Keep the Change

Quite a few years ago my friend 007 (his name has been changed to protect the not-so-innocent) and I used to frequent bars of ill-repute where the liqour pours were loose and the ladies more so. We were on our way to visit our mutual friend Flaco whose mom owned a restaurant, when we were sidetracked by the promise of three dollar pitchers and dancing girls at a place known as the F.I..
I had never been to this club before, however 007 frequented the establishment. As we entered the club I was overwhelmed by the knowledge that tonight I was gonna catch hepititis. This place gave dives a bad name, there was a bartender who was obviously under the influence of multiple substances, a few scattered tables, fewer people, those that were there I was sure would stab me at some point in the night and a half dozen drugged up, overweight and scarred strippers.

We sat at a table in the middle of the room more or less with noone near us and immediately girls began approaching the table talking to 007.

"So, how are you doing I haven't seen you in here for a while. Are you still working for the F.B.I.?"

Apperently 007 had been in here numerous times and had told this seedy group of ladies that he was working for the Federal Bureau of fucking Investigation. After the ladies stumbled away from the table I asked him why the hell he would tell people in here that and he said.

"Chicks dig that sort of thing."

"Dude, you're trying to impress these girls, all you need is an eightball and a backseat, damn, you're gonna get us killed."

We start drinking our beers and watching the 'dancing' girls, one I swear had ceasarian and knife wound scars. None of the girls are catching my fancy so I never moved 007 has gotten up and given several of the girls crisp dollars and is trying to talk me into giving this one particular Jabba-the-Huttish girl a dollar and I refuse.
Shortly thereafter the only remotely attractive girl in the place walks by and 007 gets her attention. This girl had a good body, was wearing red lingerie, had all her teeth and smooth dark skin. She was although high as a kite. 007 slips her $20 and they disappear between the plywood half-wall to the 'champagne room'. One song goes by and I expect to see 007 returning, two songs go by, nothing, a third song and finally after the fourth song he returns led by the stripper. I notice immediately that he has a shit eating grin on his face and refuses to look me in the eye.

They get to the table and the stripper begins dancing very closely in front of me, she then bends over at the waist exposing the $20 bill stuck firmly between her ass cheeks and pinned in by her thong. She then reaches between her legs and pulls the 20 around through her legs the way girls are never supposed to wipe if you get my drift. Before I know what has happened she had turned aroung with the moist 20 in hand and wiped it down my face.

I flip out.

I grab my shit start yelling at 007 and we leave very quickly. On our way out he's laughing his ass off. He had told the stripper that I was afraid of black girls and instigated the entire series of events.

Needless to say we never made it to Flaco's.