9:14pm, 5 May 2008
Outside of Portsmouth, New Hampshire

The air inside the small club was close, and nearly opaque. Tommy dried off glasses, mentally cursing his manager for making him work a Monday night shift. The tips sucked, and the customers sucked worse--most of them couldn't get laid over the weekend, and couldn't face their lives on the job, so they sleazed their way on in to Busty's to give it one last shot. And of course only the desperate girls worked Mondays, so....

The freak in the leather jacket signalled him for another beer. Tommy grunted and poured him another one. The guy was running a tab, so Tommy tried to take good care of him. Tommy actually grimaced at him. A smile would cost extra.

Cherie sauntered up to the fellow. Tommy kinda had a soft spot for Cherie. She actually tried to cover up her nipples, and stuff, and managed to look about as close to classy as anyone in pasties could.

Apparently, this guy liked Cherie too. She found a spot on his lap, and he bought her a drink. Tommy poured her a Diet Coke, as usual. The biker-wannabe leaned his head close. Cherie rested her forehead against his, and giggled.

A woman in motorcycle leathers walked into the club. One or two heads turned, but her wrinkled nose indicated she wouldn't be staying long enough to play. She walked up to the man whose lap Cherie occupied, and tossed an envelope on the bar. Tommy edged closer and picked up a glass to dry for the fourth time, so he could eavesdrop.

"Here ya go, Ace. This is fuckin' important, so don't lose it."

The guy turned to her and sneered. "Get outta here, Tasha. I'll read it tomorrow." He began to turn away.

The woman, with barely a flicker across her face, gently placed her hand against the base of Ace's neck, her thumb quite clearly over his Adam's apple. "No," she said calmly. "Tonight." She glared at him for a moment, then turned on her booted heel and walked out, chestnut ponytail swinging behind her.

Ace watched her go, then turned to Cherie, who tried to look sultry even after being interrupted in her cherry-stem tying. He sighed, leaned close to her ear, and whispered something to her. She thought for a moment, then nodded, smiling. She kissed him demurely on the cheek, then bounced off his lap and headed to the back room.

The bikerguy stood up from the stool and tossed a wad of bills on the bar without counting it. He picked up the envelope and walked out. Moments later, Cherie, a thin jacket thrown over her bustier, followed him out with her totebag slung over her shoulder.

Tommy slid over and counted the bills. Enough to cover the tab.

But no tip. Tommy silently cursed Ace, his manager, and the forces of Fate that had stuck him in such a freakish corner of the world.

2:34am, 6 May 2008
Portsmouth, New Hampshire

The phone rang loudly, jangling in Mikey's ear. He rolled off the couch and felt around the floor for the phone.

"Ungh?" he said to the receiver.

"Mikey? Ace. Listen, prettyboy, we've got a job. A big one. And I need you."

"Hungh?"

"Concord."

It took a moment, but when that word finally penetrated Mikey's hazy mind, he was suddenly very, very awake.