Chapter Three: Who?
"Heh heh heh..." Beetlejuice chuckled deviously, downing another shot of whiskey. "Another visit or two...plant a few more seeds of desperation...and BOOM!" he yelled, slapping his filthy table. "Ole' Jerry will call on the B-Man, and I'll be back in no time!"
Beetlejuice grinned devilishly to himself, pleased with his endeavor. He'd rewarded himself by drinking copious amounts of liquor to amuse himself further. Of course, the night was calling and something had been irking him by about the fiftieth shot. He was forgetting something.
"Hmmm...Now what was it? Somethin' I was gunna' do..." Beetlejuice scratched his mangy head, pulling out a cockroach from his hair for a snack. Now, there were only a handful of things important to him, and those mainly consisted of booze, broads, and getting out. He paused, chewing the unfortunate insect in a drunken stupor, until it had dawned on him. He wanted to find out who that super hot chick was! "Oh yeah...That was it..."
He pushed himself up to his feet, stumbling on wobbly legs to make it out the front door of his delapidated roadhouse. Probably wasn't a good idea to get drunk before stepping foot in the bar, he reasoned a little too late.
A strange, purple fog hung low in the night air, as Beetlejuice wobbled up to a shabby old building. "The Red Rum" glowed brightly atop the delapidated old structure in crimson colored neon lights, with a few of them blinking dimly.
"Haha! There you are, sugar! Miss me?" Beetlejuice grinned deviously at the welcoming bar, steadying himself as he flicked his cigarette onto the busted pavement.
He walked (or rather stumbled) up to the door, his grin growing wider as he noticed a couple of ladies of the night eyeing him.
"Well hello there, Mr. B!" a prostitute with too much makeup and a pole through her head greeted him suggestively, smacking some chewing gum between her teeth.
"You wanna have some fun, Mr. B?" cooed another, placing her only arm around his neck.
"Well, well, well, girls..." Beetlejuice grinned, snaking an arm around each woman's waist lecherously. "Well, you see, I'm on a bit of a mission, if you will..." he began, noting their eyebrows raising in interest. "See, I'm lookin' for this chick...Well, I was lookin' for this chick, until you offered your services, which I will not refuse! So uh...which one wants to go first, eh? Or do you both wanna have a go at the same time, cuz...uh...I can arrange that..." he snickered, showing his grimy, devious grin. He purposely let his hands wander down a little lower, until he received a prompt slap across the face from the one-armed broad.
"What the fuck was that for?!" Beetlejuice huffed, rubbing the side of his moldy face.
"Ah, ah, ah, Mr. B! You pay first!" the pole-headed dame scolded, placing her hands on her hips.
"Er...uh...How 'bout a rain check, ladies?" Beetle wiggled his eyebrows, noting the sour looks forming on their faces. "Or maybe cut the ole' B-man a deal, eh? You know, like maybe a freebie for preferred customers? Whaddya say, toots?"
"No money, no fun." the one-armed chick spat, turning her back to him.
"Oh yeah? No fun, eh? I don't seem to remember you havin' any complaints last time you took a ride, toots!" Beetlejuice fumed.
"You had money that time." the other hooker stated plainly, now walking away.
"Fine! I don't need you anyways! I have not one, but two hands to jack off with! Completely free of cost!" Beetlejuice yelled, causing the one-armed woman to glare at him over her shoulder. He grinned back deviously, before pushing the front door open and making his presence known.
Upon entering The Red Rum, a collective sigh seemed to fill the air. Probably all the womenfolk swoonin' over him, he figured. Beetlejuice found a table with four chairs, and three of those chairs filled with females. Nice broads, too! No foreign objects protruding from any weird places!
"Well, hello! What do we have here? I think I'll just make myself comfortable..." Beetlejuice casually stepped over to the lovely dames, seating himself. Of course, as soon as his ass hit the seat, they fled.
"Fine, then, ya losers!" Beetle yelled, propping his muddy boots on the table. "Bitches..." he muttered to himself, just before a wrinkly old waitress scooted up to his table. Beetlejuice snickered, eyeing the old hag. "What'd you die of, old age?"
The old woman paused a brief moment, clearly not amused. "Yes." she replied, matter-of-factly. "Now, what do you want, asshole?"
Beetle's grin slowly turned downward. "Eh...The usual..." he muttered, crossing his arms. The old woman slowly (like, really, really freakin' slowly) scooted away, before returning with a gigantic bottle of whiskey with a skull and crossbones on the front of it. "Just...uh...put it on mah tab..." Beetlejuice grinned faintly, popping the cork.
"Yeah, they told me you'd say that..." the old woman rolled her eyes before hobbling out of sight.
At least that mystery chick didn't run from him, he reasoned. And she really was smokin' hot, too! Better than any of the deadbeats he'd been messin' around with. He snapped his fingers, as a shotglass appeared in the air. He poured his drink of choice and set back, hoping to see her again.
"Play it again, Joe!" Beetlejuice drawled, glaring at the only other person unfortunate enough to be left in the bar with him.
"For the hundredth time, my name's not Joe, it's Gregory!" the man fumed, rubbing his head just outside of where the axe had penetrated his skull, before standing and leaving the old piano.
"Yeah...yeah...yeah..." Beetle grumbled, wiping a hand over his face. He then looked about the place, noting the empty seats in the dim red lighting. He was alone. Beetlejuice shrugged, taking another shot. Who cared if he was alone? He sure as hell didn't.
He sighed, grabbing the huge bottle to take another swig, only to realize that he'd downed the entire thing. No wonder the room was spinning. "Fuck it..." he muttered, laying his head down in defeat, realizing he needed to just give up and go home (or pass out on the table, which ever came first).
Suddenly, the piano started up again, not with old bar tunes and ragtime music, but with beautiful, somber music. That music! Was it...?
Beetle raised up, trying desperately to focus his blurred vision on the woman that played such elegant music. Definitely not his style, but she was a sight for sore eyes, and the last time he'd seen her, she didn't run away like her head was on fire. And, wait a minute, didn't she say his name? Did she know him or something?
Beetlejuice, overcome with drunken curiosity, slowly stood up from his seat. He took a couple of misguided steps, before realizing that walking wouldn't work very well. He simply made himself reappear sitting at the table in front of the old, cobweb-ridden piano.
He squinted, watching her through his drunken haze. Damn, she looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place her. Oh, well, he figured, best just to cut to the chase.
"Hey, uh...dollface..." he spoke, trying his best to get her attention. She simply continued playing, her eyes locked intensely on the dirty old piano keys. Her deep brown eyes almost seemed in a hypnotic gaze of some sort. "Uh...You do that much? Ya know...that thousand-yard stare shit?" he quipped again, a dopey grin forming on his face.
Still, the young woman paid no heed to his attempts at conversating. Well that simply wouldn't do, Beetle decided. Against the will of his wobbly, inebriated legs, he stumbled on over, now standing beside the woman. He grinned wickedly, looming over her until his head was nearly sitting on her shoulder. He inhaled, smelling the sweet scent of perfume in her hair and on her skin.
Suddenly, as if sensing his presence, the young woman froze in place, tensing. The lovely music abruptly stopped, as she hunkered down, still staring ahead.
"Uh...You busy?" Beetlejuice felt himself grin even broader, his raspy voice causing the girl to whip around to meet eyes with him. She let out of small yelp, before standing up and backing away a step or two (though Beetle noted that she didn't bolt like she had a tub of scalding water poured on her, so that had to be a plus).
"I-it's you again..." the young woman spoke quietly, eyes wide.
"The ghost with the most, babe. That's me..." Beetlejuice slurred, feeling himself begin to lose his balance (shit, not again!). He nearly fell over, but was steadied by a couple of delicate hands, that just so happened to grab his arm at just the right moment. Beetlejuice's eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised that the woman would think to help him at all. Well, that was certainly different.
"Are you alright? You need some help?" the mystery chick asked, trying to hold him steady.
"Uh..." Beetlejuice stammered, dumbfounded. "Yeah, hold on..." he muttered, disappearing from her grip and reappearing seated at a nearby table. "That's better...Heya, lemme buy us a drink, whaddya say?"
The girl's brow furrowed. "I don't know, you look pretty wasted as it is..."
"Ah, c'mon! At least have a seat with me! Whaddya say? Let's get...aquainted. Tell the ole' B-man yer troubles..." he slurred, holding up two fingers. The old waitress hobbled back over, sighing as she placed two shots of whiskey on the table.
The woman seated herself, a faint smirk forming on her features. She studied him a moment before speaking. "You don't remember me, do you...?" she asked hesitantly.
"Uh...Am I s'posed...to?" Beetlejuice mumbled, feeling his eyes grow heavy. He shook his head to wake himself, before downing his final shot.
"Well, I figured you would, considering..." and that's the last thing he heard fall from her lips, as his head inevitably hit the table.