We stood in an alcove inside the door. It was small and close, barely enough room for the three of us to squeeze in. The walls were decorated with artwork. It wasn’t to my taste, but it looked expensive. I noticed that beside each piece of artwork was a dark spot. Focusing, I made out that they were depressions, holes, in the wall. The modern-day version of arrow slits. A gun barrel could be pushed out of them and the entire room sprayed down with bullets. It was a death box. It made my scalp itch, standing there. I looked back at the human bouncer in front of me. He was young, with a smooth lantern jaw and short-cropped blond hair. He was dressed in an off-the-rack tuxedo and worked out enough that it didn’t look bad on him. The jacket was unbuttoned. A blocky plastic semiautomatic stuck out over the top of his black cummerbund. It looked like a Glock from where I stood. His hand jutted out toward me in a “Stop!” gesture. Brown, beady eyes were narrowed, focusing on me. He was making two big mistakes if this situation went tits up.
