Where Nerves End

and shook his head. “No offense, but you usually look like ass when you show up.”
“Hes got a point,” Brenda said, nodding.
Instead of pulsing, room echoed with “Gee, thanks,” I said. “Youre both quite the flatterers today.”
“Im just saying,” Brenda said. “You usually either look like youre in terrible pain, or youre high as a kite. And today youre…” She looked me up and down like Tony had, and then shrugged again. “I dont know, you just look…better.”
I smiled. “Well, lets just hope it lasts til the end of shift, right?”
“Yeah, no doubt,” Tony said. “Dont need you scaring off all the hot boys.”
I laughed as I started up the stairs. “If I wanted to scare off all the hot boys, Id have you get up on the bar and dance.”
“Hey! I could out-dance you, skinny boy!”
I just laughed and kept walking. Upstairs, the dance floor was deserted and quiet, the tiffany lamps over the pool tables dark, and the barstools empty. I didnt see any of my bartenders, but chatter from the back room told me they were here. I trusted them to take care of the prep work before the club opened; that shit didnt get done now, then they got to slice limes and fill ice bins while ten people waited for drinks. Their funeral.
I left them to their tasks and continued to my office, which was tucked into a converted storage room between the bar and another storage room.
I still hadnt moved Ricos desk out of here. Lately, Id just been piling papers on it as an excuse to avoid filing them. Or moving the desk. I didnt have time for the former and didnt have the heart for the latter. Maybe someday.
I went to my own desk and sank into the plush leather swivel chair Id bought myself for my birthday a couple of years ago. Then I stared at my inbox, especially the black binder that had materialized there since yesterday. Apparently the bookkeeper had come by and dropped it off, and it took no small amount of mental arm-twisting to convince me to finally reach for that binder.
Few things were more depressing than the clubs books. Perusing the numbers now, I couldnt ignore the sinking feeling in my chest. We werent just in the red, we were almost to the bone. Tapped out, wrung dry, and overdrawn on favors and loans alike.
If not for my shoulder, I might have laid off a couple of bartenders and handled their shifts on my own. I filled in for them whenever theyd called out sick or something, and it wasnt like I didnt know their job inside and out, but the aftermath was a one hundred percent guarantee of an excruciating night of hot showers and pill-popping.
The deejays were already stretched thin and underpaid. If I lost any servers or bouncers, the remaining staff would have to work overtime, which I couldnt pay right now. That, or Id have to close one of the two levels of the club, which would piss off my clientele. The college kids liked to get wild on the louder, brighter first floor, while the thirty and up crowd preferred the lounge atmosphere of the second floor. The younger patrons drank gallons of cheap liquor and beer, but plenty of money flowed upstairs where the bartenders poured wine, microbrews, and top shelf Scotch. Raising prices might work in the short-term, but only if I wanted to lose some clientele, especially those who goodnaturedly—for now—ribbed my bartenders about the overpriced booze.
“Well figure it out,” I heard Rico saying a year and a half ago when things werent nearly this bad. “Dont worry, man. Well find a way.”
I let my gaze slide toward his vacant, paper-stacked desk.
Sure we will, Rico. Sure we will.
    I would. How, I didnt know, but damn it, I would. I just needed something to give. A cushion of a few hundred dollars a month, and maybe I could get my head above water. A bill that went down instead of up. Maybe Uncle Sam could back the fuck off instead of swooping in for his piece of the action whenever I almost got ahead.
    I rubbed my forehead. Wes just had to leave me saddled with the damned mortgage when I was already barely keeping the business going on my own. His credit was fucked all to hell, so what did he care if the bank foreclosed? So when he left me, he stopped contributing to the mortgage.
    My partner was gone. My business partner was gone. It was only a matter of time before I lost something else.
I was bound and determined not to close the club, declare bankruptcy, or let go of the house. I sure as hell wasnt doing all three. Fuck swallowing my pride and