Munk Goes to the Club:

A Writing Exercise and Dialog

Munk stalked through the dank and smokey club, closely trailing the bodyguard back towards
the private room. He wondered if it was necessary for them to walk straight through the crowd as
he edged his way around half naked cocktail waitresses and bar patrons locked in a drooling
zombie gaze upon the main stage.

His eyes followed the back stairs up to the private room, counting the few scattered guards and
trying to distinguish any weapons from the shadows. His foot caught something square and
heavy, throwing him face first towards a gyrating stripper lap. Munk caught himself on a nearby
table and with a palm upon the floor. His body jerked to a stop mid-air, but something in his
jacket didn’t. With a barely hidden thump resonating amongst the noisy bass, his magnum hit the
floor.

“Oh shit,” Munk hissed as he quickly scooped the magnum off the club floor and back up into
its holster. He clenched his jacket tight against his chest and broke through the crowd, onto the
confined safety of the stairwell. He climbed the steps, catching up with his escort in time for the
office door to swing open. Glancing over his shoulder as the door guard confirmed his escort,
Munk spotted the patron he had tripped over pointing out the stairwell to another club bouncer.
Munk’s head filled with psychic death for the squealer as he pressed closer to the door.

“Why did you try to sneak a gun, you fucking dumb-shit. You’re fucking up again and you can’t
afford these mistakes.” He clamped his arm tighter against his chest and tried to look relaxed
while trailing his escort into the office. “Think fast, Munk. You’re not dead yet.”

“So I’ve got this monkey on my back.”

“Everybody is a wise-ass,” Munk muttered to himself and plopped into the solitary seat
arranged in front of the desk.

“Pardon?” The tubby feline stroked his whiskers as he waited for Munk to clarify himself.

“I said, ‘Everybody is a wise-ass,’ wise-ass.”

The tabby’s tail twitched. “We have some business, Mr. Monk.”

“Bet your fuzzy ass, we do,” Munk sneared. He plucked the magnum from his jacket and
dropped it upon the desk, conspicuously angling the barrel at the rotund mass of fluff. “How much
do you trust me, Nick? You’d better decide right, fucking now.” The door crashed open as Nickolas
eyed the imposing figure resting on his desk.

“He’s carrying, boss!” The emerald eyes drank in the magnum and then slid up to the
bodyguard’s face, watching his expressions change as he spotted the gun and tried to figure out
whether he was helping or not.

“I have no idea what sort of trouble I would be in if it weren’t for you, Felix,” the tabby
exclaimed. “Now if you’ll kindly offer me the privacy I pay you for, perhaps you’d like to enjoy
another drink and try minding the club for a change?” The bodyguard stammered an apology and
stalked out of the office.

“Some help,”
 “My cousin’s kid. I’m probably going to kill him next month.”

“Always nice to do something for family.” Munk felt his face grow warmer.

"Indeed, Mr. McMonk. And I believe-"

"Munk," he interrupted.

"...Munk. I believe that we could be... beneficial, to one another."

"How's that?" The simian tucked a cigarette between his lips and lit it, drawing heavily upon
the smoldering tube.

"It seems this city is under some disruption, as of late," purred Nickolas. "And I, as you know,
stand as a symbol of reason amongst this dissolute chaos."

"Yes, the most reasonable cousin killer I've ever met." Munk smirked to himself under the
concentrated gaze of the tabby.

"Well, Munk. Perhaps you know of a better example for someone to take Big Bear's place
then?"

"Come off of it, Nick," Munk intoned begrudgingly. "You want to take over, we all fucking know
that. Everyone knows that. And with Big Bear gone, you actually stand a chance. Only one
problem for you."

"And that would be?"

"Big Bear's people. And you know it. You need someone to take care of that little rat Rostya
and his big, bad-ass uncles."

"Then what is the problem?"

"Problem is where do I fit into this mess? I help grease the rails for your rise to power and
what do I get for it? One way ticket out of town, if I'm lucky."

"Why, Munk, I would never d-"

"Shut the fuck up, Niiiiiiiiick." Munk flicked his glowing cigarette at the pristine suit sitting
across from him. "You just told me you planned to kill your own fucking cousin and I'm supposed
to feel safe working for you now?"

"He's not my cousin."

"The fuck do I care? Cousin, brother, you're fucking baby-sitter for all it means to me. Fact of
the matter is if your own family aint safe, I aint safe."

"He's not my cousin."

 "And until I can get something better out of this deal than your word, negotiations are over."

"He's not my cousin! He's not family! Alex's whore of a wife can't keep her goddamn legs
crossed for five weeks while he's away on business and I'm supposed to pretend like I don't
know?! It's a miracle that worthless sack of shit hasn't been done in by his own mother yet, for all
the good he's done! The only reason I keep him this close is so I can keep him from fucking up
things too bad!" Nickolas relaxed his grip on the table, slowly retracting his claws from the aged,
oak surface as he breathed deeper. "But that's not a problem anymore, Munk. And not one you
will need to be involved in."

"You still haven't answered the question, Nickolas."

"And that was?"

"What do I get out of this? Why should I risk my neck when I've got a good gig going here, the
only respectable bit of work I've done in years?"

A smile crossed the feline's lips as he shuddered with a low purr. "Well, Munk, that's very
simple..."