There was a car service garage not far from Socrates' alley. Cigar-smoking Pete Roman ran the graveyard shift. Roman had Lamont Taylor drive Socrates to out near the Pink Lady for four thirty-five plus a one-dollar tip.
There was the sound of drums and strings coming out from the space between the condemned building, with the clown face on the door, and its neighbor. The passageway between the buildings was so narrow that Socrates had to hold his shoulders at an angle to make it down to the source of the musica tin-plated door.
The man who answered Socrates' knock was six six at least. He wore black pants and a red vest with no shirt. His head was woolly and his hands were large. His arms were thin bands of steel.
Who the hell you think you is? the man demanded.
Lavant invited me, Socrates said. He didn't want to hurt a man just because he didn't know how to talk.
Lavant who?
Hall, Socrates said. He said that he work here. He said I should come by.
He went out, the man said searching Socrates face for signs. But, uh, I guess you could come in if he invited ya. I mean, most of the people is regular but you don't look like no cop.
Cop, Socrates sputtered and then he laughed.
The giant got the joke and backed away to let the new man in.
It was a big room filled with music and people. All kinds of people. Mexicans and blacks, whites and Asians. Men and women, young and old. There was a bar run out of a black trunk that stood on two tripods. There was also a white banner, with the bright red words
CLICK'S CLUB
printed across it, hanging down from the rafters.
The music was fiddle, clarinet, guitar and drums accompanied by three singers. It was rock and roll, kind of, and soul and blues for sure; improvisation from musicians who knew each other well.
It was truly a condemned building. Linoleum was ripped up to reveal the unfinished wood of the floor. Walls were broken out so that there was just one big room between rotted timbers. It had been dusty but someone had gone through the place with a heavy-duty vacuum and a broom. In some places Socrates thought he could see where water had been sprayed to keep the dust down. There were jury-rigged overhead lamps like the one Lavant had used to illuminate the yellow broadside on his desk.
Many of the people were dancing wildly. Two women had taken off their blouses and were dancing, bare breasted, close to one another. There were lovers in the corners and lively conversations going on at makeshift tables and chairs.
Drink? asked a blond-haired black woman with three silver studs in her left nostril. She was standing next to the elevated trunk that was filled with bottles of liquor and wine.
How much for a shot'a JD? Socrates said, looking over the labels displayed.
The woman's wide face became a question. You somebody's guest?
Lavant Hall invited me.
Oh, she said, happy again. This is Click's Club. All drinks one dollar. Everything else is free once you walk in the door.
The woman poured Socrates' drink in a paper cup and he handed her his dollar. She was young looking but in her forties, Socrates could tell by the lines near her eyes. She was heavy but shapely, responsible at her job but ready to laugh.
How long you been here? he asked the woman.
My name is Venus, she replied.
Socrates. How long this place been here, Venus?
Just tonight, she said.
This your first night?
Naw, not like that. I mean it's our first night here. Saturday we be someplace else.
You mean you move every night?
Every night that we convene. This place is click, Venus said snapping her fingers and tossing her hair. We all put up the labor and then we party and congregate all over town.
Hey, Venus, a woman said coming up to the bar.
Hey, Shy. This is Socrates.
The woman named for bashfulness was wearing a see-through red wraparound with yellow lipstick. She had bleached white hair. She was a young woman and black too. Socrates had never seen anyone like her.
Hi, Shy said with a friendly smile. Venus, you got some rubbers?
How many you need?
Um, Shy mused, three.
The bartender smiled knowingly and produced three square green packets from somewhere behind the trunk.
You're the best, Shy said kissing the dark woman with her bright yellow lips.
A lotta that go on around here? Socrates asked after Shy had gone.
Everything go on when the Click flag flies, Venus said. Everything but drugs and violence, but we don't put them down neither.
Yeah, I could see that, Socrates said. He was looking at an elderly couple, even older than him, sitting next to each other on cinder blocks near the door.
You do, huh? Venus asked.
Sure. People who wanna be free cain't have all that disruption. Fightin' an' drugs kill a good time faster'n the law.
Venus' laugh was friendly and inviting. She pressed her hand against Socrates' arm and smiled. How do you know Lavant? she asked.
Our dogs are friends, Socrates replied.
Oh, she said making eyes that spoke about something else altogether.
Can we get some red wine, Veen, someone asked from behind. Socrates turned to see that it was a white man with a small Asian woman at his side.
Other men and women had come up to ask for drinks. Socrates allowed himself to be pushed away.
Socrates, a high voice cried.
Hey, Lavant. Where you been?
The skinny man wore a purple dress jacket with camel-colored pants and white patent leather shoes. He was carrying two shopping bags.
Out shoppin' for food at the twenty-four-hour Bounty over on Exposition. You know we ran outta cold cuts and dancin' makes you hungry.
Socrates took the two heavy bags and followed his host to a long table set up in what once was the storeroom of the hardware store. Helping hands were there to meet them taking bread and meat, catsup and mayonnaise from the bags and placing them around the table.
The music was playing loudly throughout the empty structure. Socrates looked around at the crowd.
Somethin' else, huh, Lavant asked.
You people ever get caught?
Sometimes. Especially when we hit some rich neighborhood. But all we do is walk away. Maybe a night in jail for one or two but you know this is two hundred people here. Nobody owns Click's. The tone of Lavant's voice changed and Socrates could tell that he was getting excited about his politics again. The police can't stop a good time and they know it. Look at it, man. Every color and creed. One day all of America will get here.
If nobody owns it how does it happen? Socrates wanted to know. I mean who sets up where you meet? Where does the money go?
There's a board like just then Lavant gestured at a skinny white woman who was kissing a heavyset man.
Hey, Alice! Lavant cried. Save some'a that for me, baby. He laughed and turned back to Socrates. We used t'be all political and had meetings about the world and how we was gonna change it. You know what it's like. Bunch'a men and women talkin' so hard that they sweat, thinkin' so hard that they get nosebleed.
Socrates felt the Jack Daniel's then. His smile turned into a chuckle and the music entered his bones.
That's right, Lavant continued. All we did was talk and grunt. One day we was all gonna live together an' have a dozen kids between us. The children would be an army that we'd lead into war. Next mont' we was all gonna go to Cuba and work for the revolution amongst the Afro-Cubanos down there.