Bane

September 27, 1993

"Please, just call me Gerald. No need for formalities here," Gerald said, eyeballing the guards upstairs, who peered down at the "cafeteria" from above. The second floor was set much like a prison's, more of a walkway around the second floor, rails lining the inside. Every few feet there were large rings in the railing. "Ever have to use them before?"

"You see those rings?"

"Yeah," Gerald stared up at the second floor, feeling the tension from the bouncers. "I was going to ask."

"We don't have trouble here too often, but every now and again an asshole may try to... touch... one of the girls. I don't run a whorehouse here, so the first offense, one of our pretty guards down here will issue he—or she -" Braun smiled curtly, "- a warning."

They walked around the floor of the "cafeteria" a while more, before heading down one of the club's many corridor. Here there were cells, but they were empty, and not pristine like the other cells.

"What if they don't get the hint? How do your bouncers get to them in time to stop a problem?"

"That's why we have the rings on those rails, Gerald. If the patrons just can't seem to get it through their thick skulls, then the guards upstairs latch a carabiner to the ring, and then jump down."

"They repel to the lower floor?"

"It's fast, and it's a hell of an ugly surprise."

"That seems a bit excessive... if not impractical. Do your bouncers have a training course for all this?"

"Well, they're technically more than bouncers. I hire retired cops, mercenaries, militia types. You know, the hard asses. They know what they're doing."

"Hard asses." Gerald frowned.

"No pretenders here."

"Except for your dancers. How much do you pay your security?" Gerald nodded at the second floor, pretending discomfort at a the idea of Mercenaries and Militia working as local security.

"Price range is negotiable, but they're worth their penny—and—I bring in a pretty good revenue nightly here. Weekends are a blast."

"I see." Gerald stroked his fingers through his hair. His hands were sweating, and already he could feel it in his gut; there was more to this club than just strippers and money.

"Well you must get a lot in, I mean the quality of dancers here—your girls are incredibly beautiful,talented dancers."

"Yes," Braun appeared a little distracted. "Do you care to take a tour of the facility?"

Gerald nodded, smiling warmly. "Since you're offering, absolutely."

✟ ☧ ✟

They strolled the corridor of empty cells to a stairwell at the end, winding its way up. "I purchased this stairwell from an auction in 'Frisco. Supposedly it belonged to an old prison, so I had it shipped here and we had duplicates made—sturdier, you know." He grinned, and swept his hand to present the stairwell as if giving Gerald some grand tour.

They began up the staircase, and Laurence went on. "Now, so there is no confusion... so no one's intelligence is insulted by any pretense... I know of your society, I had to go through the Judge to get approval on this establishment. This is why I agreed to your tour." Laurence was polite. Almost diplomatic. "I am curious, honestly, what do you think of my establishment?"

"Honestly?" Gerald wiped his hands over the front of his slacks, his voice and tone professional, a diplomatic trait of a representative of the Honorable Judge Grifford. "I think I'll need to see a few more dancers doing their jobs."