I thought the stink might paralyze them, allow me time to make a run for it, escape, but after the initial impact, they regrouped and hastily gathered...their minds.They spoke amongst each other in their local dialect. I couldn’t understand any of it. One of the ruffians seemed to have objections, was loudly motioning at me, yelling something, but Pink Shirt overruled him.“Okay. We take you,” Pink Shirt said, nodding me towards the door.The three assholes allowed me to pass, followed closely. The manager had been only too pleased when the conspirators had offered weeksago, at a very reasonable cost, to repair and update the extensive wardrobethe club kept on hand for the dancers to start their performances in; theyended wearing decidedly less. This caused quite some wear and tear and, cheapas the owners were, they jumped at the repair instead of replace suggestion.Consequently, on several occasions, the two had wheeled a large costume trunkin and out of the building to and from. More

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