All These Perfect Strangers (14 page)

With a fluid movement, the guy on the door held my wrist, inked it and put it under the ultra-violet light to check. Even allowing for the lamp's luminescent glow, his skin had the pallor of someone who didn't often see the sun. Food obviously wasn't a high priority either, as his combat boots looked like ballast for his scrawny body.

‘Mr Cohen,' he said, noticing Rogan standing behind me. He shook Rogan's hand and then, in a complicated twist, flipped it over to stamp. ‘Business or pleasure?'

‘Always a pleasure to see you, Pete.' Rogan nodded his head at the two bouncers who stood either side of the table. Wearing Death Rider black motorcycle jackets with large red crosses emblazoned on them, they ignored him as if customer relations were not in their job description. Turning back to Pete, he said, ‘Should be a good gig.'

‘For you, maybe,' Pete complained. ‘I've locked all the windows. Got extra security. We're trying out a new ultra-violet ink and I still reckon we've got hundreds more people in here than what we've sold tickets for. I don't know how the buggers do it.'

‘Students, what do you expect? You'll make your money back on alcohol.'

‘You're one to talk. We're only licensed for just under two thousand people. If we get busted for overcrowding and are shut down, none of us will be happy then.'

Rogan laughed. ‘You're paranoid, mate. No one checks anything here.'

‘Am I now?' Pete said. ‘Or is everyone out to get me?' He grimaced before grabbing the wrist of the next person.

There was a yell behind us, some drunken swearing. Suddenly, the bouncers were roused, their capacity for violence awakened. Turning back, I saw a stubbled head, the face obscured by the enormous arm of a third bouncer. The boy was in a headlock, yelling while being dragged away into the shadows.

‘You're banned, Nico,' Pete shouted. ‘Piss off. Don't come back if you know what's good for you.'

Rogan and I stood there, until Pete said, ‘Keep moving, folks, nothing to see here.' Rogan gave me a nudge and I moved past the desk and into the building.

The bar was at the sunken end of the split-level Union Building. The upper half, where we entered, housed the campus shops. The box-like bakery, mini-supermarket, optometrist and news agency were all closed now with locked roller doors keeping them safe from the drunken hordes. We walked past them down the large steps that led into the dark underworld of music and noise.

The stage was straight in front of us and the support band was already playing. Around the corner, beer and spirits were served in plastic cups, and past that were the pool tables, toilets and a handful of chairs. The decor was grubby black and you had to gently peel yourself off each surface touched.

Standing there, I could make out voices but not words floating above crashing guitars. Bodies were crowded between us and the stage. Boys, uncoordinated individually, moshed as one, moving towards us like the tide. I hung back, mindful of getting swamped. Rogan, sensing my reluctance, grabbed my hand. At his touch, my skin sparked. He plunged in and pulled me after him.

The air was salty with the sweat of strangers. The darkness smelt of cigarettes and alcohol. Jostled by the crowd, Rogan moved behind me, keeping his arms around my body as a protective barrier. He set a course past the mixing desk, and soon we were at the far edge of the crowd where there was room to stand side by side. Rogan let go. I felt a hiccup of disappointment and wondered if I could take his hand as casually as he had taken mine.

Standing there, I didn't listen to the music, or watch the band. Instead, I focused on him. Should I take a small step and kiss him on the mouth? Nestle into him accidentally on purpose? People around us were doing exactly that. Next to us were a lip-locked pair clutching at each other with the desperation of people who still lived at home and needed to make the most of any darkened room. Elsewhere, intertwined couples were more relaxed. Some of them had been together so long they were starting to resemble each other, like dogs and owners.

Rogan turned his head and I smiled, hoping that maybe he wanted to take that small step towards me. But he wasn't looking my way. He scanned the audience. With a sudden burst of drums and a crash of guitars, the song ended. The crowd cheered enthusiastically as the lead singer shouted goodbye and the band left the stage.

A couple of fluorescents flickered on, turning the room from pitch-black to murky, and a roadie clambered across the stage, moving bits of equipment. The PA squawked and began pumping out recorded music. Rogan jogged my shoulder and mimed getting a drink, as the people around us began moving in all directions, but mostly towards where the alcohol was sold. I was left next to a neglected juke box as he went to stand in line. Sticky-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined paper, scrawled capitals running perpendicular across it saying, ‘Choose Smoke on the Water, get evicted, signed Your Friendly Bar Staff.'

‘I dare you to play it,' whispered Rachel in my ear. She stood there in her red dress, with a small leather handbag slung across her body, the strap as thin as a whip. The dress didn't fit as well now. Frayed at the edges from past nights, her hipbones and ribs were ridges under the material. My stomach turned to stone at the sight of her.

‘You got Joad?' I asked.

‘Fucking awesome. Joad and Leiza came out together and I asked Joad if it was true he had made a bet about bonking her. The look on her face. They had such a massive screaming match, I was tempted to get my Walkman to record it. Eventually, she stormed off and when he tried to follow her, I stopped him, took out the water gun and splat, killed him.'

‘What did he do?'

‘Went completely berserk. I thought he was going to punch me for sure. But people had heard the yelling and came out. Even Michael took time away from whatever weird shit he does in his room, and when Joad saw all of them, he left. But anyway, I've killed the Toad.' She began to look around us. ‘So, where's Rogan and where's my drink?'

‘He's buying drinks now.'

‘So, this really is a date,' she said, looking surprised. ‘Hope he's not doing it for a bet as well.'

‘What?' I asked, a wave of doubt crashing into my brain.

‘And speak of the devil, perfect timing.' Rachel turned towards Rogan, who weaved his way through the crowd, carrying two beers.

‘Rachel,' he said, and although his face was neutral, I could hear the frown in his voice.

‘Thank you, kind sir,' said Rachel, and grabbed the first beer. Rogan looked annoyed as he handed me the other.

‘Now, Rogan, you are just the person I needed to see.' Rachel kept her eyes directly on him, taking a swig of the beer. ‘Pen, I really must borrow your date. But don't worry, I'll bring him back in one piece.' She grabbed his hand and pulled him away. I thought he would protest, refuse to budge, tell her to stop being stupid, but he allowed himself to be dragged to just out of earshot. As I watched them, I began to feel something like hatred towards Rachel.

Rogan had his back to me, so it was her face I focused on. I could see her mouth moving and felt stabs of anger at what she must be telling him. I wanted to stop her and Rachel had given me the perfect idea. I even imagined the words I would say to her: ‘You ain't anyone unless you've been mickeyed', as if she herself had given me permission. I fumbled in my bag for my sleeping tablets, a relic from the past. All I had to do was to dissolve them in my beer and get Rachel to drink it, and when she started to become drowsy, I'd find someone like Kesh or Toby to take her home. Tomorrow, I'd work out some story about the court case to satisfy her curiosity and convince her not to tell other people.

But before I had even got them out of my bag, Rogan was back. I tried to smile as if I had been having a great time standing next to a juke box, worried that somehow this date was all a joke.

‘I've got to go do something,' he said.

I tried to read on his face what Rachel had been saying.

‘What was that about?'

‘Nothing important.'

‘I could come too.'

‘No. You stay here. You don't want to miss the band.' He leant forward and his mouth brushed my cheek, a kiss that five minutes ago would have meant everything. Now the timing was off and I wondered if I was being played. All I could think of was how angry I was at Rachel.

Rogan pushed through the crowd. I tried to follow his progress and then caught sight of Rachel waiting for him at the top of the stairs. Where she stood was well lit. The light splashed across her face, turning her skin a skeletal white. Rogan jumped up the steps three at a time to meet her. They didn't leave by the front door as I expected, instead walking past it and towards the metal-box row of shops. I didn't understand what they could be doing there. Everything was shut up. But Rogan moved in between the bakery and the optometrist and opened a door. Rachel went through it and then, looking around furtively, he followed her. I began to move past people, trying to see where they had gone. I climbed the steps. To my right, at the entrance, a girl in a low top and tiny skirt was arguing with the two bouncers that her ticket had been stolen and she should be let in. They stood watching her, almost licking their lips. I quickly darted behind their backs and made it to the door.

It was the type of door you'd walk past every day and never notice. There was nothing on it to give a clue where it might lead to. No ‘Private' or ‘Keep Out', no exit sign above, just a door. Mimicking Rogan's look around, I checked there was no one watching and opened it. Inside was a dimly lit corridor with rooms leading off it. Probably offices, I thought. There was no sign of Rogan or Rachel and, feeling uncertain about going any further, I turned to retrace my steps, only to run straight into solid muscle.

I was facing a chest that blocked the doorway and the light outside. He wasn't one of the bouncers but he looked as if hurting people was a professional objective. He was enormous.

‘What are you doing?'

‘My friends,' I stammered. ‘They came in here. I just wanted to . . .'

There was a greedy smile, a metal tooth in the middle of it. A red cross was tattooed on his neck. He placed a hand on my back. It was large enough to span my shoulder blades. ‘Let's look for them then.'

‘Maybe I made a mistake.' I tried to turn towards the door but his fingers moved from my back to my front, stopping at my chest, before forcing me back along the corridor.

A light clicked on ahead of us. A skinny figure in combat boots appeared. The ticket guy Rogan had spoken to.

‘Tommy,' said Pete. ‘Who's that with you?'

The hand on my back lifted momentarily and I ducked under the arm and ran for the door. Behind me, I could hear Pete speaking and Tommy laughing. I ran back down the stairs, into the crowd. Hiding behind a group of girls, I turned to see if either of them had followed me, but they hadn't. I decided there was safety in numbers and headed towards the pool tables to get as far away from them as possible.

Even in the middle of the day, sunlight struggled to break through the eternal night of the pool tables area. Black walls, black roof, weak light illuminated only the tables themselves and the haze from cigarettes.

Goths were clustered around the first table. A girl in a purple dress was watching two boys playing. At her neck, I saw eyes gleaming red in the dark, peering through her hair. That rat had a better social life than most students. People from college were playing on the next two tables. Emelia was taking the shot, her tongue poking out as she concentrated. She had stopped me at lunch and asked me if Rogan and I were ‘an item'. I had given her a non-committal response that nevertheless implied that the answer was yes, so she was the last person I wanted to know that Rogan had interrupted our date to do something secret with Rachel. I took the furthest route away from her and noticed Toby playing nearby. His aim went wild and, swearing, he passed the cue on.

‘What's up?' he said. ‘You OK?'

I was beginning to feel a bit stupid for following Rachel and Rogan in the first place, so all I said was, ‘You got in,' because I knew Toby didn't have a ticket.

‘Of course, I'm an expert in back passages,' he said in a mock-camp voice. He pointed to a low, blacked-out window next to the table. People were sitting in a group in front of it, but looking closely I saw an additional head slowly emerging, until an extra body joined them. I recognised the white sheep-fleece hair. It was Joyce, for once without a book. He sat there chatting casually for a minute or so, then, picking up the mostly empty glass that had been placed in front of him, he finished the drink and strolled over to the bar to order the next round.

‘Make mine a triple,' Toby told him, as he walked past us.

‘I thought they locked the windows,' I said.

‘Screwdrivers aren't just for cutting up defenceless women,' Toby answered. ‘You seen Rachel?'

I shook my head.

‘I've just been telling everyone how I could kill that bitch. You know, she got me this afternoon with my own pistol. The cheek. Mind you, she better watch out. Joad's outside and he might just murder her good and proper. But I forgot, where's the rugged Rogan?'

‘I don't know.'

Toby handed me a glass of what looked like water.

‘Trouble in paradise? Young love in peril? Tell your Uncle Toby all about it.'

I shook my head, shrugged off his embrace and downed the glass. It was gaspingly hot.

‘Always more fish in the sea, which doesn't mean you need to drink like one,' Toby said. ‘Now let's see if there is anyone's shoulder suitable for you to cry on. Joad's here, of course, if you prefer a human pig. We could ask Leiza if he has a corkscrew penis. Or if you prefer butch with a moustache, and really who doesn't, there's a guy over there who could be an undercover cop. Then of course, there's Michael, if you want to take pity on the socially awkward.'