As I approach the building, the sound of the music begins to get louder. First, just a faint thump, but by the time I cross the sidewalk and approach the entrance, it reverberates through my chest and into my skeleton.
I’m also eyeing the bouncer at the door as I approach. He’s a bald, scowling Samoan in black jeans and a tight grey sweater named Trey. Trey is a bit of a dick. Things really came to a head when he decided to start a fight with me during a recreational league hockey game. The result of which was me busting out some of his teeth and both of us being banned from the arena. I don’t know what his problem is. He thinks he has something to prove, or that he’s better than me or something. As if I’m even in the running for that competition.
I look up at Trey and hold his angry glare, returning it without looking away as I slowly walk through the door and into the awaiting frenzy of the club. The key to dealing with most of these overly aggressive assholes is not backing down or giving an inch. Bullies are usually the most afraid of those who don’t show fear.
Once inside, I quickly find a good leaning spot at the bar, next to a guy with a drink in his hand. It’s the man who had been walking in with the brunette with the nice bum ahead of me. It's loud. People absentmindedly mill all around the bar talking, smiling, dancing. While the area behind the bar is as well lit as it is well stocked, spotlights are aimed directly down so that the bartender can do his job and keep an eye out for cash laid on the countertop. Outside that area though, the bar is dark. Dark enough that even the flashing and spinning lights only give the opportunity to make out distinguishing features for split seconds at a time. A lot can go on in an environment like that. The dude whose girlfriend has a nice ass is trying to shout his order to the clean-cut bartender through the chaos and chorus of other shouted drink orders.
By the time I buy my second drink, I’ve spent almost all the money I have. I’m not exactly employed in what some would consider the “traditional manner.”
Beneath the bar, I begin to slowly move my arm, working my hand toward a bulge in the pants of the guy next to me. No, not like that you pervert, towards his ass. Okay, I know that doesn't sound much better, I'm just teasin’ ya. By the way, I got no problem with guys who like to tug other guy’s wieners, I'm just not one of ‘em. Anyway, when I feel my fingertips brush his ass cheek, on the bulge of his wallet, I begin to work. Staring straight ahead, pretending to be really enjoying the environment and nursing my second drink with my left hand above the bar, I slowly slide the razor blade that I have concealed in the palm of my right hand toward my fingertips.
Less than two seconds later I’ve made a quick slash across the bottom of his back pocket with the razor, and his wallet is now sitting in my waiting hand. The weight of it has forced it to slide out of his pocket. A second later I’ve tucked the wallet and razor blade into my vest pocket and nobody is the wiser.
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