Sexy Lady

Fang Lang gazed out the window, admiring the graceful sway of the palm trees under the high noon sun. It was about 2:00 P.M. Suddenly, a tap on his shoulder startled him, and he turned to find Pitt offering a handful of small bags of cocaine.

"Finally stepping into the game. Gotta pull your weight," Pitt grinned, nudging Fang to accept the drugs. Fang raised an eyebrow, hesitant, but still took the coke bags.

"What, we sellin' to kids or somethin'?" He asked, looking at the size of the portions.

Pitt chuckled. "Nah, man. It's a gram and a half each. That's like $200 right there. We deal to regular folks; trust me, they're not splurging more than this. And if they can, well, tough luck, this is what they get."

Dane, sitting beside Pitt on his left, smirked, adjusting his dourag. "We've got high-end clients too, don't get it twisted. But Shepherd handles those deals. That nigga can talk a dog off a meat truck. We — us five — we the ones that do the actual hustling."

Fang nodded. "Mm. So we do most of the groundwork."

"Exactly," Dane nodded.

Dober, in the driver's seat, clicked his tongue. "Ay, we here. Ya'll look alive."

Fang Lang peered out of the van's window, spotting the neon sign of the club, "SEXXY LADY CABARET," glowing vividly against the afternoon sun. As they approached the double doors, the imposing bouncers didn't bother questioning or searching them.

"They know us," Dane remarked confidently, sharing a playful glance with Fang Lang.

Stepping inside, they exchanged the sweltering Florida heat for the club's cool, air-conditioned ambiance. Strobe lights danced around the room, creating a concert-like atmosphere. Patrons of all ages lounged in booths, sipping drinks while mesmerized by the dancers on stage. Men and women, young and old, lounged in booths, chatting and drinking alcoholic beverages.

Throughout the room, stripper poles were posted up on fabulous single stages. Fang Lang caught the eye of one of the workers for a moment, a stunning black woman with a curly Afro, wearing fishnets and a black skirt, but topless. She winked at Fang teasingly, swaying her hips and caressing her large, bare breasts. Fang swallowed a small lump in his throat as she popped a squat and gently jiggled her behind in his direction, running her hands along her curves as she provided an arousing show.

"There you go! Twerk that ass!" An onlooker shouted from his booth.

Fang rolled his eyes, realizing he was falling for the woman's tricks as well, and quickly resumed his focus.

"Over here," Dober said, gesturing for them to go to a solitary booth in the corner, its inside slightly obscured by pink curtains draping over the threshold. Dober went in, then Bully, then Dane, Pitt, and finally Fang. As they settled in, a blonde hostess recognized them.

"Good afternoon, gentleman, what can I do for— oh, it's you guys!" The hostess laughed as she put names to faces. "I'll get on the mic!" She turned and walked away, leaving the rest of the guys grinning. Fang Lang looked confused.

"You'll start to understand that the Dogma is everybody's home team in Miami," Dober said, explaining casually, his arm rested upon the booth, stationed behind Bully.

Dane smirked, stretching. "The people know that wherever we go, the party's there."

Bully, usually the silent one, spoke up. "I'mma keep an eye out." He stood up and pushed past Dober, then the pink curtains separating the V.I.P. booth from the rest of the club, then took a stand right outside the entryway.

Suddenly, the music in the club ceased. Then, a screech came from a blaring microphone, causing the clubgoers to go silent. The hostess's familiar voice echoed:

"Hey there, club-goers! You certainly picked a good day to come see us because today, the MIAMI DOGMA'S IN THE HOUSE!"

There was a roar of cheers from everyone in the room; even the strippers cheered with excitement. It wasn't long before people from every corner of the club were flocking around the V.I.P. booth, all hoping to get their fix. Bully, holding his arms up to make sure everyone knew to stand back, said, "One at a time, people! Hey, Ching Chong! Have that shit ready!"

Fang winced as Bully called him a racial slur, and he realized that he still may not be on the right foot with all of the Dogma's members yet. Nevertheless, he reached in the pocket of his jacket and retrieved the baggies of coke. He looked at them for a second, then put them back inside, and awaited his first customer.

A young woman walked inside, and it was immediately apparent who it was. It was the dark-skinned worker that Fang Lang had made eye contact with from offstage. Her large breasts seemed to poke out at him as she leaned in towards him, smirking.

"I'd like some of that," she made a pointing gesture at Fang's pocket. "Please, sir." Her eyes seemed to stare into Fang Lang's soul, piercing him deep. However, he kept his composure, knowing that it was part of this woman's job to be that way.

"'Yeah, I got it," Fang replied, handing over one of the small bags of coke, which the stripper gently took. She then placed down two $100 dollar bills on the table, her fingers slowly tracing off the edge.

"Good to see ya'll, boys. Everybody loves the Miami Dogma." She leaned in towards Fang Lang again and asked. "I have to ask, what is your name?"

"Uh— Fang Lang." Fang stammered.

"Fang Lang… hmm…" the dancer repeated softly, crossing her arms and nodding. "How many pretty boys is ya'll boss gonna take in, Dober?" She laughed at her own quip. Dober remained silent and unfazed as he lit a Newport cigarette.

Dane, however, laughed heartily. "Ayo, he do look pretty, don't he? Maybe we should give him one of them little fans them Chinese chicks be waving around!" Dane burst into laughter again, slapping the table forcefully. Dober and Pitt smirked, though they tried to hide it. Even the stripper covered her mouth, hiding her smile.

Fang Lang scoffed and stood up to leave, pushing past the stripper and Bully as well. He didn't even look back or check to see the gang's reaction as he walked towards the double doors marked "EXIT."

"Fuck this stupid shit," Fang muttered to himself angrily, balling his fists and shoving them in his pockets. He took a breath of fresh air as he stepped outside into the club's parking lot. He nodded at the bouncers, then started walking in a random direction, his shoes tapping against the concrete sidewalk. The hot rays of the sun beat down on him relentlessly, and he already began to sweat, but he didn't care.

"I'm a member of the Xuan Ye tong, nǐmen zhèxiē húndàn (you assholes)!" Fang Lang growled as he walked. "I deserve more respect than this! I killed Aadan Omari, for crying out loud! I've made bigger moves than all of those guys combined will ever make in their entire pathetic lives!"

"I'm Xuan Ye, not Miami fucking Dogma!" Fang Lang cursed under his breath, his pace becoming faster as he got more heated. He looked off into the distance and his eyes set on an airplane soaring across the blue sky. One single thought pervaded his mind.

"Fuck. I gotta get back to Hong Kong."