Max Enberg Is an Egotistical A-hole

Stupid damn Michelle. Around midday, Martin is mulling over all the reasons for why he usually avoids her and why those reasons abandoned him when he agreed to go out to breakfast with her.

His best hope for money at this point is probably Herb, although he doesn’t want to let go of the idea that Landon Freeman has hidden millions at his disposal. Martin pulls out his cell phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Herb. This is Martin.”

“Martin! How are you? You stormed out the other day before I really had a chance to speak with you.” Oh yeah. Martin had totally forgotten about that little incident.

“Oh right. I was just on my period.”

“Ah, the woman’s curse. I do hope you’ve pushed past that,” Herb jokes.

“Drier than the Sahara down there right now,” Martin continues.

“Surely you didn’t call me to discuss your menstruation. What can I do for you, Martin?”

Hmm. Martin hates the idea of making his financial trouble so obvious, but he doesn’t know a wealth of club owners. “I was just wondering when the next time is that you could squeeze me in for a show, actually.”

“Well,” Herb begins, but he soon follows with a series of hedging noises to indicate his inability to get Martin back on his stage anytime soon.

“It’s okay, Herb. I was just wondering if it would be possible.” Shit, though. Herb was going to really help Martin’s cause.

“I’m sorry, Martin. It’s not that I don’t want to help, but it’s rather terrible business sense to let one person have the stage all the time. I’d love to have you back in a couple of weeks, if that helps.” It would help in the long run, but Martin feels a sense of urgency that he’d like to choke out of existence. Given the brief pause during Martin’s contemplation, Herb adds, “And there’s always another standing offer if you’d like to make some quick money.”

Martin chuckles half-heartedly. “It’s not gonna happen, Herb. I can’t imagine you have any success with suggesting gay prostitution to straight males.”

“Then perhaps you need to work on that imagination.” Landon Freeman pops into Martin’s head. “If it would make you feel better, you can come to the club tonight and have a few drinks on the house. Bring a friend with you and make it a party.” Now that is an idea.

“What do you have for entertainment tonight?”

“A local two-man band, actually. Maximus Shmaximus. No idea if they’re any good, but they’re not asking much. I don’t expect a very a busy night.”

“I guess I don’t have much else to do. Expect me, handsome.”

“I will,” Herb says, and they end their conversation.

At the club, it is clear that Herb didn’t research Maximus Shmaximus the slightest amount. The crowd is so large that a sizable group is milling about outside with some of them even begging for entrance. Herb hired a bouncer for The Hole, though this is the first night Martin’s seen him actually outside and earning his keep.

Tommy is standing a good deal away from the crowd talking to Tess. Martin doesn’t know how Tess can be expected to keep her distance with Tommy keeping a firm hold on her ear.

“Hey Tommy,” Martin says. “Tess.”

“Hello,” she replies coolly. “Not as quiet around here as I was told to expect.”

“Yeah, what is up with this crowd?” Tommy asks.

Martin shrugs. “I guess this band is popular or something. I’d never heard of them.”

“Will we even be able to get in?” Tommy cranes his neck to look at the door. Dave, the bouncer, is commanding a wide area of his own personal space. Thankfully, Martin has connections.

“You bet. Let’s go.”

Tess and Tommy follow quickly behind Martin as he pushes his way down the sidewalk and toward the door. At the front of the line, Dave towers over Martin, all shiny baldness, thick beard, and bulging muscle.

“Oh, hey there,” Dave says, reaching out to give Martin a rough handshake. “Herb told me to expect you.”

“Oh good, that makes things easier for me. These two are with me.” He points to the two sheep in the flock who are his and his alone. “Actually, I might have one or two more coming later. I’ll come out and let you know if I give them a call.”

Dave nods. “Have a good time, guys.” He lets them by, much to the crowd’s disappointment.

Inside, the air is filled with a pleasant mixture of electric guitar and the steady beat of drums. There are no flashing lights, no lasers, no fog machines, just a red-haired guitarist and his Hispanic drummer. Aside from the initial observations, Martin pays no mind to them on his way to the alcohol. Most everyone in the club is too interested in getting close to the stage to pay attention to the bar in the back. Martin’s pleased to see a couple of women are the only customers giving heed.

“Hey Hank, could I get a scotch and soda?” Martin’s known Hank for about as long as he’s known Herb.

“Sure thing, and for you?” Hank looks to Tommy.

“Uh...” Martin begins an internal countdown. When it gets to zero, he’ll have no choice but to glare at Tommy. “I’ll have a gin and tonic.” Phew.

Martin turns to find out Tess’s drink order, but she’s nowhere to be seen. She was just behind him as he entered, he knows this, but now the Countess has managed to vanish into the club scene. Sneaky, sneaky bitch. Then Martin remembers that the Countess knows Herb, so it’s possible that she went off in search of his company.

Tommy sits down at one of the stools to drink his gin, but Martin elects to lean with his back against the bar, facing the stage. The music’s actually quite enjoyable as background noise to his alcohol consumption. He nods approvingly to himself.

“Hey Martin, what do you think of those girls?” Tommy asks with his head down next to Martin’s. The two girls are actually quite attractive, and Martin has an idea of what Tommy wants him to do. He walks over to the closest one, a pale blonde in a green dress, and sits down next to her.

“Hi there,” he says. Martin looks back to Tom, and he’s clearly struggling internally over whether he should follow Martin over or not. The blonde turns to him and looks him up and down, disgusted.

“Who are you?” she asks. It takes a miraculous feat of control for Martin to keep his face from showing his disbelief. He likes to believe that there’s no one else in the world as rude as he is.

“Excuse me. I’m Martin, and my shy oaf friend over there is Tom.” When she looks over Martin’s shoulder, Tommy manages a timid wave. “I was wondering if we could freshen up your drinks for you.” Martin signals to Hank, and he begins preparing new drinks.

“That’s alright, actually. We can pay for drinks,” she says while turning away. This time Martin can’t maintain control.

“Christ, it’s not like accepting a drink from us is signing a contract. I figured that maybe it would be a good deal if we gave you drinks and one of you would just talk to my friend for a little while, but apparently I overpaid.” He neglects to mention that his drinks are on the house tonight.

“Come on, Kayla. F-f-francisco won’t care if they b-buy us drinks,” the blonde’s brunette friend urges. Kayla demurs momentarily, but she relents. The brunette hops down off her stool and walks over to take her place next to Tommy, who looks pleased. Martin turns back to Kayla.

“You can’t accept drinks because you have a boyfriend? Like I care,” Martin takes a sip of his drink.

“Well he’s not just any boyfriend, y’know. He’s that big guy up there banging on the drums,” she says, pointing to the stage. This is the moment when Martin realizes that they’re the band girlfriends or groupies or whatever.

“Ohh, and she’s dating Maximus the firedick?” Kayla looks at her friend and nods.

“I think Sylvia has a fireproof vag or something.” Martin nearly spits his scotch and soda in her face.

“So I’m guessing yours is immune to amoebic dysentery?”

Kayla looks bemused.

“You know? ‘Don’t drink the water.’ Amoebic dysentery is usually why.” She scrunches up her face at the thought.

“No, I don’t think he has a diarrhea dick.” Martin finds himself laughing more than he expected he would given the conversation’s rocky start.

“I’m so happy for you,” he tells her, then notices he’s at the bottom of his glass and asks Hank to get another.

“So what do you do, Martin?” Kayla asks.

“Stand-up comedy. The occasional male prostitution. Sometimes I get paid so people can follow me around all day and take notes about how awesome I am,” he chuckles. “I’m not even joking about the last one.”

Kayla smirks at him. “Or about the second one?” Martin glares at her.

“What do you do aside from open your pearly gates for Francisco Franco?”

“I’m an actress. Sometimes I whore myself out or get paid so my friend will talk to people.”

“Are you a whore just for women?”

“Man, that would be awesome.” She stares off into space.

“Ooh, you know what? I have a friend you should meet. It’s one of my most recent life goals, to introduce him to everyone. Hold on.”

Martin steps away from the bar for a minute and walks toward the entrance to the club. He made a promise to Dave that he intends to keep.

When he walks back in, he stops to see how Tommy’s doing. Most of the concertgoers are starting to file out of the club, but the bar area remains sparsely populated. As he approaches the pair, Kayla’s friend is in the middle of some story about a car accident. Tommy is listening with wide-eyed fascination, causing Martin to wonder what he’s missing.

“So the d-d-doctors said it was a m-miracle I didn’t lose m-more than m-my hand,” she finishes.

“More...than my...” Martin echoes her last sentence, then looks at her left hand. Nothing. Then he looks at her right hand. “Whoa,” he whispers, then more audibly says, “that’s a fake hand.” Tommy smacks him on the shoulder. Martin pouts and rubs where Tommy hit him.

“My apologies, Sylvia,” Tommy says. “Martin’s kind of an asshole.” Sylvia smiles and leans her head back, her body shaking slightly in a silent laugh. That’s when Martin spots a facial oddity.

“What’s up with your hair?” he blurts out. Now Sylvia laughs like a regular person, and Kayla turns to investigate.

“The j-jig’s up, Kayla.” Sylvia pulls back her wig, revealing wavy blonde hair that goes down past her shoulders. Kayla removes her wig as well, showing off shoulder-length dark brown hair. Martin’s jaw drops, and he puts his hands up in front of himself for protection while his neurons explode from the pressure of the illusion.

A pasty white hand claps down on his shoulder as he backs up. “You aren’t bothering the ladies, are you?” a familiar voice asks. Martin turns around to see Max and Francisco coming to claim their women. Max looks to be about six feet and four inches tall, whereas Francisco is Martin’s height but built like a firmly muscled Mexican man named Francisco. A gruesome scar runs down the length of his face just to the right of his nose.

“God no, I was just entertaining them with my wit and charm. The music wasn’t really doing it for them.” Martin figured Max might have a good sense of humor, but he’s met with daggers for eyes. “I was joking, you know. You don’t need to be so angry at the world just because you were born without a soul.” He realizes too late that he’s really not drunk enough to be using this sort of smack talk.

Max pushes him away. “Go be a dick somewhere else, munchkin. You’re not funny.” Not funny? In a fit of rage, Martin throws what he thinks is a decent punch at Max’s face, whimpering at the same time. His hand glances off Max’s cheek without much impact, and then Tommy is off his stool and lifting Max up in the air and away from Martin.

Then Francisco gets involved. In an attempt to show Martin what rage is really like, he rips his shirt off with startling Mexican fury and shoves Martin backwards with tremendous force. Martin immediately trips over his legs and ends up rolling backwards, landing on his shoulders with his feet trapped in the underside of a bar stool.

While still upside-down, Martin witnesses Tommy lift Max over his head and throw him into a group of onlookers, knocking them over and almost hitting Tess and Herb, who have just made their way out front. As Tommy turns around to see how Martin is doing, Francisco hits Tommy in the ribcage with a right uppercut, then throws a left hook into his face, knocking him down. Tess is scribbling in her notebook as fast as she can manage.

“GALILEO!” As Martin is scrambling to his feet to better assess the situation, a shrieking cry comes from the entrance. The crowd has given Ian his own clearing in which to be crazy, in large part because he’s holding a knife.

This night is going nothing like how Martin had imagined it.

Herb heads for the door to get Dave. Ian charges at Francisco.

It’s clear to everyone watching that Francisco is a seasoned brawler, but Ian doesn’t have the benefit of this knowledge. He’s therefore very surprised when Francisco dodges his first slash and then transfers his momentum into a well timed hip throw.

“Are you really okay with this?” Martin asks Kayla. She’s in shock, however, and can only respond by opening and closing her mouth. Sylvia is in a similar state of distress after seeing Max flying through the air.

There’s only one chance for Martin to not get his ass kicked, so he drops to his knees in front of Francisco. “Please stop. I get it. You’re a juggernaut. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt, okay?” Francisco responds with a right hook that lays Martin out flat on the floor. Despite years of drinking, he’s fairly certain he’s never felt so woozy in his life.

The last thing he thinks he sees before he passes out is Ian jumping on Francisco’s back and stabbing him repeatedly in the shoulder, but he hopes that’s just the concussion talking.