39. Damiano
All the top-tier and mid-level guys in Rob’s crew gather at the Cat on Tryout Day. It’s become a tradition.
Salvo likes a crowd to be there to make sure the aspiring Cat girls are comfortable dancing in front of a packed room. The guys like to be there because there’s something about watching brand-spanking-new girls on stage for the first time.
Or so I’m told.
I never go inside on Tryout Day. If another Famiglia wanted to take down all of Rob’s top brass at once, tryouts are like a big fucking neon sign advertising when and where to hit. So I stay out front, keep an eye on the parking lot, walk around back, make sure nothing goes down. Routine surveillance.
A couple of girls are standing around the parking lot when I arrive. Two of them are crying. Another’s getting into a taxi, holding pole shoes in her hand. Those would be the girls that didn’t even make it inside.
But it’s still only a quarter to two. Tryouts don’t start for another fifteen minutes.
I walk up to the bouncer stuck babysitting the door outside the Cat. “Jimmy.” We shake hands.
“How’s it going, man?”
I shrug. “Why the fuck are you out here?”
Jimmy’s been with the Famiglia a long-ass time, longer than I have. He must have pissed Rob or Salvo off to be out here instead of in there . Usually low-level guys get stuck watching the door on Tryout Day.
Jimmy takes a long drag on his cigarette, the cherry end glowing. “I fucked up, man. Told Rob how ridiculously hot the girl he was Facetiming with was.” He gives me a pointed look.
I cringe on his behalf, the poor prick. “There’s only one girl Rob Facetimes with.”
“Well, I did not know that. And Lyndie was a little kid with pigtails last time I saw her. I had no clue she grew the fuck up.” He shakes his head. “The girl I saw on his phone, that girl—”
“Stop right there, man. I’m on strict orders to slice the tongue out of anyone who disrespects Lyndie. Even a little.” I pat his shoulder so he knows it’s nothing personal.
He nods, sparing us both the violence and mess any further commentary would bring. “So now I’m in the fucking penalty box and I miss Tryout Day.” He flicks the butt of his cigarette into the parking lot. I’d give him shit for littering in front of the Cat, but he’s already being punished.
“At least he didn’t put you in the hospital.”
“Yeah, but this might be worse. You should have seen the girls that showed up today, man. I didn’t think there were girls in Chicago even close to as hot as the Cat girls, but a few of the ones today? I’d take any one of them. Any one of them, man.”
Usual process is for the girls to line up out here. Rob walks down the line, making the first round of cuts based on looks alone since he thinks Salvo lets too many girls in. Once they get through the door, it’s all on Salvo to make the final decisions since he manages the Cat.
“Rob start early or what?” All the girls should still be out here.
“Yeah. Didn’t say why. He took one look at the girls in line, made his picks and sent the rest packing. A couple of girls hadn’t even shown up yet.” He points to the ones still standing around.
“How many girls showed up?”
“Thirty-one.”
I let out a long whistle. Thirty-one girls vying for one, maybe two, spots at one of the few clubs that doesn’t pimp out its girls. Our girls are friendly as fuck, but only with the top-ranked Galliano men, and only if they choose to be.
For actual customers, it’s a look-but-don’t-fucking-touch-or-else-lose-use-of-your-hand lap dance. No side deals, no extras. Any customers who don’t like that can go to the Tropicana and get anything they want, as long as they’re okay getting it from girls that didn’t make the cut at the Cat.
“How many made it inside?”
“Six. And they’re fit, man. One of the blonde ones? Fuck me sideways, man, the girl was a fucking wet dream.”
Six auditions means I can get out of here in about an hour. That’s around the time the actual Cat girls will start showing up for their shifts. I’m still not in the mood for any of their attention. I want to be gone before they get here.
“Alright, man.” I shake Jimmy’s hand, then head around the parking lot to make sure the back entrance is secure.
I don’t know, maybe spending some time with the Cat girls is exactly what I need. Maybe it’s time. I could grab a couple of them and head up to my room in Rob’s loft. Blow off some steam. Try to get back to my old routine of working, then playing with a few of the girls, then working some more. Try to get back to norm—
Why the fuck is Paige’s SUV here?
I stare at the old brown-and-white Blazer. There is no doubt in my mind that’s Jolene. I check the license plate anyway, praying to god there’s another beat-the-fuck-up old Blazer within city limits. But that’s definitely Jolene.
Jolene is in the Cat’s parking lot.
There’s a tavern next to the Cat. Paige has got to be in there.
Seems like a long way from home for a burger, but people do rave about this place.
I yank the tavern door open, storm inside.
“Oh. Hey, Damiano. How are—”
I blow past the hostess. She’s actually a very nice girl, the sister to one of our soldiers. I’ll probably owe her an apology for charging past her, but right now I don’t give a fuck. I need to find Paige in here , sitting at a table, mouth stuffed full of food.
I stomp through the dining area, getting looks from the lunch crowd. I’m tempted to check the kitchen and the bathrooms, but it’s clear she’s not here.
I step back into the parking lot. There’s a pizzeria, too. But I can see in its front window from the parking lot. No Paige.
Next to it’s a pawnshop, but no way Paige is parting with any of her stuff, or if she did, she’d give it away, not sell it, so that place is out.
That’s leaves. . .
There is no fucking way she’s in the Cat. Not any day, and definitely not on Tryout Day. No. Fucking. Way.
I’m staring at Jolene, my shoulders tight. My chest rises with each breath I’m pulling in, forcing out. I’m willing Paige to appear from whichever shop she’s in. I’m seconds away from losing my fucking mind.
My phone vibrates. Salvo.
I close my eyes as I answer, trying to regulate my breathing. My jaw is clenched, my nostrils flaring. My pulse surging.
“Soooo. . . What kind of mood are you in, man?” Salvo, as always, sounds cool as a cucumber.
“She’s in there?”
“Depends.”
“It doesn’t fucking depend. It’s a yes or no.”
“Sure. But whether I’m letting you in depends on whether you can come in and sit down like a normal human being and watch tryouts with us, or if you’re going to fly the fuck off the handle and break things.”
“Depends,” I tell him, being a jackass right back to him.
“No, man. I need a yes or no, and I need you to mean the fuck out of it.”
I rub my forehead. “Just send her out here. She doesn’t belong in there, whatever the fuck she thinks she’s doing.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Yes you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Well, for one, I already tried. I tried to kick her out, but she’s really fucking convincing and, second, her friend—Gina? Holy fucking shit, bro, you were right about the friend. Why didn’t you tell me she’s a Bulls cheerleader?”
“What? Really?” How’d I miss that?
“Bro, she’s a Luvabull. I recognized her the second she strut that fine ass in here. Then she said she’d only try out if Paige gets to try out too, and you know I’ve got a thing for the Luvabulls. Plus I think the friend’s got a solid fucking shot at being my new Cat girl. I mean, I’m rooting for her, and I’m the one who gets to pick, so it’s looking really fucking good for her.”
I have no fucking clue what to think of that. But I do know one thing. “You think for one fucking second that Paige is going to be a Cat girl, and I swear—”
“Relax, bro. And what the fuck are you about to threaten me for? You don’t want relationships, remember? Maybe her being a Cat girl is the perfect solution? She seems to think so.”
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“She obviously knows what the Cat is, she knows what the Cat girls are for you. Maybe this is her way of saying you two can just fuck around without all the strings. Seems like she’s offering you exactly what you want. Win fucking win.”
“No fucking way that’s what she. . . Wait. What do you mean that ‘she knows what the Cat girls are for me’? I never said a fucking word about the Cat girls to her.”
“Huh.”
“Huh? Huh what, motherfucker?”
He exhales loudly. He’s stalling on answering me. I’m going to tear the door the fuck off the Cat and rip him in half. Literally rip him into separate pieces.
“What the fuck, Salv! What did you—”
“Damiano.” It’s Rob.
He either grabbed Salvo’s phone or Salvo pussied out and handed it to him. Knowing the two of them, Rob was probably sitting next to Salvo and heard all of that.
“Rob.”
“I need you in here, Dom. Stop at the front door. Hand Bianca, and your gun, and any other weapons you have on you, to Jimmy. That includes anything that isn’t technically a weapon but that you’re already thinking about how to use as a weapon. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” The deep-rooted habit of adding ‘sir’ is there, but I resist it.
“Good. Now, what are the lap dance rules we tell customers?”
“Rob, I—”
“Tell me the rules, Damiano.”
I huff. “Sit on your hands. Be nice to the dancers. Pay without bitching about it.”
“Good. So you’re going to come in here. Unarmed. And you’re going to sit on your fucking hands. I see one finger even twitch, and you’re answering to me. And you’re going to be nice to everyone. And you’re not going to bitch about any of it. Yes?”
“Rob, I—”
“Le mie parole sono dannatamente chiare e chiare? Non lascio qui alcuno spazio ad interpretazioni. Capisci?” Are my words crystal fucking clear? I am not leaving any room for interpretation here. Do you understand?
“Sì.”
“Now get your ass in here. We’ve got auditions to watch.”
Fuck.