Chapter 10
The bar was dark, with neon signs for different types of beers the only illumination. Smoke filled the air, a mixture of pot and cigarettes. It was uncommon for Night Eye to visit such a place, but he needed a drink. The music beat around him, some kind of grunge. He decided not to risk any food, and sat there with a bottle. The bartender was a very large, husky, hairy fellow, with a deep boisterous voice, dressed in a greasy, white tee shirt. Several other people were in the bar, most of them not worth a second glance.
Night Eye took a long swig of his beer, and looked up at the wall. There were several pieces of paper tacked there, most of them posters for missing children. Night Eye sighed, and returned to the bottle. A man sat down on the stool to the left of him, just coming in from outside.
"Whew. Sure is cold out there." He said to no one in particular. "Hey, barkeep, gimme a Bud." He turned to Night Eye, attempting to be friendly, "How you been?"
He spied the ring on his finger as he took off his gloves. Night Eye shrugged. He didn't waste his breath on some bastard that should be home with his wife, instead of in some dump like this.
The bartender brought him his beer, set it before him, and returned to his conversation with a rowdy group of what looked like truckers. The tattoo along Night Eye's arm began to itch; the spirit was growing a bit restless. Night Eye could tell it disliked the city almost as much as he did.
The guy looked over at him and asked, "Hey buddy, how'd you lose that eye? Some street fight?" He threw some playful punches at him, and laughed, trying to be funny.
Night Eye turned his head and glared at the guy. "I don't see that it's any of your business, but, no, I was born like this."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to offend you." The guy put up is hand defensively.
Night Eye took another drink, and a trashy looking girl, who hardly could have been over eighteen, and obviously a prostitute, stepped in between them. She put her hands on the bar and looked at each of them in turn. "Who wants to buy me a drink?"
"I'd be happy to. That is unless, you want her?" The guy said, and looked over at Night Eye. By then Night Eye was fed up. He topped off his bottle, and placed the money on the counter.
"She's all yours." He said and walked outside, pulling on his coat.
Night Eye was waiting in the alley as they passed by. The guy from the bar and the hooker he picked up walked out about an hour later. They were both drunk, and were laughing and giggling, their heads close together talking through the wind. When they had passed, Night Eye followed.
They wouldn't be found till morning. Not hardly worth the change. He could smell the sickness off the whore, which nearly gagged him. He padded off into the alley, his paws silent on the falling snow, already blanketing the deep crimson behind him.
***
He walked down the hallway of the hotel. He had needed a place to stay so he had come here. Night Eye slid the key into the knob on the badly painted door of the room he had rented. It definitely wasn't any Holiday Inn. It opened with a creak, and Night Eye flipped on the light.
The inside was a lot cleaner. At least the maids keep the rooms clean. He took off his coat and threw it on the bed. He removed his boots, and other clothes and stepped into the shower. The water was cold, but hardly refreshing. The thought of how many chemicals and other crap in the waters nearly made his flesh crawl. He stepped out, dried off, and went out and lay on the bed. He turned on the small TV to the news. Some woman with too much makeup on was reporting about some murder up on the east side. Night Eye rolled his eyes, and flipped it off. He turned off the lamp and went to sleep.
He awoke the next night, groggy and in a bad mood. But, that was to be expected. The foul atmosphere of the city was beginning to wear on him. He put on his clothes and threw on his coat. He closed the door behind him, and locked it. Taking the stairs down to the lobby he figured he should stop by some restaurant or something and pick up a bite before he set off.
He stepped in the lobby and looked up at the clock on the wall. Twelve. I slept in. Oh well, the late life is always more fun. He walked over to the receptionist to log out. He gave back the key and started to walk out. The phone rang as he reached for the door, and the receptionist called to him.
"Sir. I think it's for you."
Night Eye stopped and turned around. Who the hell knows I'm here? He walked over and took the receiver, "Who is this?"
The voice on the other end was raspy, as if they had some wasting disease, or had a chest injury. It sent shivers up his back, there was an odd familiarity to it. "Look across the street."
Night Eye looked out the window, across the street. Someone stood in a phone booth on the corner. It was shadowed, and the falling snow obscured it further. He asked again, this time more forceful, "Who is this?"
"I thought you would recognize me, old friend. No matter. You know, there's a time in a man's life when it pays to visit mother." Then there was a click, and a dial tone.
Night Eye looked back at the phone booth, but it was empty. Then his eyes widened as realization dawned on him. He shot out the door, hoping he wasn't too late.