[b]The Cheetah Room
Center City, WA
11:14 PM[/b]

Tracy hated himself. It wasn't for the usual reasons one engaged in self-loathing. It wasn't because he was broke. On the contrary, he had more money that he could hope to spend. It wasn't because of his looks, despite the bad burn on his neck from Iraq he looked passable and never heard any complaints from the women he brought home. It wasn't because of his station in life. He was the number one man of Center City's biggest crime boss, a place many men would give their left nut for. Tracy hated himself because he was becoming his old man. Like Teeg Lawless, Tracy was seen as one of the baddest motherfuckers in all of Center City, someone you avoided at all costs if you liked breathing. Like Teeg, Tracy's power was an illusion. It was a gifted granted to him by old man Hyde's seemingly on a whim. Tracy knew he was feared and respected as long as Hyde allowed it. And that made him sicker than anything. He wanted to avoid becoming Teeg, wanted to avoid this city all together, but some dumbass mistakes led him right back to Center City and right under Hyde's thumb.

The Cheetah Room was part of Hyde's benevolent streak. The strip club was a gift to Tracy that was a pretty shitty gift. Tracy got a ten percent cut of the profits for managing it for Hyde. Managing the club meant having to deal with all the headaches nobody wanted to. Most guys out of the loop thought running a strip club entailed lapdances and blowjobs gratis. Instead Tracy had to listen to the strippers' drama and get sucked into the day to day tragedies that were their lives. Think of dealing with hormonal teenage girls, crying all over the place and hating each other and themselves... only all the girls have big fake silicone titties Added to getting caught up into their personal shit, Tracy also had to make sure none of the girls of other staff dealt drugs of gash on the side. Hyde approved of the girls hooking and pushing blow, but only as long as he got his cut.

Tracy was taking Hyde's cut of the action that night, sitting in the backroom with Gingy, the closest thing this diseased hellhole had to an assistant manager. Gingy was over fifty with bright red hair that came out of a bottle. She wore cowboys butts and tight jeans with black t-shirts. She looked every bit of the butch bull dyke that she was. While Tracy didn't take advantage of the girls, Gingy was known on occasion to shack up with a few of the sapphicly inclined strippers. Gingy counted out Hyde and Tracy's cuts in twenties, a menthol cigarette hanging out of her mouth with half a cigarette's worth of ash dangling off the tip.

"That's 1,000," she said after counting out fifty twenties that went into Tracy's pile. 

She dumped the ashes and started on another set of twenties when the burner cell in Tracy's pocket went off. He looked at the number and knew something was up. Hyde was usually in bed this late at night, and he rarely ever called.

[i]"My office. Now"[/i"

The line went dead. Tracy closed the phone and looked at the clock on the wall before standing.

"I have to go," he said to Gingy as he got his coat. "Count it all out and put it in the safe below the desk, put my share in one bag and the big man's share in the other."

"You got it, sweetheart. I'll keep the ship running in your stead."

**** 

To look at Sebastian Hyde's office, you would think he was a college professor or some well to do businessman instead of the kingpin of Center City. There were books, shelves and shelves of books on the three office walls. The lone wall not loaded down with books was an entire long pane of glass that stretched across the wall in a window that gave off a pretty impressive view of Center City. The books were all random as hell. Everything from Gibbon's six part series on the history of Rome, to Danielle Steel. Tracy doubted very much that Hyde had even cracked open one of those books.in his library. The man didn't care about books, and he didn't care about his impressive view. The books and window were all a show to anyone who came into the office. It was projecting power. Look at how many nice things I have, look at the entire town that I sit above like a king. All of that boiled down to a simple message: Don't fuck with me.

"Tracy," Hyde said as he came in.

Tracy stood and wordlessly greeted the old man as he walked towards his desk. Hyde wasn't in his usual three-piece, but he still wore dark slacks and a collared shirt. Tracy remained standing until Hyde sat down behind the desk.

"It's late, let's cut the bullshit, son. Do you know Thomas Flynn?"

"Rings a bell. Does he owe you money?"

"No, unfortunately not. Flynn owns a good deal of the industrial park here in town. Supposed to be worth half a billion. He keeps his nose mostly clean, as clean as anyone worth that kind of money can be. He apparently has done something rather bad because he's being blackmailed. He wants to keep it under wraps, so he decided to come to me instead of the cops. He wants to pay me a good deal of money to make the blackmailer disappear. I'll cut you twenty percent of what he gives me and you make this asshole deader than the goddamn steak I had for dinner."

Hyde working for money didn't jive true to Tracy. He had more than enough money than he or his kids would ever spend. But what was left unsaid Tracy knew all too well. Flynn was asking Sebastian Hyde for a favor. All it took was for Hyde to get his foot into the door and he owned you. As bad as any blackmail could be, what Hyde could do would be ten times worse. For Hyde to get in good with a man like Flynn would give him something much more valuable than money. Flynn got your connections, contracts, businessmen, and politicians. Influence, a half a billion dollar's worth of influence Hyde could call on.

"What if I find out what he's being blackmailed for?"

The old man's eyes lit up and his eyebrows arched as he smiled.

"Go ahead and send that my way. Always good to have some insurance. Good luck, son."

Tracy nodded and stood, heading towards the door. He hated when Hyde called him son. he made a mental note that when he got his revenge on the old prick, he would hit him int he balls for every time the old man had called him son. After tonight, Tracy's count was up to 219.