Be careful of who you trust; salt and sugar look the same.
"Alright then!" Louie clapped his hands together, instinctively reaching in his pocket to retrieve his minimalistic wallet. There were various forms of identification inside it, but the card that he pulled out was none other than his credit. It was black and had some weight to it, sleek in its simple design and telling of his status. In his world of wealth and class, these sorts of cards were commonplace, but it was one of those items that only those swimming in jewels seemed to have, even in movies.
The waitress came to their table, to take his card, taking it away to a distant register before returning with it. Louie always paid for the entirety of his dinners with others if he was on a date, but never because he was feeling generous. Something about his pride wouldn't let anyone spend a single jewel on him, because why should they? He could afford it. He could buy twelve expensive dinners and then some, so he didn't need their handouts or pity, even if they didn't mean it that way. Louie was perfectly capable of living the high life and spending money like money didn't mean anything, and he meant to show it.
After the meal had been paid for—even though it was really just the wine—Louie began to stroll over to the exit with his hands pocketed and that friendly smile on his face as he looked back to his date.
"I have just the place in mind. You're going to love it.". . . . . .
Hosenka was the town to go to if you had any interest in living it up at night, so of course, Louie was no stranger to many of the exotic (and not) attractions of the town. He knew many of the club owners and store managers. He had come here for horse racing once, and he sometimes came into their casinos. But he was going to save all of that for later. Right now, Louie had one place in mind to quench the thirst he had. His need for speed and adrenaline—a racetrack.
There were bright lights everywhere, and the entrance to the track was intimidating and glorious in itself. All of the employees were large and wore shades, looking more like bouncers than ordinary employees for a racetrack that was open twenty-four-seven. They all wore exotic, snazzy suits and didn't speak to Louie and Pimwadee as they passed by. He had frequented this place so often that there wasn't a need to exchange words, one of them handing him a keychain with a single silver key attached to it as they approached the garage. Not only had Louie had invested several shares into this place, but he had also bought a sports car specifically for this track. They approached the humongous garage, so large that it stored dozens upon dozens of cars, sports or otherwise, in its space. People were frequently entering and exiting the place, but only one had stopped the pair as they came over.
"Mr. Klein!" said one middle-aged man, balding at the center of his head, apprehensively rubbing his hands together as he was aware of his client's temper and lack of patience,
"We weren't expecting a visit from you! What brings you here?""I don't see why I'd need to send you a notice of my arrival," Louie stopped and folded his arms over his chest, looking at the man with an unimpressed stare, twirling his keys over his steady finger,
"To drive my car. Why else would I be here?""Right, of course... it's just that we have others using the track at the moment, so—""So tell them to get off the track.""Ah, right, but...""But?"There was a silence between them as Louie's domineering gaze sharpened into a glare, the clinking of his keys dangling on the keychain oppressively filling the silence. It took only a few seconds for the middle-aged man to realize that there was no deterring Louie from what he wanted to do, especially when he was an investor in the track. Sheepishly, he sighed and smiled.
"They'll be off the track in five minutes, Mr. Klein," he nodded, beginning to walk away with a gloom of defeat over him.
"Right," Louie smiled, watching him walk away with the smile on his, feigning friendliness as he looked back to Pimwadee. It probably wasn't an amazing idea to be driving, much less
speeding on a track after drinking alcohol, but he never cared about that sort of thing.
"Ever been on a track?"
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