Free Coldhearted & Crazy by Michel Moore

first, let me check out your ID.” As Zack looked it over, he started questioning her on other club-related issues. He asked her just what made her want to dance and did she think she could do it. Kenya thought for a second and was going to try to say something sassy, but quickly changed her mind when she saw that he was trying to be sincere.
    â€œBills, just a lot of bills that I anticipate accumulating real soon. I don’t want to fall behind or be late on any payments. That would mess with my credit rating and I ain’t trying to do that.” Kenya had learned all about finances from Gran and the importance of a high score.
    Not expecting that answer in a million years from a female only seconds away from swinging naked on a pole, Zack was truly impressed with her response. Finally a girl with a little bit of common sense; well, not that much. She should be in somebody’s schoolhouse, he thought, but who was he to judge? He was here to make money and capitalize off of her beauty, not be a life-changing coach. Zack took his time before spoke. “You right, Kenya, good credit is a must in the white man’s world.” Even though he ran a strip joint, he still hated to see young girls go down the wrong path and get turned out or, worse than that, strung the fuck out on drugs. But, hey, the ID said eighteen and that made her grown, so she was just that—grown. She was fair game. If he could profit off of her beautiful ass, why not, he thought. “Well, it’s like this. You dance two songs when you go on stage, one fast and one slow. On the second song drop your top.” Zack watched for any signs of weakness or apprehension, but none showed. “The guys will try to cop a free feel when they slip the money in your G-string. So as long as they don’t get to outrageous with the shit, just try to be polite, make your money and move on. The fellas in the house know it’s amateur night, so we always got one fool who gets extra and tries to push his hand. Don’t worry about him; we got his ass covered. Be nice, but don’t give the whole deal away for free. Remember, what one won’t or can’t do the next will. So don’t listen to all that idle chitchat niggas wanna kick. Everything costs in this motherfucker, even conversation, so keep it moving!”
    â€œOkay. Do I get to keep all of my tips?” Kenya eagerly awaited his answer, hoping it was yes.
    â€œYeah, tonight you do, but if you do good and you like it, you can get on the schedule. Then it’s a house fee of fifty dollars a night, a fee for the DJ, and you should always tip Brother Rasul. He’s the head of security. My man doesn’t drink, curse, or mess around with any of the girls, which keeps him on top of thangs. He’s one hard-ass Muslim brother. I think that’s what makes him have such a low tolerance for men disrespecting our black queens, even if they choose to disrespect themselves up in here. That’s why most niggas don’t even try him. Shit, they’d be better off smacking Jesus off the cross than fucking with that guy. So, take care of him. Shiiit, even I tip Brother Ra! That being said you should be good to go.”
    Suddenly there was a knock at the door. “Enter!” Zack yelled out, looking over at the security camera while buzzing the door.
    Walking through the door as if she owned the place was a woman with a long blond and red streaked weave. It was untamed, reaching down to her ass, which was wide as hell, but she carried it well. She was at least forty or so in age, or so the wrinkles around her eyes revealed.
    â€œHey, baby. We got like eight girls in the dressing room for amateur night and the crowd is growing restless. So are you about ready to start the contest or what?” The older, fashionably dressed woman grinned while rubbing on Zack’s balding head with her long multicolored painted fingernails.
    â€œYeah, in about ten