"Bro, we just bought ourselves a nightclub."
Martikani's boots echoed across the empty dance floor. Dust motes swirled in the dim emergency lighting. The air smelled like old cigarettes and spilled vodka—sweet and sour at once.
He vaulted over the bar counter in one smooth motion. The freezer door squealed on rusty hinges. Two cans of beer sat inside, frost clinging to the aluminum. He cracked one open. The hiss and pop cut through the silence.
The first gulp burned cold down his throat.
Vrandani stood by the entrance, arms crossed. His jaw worked side to side. His eyes tracked Martikani's every movement—the grin, the casual lean against the bar, the second swig.
"Are you for real?"
Martikani said nothing. Just smiled wider.
Vrandani's fingers drummed against his bicep. Once. Twice. Three times. His breathing came shallow through his nose.
The second beer can flew through the air.
