The Interview (25 page)

The bartender slid in my direction. She leaned across the bar and
presented a very nice view of her push-up bra enhanced cleavage.
“What can I get you?” she asked. She was in her
mid-twenties. Straight hair that was caught between black and blonde.
Faded blue eyes. Too much cover-up. Pretty in a rundown, fucked over
way. The kind of girl
Bon
Jovi
sings
about wanting to save. Her name was probably Tanya or Kelly or some
other failed cheerleader name.

“Beer would be good,” I said.

“Which?”

“Surprise me.”

She rolled her eyes and said, “OK. I'll surprise you.”

“Thanks. I love the eye roll. That was good.”

She stared at me and tried to determine whether I was a nice man or a
bad man. I returned the stare for a few beats, then threw a ten on
the bar between us.

“You want change?” she asked without taking her eyes off
me.

“Nope.”

She reached a decision that seemed to suit her. She grabbed the ten,
gave me a smile, and went to get my surprise. I pretended to stare at
the television while I surveyed my surroundings through the mirror in
front of me. I had no idea what I was doing, what I was looking for,
or what the hell the point of this visit was. The only thing I did
know was I wasn't thinking about Frankie, Kim, Alex, Ashley, or
Officer Bradford.

The bartender returned with my glass of piss.

“Thank ya kindly.”

“Never seen you in here,” she observed.

“Never been. Just checking it out. Heard some things.”

Her left eye twitched. Don't know if it meant anything. She glanced
over my shoulder, then back at me.

“What'd you hear?”

“There was a cool bartender that worked here on Saturday
nights.”

“Shut up.”

“You asked.” I offered my hand to her along with my
name.

“Kelly? Get a lot of shit when you were a kid?”

“Yes.”

“Gina,” she said and finally shook my hand.

“Nice to meet you, Gina.”

“Don't really fit in here.”

I knew that the moment I walked in, but it gave me an excuse to look
around. The guys around me were mostly Hispanic, which made sense
considering the neighborhood. The four white guys had “construction
worker” written all over them. Ethnic background aside, the
common theme was manual labor.

I turned back to her and asked her why.

“You're a surfer dude. You belong down at the beach. Not here.”

“How long have you worked here?”

“Since it opened, couple months.”

“Like it?”

Eye twitch, a glance over my shoulder, then back to me. “It's
OK. It's my first bar gig.”

“How's the tips?”

Eye twitch. “Depends.” I thought she was about to say
something else but instead she looked at my beer and said, “You
gonna drink it?”

I took a sip. “Happy?”

“You a cop?”

I looked over one shoulder, then the other before I asked, “Me?”

“Yeah, you, surfer boy. Are you a cop?”

“No. I am not a cop. Not wearing a wire either.” I
lifted up my shirt to prove it to her. “Did you want to check
my pants?”

“Maybe later. Sorry, had to ask.”

“Why?”

“Like I said, you don't really fit in.”

“I get that. So is this the normal crowd?”

She frowned at me. “What's with all the questions?”

“Just making conversation.”

She leaned towards me and whispered, “Are you casing the
place?”

“Huh?”

“You know, are you thinking about robbing the place?”

“First a cop, now a robber.”

She leaned back, smiled, and shrugged her shoulders. “You're
just . . . I don't know. Forget it.”

“Forgotten. I used to do a little work behind the bar.”

“You? You don't look the type.”

“Back in my younger days. Place down in Newport. Pretty cool
gig. Made good money.”

“Yeah, what kind of money?”

“Don't know, Saturday night, three, four hundred after I tipped
out the kitchen and the barback.”

“Get the fuck out!”

“You get the fuck out!”

“No way,” she said in dismissal. “You're full of
shit.”

“OK. I'm full of shit, but that was an average. Fourth of July
week, I banked a grand on a Saturday night.”

“Shut up!”

“I will not. And . . .” I leaned towards her and
finished with, “I didn't have to suck anybody's dick in the
backroom.”

Gina took a step back. She took a long hard look over my shoulder
this time. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just saying. How old are you, Gina?”

She shook her head at me. “What the fuck you want?”

“Just talking, bartender to bartender. That's all.”

I saw the guy come up behind me in the mirror, but I played dumb and
let him drop his hand on my shoulder.

“Everything cool, Gina?”

She surprised me by saying, “Yep. He's cool.”

“Is she right, Mister? Are you cool?”

I tried to seem intimidated and shaken as I allowed myself to be
turned around, but I'm not sure how convincing I was. It's hard to
fake fear when the guy who is doing the scaring is smaller than you,
and resembles Kenny G on top of it.

“You guys are kind of jumpy,” I said.

“Don't like people fucking with the girls.”

I looked around the bar. My showdown with the wannabe bouncer had
drawn everyone's attention, except for one guy sitting in a booth. I
could only see the back of his head, but my hunch was this was
Terrance. “I see one girl, not girls, and I'm not fucking with
her, Kenny.”

Gina snorted. The guy's eyes widened and his nostrils flared. “My
name's not Kenny, Bitch.”

“Just a guess. You look like a Kenny. Or a G, possibly.”

“Think it's time for you to go.” He put his hand out to
grab my arm.

“If you touch me, Kenny, I promise you will regret it.”

There was a moment when I was sure he was going to try and move me. I
didn't want that. If I had to leave this guy broken on the floor
right now, I was not going to see what was happening in the backroom,
ever. I wouldn't be able to step foot in this place. Chalk it up to
inexperience with delicate situations. My tack and charm were lost
along with my emotions. Gina saved him from making a huge mistake and
from destroying my plans.

“He's cool, Joey. He wasn't messing with me. You're trying to
run out a completely good sale. And he's a good tipper, so do me a
favor and chill.”

He gave me the look that told me that I was lucky the girl had saved
my ass. I gave it right back to him.

“It's cool, Joey,” I said.

“Your problem now, Gina. Don't come crying when he pisses you
off.”

“I'll be good. Promise.”

I received the middle finger salute, then Joey went and rejoined his
boss in the booth.

“God, you would have killed him.”

“Nah, but thanks. I wasn't ready to go yet.”

She reached out and grabbed the beer from in front of me. She walked
it over to the sink and poured it down the drain. She refilled it,
and set my fresh mug of piss on the bar. I dug a twenty out of my
pocket and set it on the bar.

“You need change?”

“Nope.”

GINA LEFT ME ALONE FOR a while. She chatted with some of the other
customers, washed mugs, cleared tables, and cast sideways glances at
me over the course of the next hour. She repeated the process of
dumping out my mug twice during that time. Another forty bucks left
my pocket. She could have run a tab or something for me, but our
arrangement seemed to suit her just fine. I needed to get a receipt
for the seventy dollars in beer to give to Tristan for reimbursement.

I longed for a stool. Standing was lame. The only saving grace was
that The Triple Six did not observe the No Smoking law. I used my
beer as an ashtray and chain smoked while I watched and waited for
something to happen, or my legs to give out, whichever came first.

The customers came and went. Always by themselves. In fact, everyone
in the bar was a single. Weird. Every fifteen minutes or so, one of
those singles was escorted by Joey through a door marked “Office”.
They reappeared at different intervals, but never longer than fifteen
minutes.

Gina appeared in front of me with the intent of taking me for another
twenty. I stopped her by placing my hand on top of my mug.

“What's going on in the office, Gina?”

Her eyes flicked to the door, then back to me. “That's why
you're here, isn't it?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“What does it matter to you?”

“It doesn't matter to me. I'm just asking a question.”

“Nothing is going on in the office,” she said in a
defiant tone that reminded me of Annette's grandson when he was not
getting his way.

“Gina, this isn't the norm. Getting groped by drunks, sure.
Having to listen to crude and disgusting come-ons, without a doubt.
Sexually harassed by your boss, definitely. That's the price you pay
for being a bartender. But 'doing nothing in the office' isn't.”

She found something on the floor that interested her as she said,
“Go over to Joey and ask him for the special. Give him twenty
bucks.”

“That's it?”

But she had moved away, leaning on the bar to display her breasts to
the newest customer. She didn't need saving. She needed to pull her
head out of her ass before it got stuck there permanently.

I went to see Joey.

JOEY HAD HIS BACK TO the wall with a clear view of the entire bar. He
saw me coming, and tried his best to stare holes through me. I kept
my smile in check. I just could not take this guy seriously. If I
cared even the slightest bit, I might have spent some energy thinking
about the wisdom of hiring him as muscle.

“Hi,” I said as I arrived at the booth. I glanced over at
the guy I figured was Terrance. Suddenly, Kenny G as muscle didn't
seem so absurd. The kid in charge of this dive looked like he was all
of fourteen. Freckles everywhere, thick rimmed glasses with the
thickest lenses I have ever seen, and a curly head of red hair. He
looked me up and down, then dismissed me.

“What do you want?”

I threw a twenty on the table and said, “The special.”

Joey looked me up and down several times. He shook his head and said,
“Not sure what you're talking ‘bout. There are no
specials here. Just bottled beer, Officer.”

I rolled my eyes. “If I'm a cop, then you're built like
Stallone.”

Joey came up out of the booth in what I'm sure he thought was blazing
quickness. He was in my face, in my space, and on my nerves. Fuck it.
I stepped forward into him. He lost his balance as he tried to
retreat. I didn't want him to fall so I grabbed his arm and pulled
him back into me. My knee connected squarely with his genitals. Joey
was no longer part of the conversation.

I sat down in the booth and looked at the kid. He looked back with
wide eyes, but not fear. Excitement was closer to what I saw in his
eyes. He bounced in his seat.

“You need to hire better help.”

He put his hands out and nodded. “You applying?”

“No. Just want the Special. Tired of Joey trying to muscle me.
Pathetic.”

“I agree . . .” He let the words hang so I could fill in
the blank with my name. I obliged with, “Batman.”

“Oh my. No cape and cowl?”

“I'm off-duty. Robin's watching the city for me tonight.”

He frowned. “Never quite understood the whole Robin thing. Why
saddle such an imposing mountain of masculinity with a little boy
faggot? Any thoughts?”

“Nope.”

“Not very Batman-like. To not have any thoughts, I mean. He's a
detective more than a superhero. You're really more of a Wolverine,
it seems to me. Full speed ahead with no thought as to the
consequences.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.” I didn't though. I
took it as a slap in the face of who I was. The kid was getting to
me. I wished he would stop bouncing.

Joey's plight had been ignored, but now Joey struggled to his feet.
His face was red. He did not look good. I didn't think he would try
anything. I took my attention away from the kid just in case,
however.

My hand was suddenly covered by a large spider. I tried to pull my
hand away but it was held in the very strong grip of the kid. My skin
crawled. What I had taken for a spider was just a hand. His fingers
were long, skinny, and slimy, as if he had just sucked on them.

“Joey,” he said while never taking his eyes off of me.
“You're fired. Get the fuck out of here and do not let me see
your face ever again.” I sensed Joey move away. I wanted to go
with him. The kid would not let me go. I knew who had cut up the girl
that Tristan had talked about. I also knew that there were other
girls that Tristan didn't know about. Girls that no one knew about.
The kid was a freak. A scary, sadistic freak.

Fear, like all the rest, is an emotion that has no recent meaning for
me. When I think of fear it is inexorably attached to that day long
ago when I felt death brush my soul as it gorged itself upon a small
town in Eastern Washington. I did not feel fear that day. What I
experienced was Evil. Evil is not an emotion, it's a physical entity.
Evil can wrap its arms around you and squeeze the life from your
body. Evil can kill three hundred people and leave them hanging in
the trees.

The kid was not Evil. He was some lesser form. The bastard child of
Evil, perhaps. The kid did, however, creep me out. I mean really
severely creeped me out. Some serious wires were loose beneath that
curly red hair. I could feel his disease rolling off of him in slow
waves. He looked at me. He bounced in place. His tongue flicked
across his lips. He held my hand. I shivered. He smiled and gestured
towards the door. “Go on in. Enjoy yourself.”

I didn't really want to go back there anymore. Actually, I wanted to
be a hundred miles from this place, and two hundred from the kid.