Part 5: Disco Party

The San Francisco knight removes his helmet, surveying a parking lot as packed as a can of sardines.
J: How come they never pack bags of chips this full? Damn!
Finding a safe spot for his beloved motorcycle amidst rows of luxury cars is no easy feat.
He maneuvers his bike, careful not to scratch his steel steed.
???: You there! Move your bike! You can't park here! Got it?!
The voice is familiar. J looks in the direction of the shout.
J: Alright, you find me a spot to park, buddy.
Disco Kid: Huh? Who do you think you are? Oh!
J: Yo, Taff! You're hustling here now? That shirt's slick as anythin'. Where'd you cop that?
Disco Kid: J ... ? No freakin' way, J! Hahaha, you're not at the arcade now, pal! Man, are you a sight for sore eyes!
Disco Kid: I'll go let Antony know—
There is no trace of awareness in his words.
J: Oh-no-no-no, don't tip him off. I'm planning on giving him a surprise.
J: You know, a shoulder tap, a goofy grin, then a mouthful of a meat roll drenched in hot sauce!
J: Wait, was it last month, or the one before? Weren't you still at Coz's place? What's with the move?
Disco Kid: Antony hooked me up. It pays better here, pull in some other guys also came over from the street. We're all on his dime now. How are you guys holding up?
J: We're as tight as you are with your boy, Antony!
J: Make sure to drop by. There's always a spot for you at the diner, pal.
Disco Kid: Hahaha, alright, head on in—give the bartender my name, and they'll hook you up with the best seat!
Disco Kid: Leave the bike with me. I'll find a sweet spot for it!
J: Thanks! Later, bro! Say hi to your cousin for me, and remember, the door to Tang's Restaurant is always open for the both of ya!
It is a world he knows well, yet never let himself be lost in.
He prefers the hammering of metal over the thumping beat at the center of the dance floor.
Making his way through the crowd isn't much easier than navigating a motorcycle through rush-hour traffic.
Where cars scrape by bumper to bumper, here it is much the same.
Dance Hall Boy I: Hey, good-looking, wanna dance?
J: No, pal, sorry, I'm here looking for someone.
Dance Hall Boy I: Oh, you're taken. Fine, then—If you change your mind, I'll be at the bar.
Dance Hall Boy I: If you're looking for a dance, hot stuff, I'm here—anytime.
He shakes off the flirtation, searching through the crowd under the pulsating neon lights, before at last catching sight of his target.
J: Fancy seeing you here.
Rolling up his sleeves, he sidesteps across the dance floor, pushing past dancers, closing in on the traitor ...
J: An—!
His voice cuts off abruptly.
Seeing the traitor joined by his henchmen, the outnumbered hero makes the smart move.
Antony: You hear someone calling me just now?
Henchman: Can't hear a thing 'sides this music.
Antony: Never mind. Everything locked down? Don't let 'em bolt. Keep 'em in check.
Henchman: We don't screw up, not like you, mutt.
Antony: Keep yapping at me like that, and I'll have the boss cut out your goddamn tongue.
Henchman: Chill with the threats, Antony.
Antony: Alright, alright, man, come grab a drink at my table, on the house. We've all earned it today.
The rat turns, walking himself and his goons straight toward J.
As he's about to slip into the dancing crowd, someone tugs at his arm.
"Singer Girl": Here, come on inside.
Antony: Hey! Gabby, don't just drag people into the lounge, at least not where everyone can see! Think about the club's image next time!
The girls' lounge is decorated simply and casually. It is nearly run-down. The dingy somewhat creepy room holds nothing more than a few ratty sofas covered with blankets.
The kind of place where would-be starlets would go once their Hollywood dreams had shriveled on the vine.
"Singer Girl": You're hiding from him.
J: Nah, I'm hunting him. Just need to wait for him to ditch his backup.
"Singer Girl": Ah, worse, you're looking for trouble.
A cloying sweetness spreads in the dim light. Two other girls are wrapped up tight, sleeping in blankets on the sofas, awaiting tonight's performance.
Awaiting a patron willing to lavish fortunes on their show.
J: What you got in that cup? Tequila?
"Singer Girl": Could be, dunno. You thirsty? Knock yourself out.
Just a swig. *glug*
J: Ah! That stench is rough.
"Singer Girl": Antony's been hanging around here for days. Didn't he tell you?
J: Nah, he said he was with some relative from LA, then disappeared. Suddenly calls about some business for me to take care of.
J: I thought I was making some quick cash selling a blade. Turns out the rat had set me up.
"Singer Girl": Really? Sounds intense.
She responds nonchalantly while powdering her nose.
"Singer Girl": Well, whatever you are planning, you'll find him by the third pillar to the left of the stage. He always hogs those sofas.
J: You're a lifesaver, Gabby.
"Singer Girl": Just returning the favor for when you saved me and my sisters at the docks, J.
J sets down his glass, stepping out the door.
"Singer Girl": I'm on stage soon, J—clap for me, will ya?
Just as Gabby had directed him, by the third white pillar, Antony was sprawled out over one of the leather sofas, and better than that, he was alone.
J: Sir, your Margarita.
Antony: I didn't order a drink, idiot.
J: This one came courtesy of an old friend, J from Haight Street, sound familiar?
Antony: J?
J takes a seat next to the traitor, casually draping his arm over Antony's scrawny shoulders.
J: Hey pal, so where did your big buddies go?
Antony: J ... J!
Antony: Oh s**t! The hell you doing here? Secu—
The word is cut short.
The sensation of sharp metal pressing against his skin turns his shout into a silent gasp.
J: That's right, Antony! Surprise!
J: If I don't make it out of this club tonight, I swear you won't either, old friend.
A little pain, just enough, makes any threat more persuasive.
He twists the blades edge up, causing it to dig ever so slightly into his skin, not enough to bleed, but enough that fear wells up in Antony's eyes, and catches his tongue.
J: Come on now, pal. I thought you'd be thrilled to see me. Is this how you treat a guest?
Antony: Welcome, welcome! Absolutely, welcome! Heh-heh ... heh-heh ...
The traitor forces a smile, stiff and fearful.
Antony: Every visitor is a guest, and every guest ...
He doesn't seem to have anywhere to go with that phrase, panic drips from every word.
J: Let's shoot the breeze, pal. Been what—two days, since we saw each other? I bet you've been grinding your teeth.
J: But here you are, living it up on Grant Avenue. What brought you here?
The answer is clear—music, liquor, the flurry of green bills, and the attractive, youthful figures twisting under dance hall lights.
J: For all this?
J: Dough, mansions, and dames ... The big shot life you've been chasin'?
J: Should've never dragged you back to the diner. How did we end up getting stuck with a lowlife like you.
Antony: Lowlife? I'm looking to climb high, J, not like you and your bottom-feeders living hand-to-mouth.
J: Oh yeah, climbing high ... climbing up on those knives you've put in our backs.
J: But let's not get into that now. Just tell me, who's causing all the trouble on Haight Street?
Antony: Agent R, that's what we call him. He speaks for the big bosses around here.
Antony: That jerk's got his fingers in everyone's business in this town, as for Haight Street. All he wants is the complex, but he's happy to get rid of anyone else that he thinks might "dirty up San Francisco."
J: Jerk, huh, definitely a jerk—just like you, old pal.
J: And you're working for a jerk like that?
He delivers a short punch to Antony's ribs for his friends locked up.
But it has nowhere near the satisfaction it deserves. He still has to keep it light—can't make a scene.
J pats his old friend's shoulder, as a boy comes up to the sofa, forcing a break at the moment.
Dance Hall Boy II: Hey Antony, you're here again tonight!
J: Huh? When did you get so popular?
He flashes a phony smile to his old friend. The message is clear.
Antony: Can't you see I've got a guest? Scram.
The line is delivered under duress, but between the music and revelry, the boy takes no notice. He lets the two "old friends" reminisce.
Dance Hall Boy II: Fine! Whatever, don't let me cramp your style!
J: How much did they shell out to Blackhand?
Antony: Blackhand? We didn't pay that guy anything.
The girls from the lounge appear on the dance floor's center, spotlights drawing attention to their fiery figures. All eyes follow.
Except for two pairs, now locked together.
Antony: I think you ought to give this whole entertainment complex thing a second thought, J. It's kinda cool. It'd let everyone in Haight Street get a taste of the Cali high life.
J: Everyone except all the people you're muscling out, or did you forget all about them, ya rat?
Antony: J, I'm only telling you this because of our history.
Antony: The boss here is dealing for some bigwig behind the scenes.
J: Oh yeah? Tell me something I didn't already know, like maybe where I can find these bastards.
Antony: Silver Gate Hotel on Grant Avenue, the big do tomorrow night, heard the councilman's cronies will all be there. We're set to roll out the red carpet, tonight's our casting call, for the girls.
He feels nothing but disgust at the traitor's words.
Antony: The contracts and the ledgers are upstairs. I've seen 'em, in the office on the second floor. Just don't rat me out.
Antony: With the scoop I've given you, boss ...
Antony: Think there still might be a spot for me at the diner?
J: A spot? Yeah, maybe, but you won't see it without taking a few licks.
He delivers another short punch. This one hard and direct to his ribs.
Antony: Ouch!!!
J: You'll have to wait on the next one, till we meet again.
J: Just remember, you earned it. Every bit of what's coming to you.
J: Just 'cause you always needed to snatch a little more. You never knew when to stop, did ya?
He sheathes his blade, stands up, and quietly disappears into the chaotic crowd of dancers.
Antony: Security! Security! Security!
The traitor calls out to his slumbering guard dogs, but in the throes of the music and dancing, his shout is like a ripple against a stormy sea.
J slips out unnoticed into the San Francisco night.