression was detrimental. Not that I think he wanted me to become a high priced hooker but it seemed like a good idea when I first got it. I mean I was in serious need of financial help. School was expensive and I was paying it all myself. I had to, I wasn't going to allow Buffy to run herself into the ground trying to pay for school for me. I did actually love my sister.
But when I'd heard about it, a clean place, clients that would treat you well or pretty much be hurt, very good money. It sounded good. Then going there, being so nervous, the smell of sex all around. Plus the fact that I hadn't had any in over 4 months, and the curve of Wesley's jaw, everything, I'd been dying inside.
Walking out into the bar area had been embarassing. I was a screamer and they all knew why we were here. I couldn't stay and chat though, I had class.
And now I'm back. In this amazing closet looking for something to wear, with the possibility of having a client. Not some frat boy who pretends to care, or some guy in a bar that will never call the next day.
There were no expectations beyond one night here, there was only right now, here, you and him or her. There was pleasure, there was life and breath. I fingered some satin teddy's and bit my lip.
I heard the door open and footsteps.
((open to another bunny or wesley whatever works))
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7 Clients Come to Play
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| Even lawyers need to relax |
[12 Dec 2004|12:51am] |
I'd gotten the card from Spike, and of all my clients, I treated his recommendations with the most doubt. He was a good kid, or at least he had been, when somebody had found him screaming his lungs out in some dive in the ass-end of London and changed Willie the local garage rocker into Spike, the hard-living, wild man of modern neo-punk, or whatever the hell MTV was calling it this week.
I'd had other guy clients-- and yeah, even a woman or two-- hand me cards like this one. Most of the time, they were clients, too, and looking for a way to pay back Hollywood's finest entertainment lawyer for "fixing" a DUI or settling this frivolous lawsuit or another. Once or twice, some up-and-coming starlet wannabe would slip me her card.
And I've been at this game for a while. If I mentioned a couple of those former up-and-comers who were now up-and-cames, the Enquirer would cream its collective pants.
But Spike wasn't, let's say, often that discerning a consumer. But I had a pretty good feeling about "Lorne's Pimp Pad". For starters, it didn't try to gild the lily with a name like "Black Rose" or "Fleur de Lis" or some other bullshit. Plus, it was in Vegas, and God, did I love that town.
So, it was onto the firm's private jet, and a little hop into the desert. The limo was air-conditioned, and I spent the entire ride on the cell, trying to talk down the latest would-be action hero from freaking out over a simple parking ticket.
The inside of the joint was busy, but still pretty quiet. I liked that. A fella who probably coulda done pretty good in period pieces shook my hand, gave me a name that had to be fake-- I mean, Wesley?-- and tugged me toward the bar.
"Please have a drink, Mr. Angelus-- your client, Spike, let us know you'd be dropping by. Feel free to take your time and get acquainted with any of our 'Honeybuns' you'd like."
I thanked the guy, ordered a gin and tonic from the cute piece behind the bar, and switched my cell to vibrate. Now, to see what kinda talent this place had.
((Open to any Honeybun.))
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16 Clients Come to Play
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| First Impressions |
[04 Dec 2004|02:04pm] |
|
Typical of his reserved nature, Rupert slept on his decision. The boisterous neighbors in the flat above his didn't help, as they spent the evening consumating their relationship... several times. The girl's squeals of pleasure pushed him over the edge, and he realized too late that fighting back with an old Eric Clapton album (volume set at eleven) only fueled her on further.
Finally managing three hours of sleep, Rupert enjoyed a quick shower and drove (rather quickly) to the only real city that didn't sleep. He found Lorne's easily enough and the nod from the imposing doorman proved Dennis was true to his word; in fact the greeting suggested they expected to see Rupert sooner rather than later.
He sat at the end of the bar, nodding politely to the brunette waitress. Rupert ordered a scotch on the rocks, turned in his chair to survey his surroundings.
((open to anyone))
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12 Clients Come to Play
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[03 Dec 2004|07:40pm] |
To say the week had been frustrating was a gross understatement. Rupert's first days as the new Associate Dean of the Asa V. Call Law Library at the University of Southern California had been a spectatular disaster. His retiring predecessor, Albert Brecht, left the place a shambles. The twenty-five member staff were more than competent, but under Brecht's leadership things had gotten... sloppy. Lackadaisical organization, too much familiarity between faculty and students. They were to serve a purpose, help the great minds of tomorrow. Certainly not coddle anyone.
When Dennis Dougherty, the Senior Vice-President of Administration (and Rupert's friend and superior) strided into the library for a few words of support, Rupert was in mid-stream of disciplining his staff. He caught the look of concern and dismissed his staff for the day, silenting following Dougherty into his office.
"First week stress, eh?" Dougherty commented, a slight chuckle. The normally unflappable Rupert Giles, red-faced. "Looks like I win the bet then."
"What, there was a pool?" Rupert looked at him curiously.
"There always is," Dougherty replied. "And..." he took out a piece of paper, "looks like Sanches in American Studies and Ethnicity takes the pot." He put a check mark next to the name.
Rupert sighed loudly, running his hands through his hair. "Dennis..."
"Don't start Rupert, I've heard the speech dozens of times. The place is in disarray, I can't get anything accomplished, these children are abusing their privileges... yes old man, it's nothing new. Welcome to acadaemia."
"My head is about to explode. Literally."
Dennis reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a rather colorful business card. He slid it across the desk.
Rupert picked up the card, one eyebrow raised as he read it aloud. "Lorne's... Pimp Pad? Dennis..."
"Before your English sensibilities kick in Rupert," he wagged, "tell me, and honestly, have you been with anyone since Olivia left?"
Oh yes, Rupert thought, let's play that card. "You already know the answer to that."
"And I'm sorry, old man. She was a firebrand and brought out the beast in you. And you've kept him bottled up since. One day the old Ripper is going to explode and take you with him."
"And you think this will help? A run-up to Vegas, a little slap-and-tickle and all will be well?" Rupert wouldn't admit that the idea was growing on him.
Dougherty laughed. "It's incredibly exclusive. I'll make a call, and should you change your mind, there won't be any hassles." He crossed through the door and turned back. "Third time in two years for Sanchez. You'd think he was psychic. Have a good weekend, Rupert."
"And you, Dennis."
The door closed, Rupert put the business card down on his desk. He attempted to sculpt something coherent from his notes, but a slight throbbing at his temple kept interrupting his train of thought. He dropped his paperwork in the top drawer of his desk, locking it. He came out from behind the desk, grabbed his jacket and prepared to leave. And he looked back, the card still on his desk. He crossed the room and retrieved it.
I suppose it wouldn't hurt to investigate, he thought. Rupert turned off the lights and locked the door behind him.
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Play
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| Why yes, I do very much love my job, thank you |
[01 Dec 2004|12:01am] |
| [ |
mood |
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horny |
] |
Opening the office door, I looked towards the bar, but didn't see the previous applicants. Frowning, I glanced around the room, but still couldn't find them. With a sigh, I turned back towards Juliet.
"If you'd be so kind as to have a seat at the bar, one of your fellow employees will be happy to get you outfitted with a uniform. Please make yourself comfortable, get to know the other ladies."
The swat on the rear was a bit redundant, but I'd gotten into a habit. She got it as she passed and started for the bar.
"And I'll check in on you all again soon enough."
Taking a deep breath, I returned my attention to the other waiting applicants.
"Number five, please? Applicant number five?"
The summons was answered by another surprisingly young lady. She had a bit of nervous energy surrounding her, like a skittish colt. I raised an eyebrow and waved her in, an honest, friendly smile for her.
"Come along dear girl, it's all right."
She passed into the office, and my appraisal was a bit more cursory than it had been with the other interviewees, but I had a feeling she had still noticed. She took a seat in front of the desk, so I did the same on the other side.
"Forgive me, but..." I extricated the flask and let the draught restore me to the same state of vigour as when I'd begun the interviews. "Just a bit of a nip. Our secret, all right?" I quipped with a familiar, conspiratorial smirk.
I leaned forward just a touch on the desk to speak to the girl.
"And what brings you here, Ms...?"
((Open to Dawn-- I know, finally))
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10 Clients Come to Play
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| Four Hours and her Ass was perfect... |
[30 Nov 2004|02:57am] |
"Come back in two weeks, we'll check the swelling and make sure none of those stiches rip out. Remember no sex for two months or unless I notice you are healing faster. There will be some discomfort, but here is a prescription that should help with that. If you have any questions, you have my numbers and I think that is it."
I wiped my brow taking a final look at what would eventually be the best ass in town.. of course now it was underneath about a foot of gauze and cotton, and the wiggle in her walk was more from the constant pain she was having. However it was a good procedure and hopefully as long as she didn't go and fuck it up, she would be happy.
"Sue.. can you cancel the first appointment for the morning.. this headache isn't going away."
"Sure thing Dr. Donnelly, should I have them bring your car around?"
I nodded as the latex gloves snapped off my hands and I tossed them into the trash. I went to empty my pockets before hanging my lab coat up when my fingers felt something. I pulled out the business card that someone had slipped me. One of my higher paying.. more discreet clients who now had a much bigger set of tits had told me of a new club in town that I might be interested in.
I turned the card over in my fingers, "Lorne's Pimp Pad" I smiled and figured I might be able to fuck my headache away. The extra rush of endorphines would do me good. I hung the coat on my office door, grabbed my jacket and Sue and I left the office. I waved to her as she locked up, my Black RX-8 was waiting; engine warm and heat running. I slid into the leather seats and headed down the strip towards the new club.
I pulled up and allowed the valet to take my car around back,after warning them that if they scratched it I would have them fired. I stepped past the bouncer who just like most males gave me an approving glance, and walked into what I could only describe as hot. Girls clad in leather, smiling and laughing.. some I knew from work I had done, while others I was sure would end up knowing me by the end of the night, purely by reputation. I walked to the bar and ordered a drink.
"Absolut straight up."
The glass slid across the bartop and found my hand as I took in the surroundings. A younger man strode up to me, no doubt upon learning of my job was curious to know how much I would be dropping at his club. I looked him over, the steely eyes.. the half weeks growth on his sturdy jawline... for a surgeon who looked for flaws.. I was looking hard for them on him. Truth be told I could have dropped it all in his lap, but I had a feeling he was higher up..."Wesley Wyndam Pryce, and it is a pleasure to meet you.. Miss..."
"Doctor actually, six years of higher education for those two letters, but please call me Marissa."
I smiled and took his hand in a simple gesture of pleasantry. His grip was firm, but his hands soft... not girly soft, but maintained soft. He knew what his hands had to do on a daily basis and like me made sure his touch wasn't something to invoke withdrawl.
"Sorry, Doctor... So Marissa... is there anything I can get you?"
I smiled, almost told him his head between my thighs, but figured I wouldn't be so bold on our first meeting... instead I turned to one that had caught my attention when I first walked in. If I don't notice you right away... most times not worth noticing.
"Yeah... I think I'll take that one." I nodded in their general direction as the words rolled off my tongue. I winked at Wesley as he ventured off to make the arrangements.
((Open to anyone who wants a piece of Marissa))
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8 Clients Come to Play
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| Busy, Busy, Busy |
[29 Nov 2004|10:11pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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] |
"Impeccable credentials," I said with a knowing smile to Buffy as I opened the office door for her. "You're to start immediately, of course."
I pointed her in the direction of the bar, where Faith and Fred seemed to be getting on famously already.
"Your fellow co-workers are commiserating at the bar. They'll get you kitted up with a uniform and so forth. Glad to have you here."
My hand, as was its habit, found her rear as she passed for a pat or two before she was out of range.
One of the applicants began to rise, and I held up a hand. "Just one moment, please."
I closed the office door and breathed deeply, still quite flushed and drained from Ms. Summers' interview. Things for Lorne's Pimp Pad-- and I was still getting used to the name-- were going swimmingly already, and by the looks of our applicant pool, would simply continue to do so.
Opening a desk drawer, I fished out a silver flask and opened it. Inside was a drink that Lorne had introduced me to, something he called a 'trade secret' in the industry. Taking a long pull, I felt energy pour back through my body until I felt entirely refreshed.
Replacing the flask, I straightened my jacket, and opened the door once more.
"If I might see applicant number four, please?"
A surprisingly youthful-looking woman stood and stepped, under my appraising eye, naturally, into the office. I was surprised and intrigued by the girl, and did not hide that interest as I leaned back against my desk, perching myself a bit on the edge.
"You're quite the lovely girl. How might I help you, Miss...?"
((Open to Juliet.))
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11 Clients Come to Play
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| Time t'get Fucked |
[29 Nov 2004|12:09am] |
| [ |
mood |
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] |
The limo pulled up outside the buildin', and I kissed whatever fuckin' chit I'd just shagged. Then I threw her outta the limo and told my driver t'take me someplace better.
Honestly. Fuckin' groupies. Gettin' so fuckin' annoyin'.
Now, there was this one pad, Lorne's fuckin' somethin' or other and I'd heard it was just openin'. Bloody hell, now that would be the place for me. No fuckin' groupies or soddin' teenage bints screamin' at me and tossin' their knickers in my face.
We stopped and I got out, rollin' my neck and grinnin'. Fuck yeah. My kinda place. Told my mates t'wait outside since, fuck that, didn't exactly need an audience. Well, not that kind they woulda provided t'me.
Strode inside and took off my leather jacket, tossin' it to someone. Didn't rightly fuckin' matter who, so long as they got it. Found the bouncer there, nametag readin' "GUNN" and nodded t'him. Fuckin' idiotic name, if you asked me, but what the fuck. I was here, everyone could celebrate.
I was 'bout t'make some lucky girl's dream come fuckin' true. She'd get a night of fabulous sex with me. Honestly, what more could some fuckin' bird ask for?
"Oi! Gunn, right, mate? Me and my band's here in town for a bit, and I'm needin' a nice fuck right now," I sniggered, lips pursed as I looked 'bout the fuckin' place. "Someone with...dark hair. 'Bout so high..." Held my hand up a bit for him t'get the picture. "The fuck with it all, look here. I want the most fuckin' crazy-arse bird you got here. Yeah? Crazier, more insanely fuckin'tastic, the better."
He told me 'bout some bint called 'Drusilla', and I walked towards what he said was her room without askin' for the manager, the owner, no one. Fuck all that shit, didn't they know who the fuck I was? I was Spike, that's who, and right now I needed me a good shag and a Grand Marnier Creme Brulee. Maybe not in that fuckin' order.
Took one last hit, tossed it aside, and pushed the fuckin' door open, standin' there in my leather pants and nothin' else.
"Well...hey there, pet. Looks like this is your lucky fuckin' night."
((Open to Dru))
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2 Clients Come to Play
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[28 Nov 2004|10:36pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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horny |
] |
I was behind the bar in what I'd been told was our new "uniform" - which consisted of a tight black leather skirt and black halter top, so hey. Kinda like my normal outfits. I noticed there a shitload of certain ingredients...
"Vodka. Cranberry juice. Grapefruit juice. Who the fuck wants a Seabreeze around here?"
Sure as hell didn't seem like Wes' type of drink, but hey. Hadn't met the owner yet. I saw another gal walk outta the office with a grin on her face and come over to me. Well, she must've been hired too...not bad looking. A bit skinny for my tastes...wondered if she even swung that way anyways...
"So, you gonna be my new waitress, then? Gimme a kiss, babe, and we'll see just why you got the job."
Why the fuck not. That blowjob had gotten me all horny and I'd gotten nothing outta it except a job. Which...ok, not a bad trade-off I suppose but still. I had some needs, here, too.
((Open to Fred...and anyone else after their interview))
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14 Clients Come to Play
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| Next... |
[28 Nov 2004|10:22pm] |
I pointed Fred towards the bar. "That would be Faith. She's... spirited, but you two should get acquainted."
My hand dipped to give the girl a pat on the rear as she headed towards the bar and Faith. I put my jacket back on again, adjusting it around the pullover and glanced back out at the group of applicants. There were already a few shooting less-than-charitable glances at both Fred and Faith.
"If I might see applicant number three, please?" I announced.
A young woman rose from the group, and I raked a gaze down her front then up her back as she passed into the office. Glancing at the desk chair and finding it still a bit damp, I sat down on the wide, plush sofa and smiled up at the young woman.
"So... let's discuss your potential employment, then, Ms...?"
((Open to the next applicant!))
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10 Clients Come to Play
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| Location, check. Now, the staff. |
[28 Nov 2004|05:58pm] |
"Hey, Wes? Yeah, I've just finished taking the tour. I think I've found the very place. Oh, trust me, sugar. You're gonna love it."
Those had been Lorne's words a few weeks ago. I'd gotten on the first plane to Las Vegas, and sure enough, the place was smashing, and I haven't been back to Los Angeles since. With Lorne's connections and natural charisma, buzz was already quietly building. I'd secured the funding, and as we'd already worked out, was handling the business end of things.
All of which was fine with me. Lorne was an enjoyable business partner, and a good friend, even if he was a bit... unorthodox. Details were my specialty, and I was looking forward to the venture. Of course, as long as "the business end" wasn't the only end I was going to handle, so to speak.
Making sure that everything was in order in the office, I stepped from around the desk, picked up my jacket from the nearby sofa, and opened the door.
A group of comely young women were waiting in the nearly-finished lounge. I gave them a smile.
"Hello, ladies. My name is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and I will be managing this establishment with my business partner Lorne, whom you'll be meeting soon enough. Please be patient, as these interviews will be conducted on a one-by-one basis. I'm sure you all understand. Thank you."
Looking around, all the prospective "Honeybuns" as Lorne had christened them, nodded and smiled back.
"Very good. Number one, please," I said, letting the young woman pass me, with a good deal of looking-over before I shut the door of the office.
((Open to applicants *LOL*))
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5 Clients Come to Play
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| Looking to buy... |
[28 Nov 2004|08:36pm] |
Lorne was relieved when the real estate agent stepped out to use the bathroom, glad to have a few moments to himself. The tour had been short but sweet, and the building seemed to be in decent condition. It was a bit of a fixer-upper, but with some paint and a little rewiring, the place would be as good as new. Standing in the center of the main room, he took another long look around him, trying to envision what the front room would look like fully furnished. A bar over against the east wall would definitely help perk the place up, he thought, and something would really have to be done about the lighting... he debated bringing in a karaoke machine for old times sake, but he guessed that his manager might tell him that ship had sailed long ago. They were moving up in the world now. No more sitting around and listening to patron after patron murder classics. This was the real deal. Where the real money was.
He had made his decision. Smiling to himself, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed, relieved when he heard someone pick up at the other end. "Hey, Wes? Yeah, I've just finished taking the tour. I think I've found the very place. Oh, trust me, sugar. You're gonna love it."
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