Cindy opened the door to Jack's Bar at 5:50PM, ten minutes before her shift was due to start. Stepping out from the September night, she ripped off her coat and scarf as the warmth of the room hit her. It was an unseasonably cold autumn, and a strong wind had blown against Cindy the entire length of her twenty-minute walk to work.
"I gotta save up for a car," she thought.
Coat in arm, she walked over to the bar to greet her co-workers.
"Hi Will, Marlene. How's it been today?"
"Dead" Will said, picking up a perfectly polished glass.
Indeed, there was a single customer in the bar, a young man wearing a black uniform with the familiar letters "RPD" printed on the back. He was facing away from Cindy, drinking a beer at a table next to the bar, staring at the sports news on the wall-mounted TV. She pointed at him and made an inquiring look at Will, to which he shrugged his shoulders. Kevin Ryman, a hot-headed local cop, had been blacklisted by Jack a few weeks ago for refusing to pay his tab.
"Weekdays, huh" Cindy said.
Marlene rolled her eyes in agreement.
"I'll just change and then you can go, Marlene. Where's Jack tonight?" Cindy asked.
"He's sleeping upstairs," Will said flatly. "Said he had a stomach ache and needed to lie down."
Cindy nodded, unsurprised. It was a running joke at the bar that Will, technically the supervisor, pretty much kept the place running.
Cindy opened the door to the employee area and headed upstairs. It was an expansive space, comprising a main lounge, locker room, smaller lounge, Jack's saloon (where he kept his rare collection of vintage alcohol) and even a small bedroom with a camper bed. The next floor up, enormous shelves full of what seemed like every beer, cider and spirit known to man were housed in an expansive warehouse. There was even a separate side room where the wines were kept. "I'm lucky to work in such a nice bar," Cindy would think to herself, smile fixed firmly in place, when she was dealing with a particularly rude or perverted customer. Jack, who was only in his thirties, had bought the bar over ten years ago and furnished it with his traditional, expensive taste. The bar area downstairs was walnut panelled, and antique prints hung on the walls in gold frames. Jack's was famous in Raccoon for stocking rare and exotic wines and spirits, and he had taken what most would describe as a "classic" take on his choice of uniforms for his staff.
Cindy stepped into the locker room and began undressing. She opened her locker and took out her uniform. She slipped on a blue and white collared shirt, low-cut waistcoat, a black skirt that clung just above her knees and three-inch black pumps. Finally, she attached a black bow tie and her nametag. Cindy checked herself in the mirror attached to the inside of her locker, turning her blonde hair from side to side and making sure her ponytail was still held neatly in place. Satisfied, she hung her own clothes up and closed her locker for the last time.
Arriving downstairs, Cindy already had her trademark smile attached to her face.
"Time to work!" she announced to no one in particular.
"I'll catch you later, guys," Marlene said. She already had her jacket on and threw a baseball cap on her head as she left the bar.
"Have a good one," she said, opening the front door and stepping into the street, which was beginning to darken as the night closed in.
Although she was definitely an early-morning person, Cindy preferred working nights for the bigger tips. In the day, the bar served a lunch menu, created by Will, which brought in a decent revenue for Jack. But nights were always busier, and with her cheeriness and attention to detail, Cindy could always make decent earnings.
Half an hour passed and a few more customers started trickling in. Will was taking an order from two guys at the bar, a couple of rent-a-cops who always came in and ate like pigs but were friendly enough. Determined to stay occupied, Cindy circulated the bar, restocking the fridge, refilling the napkin holders and wrapping cutlery. A tall blonde woman Cindy had seen a couple of times before entered the bar, dressed, as usual, in a sharply tailored trouser suit and flat leather pumps, her straight hair freshly cut in an elegant short style. Cindy walked over, pen and pad in hand, to take her order. Another young woman dressed in a long overcoat and big round glasses entered the bar and slid past her quickly, heading straight for the bathroom.
"What can I get you, miss?" Cindy asked, reaching Alyssa's table.
"I'll have a Manhattan" she replied, opening a laptop on the table in front of her.
"Of course, I'll be right back."
Cindy walked back to the bar and looked around for Will. He was known as the better bartender at Jack's, but he was presently wrestling with a giant silver dish in the sink, scrubbing furiously and swearing under his breath. Not that he wouldn't have been happy to stop what he was doing to give Cindy a hand, but she didn't want to bother him.
Dr George Hamilton, fresh off duty at Raccoon General Hospital, downed the last of his Scotch and slammed the glass down on the table. He came here because the alcohol was of fantastic quality, the best in town, he was sure. He could drink it quickly, and he had done so a lot in the past few weeks. George looked up as a blaring newsflash, audible even above the music, caught his interest.
"There was a disruption earlier at today's football match between the Raccoon Sharks and the Old Court Thunders. Apparently the game was interrupted when an unruly fan got out of control and sparked a riot. The number of injured is not yet known, but more than fifty local law enforcement officers were called to the scene."
George groaned and rubbed his forehead. Destruction, senseless violence; this was the kind of idiocy he had to deal with every day: Innocent people getting hurt because someone else lost their mind for a split second. He needed another Scotch. He flagged down the waitress, who noticed him but stuck up her index figure to indicate she'd be right with him, which would have seemed rude if she wasn't smiling so brightly. She was cute, he thought. Probably too young for him, but very cute. He began wondering how much one earned working in such an establishment. It couldn't be much, but she sure was a cheerful worker.
Cindy slid her hand along the length of her ponytail, a tic she had when she was a little unsure of herself. She took a bottle of Canadian whiskey, sweet Vermouth and bitters, poured them into a mixing glass and added ice. After stirring thoroughly, she strained it into a cocktail glass and dropped a cherry inside. She was pleased with the result, and was about to shout to Will and show him her handiwork when she saw him walk over to the employee lounge and disappear inside. Normally he'd never leave her alone in the bar, but three customers, including Officer Ryman, had left in the past fifteen minutes, and most of the remaining clientele seemed happy drinking and watching TV by themselves.
Cindy placed her new masterpiece on a tray and walked around the bar to deliver it to the sultry blonde sitting by the window. As she walked past Mark and Bob, she felt something small and hairy run along her ankles. The sensation sent a shiver right up her body, and with a small squeak, she sent Alyssa's Manhattan flying into the air. It smashed at her feet, and shock gave way to irritation as she let out a groan. Mark turned around and stared, his mouth full of food. Cindy and Mark exchanged a look and each shrugged their shoulders. At least this customer wasn't too bothered by rats. Cindy looked back to the bar and saw Will was back already. He gave her a wave and a wink, and she groaned as she headed to the kitchenette to get the broom.
Will placed his finished steak and fries on a plate and walked a meter to the bar to deliver it to Mark and Bob.
"You guys want some more drinks with that?" he asked politely. He could tell the older guy had had enough.
"We'll take another couple beers, thanks man," Mark replied.
Will grabbed two bottles of Budweiser and placed them on the bar before heading back to wash more dishes. Mark dug into his rib eye and fries with relish, chewing loudly and taking big swigs of his drink between bites. Mark was over fifty, Bob even older. Neither were the social type, but Mark convinced Bob to join him a night or two a week for drinks and a meal after work. The staff at Jack's were friendly, and he appreciated the bar's traditional charm, although he did suspect the bartender was a homosexual. Modern America was a confusing thing to Mark. He had always regarded his son's ability to cope with growing up in the strange society of the nineties with puzzlement and admiration in equal measure. He was thinking of his son as he finished his meal, dropping his cutlery loudly onto the plate, looking very pleased with himself. He glanced over and saw that Bob had hardly touched his food.
"Aren't you eating anything?"
"Stupid cow. Where's that drink?"
Alyssa looked around and saw Cindy walk over to the bar. She turned back to her laptop, winding straight back into work mode as she re-read the article. It hadn't even taken her an hour to get the first draft of her story done. She had plumped it out a little gratuitously with background information on the murders, but she knew that her editor was going to at least cut it in half to make room for Sarah's story tomorrow. Alyssa sat forward and began rereading the article.
"I'm thirsty."
She didn't notice the door open as another customer stepped inside. From her table, about ten feet from the door, a young man dressed in blue jeans and a matching denim jacket stood with his head down and his long, wavy hair falling over his face.
Cold air quickly filled the room and Alyssa looked up.
"Close the door, moron. It's September."
As Cindy tipped the remains of the cocktail glass into a bin behind the bar, Will walked over to an empty table and picked up a glass. He noticed the man standing in the doorway with his head down.
"What a weird customer."
Sitting close to where Will was standing, Mark turned around and looked towards the door.
"Who is this guy?" he said.
Next to him, Bob's body gave way as his arms slid across the length of the bar and he fell to the floor.
"Damn it!"
Mark stood up and knelt by Bob.
"He's unconscious," he said.
Cindy peered over the bar at the fallen man. George stood up and went to him, checking him over.
"How much has he had to drink?" he asked.
Alyssa sat watching as Will walked over to the weird customer, his nose scrunched up as he approached. Far from being a big guy, Will was nonetheless used to throwing drunks out into the street when they refused to be reasonable. But the moment he opened his mouth to talk, the guy was on him. He thrust himself against Will with such force he almost fell backwards, and before he could react the man wrapped his arms around him and soundlessly sunk his teeth into his neck.
"What are you doing?"
Will pushed the man towards the door, his teeth still in his neck.
"Get out of here!" he shouted.
The man staggered back into the street, and Alyssa watched astonished from the window as he fell flat on his back. Will quickly closed the door and locked it, his knees slumping into a pile of his own blood as he managed to wheeze, "What the hell…was that?"
Alyssa flew back from her stool as a body slammed against the window right next to her.
"That man's dead, he's got to be dead," she was thinking.
But he wasn't. This wasn't the man who had just attacked Will; this man's face was bubblegum blue, and he had a giant tear in his skin leading out of his mouth that looked so painful no normal human could possibly stand it. But this man was presently thrashing against the giant window, hands dumbly feeling along the length of it as he pressed his face against it. The sight was so shocking and disgusting that Alyssa barely noticed she was on the floor, looking up. She came to her senses when she heard the man next to her say "My God" in such a grave voice it was disturbing in itself.
"What's happened to him?"
Alyssa, finally managing to stand, looked at Cindy as she hurried over. She was almost crying as she spoke.
"He's had a chunk taken out of his jugular vein. Do you have a first aid kit?" George asked, speaking quickly and clearly.
"It's upstairs," Cindy said, turning around.
"Don't bother, he won't make it," George said.
He took off his suit jacket and stood on it at the armpit, ripping it up with surprising strength and taking the sleeve off in one motion. He quickly set to work tying the material around Will's neck, who was already unconscious.
Alyssa turned around and saw that Mark had managed to get Bob to his feet, his arm around him in a supportive stance. He looked awful, too. His eyes were half open and his head was leaning on Mark's shoulder. He looked like he wouldn't be able to stand on his own.
"Bang."
Everyone in the room looked towards the door.
"Bang."
Someone was slamming against it so hard it felt like the room was vibrating.
"Bang."
"Shit, help me push these tables," Alyssa said.
Alyssa quickly took her laptop and placed it on the ground. Cindy, the only other unoccupied person in the room, helped Alyssa move the tables, in fact shaped as barrels in keeping with Jack's rustic taste, in front of the door. They were heavy and wide, and they managed to fit two of them in front of the door.
"Bang."
The sound was softer as the door began hitting the tables, but with that much force Alyssa knew the lock would give in quickly.
"What are they doing?" Cindy whispered, barely able to speak as she stared at the gathering crowd on the street.
"The football riot," George said, holding Will's head in his lap. "It must have moved into the streets."
"Bang."
"Those are no regular football hooligans," Alyssa thought, looking back at the man who was still prostrating himself hideously against the window. She suddenly remembered her colleague Jacob was covering the football game tonight.
"Bang!"
The noise was different, louder than ever. Alyssa saw that the door was wedged open slightly, and the lock had finally broken.
Yoko Suzuki stood facing the mirror, hands on the sink. Around her were scattered the long strands of hair she had hurriedly cut off a few minutes ago. She looked at herself, evaluating her new look. Her straight, formerly shoulder length hair now fell down the sides of her face in a messy bob style.
"It's not pretty, but it will do."
The glasses, which she didn't need, were now sitting at the bottom of the trash can by the door. She had also removed her yellow Umbrella staff overshirt and skirt, changing into a pair of old jeans and a green blouse she had packed in her rucksack.
"Hair, check. Clothes, check. I just hope they don't recognise this bag."
The bag was something she certainly couldn't bring herself to throw away. Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, Yoko closed her eyes and recited a traditional Japanese meditation her mother had taught her. She didn't know the meaning of the words, but the familiar rhythm had its own sense for her. Yoko opened her eyes, forcing herself to smile. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the scissors resting on the sink and walked over to the trash can, throwing them on top of her discarded clothes.