passed him.
Officially, he was Sammy’s boss, though he always thought of Sammy as an equal. Sammy was the one who really ran the club these days and he put his heart into the operation. If it were up to Joey, he’d bow out entirely and give the whole operation to Sammy, but Al wouldn’t have it. He didn’t seem to think Sammy could handle it on his own, nor did he think he deserved it.
“Sammy works for you, and don’t you forget it,” Al would say. “It wouldn’t matter if you never set foot in the place again, it’s still yours.” There was a power play in it, in which Al purposely gave Joey more than he deserved, simply to show everyone he was boss. Or that his family came first.
“Hey. How’s it going?” he asked, sliding into the booth seat across from his brother.
“You look good,” Al said. “What’s going on, you getting some?”
If it were anyone else, he would say “fuck off,” but he knew better than to disrespect Al. Instead he said, “Maybe. You here to talk money or are you here to talk about my love life?”
He should’ve kept his stupid mouth shut. Al’s eyes lit with interest. “Oh yeah? Who is she?”
He blew out his breath with a sigh. Was it that obvious? “Artie Palazzo’s daughter. Sophie.”
“No shit. How’d that happen?”
It was his conversation with Pauly all over again.
“I ran into her again, that’s all.” He didn’t want to tell his brother about his knee hurting. Al would call him a pussy first, then lecture him about not telling anyone, because he should never show weakness.
“Oh yeah?” Al looked skeptical, being very adept at picking up on bullshit. “She stuck up like her mom?”
He willed his jaw to unclench and his nostrils to stop flaring, but he could feel Al’s eyes studying him, missing nothing and enjoying his anger.
His brother talking shit about Sophie pissed him off, even though he was right. She definitely still had a chip on her shoulder about him and the Family and it would take a long time to win her trust--if it was even possible.
He pulled out a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and passed them to Al. This was his occupation--investment broker. Crooked accountant. Tax avoidance expert. This was where he used his MBA from Kellogg and his brains, strategizing in a way that didn’t hurt anyone. He cooked the books at Boom Booms, ran all the cash through the business and invested half of it in legitimate businesses and stocks, building his brother’s portfolio (and his own) with retirement accounts, offshore accounts and as many untraceable, unseizable assets as possible.
One of the dancers slowly walked by, knowing better than to interrupt, but giving them suggestive eyes, in case they wanted to call her over. He gave his head a slight shake and she moved on.
He gave his brother the biweekly report, and brought him back to the office where he accepted a stack of cash for laundering. He sighed and locked the door after Al left the office. This was where he liked to hide. Running a strip club had been exciting when he was in his twenties, even into his early thirties, but it had long since grown distasteful to him. When they’d first opened it fifteen years earlier, Sammy had needed him. He’d made all the decisions and set up the way things were run. But these days, Sammy knew the ropes and handled things, Joey’s role was mostly the books and accounting, the business dealings. Joey had no interest in spending his time there anymore. If he had a choice, he’d walk away in a heartbeat.
He picked up his phone and called to order the tickets to the musical, the idea of another date with Sophie cheering him.
She had resolved not to have sex with him. She’d planned to go on the date, see the musical, and say thank you and good night. She had prepared a speech to give Joey about not being interested in a relationship. But at the moment, with his teeth clamped over her earlobe and his thumb in her mouth, she found it
Officially, he was Sammy’s boss, though he always thought of Sammy as an equal. Sammy was the one who really ran the club these days and he put his heart into the operation. If it were up to Joey, he’d bow out entirely and give the whole operation to Sammy, but Al wouldn’t have it. He didn’t seem to think Sammy could handle it on his own, nor did he think he deserved it.
“Sammy works for you, and don’t you forget it,” Al would say. “It wouldn’t matter if you never set foot in the place again, it’s still yours.” There was a power play in it, in which Al purposely gave Joey more than he deserved, simply to show everyone he was boss. Or that his family came first.
“Hey. How’s it going?” he asked, sliding into the booth seat across from his brother.
“You look good,” Al said. “What’s going on, you getting some?”
If it were anyone else, he would say “fuck off,” but he knew better than to disrespect Al. Instead he said, “Maybe. You here to talk money or are you here to talk about my love life?”
He should’ve kept his stupid mouth shut. Al’s eyes lit with interest. “Oh yeah? Who is she?”
He blew out his breath with a sigh. Was it that obvious? “Artie Palazzo’s daughter. Sophie.”
“No shit. How’d that happen?”
It was his conversation with Pauly all over again.
“I ran into her again, that’s all.” He didn’t want to tell his brother about his knee hurting. Al would call him a pussy first, then lecture him about not telling anyone, because he should never show weakness.
“Oh yeah?” Al looked skeptical, being very adept at picking up on bullshit. “She stuck up like her mom?”
He willed his jaw to unclench and his nostrils to stop flaring, but he could feel Al’s eyes studying him, missing nothing and enjoying his anger.
His brother talking shit about Sophie pissed him off, even though he was right. She definitely still had a chip on her shoulder about him and the Family and it would take a long time to win her trust--if it was even possible.
He pulled out a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and passed them to Al. This was his occupation--investment broker. Crooked accountant. Tax avoidance expert. This was where he used his MBA from Kellogg and his brains, strategizing in a way that didn’t hurt anyone. He cooked the books at Boom Booms, ran all the cash through the business and invested half of it in legitimate businesses and stocks, building his brother’s portfolio (and his own) with retirement accounts, offshore accounts and as many untraceable, unseizable assets as possible.
One of the dancers slowly walked by, knowing better than to interrupt, but giving them suggestive eyes, in case they wanted to call her over. He gave his head a slight shake and she moved on.
He gave his brother the biweekly report, and brought him back to the office where he accepted a stack of cash for laundering. He sighed and locked the door after Al left the office. This was where he liked to hide. Running a strip club had been exciting when he was in his twenties, even into his early thirties, but it had long since grown distasteful to him. When they’d first opened it fifteen years earlier, Sammy had needed him. He’d made all the decisions and set up the way things were run. But these days, Sammy knew the ropes and handled things, Joey’s role was mostly the books and accounting, the business dealings. Joey had no interest in spending his time there anymore. If he had a choice, he’d walk away in a heartbeat.
He picked up his phone and called to order the tickets to the musical, the idea of another date with Sophie cheering him.
She had resolved not to have sex with him. She’d planned to go on the date, see the musical, and say thank you and good night. She had prepared a speech to give Joey about not being interested in a relationship. But at the moment, with his teeth clamped over her earlobe and his thumb in her mouth, she found it
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