They walk along the back wall until they come to dual wood-paneled doors. There, the suited man meets two large men standing in guard of the door, one to each side. They meet him with unenthusiastic, very businesslike, kisses on the cheek.

“This’s sick,” thinks the driver. He turns to see who’s watching. A waitress is coming at him with a drink.

It’s not the same one as before: neither the girl nor the drink. She is prettier. Even red locks flow down almost to her breasts, which are also very nice. The waitress’s attire intimates that of the classic maid outfit. Instead of a white apron, it is hot pink. It stops short just of where her breasts snuggle beneath a tighter, black fabric. The driver is reminded of lederhosen, though he has never seen a pair in his life.

She meets his confused look, once it finally makes its way back up to her uncolored face, with a half-smile.

“Compliments of your friend.” She motions towards the men entering through the solid wood doors. He sees the two strongmen holding it open and looking at him with no clear expression. They are waiting, but obviously don’t care if he takes all day. The driver then looks at the drink handed to him. It is a very tall glass filled with a cola-colored substance. There’s an obscene pair of cherries floating with a few cubes of ice on the surface. He gives it a whiff. It smells fruity sweet.

The woman is still at his side, with her head cocked so that a few of her ruby tresses find their way down the opening of her top. Her tray remains outstretched in the same manner in which she presented the drink. The driver realizes that she is waiting for a tip, and drops a nickel unceremoniously on the tray. It rattles and twirls and is almost thrown off completely by the speed with which she turns around. The fair stockinged legs are striding their way back into the gaggle of thirsty gamblers, but the driver has already turned to face the back room, too hastily to catch the show.