Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise it has but one rule: make it Six Sentences, binyons

Prompt word:

DIP

“Sidown.”

The two career-drinkers at the bar dividing the Bottom of the Sea’s Strip Club from it’s Lounge didn’t look up as I passed; opposite the bar a single row of booths ran down the street-side wall of  semi-opaque’d windows, tempting as it might be to think this was out of respect for the sensibilities of the stand-up folks walking by, all gainfully-employed, one would be wrong.

The owner, Lou Caesare’s office was the last booth on the right, to my left I could see through the shelving full of liquor bottles to the stage where a new stripper was giving a Kansas song, a markedly-odd musical selection, the ole college try; the result was visually more a fight between a meth-addled mime and first year jazz dance student over a liberal arts coed.

I paused, seeing the phone held to his right ear; I looked back towards the front entrance where Diane was now leading a billboard-famous personal injury attorney and his date, a girl who looked around the joint with all the confidence of a puppy at a drag-strip, to their table; hearing Lou say something into his phone that rhymed with ‘Motherfucker’, I remained standing as if it were the high point of my existence to simply be there.

You ever see a … not a tiger or crocodile, nobody sees those in person, lets make that a German Shepherd backed into a corner, not an excess of fangs showing, tail dipped low, no feinting motions, it’s the eyes that tell the story of violence without even the hint of negotiation, moderation or consideration of aftermath;

“You’re a standup guy, Devereaux, not a lot of the people in my… employ can lay claim to such status;” Lou leaned forward over the table between us while exhaling a cloud of grey-white cigar smoke and the story of the Flying Dutchman forced it’s way into my forebrain, luckily he continued, “The thing of it is, when you hold power in the world I exist in, there is never an end to people wanting to take you down, or at very least, try and get leverage on.”

“I’m telling you this because the job I asked you to do, watching out for Rosetta, is about to become a bit more interesting, so if you ain’t got the stomach for this life, I’ll understand,” this time he leaned back disappearing into the smoke, I couldn’t help thinking, ‘If the Buddha had a supply of Cubans, the Pope in Rome would be totally looking over his shoulder.’