The Fighter's Club: Survival of The Fittest

Chapter 11 ◆◆ The Need To Know

Chapter 11- The Need To Know

"Forgiveness has nothing to do with absolving a criminal of his crime. It has everything to do with relieving oneself of the burden of being a victim--letting go of the pain and transforming oneself from victim to survivor."― C.R. Strahan

Chance

The strobe lights danced happily coloring the entire bottom floor of the building different pigments of purple, pink and blues. The sounds of Drake's 10 bands echoed loudly throughout the scene blasting through the speakers surrounded by the stage and the overhead intercom. The bar was nearly empty with the exception of two men that looked to be drowning their sorrows in dark liquor that would probably cause more problems than help make any of them better.

Broad daylight in the city but inside of any strip club it was always midnight somewhere. Money was the motive and it would always flow easily through any business where a man's fantasy could be met. It didn't matter whether or not if that fantasy robbed a man blind or caused him to lose his girl at home.

The idea of fantasy becoming reality.. having the girl of their dreams do tricks that their women at home could never fueled men to think recklessly. It fueled a billion dollar industry where the women were the only commodity needed however the money to be made depended on her to leave her self-respect at home according to society or be crushed by the weight of it.

Stripping was a dangerous hustle but a profitable one if done correctly just like any other hustle. The difference between my game and theirs was the different sides of the law we stood among. A women could take her clothes off and hypnotize a man enough to sell his house, divorce his wife, and quit his job all for a simple quick peek at the p*ssy. And that female would never have to worry about the feds kicking down her door.

But if some white got a nigga to do the same his dealer was looking at hard time over the case of someone not having enough willpower to leave the sh*t alone in the first place. Cocaine was deadly as drug and everyone knew it but it didn't stop them from snorting it up their noses like it was oxygen instead of a narcotic.

I didn't feel it the least bit guilty about pushing weight into the streets because God gave us all willpower and the freedom to do whatever we wanted. Unless I forced a coke head to snoot up with a gun to their head, my conscious was clear. If someone decided snorting a line or two on their own time was what they wanted and needed to do that wasn't my business. My business started and ended at supplying the product and collecting the money owed for it.

I was a business man; none of my hustle was personal. It was simply supply and demand just like all the other branches of the business world operated on. My hustle was no different than Jordan releasing the same shoes over and over, Apple releasing the phone over again in a different color and slapping a new number on it, or even a stripper doing what she had to do.

Nonetheless money was always the motive and everyone would do whatever they had to so their pockets weren't empty or mouths unfed. However instead of debt being issued in my line of business you either paid with cash or blood and no amount of time or credit fixing could find anyone a middle ground.

"Damn ma kinda bad" Dre exclaimed drawing my attention away from the animosity I had boiling inside of me from waiting for this meetings to start.

A bright spotlight shone on the center of the stage illuminating the dark backdrop and reflecting glares off of the mirroring stripper poles. Just as the beat dropped a brown skinned female appeared from behind the stage. Dressed in white lace panty and bra set, her attire left basically nothing to the imagination.