Ask him if he knows of a job opening

There is something intimidating about the strange vibe of ReXXX's and it's only made worse by the perverse stare of the fat old greaseball behind the counter. Despite your misgivings, you swallow your fears and approach him.

"Yeah," you say, "I was wondering...do you know if there are any interesting jobs available?"

You stress the word interesting.

"Interesting?" He stresses it too.

"Yeah," you flick your gaze around the aisles of pornos and dildos. "Interesting."

A crooked-toothed smile spreads across the man's nicotine-stained lips.

"Oh," he looks you up and down and wets his lips again, "I think I know of several jobs you might be perfect for. Why don't you step into my office and we can discuss this."

"Okay," you reply hesitantly.

"Let me just get someone to cover the counter for me," he opens a door behind his stool and leans his head in. "Ma! Up front."

After several seconds a short fat woman in her 70s, almost round, with a bushy haircut and thick glasses, comes ambling out.

"What is it, Larry? I was just-," she spots you and her look of annoyance turns to disgust. "Oh, well, clean up your mess when you're done. I just mopped the office."

You fight down your revulsion and follow Larry into the back room as his mom settles into his former perch on the stool.

"Right in here," Larry says, holding the door open.

The office is lit by flickering flourescent lights and consists of a small green vinyl waiting room couch, an ancient metal office desk, a few filing cabinets, a swivel chair, and a stack of TV monitors linked to various security cameras. Larry plops down in the swivel chair and gestures to the green couch.

"So...something interesting?" He asks, stroking his greasy goatee.

You nod.

"There's degrees of that. Let me tell you."

He opens a desk drawer and pulls out an old paper rolodex.

"What I got is, a certain club out by the airport is looking for a special girl, a dancer," he looks up from the cards at you. "If you get my drift about what sort of dancing we're talking about."

"Yeah," you reply.

"Okay, there is a massage parlor downtown. Pays very well. It's a very particular sort of massage parlor. Again, I assume you know what we're talking about here."

You nod.

"Then, I've got a business opportunity here. It involves the booths in the back and a steady stream of income. Sort of some contract work. You and me, we split it 50/50. I'll leave it to you to figure out what exactly sort of business is being described here in this case."

"Okay, I think I've got it," you reply, remembering rumors about something called a 'gloryhole' in places like this.

"Hmmm, the best I got, probably this outfit I know. Works downtown out of one of the nicer hotels. Folks call in, ask for a specific type of person, that person goes out and spends some time with them. very profitable, if you get my drift."

"I understand," you say.

"Good," he closes the rolodex, "but there is one other thing you need to understand. To get hooked up with any of these outfits or endeavors you need an introduction so to speak. And to get that you need me. And the only way I would do a huge favor like that for someone is if they, in return to my favor, would do me a favor. You following me?"

"I-I think so," you reply, starting to feel a bit ill.

"And let us just speculate that whatever favor is offered to me, should match exactly with the sort of jobs being examined in this instance. Are we clear?"

You nod.

"So what remains to be seen here," he stops mid-sentence to slam the door closed, "is what favor will you be doing for me?"

He settles back into the swivel chair, his hands resting on his fat belly and his rat eyes regarding you with unconcealed lust.