Arthur had his own booth, surrounded by a thin curtain, small and intimate, and away from all the excitement. It smelled cheap incense sticks, but the smoke was minimal, and the air was breathable. King sat down and stretched his legs, leaning on the back of the couch.

"Is this inventive enough, Tristan?" He asked, smiling.

"I have to admit; I was half expecting to die."

"Oh, nonsense," Arthur said. "For a murder to be committed, there needs to be a motive."

"So, you would kill me if you had a motive."

"I'm mostly a pacifist," Arthur said. He sounded amused.

It was then when a woman walked in, suddenly enough to make me jump. She looked young, about twenty-something, with brightly colored purple hair and a skirt that was narrower than some belts. She was pretty too, an odd mixture of the kind of woman that frightens you to the core and a nurse that feeds you soup when you're sick.

"Arthur." There was an accent, but the music drowned most of it. "I had to find out you're here from Yeong-Gi. That's terribly rude."

She sounded French, I thought. The woman sat down next to Arthur without bothering to glance at me.

"Elsie. If I knew you were here, I would've called." Arthur said. He sounded like a politician.

"Please. You don't call people. You text them. And don't lie to me."

"I do enjoy your company, but unfortunately I'm not available tonight. As you can see, I'm fairly busy at the moment…"

The woman, Elsie, decided to look at me finally. It was a long stare as if she was deciding on whether or not she liked a coat. She was judging me; that much was clear.

"I'm not French," was the first thing she said to me. "I'm Belgian."

"She's delighted to meet you, Tristan." Arthur smiled at me. "Elsie is a dear friend of mine."

"Nice to meet you, Elsie," I said because I had no fucking idea what else to do. Arthur didn't look uncomfortable, but I sure was. Elsie was unenthusiastic, to say the least. 

"He's cute," she said. Then her eyes darted back to King. "Arthur," The way she pronounced his name managed to get under my skin, the r rolled down her tongue sensually. I didn't even know if King liked girls. "I want my order."

That sparked my interest.

"It takes time," Arthur said. "You know that. I'll call when it's done, alright?"

She sighed, bored. "I know that, Arthur. But I want it before the house party. You're coming, right?"

"Of course, and It'll be done," he smiled kindly. "Now, Elsie, love, please. As I said, I'm busy."

Elsie looked at me for one last time. She pushed her purple hair behind her ear, leaned towards King and whispered something in his ear. Then casually gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Bye, Elsie," he said. He didn't look disturbed.

"See you, Arthur."

I waited for her to leave and then waited a few more seconds just in case she was still around, not that she could hear us. King didn't insist on talking, and I appreciated him for that. The music was louder now that I was focusing on it. Through the sheer curtains, I could see the people outside the booth - extravagantly dressed to almost naked, from twenty-year-olds that could walk around bare-chested to men that could be my grandpa. I wanted to know who King was.

"Are you in college?" He asked just as I was opening my mouth to ask something.

"No, I graduated not that long ago, actually."

"Oh, what did you study?"

"I wanted to be a lawyer, but damn." I laughed. "After I graduated, I decided I can't do it. It's too much for me. So ugh, I'm a bartender now. Can't say my parents were too happy about it."

"Ah, the standards we all must live up too." He chuckled. "It's not a bad job; maybe you'll open your own club one day."

"Maybe, but I don't think so. It costs money to do it, you know."

"I may have a clue about it, yes." He chuckled.

King asked me about my family; if I had siblings, where I was from. We ate the duck that Arthur recommended, and it was shockingly good. Then we talked more about me. I wasn't sure why I just couldn't ask him about Sam-the-Cop or Elsie... Maybe I was afraid of the answer. What if he was involved in something illegal?

I liked Arthur; he was the type of charmer that could end up in prison for making someone else kill for him because he couldn't bring himself to stain his pretty shirt. Or better yet, the type that could talk his way out of a sentence.

"I think it's time to go," Arthur said, looking at his watch. "Your shift started. If you don't feel like it, tell me you're sick, and I'll drive you home."

"I want to see your club," I said. "Hopefully, it's different from this one."

Arthur nodded. "Oh, it's far more commercial. Just don't tell my other employees that I'm pampering you, I wouldn't want them to be jealous."

"Does that mean you don't usually date your employees?" I asked and stood, ready to follow him out of the booth.

"Only the cute ones," he answered and offered me his arm.

The club was everything I had imagined it would be. It was the type of place that attracted money; just the right kind of kitsch and the right amount of class so that rich, spoiled brats would step on each other to get in and spend thousands on drinks. It was called "Medeis", the name written in bright neon letters above the entrance.

The line was long, and even though it was chilly outside, the girls were wearing shorts, shirts, and heels. Some guys decided they wanted to show some skin too.

King parked his car, and we skipped the line. I have to admit that just the act itself, the ability to pass by tens of people right into the club, made me feel great. Inside, the music was blaring, and the dancers were almost naked and oiled.

Arthur leaned towards me, close enough that I could feel his breath on my ear. "Like it?"

"It's like… the club-iest club." I answered, looking at the male dancers. Damn, those were some tight shorts they were wearing. King nudged me.

"Want to see the bar?"

I nodded and followed. The bar itself was larger than the one I previously worked at, and there were more bottles too. I was interested in the price of everything.

Two bartenders were working that evening; both dressed in the pastel pink button-up shirt and tight, black pants. The uniforms suited the vibe of the club. I found that one of the bartenders was particularly interesting to me. He was taller than me, with both arms covered with tattoos. His hair was cut short, army style, which made his angular face stand out more. He was handsome. It was easy to tell even from where I was standing.

I turned towards King and smiled at him. I couldn't remember the last time our faces were that close. His nose, I noted, was awfully pretty. It was straight and not too wide, the kind of nose that had never been punched. It was then that I noticed he was not as tall as I had initially thought. He was shorter than me with at least half a head. King was one of those people who looked tall up until you were right next to them. I should've noticed this earlier; it was so obvious now. 

"I like it here," I said, thinking that if all else fails, at least I had cute coworkers. Arthur turned his head towards the bar. "Tony?" He laughed; this time, it wasn't soft or subtle. It was a rich laugh, amused. Honest. I smiled.

"Tony?" I asked.

"Antonio," he said. "He's cute. I know, I have eyes." He smiled widely. "Tz, tz, tomcat."

"I'm not blind," I said, nudging him a little. "Nice uniforms."

He nodded. "They are nice." I felt his hand on my arm, and before I knew it, we were walking closer to the bar. King had no shame; he made his way through the crowd without caring who was waiting in line for their drink. He called out Tony a couple of times until the man turned around. "This is Tristan; he's going to work with you, take care of him, ok? I like him."

"Of course you do," Antonio said before putting down the glass he was holding to stretch out a hand towards me. "Nice to meet you."

I shook his hand. "Likewise."

"But not tonight." King intervened. "He's not feeling well."

Oh.

"I'll drive him home," Arthur added.

Oh.

"He'll start tomorrow." He flashed a smile and pushed his glasses up his nose. I was still uncertain if he really needed them. Tony nodded, unimpressed. It seemed like he was used to this.

I looked towards the other bartender, feeling bad for excluding him. But the man wasn't even facing us. He was uninterested in everything that was happening, or maybe he was ignoring us on purpose.

Arthur tugged me, gently enough to be playful and hard enough for me to get the message.

"See you, Tony. Don't get too drunk, ok?"

"Yeah, boss."

"I'm sick?" I asked once we were outside. King's lips curved mischievous. His eyes were alive; quicksilver under the artificial lights. He was standing close enough that I could feel his cologne. Tom Ford, I remembered from the conversation he had with Sam-the-Cop.

 King knew a lot of people, and they were all suspicious to me. He didn't mention any of them during our so-called date. It hit me then that I hadn't learned anything new about him, I wasn't even sure how old he was, or where he was from, or what school he went to, or if his glasses were real or not. We talked so much about me that I had forgotten to ask about Sam-the-Cop and the hospital. Even Elsie had managed to escape my mind.

"Arthur, I want to ask you something." I pushed the words out of my mouth. I wanted to ask him about a lot of things. 

King closed the remaining space between us. "Can it wait until we get home? His hand was warm under my blazer.

Well, fuck.