"Do you mean Ash, sir?" Charley asked Rich. Skip was growing impatient. He didn't care about some girl. He just wanted his rent money.

"Whatever her name is. The brunette one." Rich shooed Charley away to go get the girl.

"She went home twenty minutes ago." Charley said, apologetically.

"Forget it, Rich." Skip said, movement at the other end of the bar catching his attention. He looked back at Rich. "Just give me the money."

"Jesus, Skip." Rich sounded a little shocked. "I know you only ever cared about money but you're usually nice about it. Fine." Rich dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. two hundred bucks bound together by a piece of jute string.

Skip took the money and counted it twice. Two hundred each time. "Just remember. This is a club. Not a whore house. If you start making money off of prostitution, you owe me fifteen percent of the profit. Got it?" Skip gave Rich a stern look as he stood up.

"Sure thing, Skip." Rich stood up. 

They shook hand and then Skip finished his whiskey. He shot a glance at the men at the other end of the bar. They were looking at him but then averted their eyes. The bartender looked irritated. If he got to upset, he could lash out and that would be bad business. Skip made his way over to the men and took and empty seat.

"Is there a problem over here, gentlemen?" He put his empty glass on the counter for a refill.