The Darkness - Jason Pinter [66]
enough credit to get him a decent financial aid package.
Morgan knew a lot of kids from his hometown that
weren't so lucky.
They were the ones who filled up his tank at the gas
station. They were the ones who sprayed perfume on his
mother when she went to the mall. They were the ones
who needed something to take the edge off the real world,
because if they spent too much time with their own life
and their own thoughts eventually it would occur to them
what they had never become.
So this new product, Morgan guessed, was just one
more thing to take the edge off. And that was fine. He
trusted these guys. Jeremy was a message. Like no limit
hold 'em, you're either all in or you fold.
Jeremy folded. Morgan's stack of chips wasn't as high
as it used to be, but what was that great line from Rounders?
Kid's got alligator blood.
Morgan liked the sound of that.
When the caller told him the address, Morgan was a
little surprised at first. He'd actually been there once
before, a few years back when he'd first started dating this
French model named Claudia who was in town for some
photo shoot where she was supposed to pose in a pink tutu
atop the Brooklyn Bridge.
Morgan never really understood art.
The Darkness
189
She'd insisted that they go to the Kitten Club, the rationale being more along the lines of it being a trendy
hotspot rather than a place where actual enjoyment
could be had.
Morgan remembered that the music was deafening,
the light show transfixing, and the drinks ridiculously
overpriced.
And then that rich diva Athena Paradis got killed there,
and somehow the Kitten Club became even more popular.
Now why Morgan was supposed to be there at seven
o'clock in the morning, a good sixteen hours before the club
even opened its doors, was beyond him. But it was his first
day. And Morgan knew well enough not to ask questions.
He took the subway downtown, then walked to the
meatpacking district where the Kitten Club, and its
brethren, served generous amounts of alcohol to hip,
young New Yorkers seven days a week. At midnight, you
couldn't walk down the block without having to cut
through any one of a number of long lines dedicated to
keeping impatient drinkers outside until the Lord of the
Velvet Rope decided it was time to allow them entry.
The Kitten Club used to have one of those large neon
signs above the awning, this one depicting a feline in
naughty attire sipping from some sort of pink cocktail.
The lights were arranged so that it looked like the cat
was tipping the drink back. As the glass hit the cat's
lips, the drink actually appeared to disappear down its
furry throat.
If you had enough money, you could get anyone to
make you anything.
As Morgan approached the entrance, the front door
opened up. He immediately recognized the man who
held it open.
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Jason Pinter
"Morgan, good to see you," Chester said. "Feels good
to be up bright and early, doesn't it?"
Chester said this with the slightest air of contempt, as
though he knew that Morgan hadn't needed to wake up
before noon anytime in recent memory. Though he felt
his cheeks flush slightly red, he did feel a bit of pride in
rejoining the workforce.
"If it's worth getting up for, there's no such thing as
too early."
"Words to live by," Chester replied. "Come on in."
Chester held the door ajar, and Morgan slipped
inside. He couldn't help but find it funny that for the first
time he hadn't needed to wait in line to enter a club.
Maybe he needed to go clubbing at seven in the morning
more often.
Chester led Morgan through the club, the earlymorning sun peeking through black-tinted windows,
casting an eerie glow on a floor that seemed ghostlike
without the cavalcade of dancing, drinking bodies. The
first floor of the Kitten Club was essentially one large
open space, nearly the length of a football field.
At either end was a bar, about thirty feet long, that
housed four different bartenders in order to make sure
drinks were served promptly, and that every penny was
squeezed