Tony was speeding, and I was sitting right next to him, wondering if King was going to find out. A little voice in my head whispered to me that he already knew. I had a feeling there weren't a lot of things one could hide from Arthur.

The car stopped at a light. Tony pulled out a pack of cigars and took one between his lips. He used his right hand to reach between our seats until he found a small lighter.

"What's up with Arthur?" I asked, watching the tip of the cigar light up bright orange.

"No idea," he said. I didn't believe him one bit.

"More secrets?"

"Oh, please." He laughed. "You think you know him just because he told you a few things?"

"I want to know what I'm getting into."

"Not my place to say," Tony said and rolled down a window to let the smoke out. "But if he likes you, you'll make a nice living."

The city lights were blurring as we passed over the bridge. We were heading towards the skirts of the city, another desolated area. Another race. I was beginning to regret my decision to join him.

Tony parked the car and looked at me with severity written all over his face. "Don't tell King." 

"I think you asked me that already."

"Well… Just don't."

"Fine." I agreed though I wasn't so sure if I was going to be able to lie to Arthur. I was just hoping he wasn't going to ask.

"How did you meet King?"

"Funny story." He didn't continue the so-called funny story, so I glared at him, hoping he was going to get the idea.

"I like funny stories."

"I bet you do."

He got out of the car. We were in the middle of a frat party pulled out from an early 2000s movie. I hesitated, still holding my hand on the door. Some motorcycles and cars looked like they belonged in an older man's garage. Or the dump. Tony called them Sleepers, and I didn't ask him what that meant.

Tony went missing for a couple of minutes, then returned with beer. He poked his head through my open window and handed me one.

"I don't drink," I told him, looking at the can suspiciously. At least it was still unopened.

"Come one, have some cheap beer, get a bad handover, live a little."

"I'm ok, thanks." 
He rolled his eyes and dropped the can in my lap.

I was feeling incredibly stupid. Maybe the stupid got in my blood cells, and I couldn't function correctly anymore. He and Arthur managed to tap into a part of me that was still seventeen and shake that little fucker up. It was like I was back in high school, trying to fit in with the so-called cool kids.

I took the can of beer and opened it. Tony smiled and asked me to come out of the car.

"You're racing?"

"I wanted to," he said. "Maybe later. Some guy got a flat tire, and we're waiting on him."

I took a sip of beer. It smelled like sweat, and I decided I wasn't going to finish it. Tony, on the other hand, was having the time of his life drinking cheap alcohol. So much so that he was starting to slur his words. I was worried he was going to want to get behind the wheel and drive in that race of his.

I wanted to get a cab and go home, but I didn't want to leave Tony unsupervised.
He was chugging another beer, and I was trying to take it away when my phone started ringing. An unknown number flashed on my screen, and the memory of Arthur showing up at my door rushed through my head. He was the kind of man that could find out anything. I ignored his call on the off chance that it was him. I didn't want him to hear the music and the ruckus that surrounded me.

A few moments later, I got a text.

Hello, Tristan, this is Arthur. I'm sorry for dragging you in this mess. I'll talk to you soon. Good night.

Arthur didn't use emojis and texted like he was writing a letter. He sounded robotic or bitter. Or maybe he was upset. Maybe he was feeling bad because of our failed evening.

For some reason, it made me feel good.

Tony wrapped his arm around me while I was rereading the message. He smelled of cheap booze and was oddly happy. "You should bet on me." He said.

"Fuck, no."

"I'm racing."

"No. You're pissed drunk."

He puffed, offended. "No. I am moderately drunk."

"Arthur will kill you if you crash the car racing."

"Nah. He'll think that I'm stupid," he said. "But he thinks that about everyone, so it's ok." He smiled widely. Both his canines were a little crooked, giving him a boyish charm.

I grabbed him by the arm to make sure he wasn't going to wander towards his car. "He doesn't think that."

"Oh, yeah, he does." He laughed, shaking his head. "You don't know him." He pulled his arm from me and stumbled towards his car. I sighed. It was like taking care of a child.

"You're drunk, and you can't drive. Knock it off."

Tony rolled his eyes at me. "Of course, I can."

"I'm calling Arthur."

"No, no, no." He lifted his hands. "Just chill, alright. It's a race, not a funeral."

"Aha." I nodded. I was having enough of that mess, so I shoved Tony in the passenger's seat and got in. I was going to drive myself home and dump him on the couch.

I checked my phone before starting the car. No new messages, no new calls. I remembered that I hadn't had the chance to text Arthur back, but I wasn't yet sure how I felt about the whole situation. I was going to get back to him tomorrow.

I shook Tony awake once we reached my apartment building. He frowned, eyes heavy with sleep and the drunken confusion of a man who couldn't get his thoughts together.

My apartment wasn't as luxurious as Arthur's. Not even close. And my couch wasn't that great either, but it was all Tony. It was getting along with an old blanket that smelled too strongly of fabric softener and a pillow.

I took a shower in my small bathroom, feeling bitter about the cracked, ugly tiles I had on the walls. I wasn't pleased with anything I had any more, because I kept comparing them to what King had. I told myself that he got them through illegal means. I told myself I didn't want that. If I was going to acquire material possessions, I was going to get them the old-fashioned way; through hard work and dedication. No shortcuts.

I went to bed that night thinking about my life. I didn't want to be a bartender forever.

Morning came like a bright curse, along with the chants of police sirens. The sun was giving me a headache before I even had the change to open my eyes properly.

I did what was normal for a millennial to do first thing in the morning; I unlocked my phone and checked all social media. I wasn't too active on any platform, but that didn't stop me from stalking. I was just squinting at a former high school classmate's wedding picture when I heard a loud thud followed by a not so dignified "fuck!".

I quickly remembered that Tony was in my apartment. I rolled out of bed, put my bunny slippers on, and followed the commotion. Antonio was in my kitchen, glaring with hatred at a broken mug.

"My hand's nubs," he said, raising his right hand in demonstration. He wasn't wearing a shirt, god knows for what reason. His arm tattoos went towards his chest, and some peaked above his belt.

"You broke my favorite mug." It wasn't my favorite mug, but it was mine, and he broke it. "I want one just like that."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

"Yes," I answered. "And put a shirt on, this isn't a club; you're not getting free drinks for showing nipples… are those piercings?"

"Yeah," he said and smiled proudly.

"Great. Looks great, now you can go home."

"I'm hungry," he said. "You could at least offer me breakfast. Or coffee." Tony was talking while looking through my pantries, pulling out my cereal boxes and digestive biscuits. I sat at my small kitchen table and sighed as loudly as I could. I was exasperated, and I wanted to just relax for the day, before going to work. I wanted to talk to Arthur.

"Like what you see, pretty boy?"

"That was a sigh of desperation, not admiration. Put a shirt on, this ain't Twilight."

"I can't. I ruined mine. Threw up on it."

"Lovely… Well, you'll just have to drive home with your nipples free and joyful."

"Can't you lend me a shirt?"

"If you tell me what the deal is with Sam and Arthur."

He shrugged and opened a box of cereals, shoved his hand in it, and ate a fistful. "I'm not quite sure. I know King calls him sometimes and says he has something for him. And sometimes Sam calls, and King leaves the room." He ate more cereals. "Honestly, I never asked. I can't say that I care that much."

I didn't believe him one bit, but I didn't push the issue. I got up, went to my room, and grabbed a plain black t-shirt for Tony. I gave him the shirt and started the coffee machine. Tony had picked up the remains of my broken mug. And once he wasn't half-naked anymore, he looked like an almost decent person.

I texted back Arthur and waited for him to answer. After fifteen minutes had passed without getting a reply from him, I decided that he was probably sleeping. I made eggs and bacon because I was afraid they were going to go bad sitting in the fridge. Tony ate with me and told me about how life was at the club. All in all, it seemed like if you had a tolerance for spoiled, rich people, you were going to do great. Luckily, I had that and more.

"Sorry for getting pissed drunk last night," Tony said after a while.

"Aren't you going to ask me not to tell Arthur?"

"You want to tell him?"

"No. Not really," I said. "I think he has enough on his plate as it is."

He smiled. "Oh, is that so?"

I shrugged. "He told me things."

I sipped from my coffee while looking at Tony. His green eyes were amused, matching the smirk on his face. He probably thought this whole thing was hilarious.

"You don't know what's going on."

"Why don't you tell me then?"

He shook his head. "Nah, he'll tell you himself if he wants to. Or who knows, maybe I'll get drunk and tell you everything… Anyway, I gotta go. I'll see you at work."

"Alright."

It was eight in the evening, and the sun was down. Arthur hadn't texted me yet, and I was getting anxious. What if he knew about Tony's mishaps? What if he thought I was involved? By eight-thirty, I was debating whether or not to text him again. I didn't want to seem desperate.

Even at work, I kept looking for him in the crowd. He wasn't hard to miss, with his hair and clothes and that walk that told the world he owned everything.

King wasn't there.

Tony was mixing drinks and flirting with every cute guy or girl. The other bartender, the one that had ignored me, was still doing it. He kept his back to me the whole time, and I had no idea what his issue was, and I wasn't about to go and find out. I wanted to get along with my coworkers, but I wasn't keen on being their friend, especially if they didn't want to.

Instead of focusing on my second coworker who was set on pretending I'm not there, or on Tony, who was flexing while mixing drinks, I turned my attention to my phone. No sign from Arthur.

"How about you put that phone away, lover boy, and mix a martini for a change," Tony said. I shoved my phone back in my pocket and looked at him. He was probably judging me.

"I'm just worried," I said. "What if he's in the hospital again."

"He's not," Tony said and smiled. "Just shake the martini, lover boy."

I sighed and took the cocktail mixer from him. It was going to be a long night, but the tips were going to be amazing. At least I had that to look forward to.

During the night, a man almost broke his neck, trying to slide over a table like he was Jackie Chan or something. A girl threw up painfully close to me, and another one slapped a guy so hard across the face that I'm sure it was heard through the loud music. It was a typical night.

And so was the next one. And the next one.

Three weeks later, I got a text from Arthur. It was short, straight to the point.

"Come to Paris. Tell Tony not to drive drunk. I'll know. Arthur K."

Who needs explanations anyway? 

That asshole… I couldn't believe he expected me to just drop everything and fly to France like it was nothing.

When I got home, I found the plane tickets in my mailbox. Tony was waiting right next to my door with two suitcases next to him.

"I told you," he said. "You know nothing."