Page 21 of Ricochet

I needed to down some liquor and set fire to it.

CHAPTER 8

Nick

Lion’s Den had two things going for it—half-naked women everywhere and the kind of hard liquor that could get a bastard shitfaced fast. It was also the only club in Detroit that served alcohol where the girls stripped nude. Illegal anywhere else, but hell if anyone bothered to report it.

I plopped down onto the barstool, gaze glued to the cop sitting beside Rev, the owner of the bar and somewhat of a neighborhood guard dog. Though he was no stranger to hustling deals himself, he kept an eye out for trouble. Rev didn’t show much love for the Detroit Police—in fact, I’d heard stories about him beating the shit out of officers who’d attempted to raid the homes in his neighborhood.

For a Thursday night, the strip club remained pretty empty, so it didn’t make sense why cops had been called. Aside from a small group seated alongside the stage, whose obnoxious laughter broadcasted that they seemed to be getting along just fine, the only other guys in the place were Jimmy and Sampson—two men who were probably approaching eighty.

I ordered a whisky, taking in the women up on stage, pounding against the pole, to the beat of Adrenalize by In This Moment.

Down in front, closest to the stage, a middle-aged man, amongst a bevy of drunken suits who must’ve met up unbeknownst to their wives, stood and thrusted his crotch in some kind of shitty cock dance the suburbanites were known for. Could always tell them apart from the Detroit folk. Like, once they crossed the borders, their dancing skills resembled that guy’s fucking embarrassing display.

I’d hated when the dipshits came down to sow their wild oats at the bar where Lena had stripped. Always trying to touch her, or get her to meet them in the back. She never did. Not even when shit got bad and money was tight. She’d always said it was the one thing she could keep for me.

For others, she danced in darkness, concealing what she didn’t want them to see. For me, she danced in the light.

Suit and tie jumped on stage, and, as if by instinct, my muscles tensed with the urge to go after him. His body flew through the air, hauled by three hundred pounds of muscle, known as Big John, the bouncer, who dragged him by the nape of his jacket, and escorted the group out of the bar.

I shook my head. Dipshits.

From across the bar, Rev laughed, slapping the cop on the back, and after what seemed like a good half hour, the stranger got up and left. As he exited the club, Talia, a long-time bartender and waitress at Lion’s Den brought over another drink and set it on the table with a smile and a wink.

I pounded the fourth shot I’d had in thirty minutes and signaled to Talia for another, but at a punch to my shoulder, spinning spun toward the familiar face taking a seat next to me. “Reverend Lewis.” I patted him on the back and faced the bar once more. “You come to make me confess my sins?”

“Shit.” He shook his head. “I done heard enough mothafuckas sob stories for one night. Like I ain’t got enough bullshit goin on in my own damn life.”

“You got shit, Rev?”

He smirked. “You ain’t been round these parts in a while, my man. How you been?”

“Livin’ the good life. How’s business?”

He huffed, twisting in the direction of the dancers. “Some shit goin’ down on the streets. Had two girls gone missing last week.” He leaned in close. “I’m no fucking saint, but I try to take care of these girls best I can. Get their asses off the strip and give ‘em someplace safe. Some money. Word is, some gangs been picking ‘em up. Promising ‘em more than they make here. Ain’t nobody seen ‘em again.”

For a while, drugs had been the big money makers, but selling sex had become the most lucrative source of steady income, without the same risks.

“Good ole’ Culling, making the streets safe for e’erabody,” Rev added before tipping back his drink. “That’s the problem with folks coming up in here, trying to run this place. They still think this’s just another shithole they can tear down with expensive cranes and build up some fancy buildings. What’s inside remains. Detroit’s a mindset.” He tapped his temple. “And you can’t kill what’s in the mind. Nope. Burn it to the ground, and it comes right back. You can’t kill it. You can’t own it. All you can do, is make it believe.”

Talia set down the shot, and I slammed it back, squinting as the burn slid down my throat.

“Some hard shit you hittin’. Men who drink whiskey’s lookin’ to fight.” He belted a laugh, shoving a cigarillo into his mouth. “Or maybe that’s just cause and effect.”

Brushing my thumb across my nose, I sniffed and shook off the aftertaste coating my tongue. “Just lookin’ for a good night sleep.” I nodded toward the door the cop’d exited through. “Thought you weren’t a fan of cops.”

Rev sneered and nodded. “DeMarcus? DeMarcus Corley. Grew up with him. Probably the only straight shootin’ mothafucka on the police force. Should’ve been made chief.” He snorted then took a swig of his drink. “Got demoted for investigating some cases that pissed off the appointed police chief.”

That piqued my interest. “Yeah?”

“DeMarcus don’t take shit, and he sure as fuck don’t bow down to no threats. He’s a good man, that DeMarcus. You ever in trouble? Ask for him. He got a heart a gold. Always willin’ to help a brother out. Not like them corrupt mothafuckas always acting like they cool with you, then the second shit comes up, stab you in the back first chance they get. DeMarcus don’t play that game.”

“He looks out for you, then.”

“Yeah, he looks out for me, I look out for him. We got a system, see? That’s how it works. Cops and the people need to work together. We ain’t perfect, but all of us is on the same team. Some just don’t understand. Can’t let those shady ass law men come through here, shootin’ up the place like it’s some kinda warzone in the middle east, know what I’m sayin’?”

I stared into the amber fluid, swirling my drink in the glass. “Yeah, I know.”