"Godzilla and The Smog Monster"
Chapter Seven
John stepped out into the hall and nearly collided with a young lady dressed as Little Red Riding Hood.
The girl stood there in the hallway, giving him a strange, suspicious stare.
"Uhhh…Sorry," he apologized, speaking in Spanish. "I, uh, must a' opened the wrong door. Sorry," he repeated and began backing down the hall.
He reached the end of the hallway and winced, as the LOUD music and pulsating strobe lights assaulted his senses once again. He heaved a heavy sigh and started weaving his way back across the crowded dance floor.
"Hi!" Gage half-shouted to the guy behind the bar. "I need to speak to the manager!"
The bartender had a kind a' funny look on his face.
The paramedic smiled, as he realized the poor guy was probably trying to figure out why his visitor's voice sounded so familiar.
The bartender picked up his phone again. Once more, his lips moved. He then replaced the phone and nodded—again.
The undercover fireman felt a hand on his shoulder and he was spun, rather forcefully, around. John suddenly found himself face-to-face with a big, brawny, mean looking dude, wearing a Western outfit, and a bright, shiny Sheriff's badge. Upon his right hip was a rather large holstered gun—which looked far too real to be a prop. "Upstairs!" the big dude ordered gruffly.
"Uh-uh…Can't we just talk over the phone?"
"Follow me!" the Sheriff said and started heading toward a spiral staircase.
John tipped his borrowed hardhat to the bartender and obediently followed after him.
The spiral stairs led to a small cubicle suspended over the bar area. They reached the top step and a heavy metal door slid open. John followed the Sheriff into the little cubicle.
A man, with his back turned toward them, was seated at a DJ's console, watching the club's partying patrons through an enormous, diamond-shaped, two-way mirror.
The metal door slid shut and there was complete silence in the tiny—apparently soundproof—room.
"There, Arnie!" the guy behind the console suddenly exclaimed, and pointed to a couple out on the dance floor. "See them? Romeo and Juliet! Gawd they're good! And graceful, too!" The man spun his chair around, whipped his headset off and glared—annoyedly—up at the guy in the bright yellow hardhat. "You wanted to see me?"
John nodded. "Did you call the Fire Department?"
"Yes. As a matter of fact, I did. But I can assure you that nothing is burning—" the manager stopped suddenly and turned to the Sheriff. "Is that fire truck still here?"
Arnie nodded.
The club's DJ looked outraged. "Well, find those clowns and tell them to move it! Right no-ow! They're hurting business!"
Arnie gave his boss another nod and turned to leave.
Gage stepped between the lawman and the door, blocking his exit. "Wait just a sec'," he requested. Then he leaned to his left, so he could see around Arnie, and addressed the manager once more. "Why did you call the Fire Department?"
"Ahhh, some chick, dressed up like Dracula's Bride, doubled over on the dance floor. I didn't think it was anything serious. But she insisted that I call the paramedics. Threatened to sue, if I didn't—" the manager turned to Arnie again. "Speaking of paramedics…What are they still doing here, anyway? I just saw the sick chick leave here with some cowboy, not two minutes ago, looking very healthy—for one of the living dead!" The DJ turned back to his visitor. "What's with the questions? Who are you?"
"I'm, uh, one of the clowns responsible for parking the fire truck on your front doorstep," the questioner confessed.
The manager exchanged astonished glances with the Sheriff and then gazed, disbelievingly, at his guest. "If you're a fireman, than why aren't you dressed like one?"
John pulled his wallet from a back pocket and flashed them both his Fire Department badge and I.D. "I'm working a split shift for a friend and I didn't have time to change. And, right now, I don't have time to explain. I've gotta get outside!" He turned toward the door and started searching for a knob, or a button, or something.
"Why?" the manager wondered.
"We have reason to believe that we were lured here under false pretenses, for the purpose of being robbed."
"That's ridiculous! Who would ever wanna rob firemen? You don't even have anything worth steal—" the DJ halted in mid-sentence. "You guys carry a lot of drugs, don't you…"
"We carry small quantities of several different narcotics," the paramedic confessed.
"But enough to help some kids celebrate the New Year, I'll bet…What do you intend to do about it?"
"I'm going to go check out our Squad. If there's a lady vampire, or a cowboy, standing so much as within a hundred feet of it, we're calling for police assistance."
"There's no need to get the cops involved. Arnie, here, will just go out there and scare them off."
"We don't wanna just scare 'em off. We want to catch them and stop them from ever trying to pull something like this again." Gage gave up on finding a knob and glanced back over his shoulder. "Can you get the door, here?"
The manager reluctantly pressed a button on the side of his console.
The heavy portal slid open and John was hit, full force, by a wall of smoky air and LOUD pulsating music. "Thanks. You've been a big help!" he called back over his shoulder. Then he skipped down the spiral stairs, stepped into the swaying crowd of costumed dancers…and disappeared.
"I'm just gonna step out for a breath of fresh air," Gage explained to the cover charge guy behind the counter in the entryway. "But I'm coming right back in."
The guy nodded, disinterestedly.
There was still a rather long line of people waiting—er, hoping to get into the popular nightspot.
The undercover paramedic stepped out onto the crowded sidewalk and his heart about stopped.
A young man, wearing a mask and a cowboy costume, was leaning against their Squad's front grill, talking to a lady vampire.
John took a few deep breaths of fresh air into his lungs and then sauntered a few feet closer to the street, hoping to catch a little of their conversation.
"Where the hell are they?" he heard the Midnight Cowboy wonder. "They should a' been out by now…"
"How should I know? Maybe they fell in?" Drac's bride bitterly suggested.
The cowboy came up with a suggestion of his own. "I say we go find Gillian...and then split."
"We've waited this long. Let's just give 'em a couple more minutes."
Gage had overheard enough—more than enough. The tired fireman yawned and stretched. Then he nonchalantly turned back around and leisurely strolled up to the club's main entrance.
Just as John was about to rejoin the party, someone latched onto him by his right arm and jerked him to a stop.
"$3.50 to get in, buddy!" he heard that someone say.
The fireman turned and found an unfamiliar, unsmiling face glaring at him from behind the entrance counter. "Look, I already was in. I just stepped out for some air."
But the new guy was not buying his story. He kept a firm grip on the storyteller's arm and stared down at the back of its attached hand. "So where's your stamp? Everyone who goes in gets a stamp!" he smugly added and squeezed the liar's arm for emphasis.
John winced in pain and started digging out his wallet. 'Why did they have to change shifts NO-OW?' He removed a five-dollar bill and begrudgingly extended it to the gloating guy. He winced again, as the man moved his vice-like grip to his wrist and his right hand was slammed down on the counter.
The now grinning guy stamped the back of it—very hard.
Gage grimaced, outright, and promptly pulled his hurting hand back. The fireman frowned down at the bright blue diamond stamp. One thing was certain. Working 'undercover' had its advantages…and disadvantages.
The man behind the counter passed him back his change. "Everyone!"
John gave the guy an annoyed glare and then left…for the Ladies' Lounge.
TBC