Rockiversary

Plush

"And I feel that time's a wasted go
So where ya going to tomorrow?
And I see that these are lies to come 
Would you even care?"

Plush - Stone Temple Pilots

Written by: umagangkaykilig

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The dim pink and purple party lights circled the walls of the nightclub, barely outlining Richard's hooded face. He tried to act calm and quietly make his way toward a table near the exit, but a waitress—a thin woman in her 50s in a red tube top, tight mini-skirt, burgundy lipstick and curled hair—wasted no time and snaked her arm around him, startling him, even before he got to take a seat. She almost pinned him to the old monoblock chair as she handed him the menu and winked lopsidedly.

Richard felt his spine tingle, but more because he was creeped out than mesmerized.

"Pogi. Bago ka dito 'no?"

Richard nodded. The swift light movements contrasted the almost-empty bar. Aside from him, only a group of three men, also in their 50s, on the front table were the only other customers. They had bloodshot eyes and seemed to be there for a while, already showing signs intoxication at eight PM. He made a mental note to observe them through the night. Was he too early?

"Bakit nag-iisa ka?" the waitress inquired.

"Ah, saglit lang po ako. Subukan ko lang po." He tried not to sound like a nightclub newbie. His college friends had already brought him but to high-end clubs about twice, but he was often labeled the wimpy one. He hardly knew how to pick up the girls, and tonight, he was trying to recall how his friends did it. He needed to.

"Magaganda ang nandito. Mga bata pa." Looking at her, he was hardly convinced, and almost wondered why this place was identified as a hotspot, but the word "bata" rang the alarm. He planted himself to his seat, his mind already plotting the next steps of tomorrow's operation.

The bar was starting to be filled with men, mostly in business casual suits, ages ranging from as early as 20s to 60s. "Malapit na'ng mag-umpisa."

He was thankful he didn't need to ask so much questions—the waitress was giving information away. Again, he pretended to be casual, but he was sweating coldly. He didn't know which he should brace himself for.

He hated the taste of beer, but there was nothing else available. "Isang bote lang po muna."

"Pulutan?"

"Mamaya na po."

The waitress took the menu from his hand and walked briskly to the bar, coming back a few seconds later with a bottle of cold beer and a glass cup with ice.

The men inside the bar were already rowdy and impatient, hitting on the waitresses, while yelling to start the show. A few minutes later, the sound of saxophone echoed through the concrete walls of the bar. Two ladies, each wearing a black skimpy two-piece costume and harem mask, shimmied their way to either side of the stage, gyrating to the music. For every hip movement, the male crowd would alternately whistle and chant.

A man in one of the front tables stood from his seat and rocked his pelvis in front of one of the girls, to the laughter of his friends. He took a strip of cloth that was overlaid on her leg and sniffed it. The girl showed a bit of shock as she suddenly stepped back and hung on to the remaining cover-ups that would go off later on.

Richard felt his ears turn red in anger. He stopped himself from standing up and giving the man a hard blow on the groin. Had he brought his pistol, he would hardly be able to control himself. He mentally calculated his possible salary deduction and thought if it was worth foregoing the Chief's go signal. Heck, they can conduct the raid this very moment.

Moments later, a lady in a short gauzy yellow dress slowly catwalked to the center of the stage. She had her long curled hair down, bouncing with every step she made.

Richard took a deep breath and tried to observe the lady. He couldn't see her face under the harem mask. Judging from her skin, she was in her early 20s. She was lean, yet had defined arms and legs, probably from her usual dancing stints. She had wide heavily-lined deep-set eyes, akin to Middle Eastern features.

She started her number with the circling of her hips. All eyes were on her as she gradually bared her soul one fabric at a time. Her waist ebbs and flows sideways in even waves. He had to shift to sit upright when she grinded.

Her eyes met his gaze, and for a moment, he saw pleading and despair. In them, he was instantly arrested. Her skin gleamed in the spotlight. She was a diamond in mud. She is too precious to belong here, he thought.

Richard couldn't bear the thought of different hands all over her. He couldn't wait for the next day. He had to do something today.