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spend a lot of our free time, as two single middle-aged bucks, watching TV. How cool and edgy is that? Most of our references are pop culture and our favorites at the moment are old episodes of the egregiously canceled shows Terriers and Deadwood.
    Whores get fuckin’.
    Classic.
    Why the hell would anyone cancel Deadwood? If that guy ever comes into my club he better have the viewing figures in his pocket.
    Zeb perks up. “Reboot. Fuckin’ A.”
    “Fuckin’ A,” I agree wearily.
    Seeing it all ahead of him, Zeb guns the Prius and shoots off down the street at the speed of a four-year-old on roller skates, and I wonder not for the first time whether my life would be less pathetic without him in it.
    Fuckin’ A.
    At the raggedy end of Cloisters’ nightclub alley sits Slotz. My kingdom.
    About two steps up from a bordello. Most nights.
    I won the lease for this place in a poker game a few months back, so I reckoned I might as well occupy the apartment that sits on top of it seeing as I’m already paying for it. The previous leaseholder lived elsewhere but kept the apartment up as what he tenderly referred to as a fuck pad. You can bet your last nickel that I brought in a team of industrial cleaners to steam the shit out of that place before I moved in, but I held on to the waterbed and a Jacuzzi, which is coin operated if you can believe that. I bet if Mike knew about the Jacuzzi coin box he’d want a slice of that too. I realize protection is a necessary evil, but these guys don’t seem to realize that there is a recession on.
    Zeb is not sold on the whole Jacuzzi idea.
    Fucking jizz pools, he informed me one night when he actually scored a classy lady in the club and I gallantly offered the two of them a handful of change for a whirl in my deluxe power bath. What do you think goes on under those bubbles? And how often do you clean the pipes? That pearly gunk has probably made its way into the water system by now. We’re all down here chugging down some guy’s tadpoles, smacking our lips and saying yum yum.
    I guess you don’t have to be smart to be a doctor.
    I try to stay positive about Slotz but it’s hard because of the specter of shitholery hanging over the joint. This place has been a dump for a decade and a craphole for twenty years before that, but we’re trying to change things. Me and my business partner Jason Dyal.
    Jason is doing most of the work, to give the guy credit. Jason has been a revelation and a godsend. And if that reads a little over the top, it’s because Jason is gay and I tend to overdo the praise thing just to show how cool I am with that. I get embarrassed when he starts bandying around words like queer and homo, but he says he’s been holding it in for so long that he feels entitled to queer it up a little now.
    I’m a queen in a safe environment, Danny, he told me a couple of months back. So you’re getting an eyeful of the real me.
    Fag away, I said, trying to get into the swing, which stopped him dead in his tracks.
    I’ve stayed out of the swing since then.
    So anyways, Jason has been my partner for several years since we started bouncing this place. I always knew he was a tough-as-nails kind of guy, but I did not know that he also had natural business acumen and could handle a toolkit, which is not a euphemism. I stood in a porch with the guy for the best part of a decade through the rain and snow holding doors for addicts and perverts and knew damn all about him. Then again, he knew the square root of damn all about me. But now that we’re business partners we got a stake in each other’s future, so mutual trust has entered the equation. This feels good on a day-to-day basis, but it the long term it’s bad, because now Mike has someone else to punish for my sins.
    So that’s Sofia, my kinda girlfriend on her good days.
    Dr. Zeb, my peacetime buddy from the Lebanon war zone.
    And Jason, my tool-swinging business partner.
    Three friends now. I’m turning into Miss