Bobby [INAMORATA FANFIC]

Bobby sneered at the snivelling man standing at the entrance to the bordello.

"Let me in." He swung an arm out and lumbered forward in an attempt to push through the dark doorway. Behind it, he could hear the enticing sounds of women singing, of men shouting, of stomping feet and animalistic groans.

"Our Inamoratas don't go cheap, sir," the squat man at the doorway told him, peering at Bobby's disheveled appearance. Bobby spat at his feet in contempt. Another night of heavy drinking had left his clothing in tatters, his breath reeking of alcohol, and himself wandering the streets barefoot. Again. So what if he'd gotten into a bar fight or two? He'd show this stupid doorman what he was made of. Bobby cracked his knuckles in a display of menace. The alcohol sloshing in his churning stomach hadn't made his arms any weaker; rather, it had lent him confidence.

Bobby swung his arm again, aiming for the doorman's bulbous nose. It connected with a sickening crack. The doorman wailed as one hand flew up to his gushing nose, his other hand raised in a feeble attempt to shield himself from another blow. Bobby cackled, his voice cracked and shrill, at the cowering man in front of him. Men, he mused, were pitiful creatures, though not as weak as women.

The man scrambled to his feet and dashed through the doorway, slamming the door shut behind him. Bobby glared at the sealed doorway. If only he'd gotten a few more licks in, maybe he'd have knocked the idiot unconscious and found his way in the into the nightclub.

Bobby spat at the doorway again, making sure to leave the wad of spittle properly stuck to the closed door, before turning to find his way down the shadowed alley. Another beer and few generous shots of vodka would do him good.

-

The next morning, Bobby woke with a throbbing head and a sudden urge to heave the contents of his insides out. He staggered towards the polished bathroom, making a beeline for the toilet.

As soon as his stomach was properly emptied of alcoholic remains, Bobby sat up, his hands still clutching the formerly-clean toilet seat. He scowled at the muddied mess splattered all over the toilet, though the majority of it floated in the toilet bowl. Well, at least he was getting better at aiming.

This would not do. Endless nights of drinking and whoring at bordellos was proving to be much too costly, especially with the rocketing Inamorata rates these days. His father's death had left him a hefty insurance; nevertheless, even that would last forever. It was high time Bobby began a business of his own, and he knew exactly what kind of career he wanted to pursue. 

-

Bobby stepped through the revolving glass door. A receptionist sat before him, who looked up as he stepped forward.

"I have an appointment with the Corporation," Bobby declared. The receptionist nodded, looking bored. He shuffled through a thick stack of papers. Bobby tapped his foot impatiently.

"You're with Hank," he told Bobby after nearly a minute. The receptionist pointed down a hallway. "Second door on the left. Knock before you enter."

Bobby turned and left the receptionist to his papers without another word. The heel of his shoe clicked importantly down the hallway. Bobby turned to the left, as he'd been instructed, and found himself in front of a closed door. It was simple and plain; there were no windows that lent him a view of whatever was inside the room, only a plastic sign nailed to the door that read "HANK". 

Bobby rapped on the door, hard. No doubt this "Hank" was inside fooling around with a whore; why else would he have to knock before entering? 

To his surprise, the door swung open immediately. Another man stood before him, his hair cropped and his suit immaculate.