She leaned forward again, her voice low. “I can’t believe they’d come in here. This is almost embarrassing.”
“Yeah, it is.” I drank the rest of the scotch. “Listen, I’ve got to get going. Thanks for the drink.”
Alaynah stared at me, a confused look on her face, as I stood up and put on my overcoat.
“Is everything OK?”
I didn’t feel like climbing onto a soapbox. “Everything’s fine. I just forgot about an errand I have to run. I’ll see you later.”
The Mutant couple were seated nearby, and I nodded to them as I passed. They were holding hands and looked like they were in love; the girl smiled back at me. It made me glad. I turned toward the door and almost bumped into a waiter carrying a tray with something on fire. I was reminded of Louie’s special spicy chili. The carnal pangs I’d experienced earlier suddenly gave way to the more conventional form of hunger. I hadn’t eaten anything worthwhile for a couple of days, and I was hankering to find a menu with items I could pronounce. Visions of a steaming bowl brimming with chili and a slab of corn bread with honey butter appeared before me. My bar tab and I were about to get a little fatter.
UAKM — CHAPTER SEVEN
The rain had let up, and clouds the color of fresh bruises mottled the cold, bloody sky. It was late afternoon, and the daylight was fading quickly as I flew home. It was December 7, and the days were getting shorter and grayer. I’d read somewhere that, at this time of year, primitive cultures had feared the sun was dying. For weeks prior to the shortest day of the year, the people would exhort their deity du jour to spare them and bring back the sun. Then the days would start to lengthen again, and everyone would celebrate (generally with some type of orgy), eat and drink to excess, and maybe sacrifice a few virgins for good measure. New Year’s celebrations hadn’t changed much.
The only difference was that now we knew the sun wasn’t dying — it was killing us.
Between the eroded ozone layer and the radiation-saturated atmosphere, we were all helpless chunks of stew meat in a large, toxic Crock Pot. I heard rumors that the government was going to enact a “time reversal,” switching business hours from A.M. to P.M. It seemed like a healthy idea to me, having people sleep through the most hazardous part of the day, but it wouldn’t affect me like it would most people. I’d always been a night person.
As I started my approach to Chandler Avenue, I saw that the unmarked police speeder hadn’t moved. I circled around and landed on the other side of the Brew & Stew. If the cops happened to see me in the diner, so be it. I was ravenous to the point of apathy. I climbed out of the speeder and locked it up.
It was almost dark now, and the street was quiet, except for the sound of occasional raindrops plopping into greasy puddles. The air was wet, and the smell of damp earth was thick. Ahead of me, the warm light from Louie’s café reflected off the slick pavement like a welcome mat. The wind picked up, and I raised my collar. I was glad for the warmth of my overcoat. I’d had it for a long time and wore it wherever I went. It was my big, khaki-colored pal who never asked stupid questions or wanted to leave until I was good and ready.
I felt a pleasant anticipation, like I always did when I went to the Brew & Stew. Louie LaMintz ran a joint that wasn’t for everyone, but it suited me fine. There was always some savory aroma billowing in from the kitchen, maybe a lamb stew or a batch of spicy chili. Almost any time of day or night, there were at least two or three loyal patrons bellied up to the bar, arguing some topic with beery breath. Everyone had their own reason to love Louie’s diner. The beer was always ice cold, and as for the Armageddon blend… well, it was the kind coffee that would’ve made Juan Valdez cry for mercy. You couldn’t help but feel welcome in the diner. It didn’t matter that Louie and most of the regulars were Mutants.
I paused just outside the double doors and thought about the nearly empty wallet in my back pocket. Louie never seemed too concerned about running me a tab — he said he knew I was good for it — but it didn’t make me feel any less parasitic. Rationalization had always been one of my dominant traits — the others being a lack of patience and inappropriate spasms of sarcasm — but there were no two ways about it: I was freeloading. For an instant, I considered going back to my office and toughing it out.
As I turned away, I spotted a shiny penny lying on the sidewalk, a few inches from the toe of my wing tip. I bent down and picked it up. I was hungry, thirsty, and a stone’s throw from being utterly destitute, but now I had a lucky penny.
The door burst open, and I heard raspy, drunken laughter over the smooth sounds of Mel Torme crooning The Christmas Song. A warm gust of air escaped from the brightly lit café as a young couple walked past. The mouth-watering smells of hot chili and corn bread, mingled with icy-cold beer and after-supper cigarettes, cut through my resolve like a hot knife through butter. I caught the door and stepped aside.
The diner wasn’t full, maybe twenty people, but it was lively. Glenda, Louie’s only employee, was making the rounds with a serving tray the size of a manhole lid, heavily laden with full plates and mugs. She was no LaDonna, but she was good. Louie looked up from behind the bar and waved. I took off my hat, noticing a sprig of mistletoe hanging over the door, and walked to the bar stool at the far end of the counter. Louie gave me that warm, ugly grin and leaned forward, round belly pressed against the bar and meaty paws splayed on the countertop. With his Kiss the Cook apron tied over a tight, white undershirt, and a disposable paper food-services hat perched on his battered head like a cupcake wrapper on a cantaloupe, Louie cut quite a dashing figure.
“Take a load off, Murph. What can I getcha?”
I slid onto a shiny vinyl-colored counter stool and pulled out my crumpled pack of Luckies. “A tall beer and the love of a good woman.”
Louie winked at me, reached for a frosty stein, then drew the draft with a fluid ease I could only admire. Louie elevated the simple act of dispensing beer to an art form.
“Don’t know if I can help ya with the woman, Murph. He turned and slid the nectar in front of me. “Though, I don’t know if you noticed — Chelsee’s over there in the corner.
And she’s alone.”
I turned and saw Chelsee sitting sideways in a booth with her legs up on the seat, reading a paperback. Her wavy blond hair just reached the shoulders of a thick, cream-colored pullover sweater. With her dark brown Levis and high-top hiking boots, she looked soft and warm and rugged, all at the same time.
There would be time for rejection later. I turned back to my mug of beer and pried a Lucky Strike out of the pack. As I reached for my lighter, Louie struck a match and held it to the battered end of my cigarette. The Brew & Stew had a No Smoking section. It was just outside the front door. Louie believed that the air outside would kill you just as fast and wouldn’t provide any of the pleasure. As Louie blew out the match, I picked up the icy glass in front of me and drank deeply. Louie watched happily as I set the beer down and took a deep drag on the Lucky Strike.
“Thanks, Louie. I should have some work soon, and I’ll settle up with you first thing.”
It sounded optimistic, but I’d been saying the same thing for weeks. Louie just grinned and shook his head. “How many times have I told ya, Murph. You don’t gotta worry about it. Pay me when you can.”
The big Mutant reached under the bar and set a menu in front of me. “Now, you look like you need somethin’ substantial, you know, stick to your ribs, and I ain’t takin’ no for an answer.”