White Bird (A Mayan 2012 Thriller)

by Tom Rich

  Hernandez moved his eyes from her to the top of the boulder. Aly took that as, Get on up there.

  She stopped climbing when she reached a ledge halfway up. “Yeah, this would be it. There’s lichen growing here. When Arby brought me the first time he said, ‘You can tell because there’s a bunch of lichen up on this ledge.’ I was standing right where you guys are standing and I said, ‘Well, there’s a whole lotta lovin’ goin’ on down here.’ Meaning, down there, of course.”

  The two men continued to stare.

  “Yeah. Guess you had to be there.”

  Aly struggled to the top of the boulder. By the time she pulled herself to her feet the two men were standing on either side of her.

  “More lichen,” pointed Aly. “You can see how he scrapped some away to form an arrow. Damn, it’s nearly grown back.”

  Fishhook dropped to the ground where the trail began. The machete on his back jarred like a remnant of bone structure from broken-off wings.

  Aly looked at Hernandez. She said, “The trail runs straight as can be. Dr. Arbanian conceived it by lining up something in the sky with one of the cardinal points. You know, like the moon at a certain time. What I’m saying is, I guess you won’t be needing me anymore.”

  Hernandez directed her with his eyes. She climbed down to the trail.

  Fishhook was already out of sight. It’d been only a week since Aly last came this way, yet the trail had nearly grown over. She paused when she heard a whoosh and a thwack and the rustle of leaves.

  Hernandez shoved her from behind.

  9: Smith and Jones

  Only at Clove’s End of the World Café would the first client of the evening, instead of ragging endlessly about a miserable job, an unappreciative wife, and the continuing inadequacies of the home team, eloquently laud the benefits of datura, bufotinine, peyote and several other naturally occurring hallucinogens Trish had never heard of. So what if the client’s enthusiasm drove his lecture into a nerdling rant. He was a cute nerd. He’d probably even invented a set of scales with a built-in potency measure that would be perfect for scoring. And Clove’s policy of eschewing busy work (“Life’s too short. Besides, clients detect a boring house when the bartender indulges in pointless glass wiping.”) gave Trish all the time she needed to plant her elbows on the bar, rest her chin in her hands, and make friends.

  “Careful,” Trish had said, nearly an hour earlier, when the cute nerd nearly toppled the stool he’d sidled onto. “Maybe you’d like one with training wheels?”

  “Oh. Didn’t see you.” The cute nerd settled onto the stool. “No, I was looking at... Hmm, quite a unique place you have.”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe,” said Trish. She smiled, tossed out a cocktail napkin. “But, then again, every bar—”

  “I mean the décor. Not what I expected for a neighborhood place. Sort of, well, the look goes too far back to trigger nostalgia in anyone alive today. Century before last, I’d say. Late Nineteenth? I’m sorry. You were about to say?”

  “Just that—”

  “I feel underdressed. You must get the elegant crowd.” He squared his napkin.

  “You’d be surprised who—”

  “And the prices must be… I’m sorry. I interrupted again.”

  “Not a problem. I’m a firm believer in the traditional bartender client relationship.”

  “I’m your client? Posh.”

  “And you won’t find better prices anywhere in town.”

  “Oh? What about that micro brew on draft?” He pointed to one of the four mermaid tap handles. “Black Stallion Bock.”

  “Two bucks a pint.”

  “That’s good. Even for Happy Hour.”

  “Oh, there’s never a grim moment in Clove’s. That’s just another way of saying it’s always Happy Hour when you get to The End of the World.”

  “I’ll try the Bock. And regardless of our traditional relationship, I’ve been making an effort lately to be more… Why don’t you tell me what you were about to say.”

  Trish pulled the tap for a foam run, then tilted a glass underneath. “I was just saying that every bar has its own unique personality.”

  “Yeah, I guess décor, location, what have you, make a difference.”

  “Weeee-yell, you also have to consider the type of music offered, be it recorded or live. Not to—”

  “Don’t forget karaoke.”

  “Much as I’d like to, I can’t. Oh, I hope you don’t…”

  “Not really. Well, just the once. Turned out pretty ugly.” He shrugged. “What about games offered? That probably makes a difference. Pool? Darts?”

  “Or the lack thereof.” Trish served the cute nerd his pint.

  “And which sports are on television.” He took his first drink.

  “Or the avoidance of television altogether.”

  “I suppose the availability of sex puts a stamp on a place.”

  “Not to mention the proclivities of the sexually available.”

  “What about the emanations of owner and staff?”

  “Bingo,” agreed Trish. “Yep, whether those emanations be intentional or unintentional, they do matter.”

  “You sound quite learned on the subject.” He took a second drink.

  “Oh, I’ve worked a few places.”

  “Two? Three? You don’t look that—”

  “Try nine.”

  “Yow. I’ve heard there’s a lot of turnover in this business, but—”

  “My average is one year per.”

  “That would make you close to… You don’t look that old.”

  “Early bloomer.”

  “I see. Don’t you ever plan to, I mean, of course, there’s nothing wrong with being a bartender.”

  “Actually, we prefer Mixologist Americans.” She pressed her hands on the bar top, leaned forward. “And I do always plan to. The bar is my natural habitat.”

  “I see.”

  “Hey, all those things we mentioned about contributing to a bar’s personality?” Trish tapped her finger lightly on the bottom of the cute nerd’s glass.

  “I suppose we left out a few.”

  “No, it’s not like that. I’ve never brought this up, but there is something else. It’s like…nah, you don’t want to hear it.”

  The cute nerd examined Trish’s face. “Nine places, nine years? I’d say you have something worthwhile to say on the subject. If you try putting it into words you may develop a clear idea.”

  “Hey, now.” Trish straightened. “I’m supposed to be the shrink here.”

  “Then you should know that all shrinks have their own shrink.”

  “Okay, I’ll buy that.” Trish scanned the ceiling. “So, um, I was saying that every bar has its own attitude. You know?” Her eyes met the cute nerd’s. “Like all the regulars share a common outlook on the world. It’s us in here against all of them out there. But it’s not like this outlook forms after they arrive. No, no, no. It’s already there and waiting for them. It’s as if some opening night beacon goes out to rake the night sky and it tugs and tugs at the nagging incompleteness of certain individuals until, ‘Home at last, home at last, sweet articulation I am home at last.’”

  The cute nerd nearly spit the last swallow of his pint. “That’s, uh, poetic.”

  “Sure you don’t want those training wheels?”

  “First one always goes down fast.”

  “Nothing unusual there. Another?”

  “No, I—”

  “Hey, if you don’t like the product, no charge. House policy.”

  “It was fine. Damn good, matter of fact. Never had that beer. But the tap next to it? Red Horse Ale? Never had that either.”

  “Right.” Trish grabbed a fresh glass.

  “Now that I notice, all four taps sport equine names.”

  “Thoroughbred Brewing across the river is our microbrewery of the month.”

  “Ah. Anyway, that’s interesting what you said about the opening night beacon bringing certain p
eople in. That this outlook they share is already there to embrace them.”

  “I’m tellin’ ya, it’s uncanny.” Trish served the ale. “How else do these people show up where they’re meant to be? I’ve seen this up close and personal. See, all nine places I’ve worked, I’ve opened. For a while I even tried to guess beforehand something about the attitude of a new place. One time I experimented by trying to influence… Nope, never mind ’bout that one. Didn’t work. But it really is like the regulars settle into something that’s already there and waiting.”

  “A culture. A community. And it has nothing to do with those more tangible attributes we mentioned.”

  “Oh, a college bar is a college bar, a sports bar has it’s own thing. Lesbian bars. But something…shaa. Never mind.”

  “You think it’s possible a consciousness floats above a bar that people tune into. Only the right people, of course.”

  “Uhhhhaaai think it’s more a matter of place, you know? I don’t mean location so much. Like being close to the campus or right off the exit ramp. Nothing like that. It’s the place, the spot on the planet that’s right. It draws together people who are meant to come together. I don’t know. Somewhere along the line I realized I’m not smart enough to figure the thing out, so I quit trying.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. There are all different kinds of smart.”

  “Yeah, well, why don’t we get back to our traditional arrangement. It’s time for you to do the talking.” Trish eased forward and planted her elbows on the bar.

  “Really more of a listener. Or trying to be. Seems like my mouth only gets me into trouble.”

  “Maybe this is your place to talk, like I’ve been saying.”

  “Actually, there is something. But first I’d like to hear more about, uh, can we call it your theory? For instance, you suggest there’s something that drew me here because I may have sensed something I need.” He tasted the second beer, nodded approval.

  “I suppose that remains to be seen. Not every customer becomes a regular.”

  “Something about the place either accepts me or rejects me.”

  “You must think I’m nuts.”

  “I think you’re on to something. But on one hand, you suggest this is sacred ground for a chosen few. On the other hand, you mention a beacon raking the night sky. That suggests an overriding consciousness that emanates, then gathers and sorts, until certain believers are drawn together.”

  “That’s deep. I hope this isn’t a lead in for some Jehovah’s Witness come on.” Trish reached under the bar for a clean towel.

  “Hardly. But you do see the difference? In one scenario, Earth itself puts out a signal that draws people in. In the other scenario, a scattered group of people put out a signal that collects high above then points to a particular spot.”

  “Except that spot has to be a bar. You don’t see people gathering to commiserate in the middle of a busy intersection.”

  “No, but what about a church? Or a shopping mall? And that busy intersection may have been a sacred gathering place centuries ago.”

  Trish popped the towel. “See what you mean there.”

  “What about yourself? Nine places of employment in nine years? You sound like quite the nomad, like you haven’t found your spot.”

  “Not quite the nomad I used to be.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Mom kept the two of us on the run ’til I was sixteen. Always chasing half formed schemes and dreams of the good life from one end of the country to the other.”

  “Your dad?”

  “Never knew him.”

  “No one place you could think of as home.”

  “Nope. Sometimes we stayed with relatives she barely knew. A lot of times, though, we stayed with lonely guys who Mom promoted from casual barroom acquaintance to instant family man soon as she found the right weakness to exploit.”

  “A lifestyle you didn’t want to carry on.”

  “Nope. Finally put my foot down. Right here in River City. We were here about a week when Mom said Taos was the next hot ticket. I enrolled myself in a high school then… I can’t believe I’m telling you this. I never talk about it.”

  “It’s okay.” He held up his hands. “If it’s something you’d rather not—”

  “I’m probably boring you.”

  “Not at all. Nothing boring about soul baring.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. You decided Cincinnati was the place to be, then?”

  “Then Mom gave me a hug, kissed me on the cheek, said, ‘I love you, baby. Always remember that when things get really, really bad,’ and left.”

  “Man. I don’t know what to say. Sorry, I guess.”

  “I’m over it.” Trish shrugged. “Well, sort of.” She wiped a small bit of bar top.

  “Yeah. I know someone else…no matter. At least you landed in your natural habitat.”

  “When I first started out, I saw being a professional in the hospitality business as a way of paying the world back for so often providing the kindness of strangers. Like you said, though, I remained somewhat a transient.”

  “But you chose this city and stayed.”

  “After Mom split I vowed never to travel more than five miles in any direction.” She took her towel in a wider circle.

  “You’ve kept to that?”

  “Damn near.”

  “Ever think the different bars have been a way of finding who you are? Like trying different personalities. Or building one from not having had a stable childhood.”

  “Hmm. Maybe sorta kinda.” Trish twirled the towel. “I don’t know. I worked at Toungmongous for a year and none of that lesbianism rubbed off.”

  The cute nerd nearly spit beer again. “That, uh, name pretty much says it all.”

  “That was number five. Northside is the center of the lesbian universe. Toungmongous is the capital. I guess I did learn I never wanted to be used by anyone when I was there. All that sisterhood. Yeah, that rubbed off. I needed that after seeing how Mom operated. Actually, I was working Toungmongous when I turned twenty-one.”

  “You were bartending at sixteen?”

  “Told you I bloomed early. Started waiting tables in a chili parlor after Mom split. Well, what passes for chili in Cincinnati. Got a room in a dreary building with a communal bathroom down the hall. Not pretty. Soon this guy was sitting in my station every night. All he ever talked about was a bar he was opening. I convinced him I was old enough, so he hired me. Didn’t last long in school after that. But I was making decent money, and I graduated to an efficiency near the university. Turned out, though, my hiring was a long, drawn out seduction on his part. I gave half a thought to giving in, but thought my inexperience might give away my age. Then he let it slip that the first time he saw me I was coming out of the high school. All too creepy, so I bailed.”

  “But you landed on your feet.”

  “Brand new place not three blocks away. Pat and Mike’s. A married couple, so it appealed, considering. They knew me from Tinker’s, so they never questioned my age. It was great. Made better money. Moved to a full-sized apartment. Bought a beater because I’d never got used to planning for more meals than the next one that might come my way and all those cab rides to the grocery store got expensive.”

  “But?”

  “But Mike came on to me after about a year.”

  “Definitely a pattern developing.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. I was feeling stability for the first time. You know? So what could I do to save my job? I decided it best to go to Pat and get everything out in the open.”

  “I have a feeling that didn’t work.”

  “There was this tiny little office next to the storeroom. I was nervous, couldn’t finish a sentence. But she calmed me, took my hand. I locked my eyes onto hers, which only made it worse. Finally, she said, ‘I know, honey.’ She stood up and slipped out of her jeans and sweater and stood before me in nothing but a G string. She said, ‘I’ve
felt the same since day one.’” Trish folded her arms over her chest.

  “Wow, that’s…that’s—”

  “That’s hitting three for two. Not even Ty Cobb pulled off an average like that.”

  “You bailed again.”

  “Uh huh. But plenty of bars coming and going being so close to the university, uncertain economy, blah blah cetera. I became an expert at waltzing into a new place and pointing out problems before they started. Then I’d sweep owners off their feet by telling them I was patient enough to build business through a slow beginning, then fast enough to handle the rush when it did hit. Which I convinced them would with me at the helm.”

  “And a career was born.”

  “Look, I know you don’t want to hear about all nine.”

  “I’ll tell you what does interest me.”

  “Oh?”

  “You mentioned a failed experiment. There’s a number ten you don’t talk about?”

  “Man, you’re scaring me.”

  “You’re opening up, talking about things you normally don’t. And you said ‘all nine’ like you don’t believe in that number.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Just a lucky guess.” He shook his head. “Forget it.”

  “Déjà Vu, man.”

  “I’m sorry. You’ve been through this be—”

  “Déjà Vu Lounge. Nobody I know knows I worked there. It was only a week but, man, I’ve never talked about it to anyone.”

  “Forget—”

  “I want to know how you know.”

  “I don’t know anything. Like I said, lucky guess.” He took a long drink.

  “Shaa, it’s out there now. May as well spew it.”

  The cute nerd held up his glass. “Spew away.”

  “Okay, um…” Trish switched out napkins before his glass came down. “Fresh landing pad.”

  “Seems appropriate.”

  Trish continued. “What we were talking about, bars having a set personality? I thought this one time I could influence that personality. Apply my personal stamp.”

  “So, you violated your Prime Directive.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Probably no Trekkie bars out there. So, Déjà Vu Lounge?”