"What do you mean there's a cover charge?"
The bouncer stood six foot seven, at least three bills, and touted some serious looking
guns rippling underneath his black mesh cutoff, but Monty McNabb refused to be intimidated.
McNabb was no small fry himself, but compared to the burly doorman, he was a boy next to
a man.
"I mean there is a fifteen dollar cover. Everyone has to pay it, no exceptions."
"Lemme get this straight," Monty started, "when I'm inside, I'm gonna drop at least
seventy bones on drinks alone, maybe a hundred more on party favors, and probably several
banjoes on a lady of my choice...and I still have to give you money to get in?"
The toothpick slid from one side of the bouncer's mouth the other as if guided by ball
bearings. Monty sighed, jammed his hand into his jeans pocket palmed a five with a ten
into the bouncers paw. The bouncer pocketed the money and stepped inside.
"Enjoy."
Yeah, whatever. Monty pushed open the double doors and stepped inside The Red Star, San
Andreas' premiere gentleman's club. The Red Star was usually packed with wealthy fellas
teeming with bills to spend and gorgeous ladies to appropriate the cash. Dr. Dre and the
late Tupac Shakur belted out "California Love" as Monty waded through a throng of bodies
to the bar. A gaudy red star was superimposed behind the bartender's shoulders. Monty
raised a finger to get the girl's attention.
"Hey, babe, lemme get a Jack and Coke."
The lady behind the bar nodded and got cracking. A few moments later, drink in hand,
Monty turned away from the bar and surveyed the crowd. He told the bouncer at the door a
half truth; he did plan on spending a substantial amount of change tonight, just not on
some doe eyed slut that had probably rode more guys than Candy Suxx. He took a sip and
tried to ferret out the Russian. After all, he was here on business.
Vladmir Makar, owner of The Red Star, was not a very difficult man to find; although one
would think that this would be the exact opposite, him being a major San Andreas underworld
crime boss. Ahem, alleged San Andreas underworld crime boss. Those who have attempted
to claim otherwise, usually in a court of law, found themselves slipping and falling on a
couple knives or accidentally suffocating on a plastic bag. Monty would never turn rat,
but if he did, one guy he would never fink on would be Makar; there's just better ways to
die.
There. Makar was sitting at a table at the south end of the club, flanked by several
Armani clad gentleman. Monty gulped down the remained of his drink, and nonchalantly tossed
the glass behind his shoulder. The barkeep caught this out of the corner of her eye, and
deftly snatched the glass in the before it shattered on the floor, shooting the broad should
ered American an icy glare as he walked towards the general vicinity Mr. Makar. Monty
sauntered towards Makar's table, taking his time, playing it cool. Impressions were very
important to Monty McNabb, and he wanted to imprint a favorable one upon the Russian.
Vladmir Makar had seen Monty as soon as he entered the club. A man in his position had to
be sharp, couldn't afford not to be. If a man commanding an army were to lose his edge,
where would he be then? Six feet deep, Makar thought. Rule with an iron fist and take
sh*t from nobody. Those were the ideals Makar's father had instilled in him, before Makar's
father was instilled a knife across his throat so many years ago back in Moscow. Monty
did not impress Vladmir, this American with his designer shirts and fancy loafers. He knew
of McNabb's reputation, some sort of cocaine dealer and freelance entrepreneur when he felt
the need to be, but still wasn't impressed. McNabb finally arrived at the table and
cleared his throat.
"Mr. Makar."
Makar feigned surprise.
"Montgomery McNabb. A pleasant surprise. Please, sit." said Makar in a soft, cultured
voice, only a slight hint of a Russian accent audible.
Nice, McNabb thought. He sat opposite the boss and smiled, displaying his perfectly capped
teeth.
"Very nice establishment you have here. I'm impressed."
"I'm glad you're enjoying your visit. Here." Makar pushed a shot glass towards Monty, and
filled it with a bottle of Skyy Vodka. Monty raised his glass in cheers, and tipped it
backwards. He smacked his lips and again cleared his throat.
"Tell me, Montgomery, what brings you to San Andreas? It's quite a ways from The City of
Angels."
"Little business, little pleasure. You know how it is."
Makar poured a shot for himself, and held the glass next to his face.
"Business? Hmm. What kind of business would that be?"
"Hey, we can discuss that later, I'd like to discuss a little something else, first..."
Monty offered a crooked grin. Yeah, don't rush this, make it look like you're not too
interested.
"Ah, I believe something can be arranged."
Makar raised a finger, indicating something to someone behind Monty. Monty turned around,
and beheld perfection. She came in the form of a stunning, svelte, raven haired beauty walk
ing towards the table. She wore a pair of leather pants that fit her hips like a glove,
and a smile that could kill. She sat down next to Makar as he whispered something into her
ear.
"Montgomery, this is Katrina. Katrina, please treat our guest."
Katrina rose, and took Monty by the hand.
"We will talk shop in a bit, no?"
"Sounds great, Mr. Makar."
Katrina led Monty through The Red Star, his eyes glued to her ass. Up a flight of stairs
and onto a hallway lined with suites. She looked over her shoulder and grinned again. Wow,
what a smile, Monty thought. She opened a door at the end of the hall and led him inside.
The room was dim, lit only by the neon red star outside. Katrina pounced on Monty, already
ripping off his shirt and kissing his chest. Damn, she's a tomcat! She thrust her tongue
in his mouth and unbuckled his belt. She started kissing his neck then worked her way
downwards. Monty leaned back, and rolled his eyes into the back of his head.
"God God!"
***
Katrina sucked on a cigarette and exhaled. The American laid passed out next to her. He
was good looking, but a shitty lay. She tried her best to enjoy herself, but it was just
so difficult. One pump chump. Hah. How pathetic. At least she was able to do her job.
Katrina had found that after sex, men were so honest, willing to tell whatever. She learned
that Montgomery was in San Andreas on business, and the nature was that of establishing a
racket. He bragged that he was expanding his operations up North, and that he was
interesting in teaming with Makar. Heh. Like that would ever happen. Makar was as
ruthless as he was cunning, and partnerships only led to competition. He knew to keep his
friends closer and his enemies closer, but some just weren't worth keeping at arm's length.
Katrina sighed and reached under the bed, pulling out a Beretta pistol, equipped with a
silencer. She racked chamber and gripped the pillow she was lying on. Katrina planted a
soft kiss on Montgomery's lips, then slammed the pillow against his face. At that instant,
Monty awoke, and started to struggle. She pushed the barrel against the pillow and pulled
the trigger twice.
Pftt! Pftt!
Business before pleasure, Katrina thought, rules of the game. She dressed and worked her
way downstairs to report to Makar that the American would cease to be a wrinkle in his
criminal affairs. Makar smiled after hearing the news, and told one of his bodyguards to
dispose of the corpse upstairs, sharpish. The suited hood nodded and got to it.
"Well done, Katrina."
"Thank you, father."
"Now go get cleaned up, we have reservations at Consado's in an hour."
"Alright, papa."
Katrina left the table as Makar poured himself another shot. It's not easy being on top,
Makar mused to himself, but if you keep an eye on your back, the future will always be at
your front. He tipped the shot back and sighed.
Now if only taking out that goddamn Mexican could be that easy...
The bouncer stood six foot seven, at least three bills, and touted some serious looking
guns rippling underneath his black mesh cutoff, but Monty McNabb refused to be intimidated.
McNabb was no small fry himself, but compared to the burly doorman, he was a boy next to
a man.
"I mean there is a fifteen dollar cover. Everyone has to pay it, no exceptions."
"Lemme get this straight," Monty started, "when I'm inside, I'm gonna drop at least
seventy bones on drinks alone, maybe a hundred more on party favors, and probably several
banjoes on a lady of my choice...and I still have to give you money to get in?"
The toothpick slid from one side of the bouncer's mouth the other as if guided by ball
bearings. Monty sighed, jammed his hand into his jeans pocket palmed a five with a ten
into the bouncers paw. The bouncer pocketed the money and stepped inside.
"Enjoy."
Yeah, whatever. Monty pushed open the double doors and stepped inside The Red Star, San
Andreas' premiere gentleman's club. The Red Star was usually packed with wealthy fellas
teeming with bills to spend and gorgeous ladies to appropriate the cash. Dr. Dre and the
late Tupac Shakur belted out "California Love" as Monty waded through a throng of bodies
to the bar. A gaudy red star was superimposed behind the bartender's shoulders. Monty
raised a finger to get the girl's attention.
"Hey, babe, lemme get a Jack and Coke."
The lady behind the bar nodded and got cracking. A few moments later, drink in hand,
Monty turned away from the bar and surveyed the crowd. He told the bouncer at the door a
half truth; he did plan on spending a substantial amount of change tonight, just not on
some doe eyed slut that had probably rode more guys than Candy Suxx. He took a sip and
tried to ferret out the Russian. After all, he was here on business.
Vladmir Makar, owner of The Red Star, was not a very difficult man to find; although one
would think that this would be the exact opposite, him being a major San Andreas underworld
crime boss. Ahem, alleged San Andreas underworld crime boss. Those who have attempted
to claim otherwise, usually in a court of law, found themselves slipping and falling on a
couple knives or accidentally suffocating on a plastic bag. Monty would never turn rat,
but if he did, one guy he would never fink on would be Makar; there's just better ways to
die.
There. Makar was sitting at a table at the south end of the club, flanked by several
Armani clad gentleman. Monty gulped down the remained of his drink, and nonchalantly tossed
the glass behind his shoulder. The barkeep caught this out of the corner of her eye, and
deftly snatched the glass in the before it shattered on the floor, shooting the broad should
ered American an icy glare as he walked towards the general vicinity Mr. Makar. Monty
sauntered towards Makar's table, taking his time, playing it cool. Impressions were very
important to Monty McNabb, and he wanted to imprint a favorable one upon the Russian.
Vladmir Makar had seen Monty as soon as he entered the club. A man in his position had to
be sharp, couldn't afford not to be. If a man commanding an army were to lose his edge,
where would he be then? Six feet deep, Makar thought. Rule with an iron fist and take
sh*t from nobody. Those were the ideals Makar's father had instilled in him, before Makar's
father was instilled a knife across his throat so many years ago back in Moscow. Monty
did not impress Vladmir, this American with his designer shirts and fancy loafers. He knew
of McNabb's reputation, some sort of cocaine dealer and freelance entrepreneur when he felt
the need to be, but still wasn't impressed. McNabb finally arrived at the table and
cleared his throat.
"Mr. Makar."
Makar feigned surprise.
"Montgomery McNabb. A pleasant surprise. Please, sit." said Makar in a soft, cultured
voice, only a slight hint of a Russian accent audible.
Nice, McNabb thought. He sat opposite the boss and smiled, displaying his perfectly capped
teeth.
"Very nice establishment you have here. I'm impressed."
"I'm glad you're enjoying your visit. Here." Makar pushed a shot glass towards Monty, and
filled it with a bottle of Skyy Vodka. Monty raised his glass in cheers, and tipped it
backwards. He smacked his lips and again cleared his throat.
"Tell me, Montgomery, what brings you to San Andreas? It's quite a ways from The City of
Angels."
"Little business, little pleasure. You know how it is."
Makar poured a shot for himself, and held the glass next to his face.
"Business? Hmm. What kind of business would that be?"
"Hey, we can discuss that later, I'd like to discuss a little something else, first..."
Monty offered a crooked grin. Yeah, don't rush this, make it look like you're not too
interested.
"Ah, I believe something can be arranged."
Makar raised a finger, indicating something to someone behind Monty. Monty turned around,
and beheld perfection. She came in the form of a stunning, svelte, raven haired beauty walk
ing towards the table. She wore a pair of leather pants that fit her hips like a glove,
and a smile that could kill. She sat down next to Makar as he whispered something into her
ear.
"Montgomery, this is Katrina. Katrina, please treat our guest."
Katrina rose, and took Monty by the hand.
"We will talk shop in a bit, no?"
"Sounds great, Mr. Makar."
Katrina led Monty through The Red Star, his eyes glued to her ass. Up a flight of stairs
and onto a hallway lined with suites. She looked over her shoulder and grinned again. Wow,
what a smile, Monty thought. She opened a door at the end of the hall and led him inside.
The room was dim, lit only by the neon red star outside. Katrina pounced on Monty, already
ripping off his shirt and kissing his chest. Damn, she's a tomcat! She thrust her tongue
in his mouth and unbuckled his belt. She started kissing his neck then worked her way
downwards. Monty leaned back, and rolled his eyes into the back of his head.
"God God!"
***
Katrina sucked on a cigarette and exhaled. The American laid passed out next to her. He
was good looking, but a shitty lay. She tried her best to enjoy herself, but it was just
so difficult. One pump chump. Hah. How pathetic. At least she was able to do her job.
Katrina had found that after sex, men were so honest, willing to tell whatever. She learned
that Montgomery was in San Andreas on business, and the nature was that of establishing a
racket. He bragged that he was expanding his operations up North, and that he was
interesting in teaming with Makar. Heh. Like that would ever happen. Makar was as
ruthless as he was cunning, and partnerships only led to competition. He knew to keep his
friends closer and his enemies closer, but some just weren't worth keeping at arm's length.
Katrina sighed and reached under the bed, pulling out a Beretta pistol, equipped with a
silencer. She racked chamber and gripped the pillow she was lying on. Katrina planted a
soft kiss on Montgomery's lips, then slammed the pillow against his face. At that instant,
Monty awoke, and started to struggle. She pushed the barrel against the pillow and pulled
the trigger twice.
Pftt! Pftt!
Business before pleasure, Katrina thought, rules of the game. She dressed and worked her
way downstairs to report to Makar that the American would cease to be a wrinkle in his
criminal affairs. Makar smiled after hearing the news, and told one of his bodyguards to
dispose of the corpse upstairs, sharpish. The suited hood nodded and got to it.
"Well done, Katrina."
"Thank you, father."
"Now go get cleaned up, we have reservations at Consado's in an hour."
"Alright, papa."
Katrina left the table as Makar poured himself another shot. It's not easy being on top,
Makar mused to himself, but if you keep an eye on your back, the future will always be at
your front. He tipped the shot back and sighed.
Now if only taking out that goddamn Mexican could be that easy...