Chapter 330: My Girlfriend Ruined My Victory Speech

I returned to Udder the Sea in a clinic transport with fresh bandages, a very strict girlfriend and the sincere hope that the armed men outside had come to apologize for their terrible timing.

Bridget had told the cow lady to keep everyone away from the entrance and call security. We approached through the rear service door, where Lukas helped hold the door without lifting anything that would upset his recovering ribs.

Inside, the music continued over an empty front dance floor. Customers had moved behind the bar’s solid partition, and the cow lady waited beside the kitchen with her pink hair pinned clear of her little white horns.

"The booking cost twelve hundred, the old door repairs cost two thousand, and I refused to add a funeral package," she told me. "Our reserve was twenty thousand eight hundred after the repair payment, so please stop attracting things we hadn’t budgeted for."

"I had brought several excellent reasons to charge admission, but I could see you preferred a quieter financial discussion."

Bridget touched my bandaged side before I could move toward the front. "You were going to sit where the medic said you should sit, and that was the whole speech I needed from you."

[System: Sit down, ya wounded sausage. You’ve had your big night out, and half the furniture’s already considering a restraining order.]

I settled behind the partition with enough dignity to fool nobody. Through the service gap, I saw five women in matching cowgirl outfits checking the stage props while a sixth adjusted a speaker.

They were older than the students I had imagined from the advertisement. The woman by the speaker had laugh lines, strong shoulders and the relaxed expression of somebody who had already survived every stupid thing a room could offer.

She caught me staring and asked whether the snake was the employer. I confirmed it, then admitted that I might have misunderstood the phrase experienced adult performers when I booked them.

"I was forty-six, raised three kids and spent twenty-two years doing jobs nobody put on a family postcard," she said. "Dancing was supposed to be the calmer career, although your entrance exam looked familiar."

"The locker request suddenly made more sense, and I would like to apologize for suggesting you could share with the cleaning supplies."

The front door opened before she answered. Four armed men stepped inside, led by the caller whose voice I recognized from the collection boss’s phone.

He demanded Matt, then raised his weapon toward the bar partition when nobody immediately handed me over. Whatever cancellation message he had received had clearly lost the argument with his own plans.

The head dancer glanced toward the cleared customer area and gave her crew one small signal. Nobody screamed, the song kept playing, and the giant decorative milk churns beside the stage opened to reveal equipment that hadn’t been mentioned under basic costume requirements.

Blue light flashed across the room. Three seconds later, the armed team was gone, leaving damaged weapons and scorched patches where the men had stood, while the dancers stayed clear of the firing lanes they had chosen together.

The song reached its chorus without missing a beat. One woman closed her stage prop, another checked the entrance, and the head dancer told the cow lady to keep the customers behind cover until security arrived.

[System: Fuck me sideways, mate, you’ve hired a hens’ night with air support. That’s not a casting call, that’s a bloody regime change wearing boots.]

I had budgeted for entertainment, and I felt we were receiving excellent value across several unexpected departments.

Lukas stared at the head dancer as she lifted a compact rocket launcher from its padded case to check the doorway. His expression changed so completely that I almost forgot my jaw hurt.

"Would you happen to need somebody to clean up after the show?" he asked. "I could start with light duties, and I was very willing to discuss an unpaid position."

She looked at his clinic wristband and told him to sit down before he impressed himself into another injury. He obeyed so quickly that the cow lady began laughing beside the kitchen door.

"Okay, mate, each to their own, but I would appreciate you remembering we actually paid staff before you donated your spine to the cause."

"I hadn’t donated anything yet," he said, still watching the dancer. "I was expressing a strong professional interest in maintaining a safe and attractive workplace."

The mermaid stage specialist came in from the protected dressing room and recognized the crew’s old unit patch on a case. She called them a retired topside squad famous for leaving very little for rescue teams to rescue.

The head dancer confirmed the retirement, then asked whether the club wanted their employment forms before security’s statements. She treated both as ordinary paperwork, which somehow made the plasma weapons more alarming.

The head dancer made Lukas drink a glass of water before accepting his contact details for a properly paid cleaning trial once he recovered. His delight suggested she had offered him a throne, while her expression suggested she had successfully handled a sixth child without interrupting her work.

We gave the arriving officers our warnings and the caller’s number. I described recognizing his voice without pretending I knew every person he worked for, and the club kept its camera recording for their review.

Bridget stayed beside me while the room settled. I thanked her for getting me home, and she rested her hand against the safe part of my scales before telling me she was still angry.

I told her both things could fit in the same evening. She kissed my forehead, soft enough that it didn’t hurt, and I stopped trying to turn the moment into a performance.

My phone lit with a message from Lyra before I could ask about food. Someone had arrived in the Twawi lobby carrying four matching rubber ducks, and the casino’s payment desk had just confirmed a million-credit meeting deposit.