They took Angel’s car to The Club. Angel graciously refrained from pumping the music and they arrived only about an hour late. When they entered, they were greeted with a roar of drunken shouts as they were ushered over to Reggie, who was already pretty hammered.
The place was done up as much as it could be. Streamers and balloons had been haphazardly tossed here and there. The game was playing on all three ancient televisions that hung precariously from various corners. Music about fifteen years old blared from speakers that should have been replaced years ago. That in itself almost sent Michael right back out the way he’d come. He glanced around. He focused in on the wet bar and his mouth watered.
“Not bad, eh?”
Michael turned to find a local man he knew but couldn’t remember his name
