Club Ember.
Most of the night is gone. Two hours before 'last call', when the girls and waitresses will disappear to carouse the after-hours clubs, and whatever other mischief they are wont to do. Getting paid in cash does tend to lead to mischief. Martha's learned it's become a weekly, if not daily, routine to discover one of the girls has quit, found legal trouble, or worse -- illegal trouble.
Tonight, no one's in trouble. Fortunate, since it's Velma's night off. For a moment, it was shaping up to be a good night. An attractive couple had appeared, dressed as if they'd stepped out of Casino Royale. Or perhaps the opera -- she was wearing evening gloves. Who does that anymore? Chiffon ruffles exploded into long, sleek legs which ended in Louboutins. Then they were gone, disappearing into the mysteries of the Strip Club VIP Room with one of the more attractive dancers.
Which means they had money, because she's a gold digger.
What is going on up there? Surely it would be fine, and appropriate to check.
There's No Sex In The Champagne Room.
But there's legs.
Thelegs and shoescustomers needed to be checked upon. Made sure they were enjoying themselves!
They are.
Ginger, or Daphne, or whatever the dancer is calling herself this week, is working it. She's straddling the man. There's soft laughter and roaming hands. The woman sits next to them, to the side. She's laughing, and holding up her phone. Maybe taking some incriminating or exciting photos!
The man whispers. Jezebel nods. He pulls something out of his pocket, and sprays it. A fine mist clouds Mercedes' face. The phone flashes.
When it does, it almost brings Martha to her knee. Nails on chalk, magnified. A high pitched staccato compressed into a half second explodes outward from the phone, loud enough to make her wonder how every glass in the building hasn't shattered. It's certain to have deafened the trio!
Ginger, or Daphne, or whatever the dancer is calling herself this week, is working it. She's straddling the man. There's soft laughter and roaming hands. The woman sits next to them, to the side. She's laughing, and holding up her phone.
Nothing is amiss.
No one heard it.
Maybe it was Martha's imagination.
Maybe it was her Heightened Senses.