21
“Another drink?” the bartender asked.
Rudy stared into the ice melting at the base of his lowball glass. He swirled it in his hand. “Sure. Why not?”
“Same again?”
“Yeah. G and T. Bombay.”
“Coming up.”
The young bartender made the empty glass disappear. He was small and Asian, with feminine features and black hair gelled into a bird’s nest. Maybe he was transgender, maybe not. Rudy had been away from the San Francisco scene for too long to be sure.
The downstairs lounge and sushi restaurant in Japantown was almost impenetrably dark and half-empty. Sconces over the liquor bottles on the bar made the mirrored glass shine red. Rudy sat at the far end, away from the stairs that led down from the street. He wore a black fedora with two braided yellow bands around the brim. His sunglasses had tiny square lenses, like postage stamps. Wearing sunglasses in a dark bar didn’t attract attention here. It was the cool thing to do. He’d shaved for tonight, and he’d found dress clothes at a secondhand shop to fit the look. Gray mock turtleneck. Leather jacket. Black jeans and boots.
“Here you go,” the bartender told him, putting another gin and tonic in front of him. “You want some sushi?”
“How about a volcano roll?” Rudy said.
The man — if he was a man — grinned with his pale lips. “Sure thing.”
Rudy took a sip and felt the cold of the gin chill his insides. He had a ritual for these nights, and Bombay was part of it. He took each breath slow and long, feeling the air swell his lungs. He put up his right hand and slowly turned it around, front and back, admiring its steadiness like a work of art. He bent and unbent his fingertips, which were loose and limber. He’d wondered after all this time if he would be nervous, but he wasn’t. He was a machine.
He checked his watch. It was already midevening, and time was passing more quickly than he liked. He eyed the others in the bar, who were getting drunk and loud. They were mostly twenty years younger, but age didn’t matter. Someone always had a yen for an older man who looked like he had money. His gaze moved from face to face, connecting with the women. Some looked back, and some didn’t.
The bartender leaned on one elbow in front of him. He was bored without a big crowd to serve. Rudy thought he was wearing lipstick, and his eyebrows were neatly plucked. The bartender’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed Rudy’s face.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Rudy said without removing his sunglasses or his hat. “Do you?”
“You look familiar, but you’re not a regular.”
“I guess I have that look,” Rudy said. “Mind if I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“Are you a guy or a girl?”
The bartender didn’t look offended. “Depends. What are you into?”
“Girls.”
“I can pull that off, if you don’t mind some surplus parts.”
“Pass,” Rudy said. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay, your loss.” The bartender grabbed a towel and began wiping down the bar.
Rudy drank more of his gin and tonic. This one was strong. He looked around at the middling crowd in the bar again and decided that his plan needed some help. “Actually, I’m drowning my sorrows,” he told the bartender.
“Yeah? How so?”
“My girlfriend dumped me today.”
“Sorry about that.” His girlish eyes checked out Rudy’s face again. “I mean, you’re a decent looker and all. A rough type, but a lot of girls like that. You must have a couple bucks, too, if you’re ordering Bombay. You ask me, you should just forget about her and move on.”
Rudy slid a hand inside the pocket of his leather jacket and put two concert tickets on the bar. “Yeah, I’m not crying about it, but I’ve got two tickets for the Fillmore tonight. I don’t really want to go on my own.”
“Who’s playing?”
“Japandroids. I could sell the tickets, but I’d like to hear them play.”
“No kidding? You ready for decibels like that? You don’t look like the ‘Evil’s Sway’ type.”
Rudy cocked his head. “What?”
The bartender laughed, as if Rudy were speaking a different language. “Um, duh? That’s one of their songs?”
“Oh. Sure.” Rudy laughed, too, but he seethed inwardly at his mistake. That was what happened when he didn’t have the time to anticipate every detail. “Anyway, I’m looking for a girl who wants to go with me. I figure somebody must want a free show, right? Plus, it’ll just kill my girlfriend.”
“Revenge. Nice.”
Rudy reached into his jacket again and found a fifty-dollar bill that he slid across the bar. “I was hoping you might be able to help me hook up. It’s always a little easier when you’ve got somebody to break the ice, know what I mean?”
The cash disappeared into the bartender’s pocket. “An icebreaker, sure. I’ve been known to do that. What kind of companionship are we talking about? If you want the paid kind, I have to make some calls.”
“Not paid,” Rudy said, “but let’s say open-minded about what happens after the concert.”
“Alcohol has been known to open many a closed mind,” the bartender told him.
Rudy slid another fifty across the bar. “Well, work your magic.”
The bartender pursed his lips to blow him a kiss, and he disappeared. Rudy stopped trolling the bar and decided to let his wingman do the talking. He nursed his drink. Somewhere in the bar, he heard the noise of bad karaoke, but he didn’t recognize the song. That was the price of four years away from the music scene.
His volcano roll came. It was an artistic blend of spicy tuna, cucumber, avocado, and shrimp tempura. The sauce had kick. He alternated between the fiery sushi and the cold cocktail. He stared straight ahead, ignoring the other people in the bar, but his senses were alert. Conversations drifted in and out of his head. Every few minutes, he examined his hand again, his killing hand, as if it belonged to someone else. His fingers were still steady as a rock.
Half an hour passed.
Then, behind him, he heard the tap of feminine heels. Perfume broke over him like the opening of a candy shop door. Lips brushed his ear, along with a voice that had trouble putting together words. “So what’s your name?”
He turned as a thirty-something brunette poured herself onto the stool next to him. She wore a black dress down to her knees. Half a martini was in her hand.
“Rudy. What’s yours?”
“Magnolia,” she said, drawing out the first syllable with her mouth slightly open.
“That’s a pretty name.”
“It’s the name of a tree. I am a tree. A magnolia tree.” She drew it out again as Maggggggggnolia.
“Well, magnolia trees have lovely flowers,” he said.
“That’s a sweet thing to say. You’re sweet.” Her tongue licked the wet rim of her martini glass, and she took a swallow of her drink, which was pink with a layer of white foam.
“Do you come to this place a lot?” he asked.
“First time.”
“Me, too. What brings you here, Magnolia?”
“I never leave my apartment. I work all the time, and I’m sick of it. Tonight, I promised myself I would go out and have fun.”
“What do you do?”
“I code. I’m a programmer.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You know, so my fingers are really, really nimble.”
Magnolia blinked seductively, but she had some trouble focusing. He suspected the bartender had concocted strong drinks for her. Her big eyes were blue, and she wore matching eyeshadow that was a little too dark and applied a little too thickly. In the scarlet glow of the bar, she was pretty, but her lips kept squeezing into an embarrassed smile. She tossed her long hair nervously out of her face.