Page 28 of Angels Fall

I have to suspect that it has something to do with money. If for no other reason than almost everything always has something to do with money. Growing up in Vegas teaches you that, if nothing else.

Money’s just never been a thing I cared all that much about. Which is, of course, probably exactly why I now have so much of it. One other thing I’ve learned is that the less you give a shit about a thing the easier it comes to you. The more you try to force something, the greater the likelihood it’ll all go south.

I spent a little time hanging out in Nepal and I met a Tibetan monk who was cool as shit and had what we in the military (and maybe other people too) call “a thousand-yard-stare.” That thing that happens when you’re seeing something off in the distance that nobody else can see. It’s like depth…or focus…or something. Well, my man Lobsang had a thousand-mile stare. (Meditating every day for like forty years’ll do that for you, I guess.) And he tried to teach me a few things, but one of them was something I already knew about.

Non-attachment.

When you’re defusing a bomb, you’ve gotta kinda have a detachment from the possibility that it’s gonna blow up and kill you. You have to let go of your attachment to the hardest thing there is to dis-attach from: Your life. If you just accept that you’re gonna die someday anyway, then you don’t think too hard and get nervous and fuck it all up. When you start getting too precious and careful, that’s when the boom happens.

Which is why I’ve got to handle this thing with Maddie exactly as if I was defusing the biggest, most life-threatening bomb I’ve ever tried to dismantle. Because it is. And If I lean into it too hard… it’ll explode.

So, I’m doing what Maddie asked. Lying back. And I’m doing what Raven suggested. Being there in case she needs me. And somewhere down the line, I have faith that it’s all gonna work out.

Because it fucking has to.

And this is what I’m thinking about on this Thursday morning as I sit in my car, drinking coffee and eating doughnuts, watching YouTube videos of some of my favorite movie clips, when I look up and see a vaguely familiar figure walking across the parking lot of Pete’s Strip Club in Las Vegas, Nevada.

The fuck-stick I now know is called Logan.

Shit. This is it. This is what the fuck I’ve been waiting for. This is what Raven warned me to be on the lookout for. Whatever Maddie’s into with this Carlos douchebag, this Logan cock-smoker is the fucking harbinger.

This is my chance to do right by Maddie. To be there for her when she needs me.

The problem is, now that this moment is here, I’m not sure what to do. I’m not certain what the right play is. Do I hang here and see if they come out together? Do I see if he comes out alone? If he does, do I follow him or go in and make sure she’s okay? Do I let her know I’m here for her, or stay under the radar? Crap. Turns out I have been playing fucking checkers and not chess after all. And now this cocksucker is trying to capture my queen. Shit!

Logan is through the front entrance and into the club.

Damn. What do I—? I need to be cautious. I need to make sure I’m doing the right thing. I want to make sure I’m there for her, but I don’t want to freak her out. I need to—

And these are the thoughts that keep cycling through my brain as I nod to the doormen at Pete’s—the sunshine outside giving way to a dark and smoky cave of flesh, sex, and thudding drumbeats—and adjust the gun I took from my glove box (Logan’s gun) under my t-shirt, into the back of my pants, and move forward into the shadows ahead of me.

Chapter Seven - Maddie

The sigh is long and sad as I sit parked in the alley behind Pete’s, just staring at the back door in the early-dawn light. It’s a crappy door. Black with lots of scuff marks on it. Like it’s been kicked in lots of times. Like it was old thirty years ago and no one’s been paying much attention to it, so it’s just getting more tired-looking. More and more ugly. Its glorious days of being a new door far behind it. Or hell, maybe it only thought it was a glorious door? Maybe it was never anything special. Never had a nice shiny doorknob, or lock, or anything. Maybe it’s just been telling itself it was nice once?

My alarm goes off on my phone, letting me know that I’ve got five minutes to get inside or Raven’ll have my ass.

Except she won’t. She doesn’t work mornings. I’m pretty sure there’s no manager on duty in the AM. Pete’s here. Pete practically lives upstairs in that office and he almost never comes down, so he doesn’t even count.

Maybe I’m the manager?

“Ha!” I laugh so loud, one of the waitresses walking by to go inside looks over at my car with a scowl. Like I was laughing at her.

“I’m laughing at myself, bitch,” I snarl.

But she can’t hear me and she’s already pulling on that tired door handle anyway. She disappears inside.

Maybe I am the manager? I mean, I did make the morning schedule last week. And Candy came to me with a problem the other day. One of the new girls stole her shoes, so I had to go take care of that and get them back. And then I did actually fire someone yesterday. Pete said he was doing the books, so could I just… you know, get rid of her?

So I did. I didn’t like her, so I took a little pleasure in that.

Jesus fuck. I’m the goddamned morning manager at Pete’s!

I sit a little longer wondering if being the manager at a strip club is better or worse if I’m only twenty-five and not thirty-seven, like Raven.

It’s not.

If my mother knew what I was doing… holy shit, I can’t even imagine what she’d do. Probably make my father walk inside, drag me off stage—