After a few seconds, he fearfully peeked, found himself standing at the edge of a crowded, dimly lit basement bar room. The bar had low ceilings supported by wooden beams. So loud! The silence of the stairwell had been replaced by a cacophony of bright, intoxicated laughter and antique jazz being blasted by a holographic band. A dirty, captivating smell filled his nostrils.
Where did my contact and the dog go?
Virgil squinted across the tables of patrons as his eyes adjusted to the light. The band of life-size, holographic jazz musicians was piled together on a squat stage in the far corner. The musicians wore purple suits the same shade as the curtains he had just walked through. A drummer, an upright bass guitar and a large boxy instrument with keys. A piano, of course. He had seen pianos in holoflix. The musicians were sweating!
Why would someone pay to project a sweating hologram?
Virgil rubbed his eyes and looked closer. The musicians were real! He felt dizzy. Cocktail waitresses in burgundy red flapper dresses whizzed to and fro carrying trays of… there was no doubt… alcohol. Virgil briefly panicked. His eyes darted through the room, looking for microdrones, FR lenses. Everyone was drinking!
Oh man! I’m in a speakeasy! Be cool, be cool… oh man, this is the commission of a lifetime! Right in downtown Lawrence!
He nearly jumped out of his rain-soaked sneakers when a petite, blonde waitress stopped in front of him, “Hello, Mr. Benedict,” she said charismatically. “Welcome to The Green Lady Lounge. Can I bring you a cocktail?” She smiled, looking him up and down, “Or a towel?”
Virgil blinked and looked down at his feet. How long had he been in the same spot? A puddle of rainwater had gathered around his sneakers while he stood there with his mouth hanging open.
He tried to speak, but the only sound that came out was, “I uhhh, I uhhhhhh…”
The waitress raised her eyebrows, then signaled to a muscular Asian man behind a long wooden bar to Virgil’s right who was wearing a wife beater and red suspenders, “Yo Leo, throw me a towel,” she yelled. “We gotta virgin.”
Leo the bartender stood in front of a large mirrored display of vintage liquor bottles. He examined Virgil with obvious displeasure. He tweaked one end of his mustache, then tossed the waitress a bar towel and sauntered away to help another patron.
The adorable waitress hung the towel over Virgil’s shoulder, “Here you go, honey. Since you’re not talking for the moment, take this.” She had grabbed a drink off another server’s tray and pressed the glass of cool, clear liquid into his right hand. The waitress laughed easily, “There you go. Now you look like you belong somewhere.”
Virgil looked into the girl’s violet eyes, unsure if he had ever met a woman so pretty, “You know my name?”
“I sure do. And you see that red velvet curtain past the bar?” She pointed across the room.
“Uh huh.”
“If you’ll be a doll and walk around that corner, you’ll find a seat in the private alcove that belongs to you.”
“I will?”
“Mr. Angevine is waiting.”
“I just… he is?” Virgil smiled nervously. He took a drink and grimaced, alarmed by the liquor’s bite, “Wow, okay! That’s not water.”
The waitress pursed her lips congenially and began to walk away.
“Wait,” he said. “Did you happen to see a big black dog come in here?”
She looked over her shoulder and giggled, widening her eyes, “Why no, Virgil! A dog? That would violate public health codes!”
Virgil felt foolish.
Don’t be an idiot. You’ve seen speakeasies in the holoflix. Holy sky! I’m in a speakeasy! Too bad I have to report this place.
His awe was quickly replaced by excitement as he shuffled past the bar. Though the conversations of other patrons were many and loud, it was difficult to hear exactly what anyone was saying. Sound wave defractors lined the low ceiling for this very reason. People at the tables kept to themselves and eye contact, if made at all, was fleeting.
Before he could get around the corner and through the curtain, the same blonde waitress returned and snatched the bar towel off his shoulder, proceeding to dab his face and brush his dark, wet hair from his eyes, “These towel things are even more effective for drying off when you actually use them, Virgil. That’s better!” she sang, disappearing as quickly as she’d come.
Virgil took a deep breath and pushed through the curtains. He froze.
On the curtain’s far side was a small room with a single table set at the back of a large alcove, which had been cut into the foundation. The room’s light was barely brighter. The table was ringed by a large semi-circular booth, upholstered in the same red vinyl as the rest of the chairs throughout the speakeasy. It was very… what did they call it?
Retro? Man, I’m gonna make a fond commission on this place!
On one wall, a 2D flatscreen display showed the band of musicians in the main room. The stereo com relayed the sound of their instruments perfectly. The enormous black dog from the alley lay on the polished concrete floor before the booth. The animal’s head was proudly erect. It panted happily, and there was no sign it had recently taken a bullet to the skull or ripped a woman’s hand off.
I’m going insane…
The only person he recognized was William from the alley. The man had removed his cowboy hat and jacket and seemed relatively dry for having just been in a thunderstorm. Only his sandy blonde hair was wet, matted back. He eyed Virgil with a cool expression.
Beside William sat an extremely appropriate looking man in a tuxedo.
Is that a tuxedo? Or just a tan suit?
Everything about the man was immaculate, from his copper red hair to the chocolate colored handkerchief poking neatly out of the breast pocket of his jacket. The man wore green, wire rim sunglasses and sat at the far edge of the booth across the heavy wooden table from William. He bore no outward expression, proud and quiet as a statue.
Adjacent to the well dressed man was a dude of Latino descent.
From the Mexican states.
He was casually leaned back with an antique joint smoldering steadily in the corner of his mouth. His heavily muscled forearms were sleeved with tattoos: hearts and anchors and sparrows and roses and pyramids and bizarre machines. The man sported a bushy, jet black mustache and wore camouflage pants with lace up combat boots. His slouched appearance stood in stark contrast to the clean cut gentleman to his left.
Lastly, sitting cross legged on top of the table itself was an African dwarf with a white kitten clinging to his shoulder. The little man had a bionic arm with a wrench where his hand should have been and a patch over one eye. His expression was grim and unchanging.
I’m totally going insane.
The dwarf was dressed in gray, pinstriped overalls that had obviously seen their fair share of toil and sported a fluffy, volleyball sized Afro sprinkled with points of gray. He clenched a mug of brown beer with his wrench. The mug looked enormous in front of his tiny body. The little man showed no emotion, though the kitten hissed at Virgil steadily.
No one spoke. Virgil became self-conscious; sopping wet in his combed khaki pants with a collegiate backpack slouched over his shoulder. His lower lip was shaking, along with his right hand, which held the short glass of vodka.
There’s no way to make this look good.
He took a step towards the table and the black dog immediately bore its teeth. Virgil lurched, dropped his rocks glass, shattering it on the cement floor. The tattooed Mexican burst out laughing and the dour mood was suddenly transformed. With the exception of the dwarf and William, everyone in the alcove smiled. William shook his head, slid out and whistled through the curtain. The blonde cocktail waitress quickly appeared with a broom and began sweeping up the shattered glass.
“Thank you, Daphne.”
“No problem, Mr. Angevine.”
The cowboy’s voice was deep, like he came from somewhere down south where there were swamps, “I’ve told you
to call me William, or anything you want for that matter, darlin’,” he said with a wink.
The waitress puffed her chest defiantly, “And I’ve told you that ring on your finger means you’re married, Mr. Angevine.” The waitress spun on her heel and sashayed back into the barroom in a flash of ruby, perfumed curves.
William turned to Virgil and shrugged, then grabbed his limp hand and shook it, “Welcome to the dry side of the world, squire.”
Virgil didn’t even care that his mouth was hanging open and began babbling, “Oh my Dog! Are we seriously gonna pretend that didn’t just happen outside? That CNED lady shot your Fido in the face! But here it is, five minutes later, totally operational, lying on the floor in a speakeasy! You guys pinged me, almost got me arrested! I deserve an explanation!”
The Mexican man in the booth chuckled at William as he puffed his joint, “Yeah, meester… why you ain’t geeve heem an explanation, mang?”
The well dressed gentleman observed in silence as William closed his hand around Virgil’s neck and shoved him against the wall, “You deserve nothing. It’s only by the grace of Dog that you get to set foot in this bar. Show some respect.”
William released his grip.
Virgil gasped, rubbing his neck, “Jeez, sorry! Agro much?”
William inclined his head at the dog, “You wanna see agro, squire?”
The Rottweiler raised its head and gave Virgil a warning snarl.
“Jeezus, okay, no. I said, I’m sorry.”
William grabbed the boy’s shoulder roughly and turned him to face the well dressed man, “What do you say, boss? I vote you scramble his brains and let me toss him back.”
Everyone in the booth kept quiet. The white kitten turned its back and the dwarf took an emotionless sip of beer. The well dressed man maintained his taciturn expression.
At last he lowered his sunglasses slightly, revealing piercing, yellow eyes, “Oh no, I believe he’ll do just fine.”
The man smiled blithely, extracted a black vaporjoint from his coat pocket and took a smooth, luxurious puff.
William turned to Virgil, “Well, there you go, squire. Now stop being a sally and go pet that dog.”
Virgil let out a shuddering breath, “Okay, okay.”
He reached his hand out and took a step forward.
The dog lunged viciously and Virgil jumped backwards, squealing, “No!”
This time everyone laughed except the black dwarf, who simply took another swallow of beer.
The blonde waitress reappeared on cue.
She handed Virgil a replacement glass of vodka, “Here you go, pumpkin.”
“Thanks,” Virgil muttered, still eyeing the dog.
“You bet,” she winked. “And don’t worry, sunshine. You’re in the basement. The only direction from here is up.”
“Thanks, I don’t even…” he started to say, following the waitress with his eyes as she briskly disappeared back through the velvet curtain.
“Virgil,” William snapped his fingers, “Over here, kid.”
Virgil turned around and William pointed to the Mexican lounging in the booth, “This is Hugo.”
“Hola tonto,” said Hugo, nodding and exhaling a cumulonimbus cloud of ganja smoke.
“Hello,” said Virgil awkwardly.
“This is Goran, and Cat,” continued William, nodding at the dwarf and his Felix.
“Hello,” said Virgil.
The black dwarf’s expression remained fixed and grumpy, but the kitten jumped onto the table, put one paw in the air and uttered a single, “Meow,” then bounded back up onto the dwarf’s shoulders.
“Last but not least, this is Mr. Dax Abner,” said William.
“Hello mister, sir,” said Virgil. I’m sorry I broke the glass, I just…”
Dax interrupted him with a glance, swirling his vaporjoint in a lazy circle, “Don’t be sorry yet, Virgil. You have plenty of time for that. William?”
“Boss?”
“Before we were so amusingly interrupted, you were about to say?”
William took a pull off his vodka and said, “Just that I got the nanotablets down their gullets. The big one gave me a little pushback, but they both swallowed them.”
“Excellent,” said Dax. “Nothing like an instantly digested engramatic disruptor to help a CNED agent forget the last 24 hours of their life.”
William smiled wryly, “After Joan rewrites their com trails, those two are gonna have a mighty tough time explaining to Director Sapet what happened.”
“Indeed,” said Dax. “Good work. Now,” he gestured towards the curtain, “What say you and the boys go belly up at Leo’s bar for ten minutes? That should give Mr. Benedict and I time to get acquainted.”
“Are you guys talking about those agents in the alley?” interjected Virgil excitedly. “Oh man! That was so fond! How did you…?”
“Shut up, Virgil,” said William. He whistled at the booth, “Dog, boys. Let’s go do a few shots.”
Hugo slid out of the booth, joint between his lips and grabbed up Goran as he did so, dropping the little man to the floor. Cat hissed at SIEGFRIED as the dog bounded up, and they all followed William through the curtain and were gone.
Virgil turned to face Dax Abner, the room suddenly seeming expansive and oddly quiet despite the jazz being streamed over the com.
Dax gestured to the booth, “Why don’t you put that backpack down and have a seat, my studious, young friend.”
Virgil sauntered over and took the opposite end of the booth, grateful to have the weight off his back. Dax sat with perfect posture, one leg crossed over the other, and gazed at him calmly through his green-lensed glasses.
Virgil was about to start feeling uncomfortable again when Dax said, “Do you know why you’re here, Mr. Benedict?”
To score the biggest CNED commission ever!
“Well, my contact, I mean, William. He said you needed someone to spy on CNED around campus. That you’d pay some top digis for info on what the humdroids are doing, who’s busting who,” said Virgil.
“That is correct. You’re an English literature major, I understand.”
“Yes,” said Virgil, wiping his wet hair back, “Poetry, specifically. I graduate this spring!”
“How thrilling. I’ll have you recite something before you depart this evening.”
“I’d love that! No one appreciates the spoken word anymore.” Virgil took another sip from his rocks glass, wincing, “Phew! This has a bite! So you own this place?”
“I do.”
I should have brought a holocorder. Just stay cool. Ping Bubba soon as you’re out.
“Pretty fond, Mr. Abner. Hey!” Virgil’s eyes lit up, “You own that Abner pumpkin patch, right?”
“I do.”
“Wow. My mom floats up from Olathe and gets her Thanksgiving decorations there. How light! That’s a sweet cover you got!”
Dax took a sip of his soda water then rested his chin in one hand, eyeing the young man, “Indeed. So tell me, Virgil. What is it that makes a young poet such as yourself want to risk getting involved in the alcohol trade?”
“Oh, I’m technically not a poet,” said Virgil. “I just study poetry. I wanna be a professor, keep the written word relevant.”
“Good luck with that.”
“I can still read you one! I came here straight from campus and have all my books. You want to hear a poem now?”
I’ve got this guy wrapped around my finger! I should be a spy.
The faintest hint of a smile turned the edge of Dax’s mouth, “Oh no. You should wait until the gentlemen return. I’m sure they’d just be delighted to hear a rousing recitation.”
“Really?” asked Virgil quizzically.
“Oh, I’m sure of it,” said Dax. “We love the arts. But you were going to tell me? The alcohol business? You want to be involved, why?”
“Well,” Virgil shrugged. “The money’s pretty fond, right? I mean, William already transferred more digis into my accou
nt just for meeting you guys than I’ve made all semester working at the library.”
I’m gonna make like 100x that much when I tell Bubba there’s a giant speakeasy right off Massachusetts Street!
Dax was unmoved, “And?”
“Well, it’s also because of my girlfriend, Adrienne. She got busted, see?”
“By CNED?”
“No, the cops. She picked up a trunk full of shine from Smokey Mark. He’s a booze dealer on campus,” said Virgil eagerly. “She was floating back to her sorority house, going to a party, and got stopped by a drone for buzzing a red light. I don’t know why she didn’t have the hovcar on auto.”
“I see.”
“So anyway, one of the masons wasn’t sealed right. It spilled in her trunk, flipped the alcovap. Cops came, cuffed her, sent her straight to Bmod. She was able to holoconference her classes from the hospital, but she owes them like a million digibucks even now. It’s wrong, you know? Adrienne’s gonna be paying off her hospital debt for like a thousand years. So yeah, I guess I want to support the resistance,” Virgil held his fingers up, making quotation marks, “Fight the Architect, like they say.”
Dax picked up his vaporjoint and took a drag, “You’re going to fight the Architect, eh? By ratting on undercover CNED agents posing as students at The University of Kansas?”
“Totally. There are rats on campus too. That’s what it’s all about right? Having a speakeasy? You like, fight the power.”
I can’t believe this guy’s a local drug kingpin. He’s not very intuitive.
“What if,” Dax asked, “instead of being about the morality of alcohol use, the Architect’s motive was really controlling society itself.”
“I don’t get it,” said Virgil. “Vision is about harmonious drug use, the environment. It’s what ended the old war on drugs. Vision is kind of genius, really, if you think about it.”
Voices in the Stream: Phase 02 (The Eighteenth Shadow) Page 14
