I sat at the lounge once more, listening vaguely to our next ' client' paint himself as the best man to ever walk God's green earth. He'd come prepared with a long speech this time; obviously practiced time and time again in the mirror, hoping to finally convince me of loaning pine tree out to him. This was the ninth night in a row poor Mr. Andy Hash had come on his hands and knees, resume clutched between tight fists, trying to convince me further how clean his background was. All he really did was convince me he wasn't the man we were looking for.
My ears blocked out his blabbing as I lit another cigar. Pine tree sat up at the bar, his favorite spot to interrogate. It was a short distance away, only blocked by a few unfortunately placed tables that obscured my vision. Nevertheless, his features were perfectly visible to me. I leaned back in my cushioned seat, swirling golden scotch around my cup before taking a small swig. Mr. Andy Hash was still at it, sweating desperately as he clutched the crumpled loose leaf paper he read from. I'd snorted at his preparedness before, his blatant desperation comical in all its fullness. But now, eye snapping from pine tree to Mr. Andy Hash, I couldn't help the mounting annoyance I felt towards him. To think , this man thought he would get anything from my puppet.
It was insulting.
I made an obvious motion of ignoring him, my head turned to watch pine tree. Mr. Andy Hash didn't notice; only scratched his head when he lost his place under the flashing lights of the club. There pine tree sat, back arched, elbows propped as he cradled his chin in interlaced fingers, sprouting a coy smile when he spoke. It'd shocked me when I first found him nights ago, giggling cutely before downing his umteenth glass of wine. Even more when I realized how many customers he'd scrounged up, circling and enclosing him like a caged bird.
The ditsier he got, the greater his allure. At least to these dopes. They liked the idea of an airhead, I suppose. A silly, pretty little thing they could capture, tame, and pass on to the next buyer. It must have been amazingly arousing to the hull of this place when they watched him, almost innocently, take neatly scribbled phone numbers between his cute little fingers. Or, when he crossed his legs. Tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. Laughed. Shifted his eyes. Shuddered. Drank. Breathed, or blinked.
It was all very irritating to watch.
He'd grown a mysterious reputation almost overnight. For a prostitute to require a background check of all things was completely new to these men, and even more for him to proclaim purity. It was a bonus to be sure, but also suspicious. Unlikely. Some groups refused to approach him, in fear of pine tree's underlying motives. Really: Who'd ever heard of a virgin prostitute? Nonetheless, he drew in countless customers. We had basic filing for almost fifty regulars now, even as rumors circulated, and the numbers kept going up.
Pine tree made a show of smiling, slapping the stranger's hand from his shoulder, and shutting his eyes as a margarita slipped past his lips. And, sitting by his side as he always did, laughing and patting the back of some poor fellow unable to cup a feel, was Mr. Fang . The glass in my hand began to shake. He was a suave man. Upright, modest, graceful under the flashing lights, and totally stealing my look . Not to mention my puppet.
He was always around pine tree. From the first day we entered, he'd trailed him like a baby ducking. Sometimes upfront. Sometimes lurking. Each time eyeing him closely with the starved hunger of a dying mutt. I couldn't have been more annoyed with him. Both of them! Mr. Fang was an obstacle every night, stealing pine tree from suspects and possible sources, all to chat it up and pour him a glass. And my puppet, swearing he only hoped to gain his trust for information, followed along freely. Mr. Fang was our main suspect, after all.
But, It wasn't like him to look so charmed. So pleased to be drawn away from work. If it'd been me pulling him aside to slack off, he would've slit my throat. But then again, that may have been a testament to our growing friendship! After all, I knew perfectly well how confusing his feelings towards me were. His feelings towards Mr. Fang seemed crystal clear, though.
I'd never bring it to light, of course. I already knew his reaction; the continual denial and outright rejection of his subconscious desires disgusted me at times. Again, Mr. Fang smiled, gesturing his hand playfully before telling him some horrible joke. Pine tree laughed. Shyly. Quietly, trying not to let on how bad it had been. Still, his eyes shined when he looked back at the pale man, and he forced a broad grin from ear to ear in appreciation. Oh, now that pissed me off.
" -my mother says I'm very reliable. " I caught the tail end of Mr. Andy Hash's ' reputable ' speech. He was combing his hand through his hair, eyes flicking from the base of his paper to the bud of my cigar. And, by the way he stiffened, sat up, slanted his shoulders, slouching afterwards, I could tell he knew I'd stopped listening. He paused, looking over poorly done handwriting before folding the paper up. His head lolled solemnly, only to rise with the pout of a beaten dog, meeting my gaze under the furrowed wrinkle of his brow.
"How was it?" Mr. Andy Hash asked. He shoved the speech away, already ashamed of yet another failed attempt.
"Could use some work." I let out a puff of smoke, watching Mr. Fang lean in and swirl his finger along the edge of pine tree's drink. I could feel myself tick.
"Was it the joke at the beginning? Should I cut it out next time?" Mr. Andy Hash leaned in, hands guarded on either knee as he grew obnoxiously determined. I dabbed my cigar's edge on the couch; a pointless stab at the strip club's integrity.
" Look buddy." I sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over my face. "The speech is fine. It's the person it's attached to that's the problem." I peeked through my fingers to cast the ' happy couple' a glance. He was a bit closer to Mr. Fang, almost cuddling up as he watched the fingers that ran around his drink freely. Pine tree's eyes lifted, meeting the pale man's stare. And, just as they did, Mr. Fang took the opportunity to tuck his fingers, snatch a pill placed at the edge of his own shirt sleeve, and slip it in pine tree's drink where it fizzed up and dissipated. I sighed.
Here we go again.
"Wh-what do ya mean? I think I'm a pretty decent guy. I wouldn't-." I sat up, sliding my coat on before smudging my cigar out on the couch. I rolled my eye at Mr. Andy Hash before tossing him a pity-smoke. He caught it awkwardly, looking down then back at me with puppy dog eyes.
"Work on your charisma next time." He lifted a hand as though to retort me, but I'd already won.
I stood, making my way to the bar, squeezing awkwardly between drunken runaways and heavily placed bears. By the time my stride carried me beyond the dance floor, pine tree had the drink against his lips, ready to sip down. I felt a grin creeping up.
His eyes barely slid towards me before I slapped the drink out of his hands, his fruity cocktail soaking hairless legs. The look on his face would've been enough to have me doubled over in blissed out laughter if it weren't for the pale freak staring me down. I opted for a proper smile.
" Bill! " Pine tree gaped at the mess I'd made on his thighs before snapping up to glare at me. "What the fuck is your deal?!" Mr. Fang was quick to whip out a handkerchief from his breast pocket. Such a gentleman ! I would've swooned if I didn't plan on boiling him alive. He took the initiative, dabbing the fabric against pine tree's lap. Over his knees. His legs. Sliding it hastily along his hips and just shy of hitting anything important.
Pine tree didn't notice, only building in ferocity as he racked his brain for an explanation. I could tell the only reasoning he'd manifested involved me being a massive douche bag. But, I'm a man of class . No sense in trying to explain myself, even if it'd make me look like a knight in shining armor; saving the defenseless prince about to get roofied for the eighth time tonight. He had a sharp eye to be sure, and caught every hand that inched towards his glass with lightning speed. His guard was down with this guy, though.
He wouldn't suspect it of a gentleman . What a joke.
" Woops !" I laughed, playfully dusting him of stray drops splashed on his shoulder. He slapped my hand away. "Sorry, baby. Forgot you're not allergic to martinis. My bad ." I made sure to showcase a wonderfully painful smile as he growled, took the handkerchief from his lap, and tossed it at my face.
I caught it easily, his drunken throws almost endearing when he looked at me like a serial killer. "Hope I didn't interrupt anything." My hand holding Mr. Fang's handkerchief flew out, wringing the silk cloth of its contents before returning it to my partner. Pine tree snatched it roughly, this time wiping away the stray drops on his neck and cheeks.
"You know." He began, tilting his chin up to catch the underside of his flesh. " Most people would offer to buy me another drink after that." The cloth slid to his forearms, where he picked meticulously at the drying liquor that glued his arm hairs together.
"I'm what you call 'different ,' hun." I breathed in the weighted smoke of my rolled cuban cigar, lovingly blowing a puff in his face. Pine tree didn't flinch, only softening his features to shoot me an annoyed look.
"If by 'different' you mean brainless: Sure, yeah." He scoffed, waving his hand at me. "You're different as hell." Shifting his position, he sat himself up, forcing the handkerchief under his seat before wiping up the wet cushion.
"Only for you, darling." The club's music shifted to a quick-paced beat, queuing the flashing lights to switch colors and hues with every changing melody. It was tiresome, hearing the monotonous cheer of middle-aged men as they clinked their drinks, swang their hips, and stomped their feet on the floor. Luckily, they strayed from the bar, keeping themselves planted on the platinum-printed ground, watched over by a crystal disco flashing streams of Epilepsy. I leaned back on the bar's isle, elbows propping me up from behind when I squeezed myself between pine tree and Mr. Fang.
"You wouldn't happen to be a dancer, would you?" I called out to him beyond the blaring music, hoping to snag his ear. At first, he looked at me like he hadn't understood. When he saw where my eye was trained, he broke out in a loose grin.
"Do I look like a dancer?" Pine tree leaned in a bit, flicking the tip of my nose teasingly. "I've got two left feet." I chuckled at the tingling sensation his finger left me, rubbing my nose for stimulation.
"I'm sure you're a wonderful dancer." Mr. Fang cut in, leaning over my chest to cast his voice. It was annoying; the sheer thought of this pale man talking along my chest just to converse with a queer boy like pine tree almost made me growl. But, manners. Manners , Bill.
I caught his eye for a moment, just in time to feel something. An odd tingle of familiarity, like a subtle gust of wind crafted by slamming doors, but the sensation was gone in an instance. He, however, looked back with a knowing glint, as though to share an inside joke with me. As though to say, ' Now, isn't this odd? The two of us? Here of all places? How funny.' I willed an even deeper grin than before, swiftly turning to face the bartender. I ordered scotch.
"You say that now." Pine tree shot back, snorting cutely. "I'm bad, trust me. I'd lose a dance battle to Stephen Hawking." I turned around, drink in hand; something he looked at expectantly, shifting from the clear glass to my single eye, brow raising when his features grew expectant.
"You're seriously not replacing my drink." Pine tree almost sounded surprised, only to shake his head. "Jesus, you're an ass." He laughed, arms stretched out to scoop up the glass in my hand, taking a sip before returning it. He acted as though it was perfectly appropriate to do so. I should've been irritated. I wasn't, however. I couldn't help but admire his boldness, allowing the disrespect out of pride alone. Pride for him. Pride, calling him my underling. My puppet.
A tightness formed in my core, recalling the plans I'd set up for him and his family.
No, Bill. No. Pretend. Don't be .
I watched as pine tree pressed a thumb against his lip, smearing away the lingering drop that clung to him, and it made me think: Humans are like that. Drops. Tiny bits of water sliding down the slick cool of a refreshing beverage. A little taste of the whole. Sweet perhaps, but otherwise fleeting. I'd have to remember. This kid was just a drop of the wonderfully delicious revenge I planned on exacting. No point in savoring it.
Yes. Just a dollop. Hardly something to groan over.
Still, the way his lip plushed in against the force of his thumb gave me flashes of heat. Small, greyed sensations of his lips pressing against mine. Hands roaming. Breath hitching. The delectable burn of iron and blood, smearing my collared shirt and neck. My favorite tie, ruined. How pitiful. Still, it was a price I would pay. If only to lick up that single drop.
"I'll buy you a drink." Mr. Fang offered, once again from over my chest. I wasn't quite so keen this time, angling my body to cut in on the two. He leaned ahead, trying to make eye contact with pine tree, but it was at an awkward angle.
"Oh, uh-. That's okay. I'll just buy one myself." Pine tree was gracious as ever, too modest to let such a gentleman pay for his drinks. It was a punishment in his mind, having someone waste their hard-earned cash on a girly cocktail for his drunk fingers to fumble over. How wrong he was. For, if beverages were passed on to the buyer, and pine tree had the misfortune of taking his eyes off his drink, who's to say the man wouldn't slip a little something-something in it? That was exactly the point.
" Nonsense . I own the place, remember? Take what you like." Oh, but wasn't Mr. Fang so generous ? I rolled my eye, tilting my drink back as the scotch splashed my tongue.
"No, really. I'm good." Pine tree slapped my back with a show of almost-pride. "I only come to this guy for cash." He tossed me a drunken side-grin, hand placed firmly between my shoulder blades as he tapped his fingers down on me.
"Is that so? " Mr. Fang wasn't leaning over my chest to speak anymore. Instead, he straightened up to become level with me. He didn't exactly make eye contact, but focused on the space just between my brows, smoothing his hands over his suit to clear away any creases and wrinkles. Yes. He was definitely stealing my look. "And, who might you be, good sir?" The question would've sounded almost sarcastic if it weren't for his damn mannerisms. He offered his hand to me as a sign of greeting.
"William Angle." We shook, his hand barely matching up with my firm grip, in part for my untamable desire to smash his knuckles together. Mr. Fang smiled fondly.
"Ah, yes. So you're the fine owner, then." His hand slipped away before I could squeeze the meat from his fingertips. He acted like he didn't even register the pain. "I must say, I'm impressed with your scouting. The prostitutes here don't usually come so pretty."
"You think? I thought he was average at best-." Pine tree slapped the back of my head, forcing a laugh from my throat. He gave me a dirty look, only to reach for my drink once more and finish my scotch.
"You're lucky I'm unarmed." My partner turned from me, once again facing the multitude of glistening wine glasses and shots stacked meticulously behind the bar's table. A hand went up, and he was getting the tender's attention. "Whiskey; Dry ." He said.
" Whoa . Doing the hard stuff already? It's not even midnight."
"Just getting a head start on the migraine you're giving me." Pine tree lifted his drink a bit, slouching back on the table before taking a hard gulp of the substance. A sour look passed his features, mouth opening, blehing at the bitter punch it gave him, only to go right back to it. I had to give him credit, though. I was impressed: The kid's a real alcoholic.
"Anyways." Mr. Fang cleared his throat, hoping to regain my attention. "My name's Mr. Fang . I'm the owner of this establishment."
"Who would've thought?" A sneer was just barely muffled by my tight smile, staring at him with the beety reserve of an owl. I swayed myself from rolling an eye at yet another poorly placed example of hospitality. ' Establishment?' Ha! We were at a damn strip club! Nothing ' established' about it. "It's an honor to meet you." The genuine distaste I felt for him couldn't be masked. And, oddly enough, Mr. Fang became strange about it.
Not offended or hurt, like most people would be with such an ego. This man surely had one, using vocabulary like ' establishment' for lude works in prostitution. But, it was his work. And, he was a proud man for being so successful in it. His seating posture became upright as a dog's perked ears, looking at me like I'd gone mad. Of course I had. It wasn't uncommon to get that look. Still, it'd been a while since returning in this form.
" Meet me?" He questioned, stopping the drink pressed against his lips. I cocked a brow up.
"Well, we did just meet ." Was all I could bother.
I turned back to face the bartender, ordering yet another drink. A screwdriver this time. Honestly, I'd never understood the appeal of alcoholic beverages. But, it'd look odd without a drink in hand somehow. A small something missing in a picture perfect scene. Besides, it wasn't too bad taking a heavy swig of the bronze and clear liquor, as long as the stuff burned on the way down.
"' Just'? Are you kidding, Bill?" Mr. Fang almost looked hurt by the way he placed either hand on his chest, gesturing towards himself with determined eyes. His smile remained propper, however. Playful. Like I was joking. Hoping it was a joke. Whatever 'it' was. "It's me. Don't you remember?" Pine tree was leaning over now, drink in hand, sprouting a confused look of his own. I couldn't blame him. We'd just introduced ourselves. It wasn't like we'd do that without cause.
Unless he'd thought we were making fun .
A little ' wink wink nudge nudge ' we'd tease each other about. ' Oh of course of course Mr. Fang what a fine surprise seeing you here of all places I didn't expect your presence tonight.' Pretending not to know, but being perfectly aware in the situation. It was a peaceful game used for inside jokes, surrounded by those not yet let in on it. But, for the life of me, I couldn't pin his features. He was a new face to my eye. I hadn't been let in on the joke either, it seemed.
"Do you two know each other?" Pine tree snuggled up a little, pressing his top lip to the rim of his beverage, teeth glossing over smooth glass as his tongue flickered out at the hard drink within. He was like a small kitten lapping up the remnants of milk. That only made him seem more keen, though. More observant. He'd pick up on anything now, tuned to our game like a cryptic text of code. Did I know Mr. Fang? Surely not in this form. But, perhaps another .
"We go way back." He replied to the smaller, giving me a look. A new one, but honorably familiar. Yes, I knew him. From somewhere. From sometime.
My hand went to tilt the drink up in pine tree's grasp, just as it hit his lips. The glass went too far back, and he was instantly shot with a splash of vodka over his cheeks, down his chin, and just short of his nostrils. It made for a wonderful sight, watching him sputter helplessly against the wretched burn that caught in his throat, went down the wrong tube, and had him coughing up a storm.
" O-oh my G-od !" Pine tree choked, placing a fist over his mouth as the spasm became uncontrollable. " Wh-at the f-u-ck?! " The drink had spilled over his lap once more, same as the last. And, this time, Mr. Fang made no move to offer him a handkerchief.
"Oh, dear. It seems you're all wet again." I smiled cheekily. "Why don't you go clean up, hun? We'll wait 'til you get back." My head nudged in the direction of the bathroom. A cheaply painted door with chipping purple, faded glitter, and stained-brown corners from spilt drinks. Few bodies entered or exited without trailing someone behind them by the hand, wrapped around each other's waists, or clinging to the larger by interlaced fingers around their neck.
Pine tree scowled at me pointedly, still coughing and wiping his back hand across the hollow of his throat.
" Assh-ole . " He said before sliding from his seat. The drink instantly slid from his lap, having been cupped there by his pressed thighs like rain in a porcelain dish. He groaned endlessly, sliding his hands to smooth away the wetness, only for the remainder to sit, dry, and stick. A grimace wasn't so much as suppressed from his features, glaring sharp daggers when his eyes met mine.
I thought he might depart with a final word of hatred. Some kind of threat to ponder on. To entertain me. But, he wasn't so kind. He simply turned, kicked the leg of my stool, and went off to clean himself. I almost felt saddened by it, if not for the show he made while walking away. It was hard not to love the little guy.
"He's a fighter." Mr. Fang mused.
"Eh, humans are like that sometimes." The bartender arrived, whipping out his rag before circling the mess pine tree'd made just moments before.
"That, they are." He nodded in agreeance, still watching the boy as he slipped into the bathroom. Mr. Fang swirled the base of his drink, watching the ice clink around before turning back to view me. "Humans are dangerous creatures, Bill." He crossed his legs.
"More than me ?" I laughed, knowing full and well the answer.
"Well, you were defeated by one." His voice was cautious. Hesitant, like he meant not to offend me, while still willing a light on the situation. It was a bold statement, especially for someone I didn't know. Or, didn't know I knew. It gave me pause, my hands folding, head lowering, watching him curiously as he waited for my response.
I'd been alive since the beginning of time. It wasn't unusual to forget a face or two. I hardly remembered my own mother's face, let alone some stranger's. But, then again, I always hated my mother. Was this man the same? Could I only forget the ones I hated? No. Not likely. Those were the ones I remembered best. Her features had only been obscured by time, not feeling. She'd lasted far longer than any childhood friend or favored beast I'd come across.
"That battle's taken out of context." His features were plain, though. Nothing to pick from, and nothing to remember. But, I was sure of it. I knew this man. "Let's start over, then. You say you know me?" The look of blunt disappointment drooped along his features, threatening to drip off like candle wax. He took a breath, looked to the bathroom door, and back at me.
"A while ago. Back in your old body. Don't you remember?"
"I obviously don't. But, please. Enlighten me." My hand rolled through the air before stopping to gesture for him to continue. The man only sighed, looked to his open hands, and back up.
"I'd hoped you wouldn't forget these sorts of things." Mr. Fang began, combing a bony hand through his hair. "You were never one to forget."
"Oh, yes. But I was one to not give a shit. Amazing how often those two get confused."
"Right. Right." He paused after that. The corners of his lips twitched sadly, not sure whether to grimace or frown or speak or keep silent. He threw away all options, nodding respectfully instead. "You did that a lot." Mr. Fang said.
" Do . I do that a lot. Don't go living in the past, paisty. Might get stuck there." Another drink. This one with a tiny umbrella stabbed through a cherry heart, bleeding out into the clear liquor. The taste wasn't half-bad, but it was spoiled by the man's childish pout. I rolled my eye. "So, tell me something." My fingers picked out the little umbrella, biting off the cherry and twirling the thin stick boredly.
" Anything ." Mr. Fang was eager suddenly, leaning in a bit too close for my comfort. It's not like I had much reserve for personal space, though.
"How'd you know it was me?" I asked.
"Huh?" The club's music switched to the soft stuff, signalling a change after midnight. The sensual work was only done after the dancers got too tired for upbeat partying.
"You heard me. I haven't been my triangular self for almost a month now." I caught an ice cube between my teeth, letting it sit on my tongue before being placed under my molars. I crushed it with a crunch.
Mr. Fang looked surprised, unprepared for my unrelated question. He'd expected trivia on himself, I was sure. How we knew each other. How long ago. Where we met. But, I didn't know who he was. Period . And, when someone like me forgot a face, it wasn't from old age or a foggy mind. It was because they hardly mattered to begin with. Of course, I was bugged by the ounce of remembrance I felt when our eyes locked. But it wasn't something worth stressing over. I didn't care in the least.
"Your smell." He pressed a finger to his nose after a moment, emphasizing his point. "Mostly, you smell like blood and skin. Your cigars, obviously. Wool from your suits. A few drinks. The cologne you tested out on your wrists before washing away."
"Quite the sniffer you've got there, bloodhound." I leaned back in my seat.
"And gold. " Mr. Fang finished.
" Gold? Ha! Really?" I leaned back, getting a full look of the man seated before me. I wouldn't forget someone with such a weird gift, would I?
"You smell like a brick of gold in a bag of flesh." He peaked over his shoulder, making sure the coast was still clear.
"I think I have a scented candle like that back at my place." My drink went down far too easily, and I felt the foreboding pressure that swam in my human gut. Perhaps I'll throw up tonight. Perhaps. "So, what are you then? A werewolf? Gnomes?" I tore into the napkin placed under my drink.
"I think we both know what I am."
"Can never be sure about these things, Mr. Fang. " I laughed, hooking my index fingers downwards and placing them on either side of my lips, mocking a hiss face at him. He chuckled back.
"I get the feeling I make it too easy for people." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly; not necessarily ashamed, but feeling he could've done more with such an open-ended alias.
"Well, my partner hasn't caught on yet." I sat up, craning my neck over his shoulder to get a peak at the bathroom doors again. Pine tree was still there.
Perhaps washing his hands. Scraping away the glossy layer of liquor that froze over his latex. Checking his reflection. Begrudgingly reapplying the subtle mascara Llama had once again dolled him up with. She was the only one he would let in on the whole situation.
"Partner? You mean the prostitute?" Mr. Fang seemed wonderfully intrigued by my answer. Hell, he had tried drugging him a few minutes ago. Something told me he liked pine tree. A lot.
"Yeah. The guy'd fallen on some hard times when I first picked him up. Crack house . You know how it is." I leaned back, pushing my drink aside and replacing it with my elbow. A thick cigar slid out from my breast pocket, but I didn't use a lighter this time. It'd been a while since I'd used it, and it was always fun seeing a reaction or two, so I decided on using my pyrokinesis.
Just a little.
Pressing my thumb to the base of the roll, I sucked in a breath before feeling the familiar heat of smoke filling my lungs. It took a second longer than usual and a bit more energy, but that was probably because of the liquor. Besides, it was worth it. Needless to say, Mr. Fang's eyes lit up from the display with whimsical curiosity and slight disbelief. Though, he said nothing of it.
"You don't say?" His eyes moved from me in an instance, once again turning towards the stalls. An almost pitiable look crossed his features. "And, how long have you two known each other for?"
"Oh, years! Years! We met back when he was a little kid." The bar tended sat another drink in front of me, but I made no move to down it. I'd had enough.
"A little kid? Really?" He placed a hand under his chin, muling over the statement. "How sad… Imagine a child in a crack house."
"It's a crazy world out there. Lots of monsters. Lots of crimes." This cigar tasted different to me somehow. A bit heavier. A bit sweeter. "He's lucky he met me."
"I'll say. You saved his life. He owes you that much." Mr. Fang nodded with admiration, and for an instance, just short of remembrance, my mind twisted with a half-baked design of his features. Younger. More light. More tan. Wrapped in a rag of brown and green. Or, perhaps red. Purple, maybe. Or, maybe it wasn't rags at all. He might have been in a captain's uniform. A pirate. An astronaut. A sea man, set on discovering buried treasure. Or, perhaps just a counter boy at the check out.
I'd keep thinking about it.
"Well, I'm glad you think that." Maybe it was the drinks. The smoke going to my head, eating away at my brain. I may have simply felt comfortable around him. Or -very unlikely- maybe a small part of me felt vague guilt for not remembering him.
Either way, I believed in that instance I could console in him this one desire. This one thing I wanted to do to pine tree more than anything. When we were alone, I felt I was the only one able to fulfill such a tall order. Something I'd wanted to do to him since he was a child.
"Because, I'm gonna kill him." I finished.
Mr. Fang choked on his drink.
" W-what ?" He wiped his hand over his bottom lip, staring at me like I was crazy. Which I was. "What did you just say? That you were gonna-?"
"Eh, the kid's been a real pain in the ass lately. I don't know. He's more trouble than he's worth, I guess." I studied his features after my response: Total confusion. Perhaps it was the years that muddled his mind. There was no way he'd ever met me if there was a doubt in his mind I was joking. One look in my eye told the tale of uncontrollable blood lust. "I'm just gonna chuck 'em."
"But-. But, why? You saved him, didn't you?"
"I do a whole bunch of things without reason, pal. You know this! Having a cute one around once in awhile isn't so bad, I'll admit. But, it's all pulling teeth with him. Can't get a damn second of peace around the guy." I twirled my cigar between loose fingers, watching him comically.
"You don't like peace, though!" Mr. Fang protested.
"Who knows? Might give it a try." I shrugged my shoulders. "When I retire or something."
"You won't retire. You're Bill. "
"You say that like I even remember you." There was that wonderful rush of joy I felt pulsing through me. It felt so good saying that. As though to give up on pinning his features. Recalling his voice. Even knowing his real name. Who cared? Who cares?
This man is nobody.
"He's a sweet guy, Cipher. Maybe hold off on it. You might change your mind."
"Why do you care what happens to him? Weren't you trying to drug him an hour before?" The countered look on his face was all I needed. Like two shots of vodka. He looked absolutely caught then. A little exposed now, once again turning to make sure pine tree was out of ear shot. Because, it'd probably been a while since someone called him out. Who'd call out a man in a suit? Dressed so neat, and so polite. Who pulled out your bar stool and offered to buy a drink. Used honorifics like 'Mr.' and 'Mrs.' Oh, no. Such a man would never.
But, such a man would.
"That wasn't what it looked like-."
"But, it was. Wasn't it?" I cut in, holding myself with a new-found pride. I'd caught him red handed. " Yeah . So, don't go acting all chivalry around me. I know your game. Hell, I invented it."
"Still." It annoyed me how this guy had it in him to argue his point. Hadn't he lost already? "He's a nice guy. Pretty face at least."
"And? Who cares?"
" I care!"
"Oh?" I asked, leaning forward to meet his gaze. He sat up a little, disturbed by my proximity. "And, who cares about you ?" Mr. Fang went silent after that, brows furrowing and chin pruning when he frowned. I almost felt like asking him to come outside with me. A little tussle would've been the cherry on top! But, pine tree reemerged; a bit wobbly, paper towels mushed up in his fist, still dabbing at the soaked under layer.
"Ah, babe! We were just talking about you-!"
"Not in the mood, Captain spills-a-lot ." He scowled at me, but there was almost no fire to it now that he'd calmed down. He picked up the oversized green jacket he'd brought with him, slinging it over his shoulders. It draped his torso pitifully; like curtains closing on the promised land. That was always his que to take him home. To say ' show's over, buddy.' And, as though by stage direction, he pursed his lips and looked at me without humor or rage or joy. Simply fatigue. "Take me home."
" As you wish~ ." I placed an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer as his swaying head lolled lowly. Pine tree didn't resist the contact. He didn't push me away or step on my foot. In fact, he grew closer to me, resting his head in the nape of my neck where I cradled his fading consciousness. His breathing was slowing. Eyes shutting. He no longer flinched to the pinching fingers and sliding hands. Only groaning when any contact that wasn't me touched him.
I picked a route with few people.
I looked back once, having not so much as departed with words. ' Goodbye,' I could say. But, what was the conclusion in that? What was the satisfaction? We'd be back the next night, after all. So, did I need to give my farewells to begin with? Eventually, perhaps. But, not tonight. I simply winked, smiled at Mr. Fang's darkened, pathetic face, and exited the club.
The next morning, I received a panicked call from Mabel. It was hardly intelligible when she blubbered on, weeping into the phone and crying hopelessly. Like a child. I made my way to their apartment at my own pace. My own speed. By the time I got over there, a police car was already parked out front, one of their partners tuning into the radio as they waited out the investigation.
And, what was to be investigated? I entered the place, instantly met with a flash of light from big-bulbed cameras and mild bickering. One officer suggested he came from the rooftops. Another said he climbed the fire escape ladder to reach the window. The crime scene they so vigorously scoped out was a small bedroom with messy sheets, unfolded laundry, and the subtle smell of ink and freshly cut grass. Maybe lavender.
Everything but the window was in tact. All dressers closed. Closet unopened. No cash taken from under the mattress. Not even the laptop had been snagged. But, the window. The window had been shattered. And, the bed was unmade. Mabel assured the police ' He never makes his bed. ' Still, it was written down. The bed was unmade. And messy. Perhaps a struggle? Maybe just a restless sleeper. Probably both.
Mabel sat on the couch, sobbing endlessly as she squeezed the fat hog between paling arms. Eyes puffed, cheeks red, it looked like she'd been crying all morning. The police said there were no fingerprints. No hair follicles or blood from the glass shards. A deep footprint had been pressed into shag carpeting, but that could belong to anyone. But, why did she cry?
Her yarn hadn't been touched. Nor her pinned collection of local cuties hanging creepily from her bedroom wall. No one had entered her room late at night, and all savings stashed under the kitchen sink, stuffed inside a dish soap bottle, had been spared. She knew where her pig was, snatched within her grasp. The cute coat she'd knitted a few weeks back, with floral embroideries and fat pink buttons on either cuff, was still hung in the closet.
What was missing? A pair of shoes. Some shorts. A tight, black top. A green jacket. And, whatever had been in his pockets the night before.
Where was pine tree?