Seven Days Under

Benji had doubts, but he always had doubts. They held him back, poisonous arms stemming from his insecurity and self-hate. Not this time, though. He was going through with this. Holiday was depending on him. Money needed a talking to.

The club was exactly as she described. Loud and bright, attracting players and partiers from every corner of the city. The line to get in was long, but the security seemed lax. Benji took a deep breath as he stepped into the neon lights. The dance floor was on fire with partiers. The music tied them into a single body of rhythm. The VIP room overlooked the dance floor. Money was up there somewhere.

“Can I help you, sir?” a Security inquired after Benji knocked on the VIP door. There was only him, a big guy in a black shirt with SECURITY in white across his big chest, standing in the threshold. Benji couldn’t see behind him.

Benji’s throat clenched up. He cleared it first. “Yeah, I need to talk to Money.”

“Are you a friend of his?”

“Yes. Sort of. I’m a friend of a friend.”

The Security looked bored. “Well, I’m afraid Money’s busy at the moment. If it’s important I can give a message for you.”

Benji felt hot. “It is important, but I’d really rather tell him myself. It’s personal.”

That interested the Security. “I can’t let you in here, man. So either let me tell him and leave, or don’t let me tell him and leave. It’s up to you.”

“Can’t you just call him to the door or something?”

The Security shook his head like he’s heard it a thousand times before. “Can’t do it. He don’t want to be bothered--”

From inside the room, cutting the Security off, “Who’s at the door, man?”

“Some dude says he’s a friend of a friend of Money.”

A different voice, “A friend of a friend of mine? What does he want?”

“Says he wants to talk to you. Says it’s personal.” He said “personal” like it was a wild card.

After a slight pause, “Send him in."