To a place with many beginnings and endings, the local strip club.

I grinned widely, having a very good fucking idea what I wanted to do with this power.

“There’s a place just outside of my hometown,” I said, recalling the many frustrating hours spent there, “Called ‘Santuario Uomo.’ It’s a – men’s place.”

“Ah, yes, I see,” the Voice chuckled. “Are you ready?”

“Go –” I blinked, a bright light flashed around me blinding my eyes.

“– Ahead,” I finished, my legs wobbling, my ears suddenly assaulted by the nearby highway traffic, birds and insects from the surrounding fields. I shook my head and looked up, smiling at the sign on the whitewashed wall. The Voice put me right what I wanted. Even better, glancing at my watch, It had put me back at the time I had ‘died’ and not back at the place of said event. I looked about, noting the lack of vehicles in the gravel lot and the electrified LED open sign to the right of the door. The county had some pretty heavy rules for the adult entertainment industry. I shrugged, the owner and his employees parked around back behind a chain link fence topped with razor wire. A few years ago, shortly before I became a regular, a few customers had gotten ‘handsy’ with some of the girls after their shift. Now they all came and left together, the bouncers watching the gate. I grinned. It was a good place, making money hand over fist, receiving highway traffic from the exit a couple miles down the road – mainly small rigs rated for the street – and a lot of men from across the county border.

I pushed open the door, stepping inside. The club was brightly lit, the bartender and servers cleaning the tables and floor, some 80’s pop song tweeting over the speakers – it’s what the owner liked before the customers started walking in, usually around four for the guys getting off early in the afternoon. The employees usually walked in around noon. Being a consistently single guy with no life outside of the club and work, I’d come in as soon as they opened on my days off – a rare occurrence thanks to the overtime at the factory, dividing my time between the floor and the office working as a laborer and a clerk – and jaw with the guys and girls while waiting for the shows.

“Hey, Doe,” the bartender greeted me, looking up from wiping down the counter. “Not working today?”

“Nope,” I flashed him a happy-go-lucky grin. “Life’s on the up and up for me. Hey, is Balistrieri –” the owner “– back in his office, Peterman? I want to talk to him.”

“Oh?” the middle-aged, balding man arched an eyebrow. “Got a scam going? Going to trick the old man?”

“Nah,” I shook my head. “I just want to talk to him.”

“Knock on the door,” Peterman suggested.

“Thanks.” I walked the length of the bar to the door at the far end. Balistrieri’s office ran the rest of the length of the exterior wall , having two one-way mirrors – one to look out onto the floor, the second to watch the VIP room. The old man always kept an eye out to make sure none of the customers crossed the line. Three bouncers watched the floor on average, more as the crowd grew larger, mostly late on the weekends when college students came in looking to get drunk and try for a touch. The colleges within a two to three hour drive had a low girl to guy ratio so apparently the dating scenes were pretty thin.

I rapped my knuckles on the heavy door.

“Who is it?” I heard the old man’s voice bark on the other side. “Peterman, if it ain’t the driver from the distributor with the receipts, I’m busy.”

“I’m John Doe, Mr. Balistrieri,” I called out to him. “I wish you’d let me talk to you in your office.”

“”Doe, huh? Fine, fine. Come on in.” Wiping the smile off my face, trying to look serious, I pushed open the door and walked inside, enjoying the crush of the shag carpet beneath my boots. The old man sat behind his desk, looking over a series of receipts and a ledger through thick glasses.

“So what is Doe?” he asked without looking up. “Trying for a job again? I told you before there’s no way in hell, not with how I’ve seen you look at the girls.”

“I remember,” I nodded, sitting down across from him in a chair I had fantasied of several times, interviewing **** girls looking to work at the club. “I – have an argument that could win you over.”

“Oh?” Mr. Balistrieri arched a thick, heavy eyebrow, glancing at me. “This ought to be good, but what’s going to make me listen?”

“I wish you will listen to me,” I said, the corners of my mouth tugging up slightly. Both his eyebrows rose and the old man sat up, blinking at me. “I wish you’d make me a partner – a silent partner – drawing a small share of the profits, five percent sounds reasonable, nothing to twist you over, and set me up as an employee, I was thinking I could be your assistant, help with the books, interview a girl or two – you know, learn how you run this place.”

“I – guess that’d be okay.” The old man blinked slowly. “Sure, why not? Fuck, I don’t have too many years left – my liver’s taken quite a beating over my life – though you ain’t exactly family.” Supposedly, according the stores I’d heard about town, Balistrieri was related, back a generation or two, to some real families that had made names for themselves in the history books. A little hard to believe, our town being a bit podunk until the highway went through. I didn’t think any of them had ever been out this far from the big cities, but then – people do move around in this country from time to time.

“Just,” the old man continued, “Just promise me you won’t run her into the ground, hear? She’s been good to me and my old man. And don’t piss off the cops or the girls.”

“I’ll be nice to both,” I promised, my eyes twinkling at the prospects before me.

“And no hanky-panky with the girls, either,” Balistrieri pointed a thick finger at me. “Unless they want to. Do not **** them. Ever. That’ll bring down the cops hotter than Hades.”

“Understood,” I nodded. The old man frowned at me, his brow furrowed.

“Only five percent?” he asked.
“I’ll still work at the factory,” I said. I had some plans for – some of the people there. An asshole or two, a few of the women who interested me. “I don’t know how close to the line the club is, but I don’t want to run it into the red, trust me.”

“Think you’d change things down the road?” Balistrieri asked after an understanding grunt.

“Doubtful,” I shrugged. “I like her as she is. I’ve spent nearly all my free hours here since starting at the factory.”

“I’ll still keep an eye on you,” the old man’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Fully expected, sir. You run a tight ship.”

“Heh. Day off?”

“Yeah.” That reminded me. Could my car still be out towards the lake and my – accident? The one day I didn’t go to the club just to try something new, something else – Yeah, I knew I spent way too much time here watching the girls, my zipper scraping my cock, small as it used to be, way too often. – Perhaps the Voice was kind enough to move it back to the lot for my apartment. Hell, my watch worked after that dip in the lake. Damn, I was stupid to go out there with a life jacket. Live and learn. Heh. That really applied to me.

“Anything else today then?” Balistrieri asked.

“Not at the moment,” I said, standing. “I have some things to take care off.” My car for starters, the small canoe and all my fishing tackle to clean up. Maybe look into some of my old friends. “I might be back later tonight, but I can’t make any promises.”

“Gotcha, enjoy your free time.”

“Thanks.” I walked to the door, twisting the knob and pushing it open.

“Do good kid and I may even let you close the club at night. These long days are killer for an old man like me,” I heard behind me. I grinned. I hadn’t even thought of how much I could make it better for him. I had been thinking of this power for my own selfish purposes. I could try to improve things for other people, too. And why not? Spread the wealth around. Balance the karma. However people described it.

“How’d it go, Doe?” Peterman asked, washing glasses behind the bar.

“It went well,” I smiled, walking towards the door to the gravel parking lot, one the bouncers, Joe Greene, the ebon-skinned 6’6” two-fifty pound muscled ex-marine standing nearby to check IDs.

“Going to spill?”

“Nah,” I smirked. “I’ll leave that up to Mr. Balistrieri. Take care now.”

“You, too.”

With a wave, I pushed open the door, stepping back into the sunshine.