Battle of Adult Entertainment - Salem Edition

[vile]

Early January 2012. A rough winter. Cold with wave after wave of snow and ice. A foot, nearly two, blanket Salem. Icy stalactites hang from the edges of buildings like beautiful swords of Damocles waiting to fall and impale an unsuspecting bystander. Beneath them are swaths of sheet ice. Formations due to the repeated freeze and thaw cycle. They spread out on rarely tread upon stretches of gnarled concrete.

Once upon a time this was a good part of Salem that flourished and knew prosperity. Quiet reminders remain today in the historic architecture. The edge of one building is curiously round which hints at a spiral staircase or an interesting layout. Stained glass, with some fading from age, would look pristine with some love. A great crack nearly divides one building in two. It wears a curiously small hat: a leggy tree, dormant through winter, spreads from the roof like lightning if paused during a storm.

Amongst these sad reminders are places still in business. A small coffee shop here, a bookstore there, other signs of life. Cars line the occasional street near active residential areas. Music surrounds one particular nightclub like an aura. The deep thumps of bass make small clumps of snow topple from the overhang every now and then. The building is forebodingly dark. The brickwork is dark and bears paint that's a dark charcoal grey. Slightly lighter are the tinted windows with black frames. There are two blue neon signs that shine brightly in comparison and draw the eyes of bypassers. Down one side is the word Fragmented and the other hangs in the main floor window with the same word and the logo of a double-headed raven. One head screams with rage while the other laughs joyously.

A toad-like man sits by the door and wears a comically pink fuzzy hat and mittens that contrast with his black suit and tie. His face is rotund and the folds of excess fat draw strange lines across it. Two bulging eyes, a sickly green-gold in color, have large pupils that point in different directions. A small nose that's mostly open nostril interrupts the middle of his face but the swollen lips of his too-wide mouth distract from it. An ugly man for sure. But he does his job well, checking IDs, and is gracious enough to get up to his feet with a grunt and waddle to the heavy iron door to wrench it open for customers.

Inside is warmth. Vibrant life that's so such a stark contrast to the world outside. The walls are dark and paisley patterns adorn the deep azure hues of wallpaper. Crystalline sconces dot the room and provide just enough light to sparkle off the glasses of patrons to dazzle. What draws the eye first is the stage. A black backdrop of velvety curtains lit by sapphire blue light. A bird-like woman with pale iridescent feathers and a slinky red dress stands at a tall thin microphone and sings. Behind her is a band that moves with the same grace she does as she sways in time with the bass. "Sometimes there's a devil sittin' on my shoulder. And I can't find an angel to help me decide. Oh he's gettin' heavy as I get older. I've got to find me an angel someday."

In front of that stage are a modest number of tables and they all enjoy a minimalist design. A simple black tablecloth, a light in the center of each with a blue bulb and black shade. Quiet booths give some measure of privacy but ensure the music will still be heard. Along one wall is a grand bar with a black marble top. Sitting in front of it are leather stools that are comfortable and far enough apart to give some measure of personal space. The barman is surprisingly average for Crowley's. Tall, slender, with short brown hair and blue eyes. He wears a simple white shirt with the sleeves up with a black vest. Bottles hang in the air around him as if dancing on their own accord to fill the orders of customers. One comes off the wall and another parks itself on the shelf.

A balcony hangs overhead and the means to reach it are by utilizing the nearly hidden twin staircases near the entrance. There is little of interest on the balcony aside from a few seats that offer seclusion that not even the booths can give. It has a bird's eye view of the nightclub including the patrons who enter the VIP rooms on either side of the main room with their strangely plain doors.

There are few patrons tonight. The club is new so it's to be expected. Among them is the owner, Richard, sitting at the bar on a stool. Despite the warm atmosphere in the club he wears warm clothing that's near solid black in color. Slacks, button-up shirt, suspenders, and a suit jacket. Over that is another coat that would be suitable for the chill outside. The shoes he wears are curious as well for how they starkly contrast the sensible clothes. They're work boots but shine as if recently polished. However the shoes go with his wild hair. One side is short while the other is long enough to reach his jaw. The long is neatly brushed off to one side and is black in color with blue tips. As for him he's not much to look at. Pale, thin, with a face that has an unfortunate nose. Large at the top, a classic Roman shape, that tapers down to a narrow beak-like tip. If not for it he might be handsome. Strong lines shape his face but he still keeps some boyish quality.

Richard's legs cross at the knee, elbows prop up on the bar, and his chin rests on a palm. In front of him is the crossword of today's newspaper and in his hand is a pen. There's more doodles around the blank edge than words with the answers filled in. Beside the paper is a glass of bourbon, pack of black and milds, and silver zippo lighter.