Bright hot pink and fuchsia lights flashed throughout the club while loud, bass-boosted pop music blasted out of speakers in every corner. A speaker at the end of the main stage pulsed so hard with the beat that it rattled. A young, new platinum blonde girl with puffy fake lips was performing on that stage tonight, and presently she had her butt cheeks clenched suggestively around the center stage dance pole. She flung her hair forward over her shoulders and it cascaded down over her bare breasts as she arched her back and reached back above her head to grab the pole with her hands. As the saying goes, she could really ‘get it’. There was a small group of leering men with wads of bills in their sweaty grips seated in front of the stage making drunken remarks and requests at her. This was typical. She bit her lip in that come hither sort of way, and they started raining down their money on her.

More Buck For Your Bang was Japantown, Nebraska’s premier strip club, hosting strippers and dancers of both sexes, a full bar, a dance floor, and even a private hot tub for those willing to pay a little extra. Only women were performing on this particular night, and the mainly male audience had already filled up on booze and left the bar with their half-empty cups to enjoy the show across the floor.

Breanna slid her hand down the bar counter, her long pink-painted fingernails audibly dragging against the resin-coated mahogany. She was covered up in an oversized white windbreaker with leopard print fur trim on the hood, on top of her ‘work clothes’, which were a few strands of flimsy tinsely gold cloth barely clinging to her skin. Covering up was necessary once she was off the clock; people had to pay if they wanted to see what was underneath her jacket.

And she was indeed off the clock. Another night making absolute bank off of lonely men was over and done. The platinum girl would humor the guests for the remainder of the night. Now Breanna had to get home to make dinner for her young son. “I’mma head out,” she said in a soft, playful tone to the scrawny white barkeep, who also happened to be the owner of the establishment.

“Stay safe, Honeybunch,” he replied with a cough, “or shall I say, Breanna, now that you’re off?”

Breanna paused, pursed her lips and gave him a look of concern. He looked pale, paler than the average white guy should. And the pink neon lighting that filled the club only enhanced his clammy complexion. The bar backdrop of crystal glass shelves lined with dark gold and blue liquor bottles against a mirror wall didn’t do him any favors, either. His sickly presence stuck out like a sore, white thumb.

After a five-second purely visual examination, Breanna uttered to him some words of wisdom: “you should get that checked. ‘Makin’ me wanna get my semi-annual STD screen sooner than I planned.”

The owner cleared his throat and replied again in his very strong Australian accent, “I’ve survived enough disease in my life as a gentleman of the evening to live through a little cough.” He smiled coyly at her, then grabbed a teal colored washcloth and started to wipe out the inside of the nearest beer stein. Hopefully his hands were clean...

Breanna huffed and rolled her eyes at her boss’s flippancy towards his health. He was only in his twenties, but he was going to die young with that sort of attitude. Yeah, he paid her very well, and yeah, she made a lot from ‘tips’, but if her boss kicked the bucket from all the germs he had acquired throughout the years, she would miss all the sex…

Oh well, she thought, this was a no-brainer. Another man would show up; they always did. And what her boss did with his life was up to him, and if he didn’t want to take her advice that was his problem. She could only pay him so much mind. Besides, she could survive on her OnlyFans income.

With a light tug on her jacket collar, she pulled her hood around her neck and shoulders and took her leave through the club’s heavy wooden double entrance doors.

The crisp, chill summer night air was a refreshing change from the hot, sweaty strip club, and it felt good flowing through her long curly voluptuous mane of hair. She ran her fingers through her curls and shook her head, causing her large silver hoop earrings to jingle faintly.

Two large burly bouncers who could’ve passed as sumo wrestlers stood on either side of the entrance outside, each nodding to her as she walked past, her sky high stiletto heels clopping on the pavement.

After passing the waxy broad-leaved foliage and Hakone grass in cement planters on either side of club’s opening walkway, Breanna reached the edge of the sidewalk. There was a taxi drop-off and pick-up zone directly in front of her, with the associated words painted in white on the street in English and kanji. Fortunately for her, the entire street was well-lit, and the strip club didn’t even have a parking lot for weirdos to lurk in. Most people visiting the club parked down the street under a train overpass out of shame anyway, or just took a taxi. Even if some sicko decided, in a moment of stupidity, to come creeping around, those two club bouncers would handle it. Japantown was just like that: built and primarily run by smart people who kept it highly functional and safe. The crime rate was basically zero.

Breanna pulled the bottom of her jacket down so that her ass was less exposed, then grabbed her phone from her pocket to dial up a taxi home from work, as she usually did. She tapped the screen twice to unlock it. The stray sounds of vague traffic noises in the night whisked all around her.

She had a message.

I have your son. Wire me 10,000 or he dies.

Her phone hit the ground with an ugly clack.

* * * * *

There once was a diviner, The Magician, who read his townspeople their fortunes through tarot cards. The deck he used was of his own creation, handmade and hand-drawn, and each of the major arcana cards depicted local folk in their specialized roles. The town madam was The Empress, the witty and charming barkeep was The Devil, and so on…

In that town, there also lived a beautiful young seamstress who The Magician deeply adored. She had sewn many gowns and elaborate coats for the townsfolk, including The Magician’s gold practicing robes. She was The Star. His Star.

Alongside her talent with a needle and thread, The Star had a voice like an angel. She and the town’s shepherdess, Strength, would sing in the town tavern after the day’s work was over, while the mandolin-playing Fool accompanied them, blessing the drunken patrons with joyful song.

One fateful night at the tavern, while he had his cards out on the table to predict a drunken client’s future love life, The Magician overheard The Star fraternizing, whispering with The Fool at the bar. They were laughing and joking with one another, like lovers! And though The Magician had taken no stance to court The Star, he became riddled with jealousy. How could she choose a Fool over a great and powerful diviner such as himself?! The cards had never told him things would turn out this way! This betrayal was so sudden, so shocking! The Star had never shown any sign that she had feelings for that imbecile! She was being unreasonable!

The Magician waved off his client, not that the drunk had any remaining interest in the cards. The man clearly needed to go home to sleep off the booze.

When the man had finally stumbled away, The Magician cast a scowl that could curdle milk at the lovers. They were getting down from their stools and leaving the bar through a curtained doorway leading into the attached tavern inn. Nothing good could happen in there...

The tavern slowly emptied over the next few hours, and jealousy bubbled inside The Magician, fermenting and souring, turning quickly to bloodlust. He shuffled his deck and laid out three cards.

The Star. The Fool. Death.

He felt as though he had no choice.

The Magician stabbed The Star and her apparent lover as they slept in the inn. No soul would ever get the opportunity to hear The Star's voice, as silky as her robes, or The Fool’s accursed mandolin strings ever again. Because if he couldn’t have his Star, nobody could.

When he was sure the two would never wake again, The Magician fled the scene of his crime. Out of the inn and past the tavern’s last occupants of the night, the shepherdess Strength, and the barkeep The Devil, who were none the wiser.

In a hurried daze, The Magician concealed himself inside his caravan. The cards would surely tell him what he had to do next, wouldn’t they? The forces from beyond owed him as much for failing him the last time! Surely they were brewing up an escape plan!

But provide him with help, the cards did not. All duds; nothing but useless wands and pentacles.

Soon enough, word of the murder of the beloved Star and her perceived beau began to travel. As any information about two staples in local merrymaking would… It wasn’t long until the news reached the ears of the town constable and his guard. And The Magician knew his time was running out.

The Magician, of course, was the prime suspect of the murder, as his fancy towards The Star was known by every soul in town...perhaps, excepting The Star herself… She had never given him the time of day, not without pay at least; she was always quite busy giving that time to the shepherdess…

Ultimately, The Magician’s motives could easily be made clear as crystal by one look at his tarot deck. He was plucked and dragged from his caravan to a dark holding cell.

When he was sentenced, his jury of peers consisted of the faces on his major arcana cards. The World, The Empress, The Hermit, Strength, The Devil…and the majority voted him guilty. The Magician was to be hanged.

With his final breath, he cast a foul curse on the five peers, swearing his revenge upon their descendants.

"A CURSE ON YOUR CHILDREN!"

* * * * *

Henry awoke in a sweat. What the hell was that dream? And why did The Star look so much like the pretty girl who had rebuffed his affections years ago? And she could sew and sing, just like her...

A fire stirred in his heart. He was going to find her again and make her his, even if he had to get through a Fool to reclaim her.

* * * * *