ONE
Rain spattered on my face when I came to, my face in the gutter, as usual.
Neon light bled onto the pavement in ripples of colour as I tried to right myself, only realising too late that a boot was firmly pressed between my shoulder blades, forcing me back down. I must've grunted, because the boot dug deeper. I probably should've pretended to still be out cold, but hindsight is always twenty-twenty. I realised my options were limited and the only thing for me to do was to enquire as to how I wound up in this mess in the first place.
"Look, buddy, what's going on here?" I croaked, and realised that my jaw hurt like hell in the process. My unseen friend said something in a low voice, and then I felt the pressure between my shoulder blades lessen. He was talking to someone else. Whoever he was.
Suddenly, the boot lifted off me and I was wrenched into a semi standing position by a shaved gorilla, who I recognised as Ricky, a bouncer for the Volcano cocktail bar. He held me firmly by my coat, so my toes didn't even skid on the pavement. He turned me to look at the source of the other voice.
"Mr. Logan, I do apologise for this."
Ricky released his grip on me and I fell to the ground unceremoniously. The man, Ricky's boss, stood near the side entrance of the club looking at me across the narrow little alley. He held an umbrella with one hand and smoked a cigarette with the other. His crisp grey suit was unspoilt by the rain, unlike my own, which was soaked with rain, sweat and most likely blood. He exhaled smoke slowly and shrugged. "Ricky can be so clumsy." He smirked, and then his blue eyes flickered with anger. I could still feel Ricky behind me.
"You put on quite a drunken display in there, Mr. Logan. I had to order Ricky to escort you out."
Having no other way to explain my current state, I had to believe that version of events. Something told me he was lying though. The man stepped forward and his blonde hair shone with each pulse of the red neon light above. "I hope I didn't embarrass you, Warren," I said with little interest if he believed me or not.
"When a man can't handle his alcohol, I feel embarrassed for him." He laughed softly and flicked his cigarette to the ground. "And while I hold no hard feelings for this little episode, I think it might be best for all concerned that you stay out of my club in future. You simply make my patrons nervous."
He turned on his heels and walked back into the open door behind him, leaving Ricky and me in the alley. Alone. Ricky glowered at me. "You heard Mr. Worthington, Logan. Don't come 'round here if you don't want trouble." His deep voice boomed from his chest and I looked up into those squinty eyes that shone with sincerity. "And I don't wanna keep beatin' you up like this, OK?"
I patted him on the arm and gave him a half smile. "OK, Ricky. I'll try to be good in future." I began to walk for the open mouth of the alley and Ricky ambled after me, his breath coming out in grunts. "So tell me the truth, Ricky. Did I even make it past the front door this time?"
Ricky looked down at me and frowned, rain dripping off his sloping brow with each step. He shook his head. "Mr. Worthington had three guys on you before you even made it that far. They have pictures of you up at the front desk, but the new girl was on tonight, and she didn't recognise you. Let you waltz right in," He said with amazement and a twisted smile.
"Hope Warren doesn't fire the poor girl," I said flatly, hands in soggy pockets, as we approached my Buick parked across the street. Ricky shrugged. There was a new girl at the front desk every week.
"Goes through people fast doesn't he?"
I dug my keys out of my pocket and looked up at Ricky, not really expecting a response, but pleasantly surprised when I got one. "You do OK to leave him alone, Logan," He said slowly, like he was thinking hard about each word. "Let the past go. Move on. Otherwise...."
I squared my shoulders and tried to look my full five foot eight. "Thanks for the advice Ricky. Drop by sometime. We'll have a drink or something."
He nodded. "Sure thing Logan."
As I drove away I watched the giant figure recede into the distance, lumbering towards the neon glow of the niteclub.
The journey to what passes for my home was short and riddled with questions. I knew I had a reason to go to the club, but for the life of me I couldn't remember. Whatever Worthington did to me, he did it but good. I don't know if a violent blow to the head or an even more deadly blow to my pride caused my loss of memory. I put it down to a bit of both as I pulled up and crossed the street to what my landlord calls "an apartment complex", but in fact it is a converted textile factory that his brother owned before it went belly up and had the guts ripped out of it. Now, with a thin new coat of paint, and each of its three floors portioned up with plywood to give the illusion of privacy and space, it meets the city's requirements as an urban dwelling.
The front door swung open without much complaining and I slouched into the lobby, leaving puddles of water behind me, heading for the mouldy wooden stairway that led up to my room. My foot hadn't planted itself on the first step when Joe Greenson rounded the corner and caught my by the elbow. I looked down at his leathery hand on my wet jacket, and pulled away slightly when he smiled at me. "Tough night, Logan?"
I grunted. "You could say that Joe."
He chomped on a cigar thoughtfully, took a few puffs, and crossed his arms over his chest. Even in this weather, the man wore matching corduroy shorts and safari shirt. "So how's business?"
When it became clear that I wasn't getting away from my landlord without a conversation, I leaned against the banister and made my face look a mask of patience and interest. "Slow at the moment. My last case was three weeks ago. You know how it is."
He nodded, but his green little eyes said no I don't know how it is. "What was that? The peeping tom?"
"No that was a few months back. The last case I had was for Folberg."
"Oh yeah. Had you tailing his wife, right?"
"Uh huh. Good ol' Judge Folberg," I muttered. I looked up the stairway, trying to give Joe the hint that I needed to go now. He ignored it.
"Logan, you know I hate bringing this up, but your rent is late. Again." He said it rapidly without meeting my eyes.
" I'm finalizing my accounts. Some yahoos owe me money."
He nodded. His hand still clutched my elbow. "Even if it's not the full amount, Logan. At least by Friday."
Joe always tried to put the screws in when he's hard up for cash. I moved away, trudging up the stairs. "Sure thing, Joe," I called over my shoulder. I wondered if he could hear me over the creaky staircase.
My room was not a welcome sight as I flipped the light switch. Too many days and nights away from the place and not enough time to clean the place were the contributing factors. Clothes were strung up from the ceiling at odd intervals, and the smell of damp in the place assaulted me like a punch in the head. I didn't even wanna contemplate the state of the tiny sink in the corner. I could see the top of a tower of dishes poking out of it.
Promising myself that this would be fixed in the morning, I shrugged out of my wet, heavy clothes and pulled out my trundle bed. Outside the rain drummed on rooftops like the gunfire.
Ricky had certainly done his job. The pain between my shoulder blades raged as I stretched out on the thin mattress over rusty iron I like to call my bed. I rolled onto my side and stared at the lights of the city that peaked over the precariously stacked dishes in my sink. I thought back on the vents of the night, replayed the incidents in a number of variations, wondered if there was any possible way I could have looked like a bigger fool. Truth be told, it was not my finest hour. Worthington had his goons on me before I could really do anything. Ricky was just doing his job, and I respect that.
I knew I'd be paying for the whiskey I had at the bar, if the kicks to my head didn't do me in first. I had some business to sort out in the morning. I hadn't had a decent case in a while and the bills were piling up. If I didn't do something about my woeful financial state-and soon-I'd be out in the gutter with my ass hanging out of my pants. A few characters owed me for assignments I'd pulled a while back, but before I could collect, I had to find the bastards first. Even if they didn't have the money, I couldn't very well beat em up, although no one would blame me. I needed someone like Ricky to be my accounts payable clerk.
I fell asleep, with an image of flame red hair and the scent of lilacs and honey in my nostrils, and I thought about dancing with her head on my shoulder, wearing an expensive seersucker suit and shiny new shoes, seeing my reflection in the dance floor below us.