Dawn Patrol

12

Despite his name, Dan Silver always wears black.

For one thing, he'd look pretty stupid dressed in silver. He knows this for a fact, because back when he was a professional wrestler, he dressed all in silver and he looked pretty stupid. But what the hell else was a wrestler named Dan Silver going to wear? He started off as a good guy, but soon found out that the wrestling fans didn't buy him as a hero. So he traded the silver for black and became a villain by the name of “Vile Danny Silver,” which the fans did buy.

And, anyway, bad guys made more money than good guys.

A life lesson for Danny.

He did about five years in the WWE, then decided that it was easier dealing with strippers than getting the shit kicked out of you three nights a week, so he cashed out and opened his first club.

Now Dan has five clubs, and he still dresses in black because he thinks the black makes him look sexy and dangerous. And slim, because Dan is starting to get that fifties tire around his waist, some heavy jowls, and a second chin, and he doesn't like it. He also doesn't like that his rust red hair is starting to thin and black clothes can't do a thing about it. But he still wears a black shirt, black jeans, and a thick black belt with a wide silver buckle, as well as black cowboy boots with walking heels.

It's his trademark look.

He looks like a trademark asshole.

Now he goes to meet the guy down on Ocean Beach near the pier.

The sea is kicking up like a nervous Thoroughbred in the starting gate. Dan could give a shit. He's lived by the water all his life, never been in it above his ankles. The ocean is full of nasty stuff like jellyfish, sharks, and waves, so Dan's more of a Jacuzzi man.

“You ever hear of anyone drowning in a hot tub?” he asked Red Eddie when the subject of getting into the ocean came up.

Actually, Red Eddie had, but that's another story.

Now Dan walks up the beach and meets Tweety.

“You take care of it?” Dan asks.

Dan is a big guy, six-four and pushing 275, but he looks small standing face-to-face with Tweety. Fucking guy is built like an industrial-size refrigerator and he's just as cold.

“Yeah,” Tweety says.

“Any trouble?” Dan asks.

“Not for me. ”

Dan nods.

He already has the cash, twenty one-hundred-dollar bills, rolled into one of his thick hands.

Two grand to pitch a woman off a motel balcony.

Whoever said life is cheap overpaid.

It's too bad, Dan thinks, because that was one hot chick, and a little freak to boot. But she'd seen something she shouldn't have seen, and if there's one thing Dan's learned about strippers after twenty-plus years of trying to manage them is that they can't keep their legs or their mouths shut.

So the girl had to go.

It's no time for taking chances.

There's another shipment due in, and the merchandise is worth a lot of money, and that kind of money you don't let some dancer jeopardize, even if she is a freak.

Dan slips Tweety the money and keeps walking, making sure to stay far away from the water.