Drinkin' and Smokin'

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It all started, I think, when I got a call from Vanessa. She said, 'Carlyle, I got us a good thing here, we'll do the gig, and they'll be listening to us, you and me. I already told them about you; they're dyin' to her you.' I told her, 'sure, I'll be there' and I asked her to give me directions again.

I boarded bus 125, the one with the sign marked, 'Istania'. The bus driver didn't look at me as I boarded, my ticket checked out and that was all he was concerned with until he made it to the last stop, got a cup of coffee and found his way home. Maybe we had a conversation about my destination, none that I remember. The other people on the bus were all lost in their own worlds, 'will I figure how to keep my wife in the dark?', 'can these numbers win me the lottery?', 'I wish that Jensen would quit being such a prick at work' .... all their thoughts filled with hope, tempered by the cold hard reality that tommorrow was pretty much going to be just like today. I sat near the rear exit, not so much deliberately, I guess, more from the hauntings that demanded knowing how to get out of every location and get a shot in edgewise. A bit like an E scale, I guess ... D minor was there to take the bite out of things, G could always rise to the challenge and carry one through the pinch.

It was supposed to be some kind of honkey-tonk roadhouse place. Vanessa explained, that while I was conversing with the new bartender at Sammi's, (before I accidentially broke his arm) an agent (she managed to find in the audience) explained he and his partner were going to be stopping in at the Bookhouse Lounge, not so much to see the local talent or sample the local bar's version of a Vodka Stinger, but because his partner has a cousin who married a woman that grew up near ... I never needed to know these kinds of connections, nearly everywhere I went there were people who 'got it' about how to be with other people and then other people who 'didn't get it'. Not to their fault, they just didn't get it. So before I got to hear about the farm she was raised on, I had it figured that the agent's partner's wife 'got it' and so I said, 'sure, I'll be there, just tell me the bus number and direction'.

The high pitched whine of Kirena came whistling down inches before my nose, just in time to clip the tip of a greyish sabre. My left knee was forward and bent, while my right leg was back and nearly straight, (Why would I be fighting right handed, so?). My ashen haired adversary had some muslce behind the thrust and his leading left boot stuttered ever so as he recovered from my deflection. Instinctivly, I straightened my left elbow began a strike with the non lethal end of Kirena, but it only caught the last wisps of a white mane cutting back to the left. Upright and straight, I faced him and he me. 'What hast taken thee so long?', he cackled, then proclaimed, 'Firewood and 21st...'

'...and 21st, son, you go just two blocks on yonder to get to the Bookhouse'. A solitary light in the middle of a vertical three flared in Ander's head, then shifted to the highest of the lights. In the far off distance, a simple exchange between clarinets and trumpets evolved into an oboe supported by violas. 'Yeah thanks', I told the bus driver and exited right, not catching his reply. The diesel engines flared and strained against the bus's still intertia then decayed into the night. Only the whine from a traffic light mingled with that from a 'don't walk sigul', prevailed in this locality. I oriented myself in the direction of the bus drivers last remembered gesture and blinked.

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Tom was idly wiping a tumbler with an off white bar towel when the assistant to the mayor's special commision on something or another came into the bar. While showing an ID, the guest unbuttoned his overcoat and sat on the barstood. 'You work here two evenings ago?'.

'Yeah, I was on that night. The Seperitones brought in two extras, packed the house pretty good they did.'

The detective gently drew his head upward keeping his eyes on the glass in in Tom's hands, 'Why don't you pour two gimlets, one for you and one for me, see. While we talk about that night.'

Tom shrugged and absently began to make two drinks. 'It was a pretty crowded night, we got alot of Main City folks that night. It happens like that quite often, they think it'll be real quaint to go out to a place like this and watch the locals drink their longnecks. If yer a fella, maybe you're lookin' to meet a nice simple country girl who might take a shine to your sophistication. If you're a lass, a particular kinda lass, maybe you're just out here looking for a big country boy. Those are the solos, anyway, but sometimes one invites two, then they invite two, and suddenly the population of the county doubles, just for a night.' Tom served the drinks and continued. 'That night a blues band we have booked through the fall, brought in two extra musicians and gave a different kind of show. It was better and different from their usual stuff. I like listenin' to it, held me back from fixin' my drinks a little. Anyhow the crowd was about half local people and half big city bunch. Ordered wierd drinks they did. Learned what a "Gibson" was, I did ... that night I did.' Tom nodded to himself and took a sip of his drink, thoughtfully.

'And did any of these city customers do anything that stood out? Any of them drink too much? that kind of thing...'

'Oh no, they give you grief about making their drinks funny, but they sure tip nice. None of them smiled crossways at me, that I remember, I was pretty busy you know. No, nobody got under my skin, 'cept that musician guy, early in the evening'

The detective choked off the draw on his drink, 'musician? one of the Sepiatones?', he asked with a slight edge in his voice setting the glass on the bar.

'It's Seperitones and no not them, the guy that came to play with them. His name was Karl or Andy or somethin' like that. Anyway, he came up to me and asked for a drink. I was kinda scared of him right off, I couldn't say why, but I obliged him. He sucked it down faster than old Bill throws his shots and asked for another couple of fingers. I gave it to him and said "usually we let the band have a drink or two afterwards". His eyes narrowed and he looked at me. He looked more sad than angry, which was good because I had him figured for the kind of guy who'd manage pretty well in a bar fight. Anyhow, he started talking about dreams.'

'So, he was drinking and he seemed dangerous? What did he look like?'

'No no, he stopped after the first two drinks, and I we was gettin' along right proper, but then he gone and double crossed me. I stopped what I was working on and we talked about dreaming. He told me about these terrible dreams he'd had. They didn't seem so bad to me, but maybe that's cause I wasn't in there with him. I told him about my dreams and he listened. We had a nice conversation really. He told me that when he drinks alot, he doesn't dream. I guessed that was the same for me, but that it didn't feel so great in the morning. He started to tell me about this real mean guy that came into his dreams everytime he goes to bed sober and we got interuppted. Now mind you, I was getting along with him right about now. To me he sorta became the kind of guy you'd think about makin' into a friend you know. The he went and stole my well whiskey. I turned 'round because little Chuck came in with the vegitable delivery and all, and when I looked back, I seen him putting a flask back into his breast pocket. I didn't think nothin' of it at the time, but then when I was going through my final checks of the bar, you know to see if I was ready, I seen that the well whiskey was only a quarter in the bottle. After a bit of figurin', I put it together that he done it.'

'Tom, this is important, what did he look like?', the detective took out a small notepad.

'He was tallish, and he looked strong. He sure played piano pretty sweet. He had dark hair ...', Tom trailed off.

'What hand did he drink with, was it like this or like this?', the detective asked pantomiming left, then right.

Tom considered the question, 'Left hand, now that you mention it. Yeah, 'cause I was standing in front of the blender and he was at table 93. It isn't a table, it's a seat, but all the ninteys are there at the bar. It's for the kitchen, but yeah, he was drinkin' with his left hand.'

'Well thanks Tom, you've been pretty helpful', the detective withdrew a couple of notes from his wallet and placed them on the bar.

'Can I ask you somethin' mister?'

'Yes'

'Is this about old Ms. Coval's duaghter, gettin' murdered?'

'Yes'

Tom shook his head and looked down, 'I wouldna figured it, not then anyway. Maybe now that you mention it, I guess you just never know about people do ya?'

'Don't worry Tom, you've been very helpful'

The detective stood up smoothly and panned his head, giving the roadhouse a good stare. He almost sniffed the air, but didn't. He turned quickly for the door and his trenchcoat followed.