Locked Out of Heaven [Complete]

Part 17

The bouncer only glanced at Roberto before grunting and letting him through. He was paid only to keep out the wrong type of people. As long as they look like they're from around the area, they're to pass. The local precinct had long stopped sending their men here to try and infiltrate the place; the policemen always came out drunk and with no coherent information to share. The bar girls were too good at their job. But sometimes, outsiders wandered into the area and stumbled into this place. This is no place for those who don't know what they're getting into. His boss does not like lawsuits.

Roberto stepped out of the streets into the dimly-lit interior of the Black Rose. That was the name on the neon sign outside, but many people know it as Cerberus's Lair. Once you enter, you're only one step away from Hell.

The pulse of music drowned out everything else. But in this bar, few were dancing. Most people were curled up in the numerous sofas and couches with whatever they were smoking. The whole place was hazy with it. Each breath was like an invitation, providing a faint buzz, a hint to what the real thing would feel like. But that's not what Roberto was after tonight.

Roberto stumbled to the counter and sat down. The bartender immediately came over, a hunk of muscle and body hair. On his chest, a dirty name tag said Joe. "Whaddya want?"

"The strongest you got."

Joe squinted at him. After a moment, he said, "Do ya want to reserve a room upstairs fer later?"

Roberto wrinkled his nose. Knowing Galen, he would have gone to his apartment and it would be trashed by now. But a "room upstairs" has its own set of problems, namely not having locks on the doors. And judging by the giggles he was hearing behind him, well, it's not a good idea. "How late do you open 'til?"

"Look, sonny. The streets ain't a good place for your drunk ass tonight, 'specially with all the shit going down."

A tiny shiver went through him. This was what Frederico and Damien were talking about. He'll check up on them in the morning, just to be sure. "What shit?"

"Oh, the usual. Gang wars. The Russians made their move. Right now, they're in the streets celebratin'. We had to throw a bunch of 'em out earlier. We're tryna run a business here." Just as he was saying it, Roberto noticed a smear of red on the countertop. Joe spat on the counter and pulling out a once-white rag, rubbed vigorously on the offending stain.

Roberto closed his eyes. Images came unbidden to his mind. Kyerstan and Ashton with their blue eyes, Adelina with her turquoise and Gourmet with his blue-grey ones. And his own brown ones. He snapped his eyes open. With a sudden vehemence, he said, "Your job isn't to worry about me. I got my old man for that. Give me something strong."

Joe gave him a hard look. "That depends on if I know your old man."

Roberto waved his hand. "You don't. Don't worry about it."

Joe squinted at him again. He tucked the dirty rag into a back pocket, muscles straining against his white shirt. Roberto stared back at him. Finally, he turned and started rearranging the bottles behind him. "You should get a room. The girls here aren't that bad, ya know?"

Roberto blinked and shook his head. "I don't care."

Joe stopped what he was doing and turned back around. "You got a girl?"

The turquoise eyes flashed in his mind again. "No."

Joe nodded slowly. "Just for you, it'll on the house."

Roberto looked up sharply, "I don't want your-"

A beer mug landed in front of him. Joe leaned in and looked at him in the eyes. "And I'm not giving it." Turning, he wandered down the counter, taking orders and wiping at stains with his dirty rag. Roberto fell into a sullen silence. The background faded into a buzz.