Sherlock and the Little People
By Doctor Napalm
Chapter 6
Sherlock replaced the cap on the bottle of liquid foundation makeup and examined his face in the mirror. Not perfect, but it would have to do.
John put down the newspaper he was reading and looked up at Sherlock.
"What do you think?" asked his flatmate.
John tilted his head a bit and gave Sherlock a wry look. "Going to the zombie ball?" he replied.
"While I will agree that it is a bit pale and flat," Sherlock returned, "I believe this is an improvement over forest green."
"Just keep an eye out for morticians," John chuckled, "they might think one of their charges has escaped. You still look a bit green around the gills."
"This will have to do for now, it's time to visit the pub."
"About that…" began John.
"Yes?"
"I did some more research and I believe it may not actually be a classic pub in the strictest sense of the term."
"Oh? And what might it be?"
"I'm not really certain at this point," continued John, "but I get the impression it's some sort of gay sports bar."
"A gay sports bar…" Sherlock mused thoughtfully, "interesting."
"You might want to change your shirt before we go."
Sherlock turned back to the mirror and examined his collar. "I don't think I got any makeup on it," he mumbled.
"It's the color, Sherlock," John said, "you might give the wrong impression."
"Aubergine? What's wrong with that?"
"Whatever. It's purple. It's fine. Let's go."
ɸ
The building was one of the lower class storefronts in London's East End. Windows on the upper floors had been boarded over while the windows on the ground floor were painted over with black. Whitewash covering the old tan-colored bricks was peeling off in several places. Over the door a sign read "RAINBROS" in large brilliant green lettering along with several crudely drawn shamrocks. Underneath in smaller white lettering were the words 'Alternative Adult Entertainment - Members Only.' A small engraved plastic plaque beside the door announced 'Press Button For Admittance,' while the unblinking eye of a conspicuous security camera watched the entry. The muted sound of music with a deep thumping bass rhythm came from inside.
Sherlock pressed the button and waited.
Several seconds passed before a hidden speaker replied, "Yes?" The music could be heard more clearly through the speaker, pounding heavily.
"May we come in?" said Sherlock.
"Members only, go away."
"What if we want to be members?" said John.
"We aren't taking new members now. Go away."
"I believe we may have a common interest in someone who may be one of your members," said Sherlock.
"Our membership list is private. Go away."
"Patrick Kavanagh."
The speaker went silent for a few moments then came back on. "Wait," it said then went silent again.
Sherlock turned his head and looked at John, who looked back at him with a wary expression. "You may have hit a nerve," John said.
Sherlock started to reply but a loud buzz from the door interrupted him. "Come in," the speaker said.
Opening the door, the pair stepped into a dark entryway. Smoke and music assaulted them and flashing green lasers, neon, and strobe lights gave the interior the appearance of an old style disco. A rather short man wearing an argyle sweater and a green derby met them just inside the door. "This way," he said and motioned them to follow him.
Sherlock and John followed the man through the building, passing a well-stocked bar tended by a midget. He was standing on a short stool behind the bar and was dressed in a suit similar to the one that their missing leprechaun had been wearing. Above the bar, several shillelaghs were displayed along with clay pipes, black plastic pots filled with gold-colored plastic coins, and green cardboard top hats with silver and gold buckles. Sherlock noted an empty space in the display where a shillelagh appeared to have been displayed.
Continuing through the establishment there were several metal poles mounted on a free-standing stage. Another male midget dressed only in a skimpy pair of briefs covered with green sequins gyrated suggestively on one of the poles. Clustered around the stage were small tables with a few couples of the same gender nursing drinks and watching the show. After a few moments John finally recognized the background music as a rather fast and loud song by the American-Irish grunge band, Flogging Molly.
Their escort led them to a wooden door at the back of the establishment, opened it, and motioned for them to go in.