The Lost Door (16 page)

“Definitely.”

“Two beers and—” What was the hard stuff Justin had ordered? “Two of that hairy balls shit.”

Charles’ eyebrow arched, looked at Justin who burst out laughing. “Malort,” he told Charles. “You keep talking like that and some dude is going to get the wrong idea and hit on you.”

“I will graciously decline the invitation.” He was starting to feel tipsy, and the words felt heavy in his mouth. The shots and beer were pushed in front of them, Willem held up his shot. “Now it’s my turn to do a toast.”

In the distance a bell rang and Willem looked toward it. Through the front door breezed four people—they looked younger than the required twenty-one—two boys and two girls. They laughed but seemed nervous.

Whatever. Could look younger than their age, or maybe the bar looked the other way, in either case it was no concern of his.

“You drift off to la-la-land there Willem?”

“Not at all.”

“Good. What’s your toast going to be?”

“To the confusion of our friends!”

Justin laughed. “No, no! It’s ‘To the confusion of our enemies.’”

Willem smiled. “Not so, because if friends weren’t confused by our lives then we wouldn’t have friends at all.”

“That makes zero fucking sense.”

“Probably not,” he said and brought the drink to his lips and downed it.

* * *

The place wasn’t hopping, but it was far from dead—not like the other day he was here. Granted it had just opened, and most people didn’t get their drink on until they’d suffered for a day at a job they hated. Still, the number of cars outside seemed excessive for the number of people here. Maybe everyone drove themselves instead of coming in twos and threes.

Stavic stood in the doorway taking in the room. Charles was laughing with two men until he saw Stavic. Fred was at the other end of the bar, sitting in the same seat he had been in his last visit, staring at the TV, twirling a bottle. Music echoed throughout, its gentle twang and warbling of a singer bringing a certain atmosphere to the room.

He hated it. He hated country music and everything it represented. How anyone could stand it was beyond him. Give him Pink Floyd or The Doors or some other classic rock any day.

He sat two stools down from the pair at the bar, a fedora next to one of them. The one closest to Stavic looked younger by a least a couple decades.

“What are you doing here?” Charles asked.

“Just want a drink. Nothing more.”

“A drink, eh?” His eyes shifted to Fred who continued to gaze at the TV. “Fine.” He looked back. “What’ll it be?”

A grin formed on Stavic’s lips. “Surprise me.”

Charles stared him down as if challenging him. Charles turned, picked a bottle off the top shelf, poured it into a glass, and presented it to Stavic. The caramel liquid looked good. Stavic picked it up, smelled. The aroma stung his nose. “Whiskey?” A nod.

The drink was smooth—too smooth—which meant this was going to cost him. He didn’t want to know. Stavic smiled, said, “Good choice.”

He’d planned for a long night, so before coming to The Thirsty Whale he’d had a couple of shots and snorts at home. That mixture was already making him feel pleasant, energetic, and he suspected this would push him along further.

“I was at home and realized that that was the last place I wanted to be tonight. I’m not sure why, but there was this
need
pulling me here. Do you know that as long as we’ve known each other I’ve never paid you a visit in the evening hours?”

“I much prefer our daytime meetings. I’m more in my element now, and one thing I don’t like when I’m in my element are cops.” He smirked.

“The only people who don’t like cops are guilty people. Are you guilty of something, Charles?”

“Me? Oh no. My nose is as clean as a whistle.” He cocked his head, focused on Stavic’s nose. “How’s yours?”

Paranoia set in and Stavic wiped his nostrils across his sleeve, the cloth tickling him causing him to sneeze. Charles laughed, the sound threatening.

“Fuck you,” Stavic said.

“The feeling’s mutual.” Charles jabbed his finger from the drink to Stavic. “Finish that and go. I don’t want you here tonight.”

“Such hostility. Actually, I’m here to meet a good buddy of mine. Goes by DeMarcus. Know him?”

Charles’ eyes flashed, his lips tightened. “No.”

“Really? Because he said he’d meet me here.”

“No one here by that name.”

“You sure? You know everyone who’s here in this room?”

“Everyone here is a regular.”

Stavic glanced at the two men to his right. “You guys regular?”

The one closest to him grunted “Yep” as his fedora buddy watched on.

“Don’t bug my customers. Finish your drink and leave.” Charles walked away, stopped in front of Fred, leaned in. They exchanged words, Charles slightly more animated. His presence had definitely touched a nerve. Fred stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray, as he stood nearly knocking his stool over, and walked out in a huff.

Stavic sat a while soaking in the atmosphere, listening to the various conversations, waiting for a word or phrase to set off his alarm. Charles continued to serve the patrons, the music continued to play, and soon he was just another face in the crowd—except to Charles who kept an ever watchful eye. Stavic made sure to sip his drink. He planned to stay as long as possible.

The wait paid off. The men next to him started to have a conversation, one that piqued his curiosity. The one closest to him said, “You ready to call it a night?”

“What time is it?” asked Fedora.

“Uhh… looks to be around 10:30. Not too late, not too early.”

“I think I’m good for a bit yet.”

“So… how far you wanting to go tonight?”

These two homos?
he wondered. There was an awkward pause, then Fedora answered his question by slowly stating, “It depends on what you mean.”

The other man laughed. “Not what I meant…”

“Because if you swing that way I by no means will judge.”

“Seriously? I’ve told you stories—”

“You could just be protecting your ass.”

“Anyway,” exhaled the man, “you were saying your brother talked to you about getting out and living a little. I wanted to know far down that hole you’re interested in going?”

“You said it yourself I’m near retirement. I think I have some catching up to do.”

He couldn’t see it, but he sensed the man smile. “Then grab your hat my friend,” he said as he stood, slapping Fedora on the shoulder. “Because we’re going underground.”

The man did as asked, and the pair walked along the bar to the back to an unobtrusive door. The younger man opened it, music with a heavy bass spilling out. They entered, the door closed, and the room returned to normal.

Stavic had seen the door before, figured it was a closet for supplies, never considered it went anywhere. Now he did, and he wanted to know where. He polished off his drink, waved Charles over. “Done. What’s the damage?”

Charles looked relieved. “Too rich for a cop’s salary, I’m sure. Leave now and we’ll call it even.”

“A bribe?”

“A gift.”

“If you insist.” Stavic stood, turned, and walked out.

The cool autumn wind hit him, cutting through his outfit and into his bones. He glanced through the window and Charles was preoccupied. Good. He thought Charles might watch him, make sure he got in his car and drive away. Stavic was happy the big man trusted him enough to think he wasn’t a threat.

Sorry, Charles, but I’m still a cop. Friendship can only go so far.

He moved along the side of the building to the back, saw no one was out on the deck in this cold weather, hopped over the railing. Two boats were tied to the dock.

Stavic looked in the back window and watched Charles. All he had to do was bide his time.

Five minutes went by. The cold seeped into Stavic’s blood. He started to think he might have to abort when Charles finally went into the back room.

Stavic opened the door quickly yet quietly so as not to draw attention to himself. A couple people looked over.
Probably from the blast of cold,
he told himself.

He didn’t know how much time he had, so Stavic walked directly to the door as if he belonged. With only a hint of trepidation he opened the door and was greeted by loud music and a wooden staircase that descended under the bar. The door closed behind him and he started down.

* * *

“What is this place?” Willem yelled over the loud music.

Justin spread his arms out proudly. “This is The Underground!” he laughed.

It was one giant wooden room with space heaters spread throughout. A heavy duty extension cord extended from the stairwell along the roof to various power strips throughout. It was haphazard in execution—done most likely after the building had been erected—and clearly broke half a dozen safety codes. Those here seemed not to mind, seemed to relish in it in fact.

Two naked women danced on a stage, their movements timed to music that caressed and lulled. They teased the audience—made up of mostly men—with titillating touches. The audience cried out for more when the women nearly kissed.

“Time to fade away!” Justin said, his voice barely audible over the music.

He led Willem to a large open cooler filled with ice and bottled beer. A man, who Willem guessed doubled as a bouncer, stood behind the cooler collecting bills and serving drinks. Willem had no idea if this man was related to Charles upstairs, but he was equally large. He did not want to get into a fight with anyone for fear this man would break him in two. Justin gave the man a ten, grabbed two bottles and gave one to Willem. They found a table and sat.

Justin said, “This is the real party!” and pulled out a bag. He opened it, various drugs within. “I got your uppers, your downers, your lefters, your righters. You want an orgasm of the mind or the dick, I got you covered.”

Willem was surprised if not impressed. He’d assumed Justin was into drugs but not to this extent. How had he managed to become a paramedic what with their rigorous drug testing? He didn’t care what people put into their systems—it was a free country after all—but Justin had seen what this sort of stuff could do to a person. Why would he do it knowing the inevitable outcome?

And yet he found himself not caring. Justin was doing something more than work and going home. Regardless of the danger he was putting himself in, he was going out and living a life. He lived up to the motto “you only live once” he spouted every so often.

“You want something to open your mind to unimaginable beauty? Something that will fire up your synapses and remember memories long forgotten? Or are you more interested in something that will dull your senses and let you forget?”

The room spun.

An idea occurred to Willem. “Remember. Something to help me remember,” he slurred.

He looked around the room. The kids he’d seen earlier were there, sitting at a table, talking to some unknown man. Definitely seemed too young to be here. They seemed nervous as they took something from the man. He laughed, probably at them, and walked off.

Justin tapped his arm, handed him a pill.

“What is it?” Willem asked.

A shrug. “A little of this, a little of that. Don’t worry about it, and enjoy the ride.”

What the hell. You only live once, right? And he’d lived sixty-four years with nothing to show for it. Perhaps whatever this cocktail pill was would help—nothing to lose.

Willem took the pink pill from Justin’s palm, placed it on his tongue and swallowed.

He felt it almost immediately. A hollowness crept out from his chest, moving along through his extremities. A vibration in his hands, a tingling in his toes. Oh yes… this was good. He closed his eyes and leaned back, letting the drug do its thing.

What would he remember? What would he see?

The music faded and slowed. He opened his eyes a crack. Justin was watching the two girls on stage, his hand moving below the table. He didn’t want to know.

Movement by the doorway. A man stood there, an authoritative presence.

A light flickered.

A new song began, the pulsing beat infectious.

The girls danced, hips grinding. Touching flesh and breast, teasing, eyes half closed in the erotic and exotic.

The monotone singer sang about a tired man.

He could relate; he felt tired.

A couple started dancing near the stage.

Correction. It was the moon, not the man. The moon was tired.

He felt like the moon, a waxing crescent expanding toward half then gibbous then full. Illuminating and enlightening.

And as the room grew dark, the moon lit up, and Willem’s mind awoke.

* * *

What in God’s name is this place?

Stavic wouldn’t have been surprised to see something like this in Chicago but in River Bend? And how was it he—or anyone in the police department for that matter—did not know about it? Unless he wasn’t the only cop taking favors.