This is an excerpt of a short story I’m currently working on and plan on submitting fairly shortly. It’s come along nicely. Normally, I don’t write in first person pov but for this one and this character it works great. Anyways, here’s a little sample, enjoy:
I collect debts. No, I’m not the kind of asshole that calls you repeatedly cause you didn’t pay your credit card bill. I’m the kinda asshole that shows up with a pistol and a lead pipe when you owe my boss. And unlike the credit card companies, he ain’t taking payment plans.
Collecting a debt is the only reason I set foot in the glorified piss pot, otherwise known as Club Monde. These spoiled little shits and their LED TVs bigger then billboards. And what’s the deal with all these damn black lights and strobes? I don’t know if they’re trying to give me a stroke or not. Don’t get me started on the god-awful racket booming out of the speakers. So loud I could feel my colon shake to the beat. And the way these punk-ass kids dress, the boys look like a cross between Buddy Holly’s corpse and a transvestite. Who wears glasses without lenses, anyways? Do they wanta look like twerps? Someone oughta kick their asses for walking around like that. And these broads…they look like strippers, the kind that can give you the clap just by winking at ya.
Give me a smoky bar with stiff drinks and one TV over the bar. A TV that’s either showing the hockey, the football, or a Clint Eastwood flick. Give me a pool table with worn out felt. Bar stools with cushions that are cracked and worn down by too many fat asses drinking themselves to death. Give me a jukebox in the corner that still plays records for a quarter. Give me some Frank Sinatra, or Johnny Cash. That’s music. That’s a bar. This Club Monde made me feel like I was in some kinda circus for degenerates and queers.
Anyways, like I said, a debt brought me down here. According to the email my boss sent, along with a photo, the debtor went by the name of Corrie Lane. Now Corrie was a working girl, mainly out of the Aphrodite brothel. Had been employed there for a few years, and was one of my boss’ top girls. All the johns wanted her, but only those that had the dough got the pie. Then a month ago or so her big spenders stopped coming around the brothel. She went missing, along with my boss’ money, too. The word from my boss was Corrie used to hang out here a lot. Doubt anyone on the run would come back to their old hangouts, but you can never under estimate the power of stupidity.