Alan Lennox and the Temp Job of Doom

by Brian Olsen

  Fear snapped Caitlin out of her confused reverie. She started to turn. “Mark, we have to get...Mark!”

  Her warning came in time for Mark to avoid the worst of the blow. He was looking out at the bar in confusion, just as Caitlin had been, but as she turned she saw the young pool player – Dell – swinging his pool cue at Mark’s head. When Caitlin called out, Mark instinctively flinched away from the motion and caught only a grazing impact. It was still enough to knock him to the ground.

  Before she could help him, Officer Johnson attacked her. He was too close to swing his pool cue with any force, so he dropped it and grabbed her around the neck. His meaty hands wrapped around her throat and tightened. She saw no emotion whatsoever in his eyes. She tried to gasp for air, but nothing would come. She grabbed at his hands with her own, but she didn’t have the strength to pry them away.

  She wasted a moment on panic, but only a moment. She had panicked and frozen in Derek’s apartment, and she wasn’t going to let that happen again.

  She kicked at his crotch, but he was keeping her off-balance and she couldn’t get leverage. She let go of his hands and reached out for the beer bottle she had left on the table. She grabbed hold of it by the neck, lifted it, and brought it down with all her remaining might on the top of his head. It shattered, and beer flew everywhere, soaking them both.

  He barely flinched, but his expression flickered. She thought she saw confusion in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough. The pressure had let up for a moment, enough for her to get a breath, but the blankness quickly returned and he redoubled his efforts. She still had a hold on the broken bottle neck, so she pulled her arm back and stuck the sharp jagged end into his hand.

  That did it. He let out a terrible scream and released her. The bottle was wrenched out of her hand and fell to the floor. He looked at her in pain and shock.

  “What the fuck?” he said. “Where am I?” Blood had begun to trickle into his eyes from her first strike, and as he wiped at it with the back of his cut hand, more blood smeared across his face. He looked at his hand in disbelief and sat down hard on the floor.

  Caitlin whirled around to see how Mark was faring. He was on his back, on the floor, with Dell straddling him, seated on his abdomen. The administrative assistant was holding his pool cue in both hands, pressing it lengthwise into Mark’s throat, crushing his windpipe. Mark had a hold of the cue as well, frantically trying to push back and ease the pressure. His eyes were bulging.

  “Get off him!” Caitlin screamed uselessly. Mark was much larger than Dell and should have been able to free himself; the young man must be stronger than he appeared. She shoved him, trying to knock him over, but he wouldn’t budge. She punched him as hard as she could in the face, but he didn’t seem to feel it.

  She looked around for something, anything, to use as a weapon. To her horror she saw the other patrons, who up until now had been watching unmoving, slowly advancing on her. Some of them were behind the bar, grabbing liquor bottles and hefting them like clubs. There was no sign of DJ. Was she hurt, Caitlin wondered? Was she dead, hidden from view on the floor behind the bar?

  Caitlin had to move fast. She reached past Officer Johnson, whose face was beginning to cloud over again. She grabbed the pool cue he had dropped, gripped it at the small end, and swung it at Dell’s head. It connected across his forehead and snapped in two, the base flying into the air. The impact knocked him back slightly, and Mark tried to use the momentary release in pressure to escape, but Dell regained his balance and resumed the pressure on his throat.

  Caitlin jumped as she felt something fly past her head, then flinched at the sound of a large crash. Someone at the bar had hurled a bottle of Jägermaester at her, missing her by inches. The dark, sticky liquor dribbled down the wall.

  The crowd was getting closer. A middle-aged woman led the pack, brandishing a nail file. Caitlin was out of time. She stood behind Dell, between Mark’s outstretched, flailing legs. The blank-faced man ignored her, all of his attention on his intended victim.

  Caitlin raised the splintered pool cue in both hands then lowered it, her arms around Dell’s head, her hands clasped in front of his face, the broken, splintered end of the pool cue pointing at his neck. Still he ignored her. She muttered a quick, “Sorry, I’m so sorry,” before she pulled her arms back sharply. The pool cue plunged into this throat, just below his Adam’s apple.

  It didn’t go in as deep as she had thought it would, but it was enough to snap him out of whatever trance he was under. He let out a horrible choking scream, released his own pool cue and grabbed for the one sticking out of his trachea. He pulled it out and hurled it away, then fell sideways off Mark, grasping his throat, blood seeping out from between his fingers.

  Mark lay on the ground, coughing. The woman with the nail file stabbed at Caitlin, but her attack was slow and clumsy. Caitlin dodged aside easily, but the woman recovered and swiped at her again. The nail file got caught in Caitlin’s blouse, but didn’t connect with the skin. Caitlin jumped back and the nail file came with her. She tore it free and brandished it threateningly, hoping it would keep the woman at bay. Holding it up, Caitlin knelt to check on Mark.

  The woman was undeterred. She ran at Caitlin, her hands outstretched. Caitlin was prepared to let the woman impale herself on her own nail file, but Mark suddenly sat up between them. As she ran forward he grabbed at her legs and flipped her up and over them both. She landed with a thud behind them.

  “Come on,” Caitlin said, jumping up. She gave Mark her hand and helped him to his feet. He was clearly still hurt from the attack. He tried to say something, but only a croak came out.

  “Look out!” she cried, and pulled him in towards her. A bottle of well whiskey smashed at his feet.

  The crowd continued to advance on them, backing them towards the hallway containing the restrooms. Caitlin knew that if they wound up there they’d be trapped.

  Mark was edging around in front of her, his fists up, prepared to fight them all off by himself. It was a noble gesture, but all it would do would ensure he’d be killed first – she had to find another way.

  She ran past Mark, towards their attackers, and overturned the table they had been seated at. Those in the front and center of the pack jumped back, while those on the sides parted as they made their way around the table.

  “Follow me!” Caitlin shouted at Mark, and she leaped up on top of the pool table.

  Mark jumped up after her without hesitation. They kicked out at their closest attackers, getting some solid shots to the head in and knocking a few of them down. One man grabbed Caitlin’s ankle and she stuck the nail file into the back of his hand. He flinched back, taking the nail file with him, and looked around, alarm and confusion on his face.

  Caitlin had bought them a few seconds of breathing space, but that was all. They had the high ground, but the crowd would eventually overpower them. The front door seemed so close, but there was a terrifying amount of bar between them and safety.

  She jumped off on the far side of the pool table. A heavyset man, who had kept himself separate from the pack, was there, but Caitlin had seen him and was prepared. Mark had jumped down after her and was about to take a swing at the man, but before he could, Caitlin reached out to the wall and plucked three darts from the bar’s dartboard. She clenched one in her fist, whirled around and stuck it into the large man’s cheek.

  He roared in pain, and Caitlin saw the fog lift from his expression. He stood there in a daze, pulling the dart from his face, hindering the path of the AmSyn employees trying to get around him to get to her and Mark.

  Mark was looking at her in what was either admiration or very poorly timed lust. She grabbed his hand and pulled him after her. Keeping the heavyset man between them and the bulk of the crowd, she ran to the bar and climbed on it. Mark leaped up after her in one bound.

  She saw that DJ was not, in fact, dead on the ground, at least not here – the door behind the bar leading downstairs to the basement storeroom was
open. She considered heading down, but decided it was a bad idea – she knew there was some kind of exit up to the sidewalk from there, but she had never seen it and didn’t want to risk getting cornered again. Besides, if DJ was down there, she was probably safer on her own – the rampaging horde of administrative assistants, receptionists and rent-a-cops might leave her be if she didn’t get in their way. Maybe.

  She felt a hand grab at her foot. There were four AmSyn employees behind the bar. The one who had been hurling bottles, a pug-nosed blonde girl who looked about nineteen, was closest and made a grab for her. She caught Caitlin by surprise and was about to pull her to the ground when Mark brought his foot down hard on the girl’s arm. There was an unpleasant snapping sound and the girl released her hold on Caitlin, screaming. Her screams turned to frightened whimpers as she awoke from her murderous trance to find herself in a strange bar with a broken wrist.

  The rest of the crowd was advancing. The bar was a gauntlet now, with maniacs on either side eager to pull them to the ground and tear them apart. Caitlin took off at a sprint down the length of it, dodging outstretched hands and jumping over swinging vodka bottles. Mark ran behind her, similarly dodging and jumping, as well as kicking at the occasional head.

  They reached the end of the bar and leaped off. The large front window was in front of her, the view of the street mostly obscured by Pride month decorations and posters for the various party nights Slot Machine hosted. The crowd was slow moving now, bunched together and tripping over each other as they tried to get to the duo, so Caitlin and Mark had a clear path to the door. Caitlin ran to the left into the small entrance alcove. East Fourth Street and the safety it represented were there, in front of her, inches away. She turned back towards Mark and the smile on her face vanished.

  The old security guard, Officer Wilson, had a knife to Mark’s throat. It was only a small paring knife, which DJ used to cut fruit for garnish, but it looked very sharp. Wilson had forced Mark to kneel in front of him, and was gripping him by the hair with one hand, pulling his head back, while wielding the blade in the other.

  “Sorry, Caitlin,” Mark rasped.

  “Go out that door,” the old man warned, “and I’ll slit his throat.”

  Caitlin stayed where she was. The rest of the patrons were keeping their distance, watching the stand-off with no expression. Even those whom Caitlin had thought freed of their possession, those she had stabbed and the girl whose wrist Mark had broken, were back under the influence, ignoring their injuries and watching impassively.

  “Run!” Mark barked out. “They’ll kill us anyway!”

  Caitlin knew he was right. If she ran, the old guard would kill Mark before she could get help. If she stayed, the crowd would advance and kill them both.

  “Step away from the door,” the guard said. “Come towards me.”

  She hesitated.

  He pressed the blade into Mark’s neck. The skin dimpled under the pressure but didn’t break.

  Hurriedly, she stepped out of the alcove, back into the main bar. “Okay,” she said. “I’m coming towards you. Don’t hurt him.”

  “Stop,” Wilson said after she had taken a few steps. “That’s close enough.” He paused. He looked at her intensely.

  His cold gaze gave Caitlin chills. She didn’t feel like she was talking to the patronizing, grumpy security guard she had encountered earlier that day.

  “Defeating you is satisfying,” he said finally.

  She saw motion out of the corner of her eye and turned involuntarily. The crowd hadn’t moved, but as one, they had broken their vacant expressions. They were all smiling.

  “You were much more difficult than Mark Park,” the old man continued. “You are smarter, Caitlin Ross.”

  She turned her attention back to him. “Thanks. I did what you said. Will you let my friend go now?”

  “No. Neither of you is required. You are distractions.”

  A lanky young man broke away from the crowd and walked towards her.

  “That’s what I thought,” she said. “Mark! Triple twenties!”

  “Oh, man,” Mark said, and closed his eyes.

  Caitlin lifted her hand and quickly threw the two remaining darts, one after the other, at Wilson’s head. The first scratched against his forehead and bounced away. The second pierced the corner of his right eye, hanging there for a second before falling to the ground.

  The old man screamed in agony. He dropped the knife and clutched at his eye.

  Mark grabbed Caitlin’s outstretched hand and the two broke towards the door and out into the street. They started running towards Second Avenue, but Mark grabbed Caitlin’s shoulder and pulled her to a stop.

  “DJ!” he shouted hoarsely. “What about DJ?”

  “I know!” she shouted back. “But we can’t go back in there! We need to find the police!”

  “What if she needs help now? They could be killing her! They could be...leaving peacefully.”

  “What?”

  The crowd was leaving the bar, slowly and calmly, in groups of two and three. They were chatting and laughing, no longer expressionless, walking past Caitlin and Mark towards Second Avenue or heading away from them towards First, window shopping, heading into stores and restaurants. Caitlin saw Wilson, one hand to his eye, walking briskly away alongside the girl with the broken wrist.

  A shout from the bar carried into the street. “What the almighty living fuck?!”

  “That’s DJ!” Mark said, and sprinted back into the bar.

  Caitlin chased after him. The bulk of the crowd had exited. She hoped that together with DJ they could handle whoever was left.

  DJ was standing, fuming, in the middle of the bar. Two young women were setting the table Caitlin had overturned back on its feet, while a third came out from the bathroom with a mop and a bucket.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” one of the girls at the table was saying. She had a slight Indian accent, and Caitlin recognized her as one of the people behind the bar who had been grabbing for her ankles a few minutes ago. “This is all my fault! We’ll clean it all up!”

  “I found a mop in the bathroom!” said the third girl. She was blushing furiously. “I am so embarrassed! I’ll get it all, don’t worry!”

  “What happened up here? I was gone for five minutes!” DJ cried.

  Caitlin listened disbelievingly as the girl with the mop explained that she had tried to show off for her friends by juggling bottles, a skill she swore she usually excelled at. In their haste to escape the exploding glass and booze, the other two had accidentally flipped the table.

  DJ’s anger turned to laughter. “Hell, it ain’t like I’ve never done something stupid to show off for a pretty girl. Clean it all up, and you’re paying for those bottles.”

  She spotted Mark and Caitlin standing by the door and walked over to them. “Hey guys, everything okay? This place cleared out fast. I guess some people don’t appreciate a good carnival act, huh?”

  “Deej, where have you been?”

  “I was downstairs. I wasn’t prepared for so many customers this early, I had to get more booze.”

  “Didn’t you hear the noise? Anything?” Mark asked.

  “Why were you gone so long?” Caitlin asked. “We were worried.”

  “Aren’t you sweet! Sorry, I guess I was down there a while at that. I got distracted.”

  DJ looked a little flushed, and had a dopey smile on her face. Caitlin might have said the bartender was glowing.

  Just then, the woman Caitlin had thought looked like Dakota appeared from behind the bar, from the door leading to the downstairs storeroom. She was buttoning up the top button on her blouse. She made a beeline for the exit, but DJ grabbed her around the waist.

  “You taking off?” DJ murmured in her ear. “I thought you were going to give me your number.” She gave a playful bite to the woman’s earlobe.

  The woman reeled back and slapped DJ hard across the face. “Get off of me!” she shouted, outrage in
her eyes. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I’m not...I’m a Christian woman! I’m married! To a man!”

  DJ stepped back, holding her cheek. The woman stood there, embarrassed, as the three stared at her. She threw her shoulders back and tried to regain her dignity. “I thought this was a wine bar,” she said, and marched out to the street.

  After a moment, DJ laughed ruefully. “Oh, man, I get all the crazies,” she said. She noticed something on the floor, and bent down. “Huh, how’d these darts get way over here?” She stood back up, the darts in her hand. “Were you guys going? You’re not leaving me here by my lonesome, are you?”

  Mark blurted out, “Deej, the people here...they were nuts! Possessed! They...”

  Caitlin grabbed Mark’s arm sharply, and he stopped talking. Behind DJ, at the other end of the bar, the girl with the mop was cleaning up the blood that had been spilled in the fight as well as the liquor and glass, while the other two watched and listened to their conversation. The Indian girl made eye contact with Caitlin and shook her head slowly. The other reached into her bag, pulled out the broken pool cue, and pointed it at DJ. She put a finger to her lips.

  “They didn’t know it was a lesbian bar, I think,” Caitlin said. “They were all here for an office party, they said. I guess they were mad.”

  “Huh,” DJ said. “Ain’t my fault they got the wrong address. Makes sense, though, they didn’t look like our usual clientele. So you guys staying or going?”

  Caitlin looked at the trio again. The pool cue was back in the bag, and the two girls were helping the third clean up.

  “Going,” Caitlin said. “We have to meet Dakota and Alan.”

  “Suit yourself,” DJ replied, and made her way back behind the bar. “I’m on until eight if you change your minds.”

  Mark whispered sharply to Caitlin, “We can’t leave her here with them!”

  “They’re not after her,” Caitlin replied. “Crazy Christian lady could have killed her, but she distracted her instead. DJ’s only in danger if we put her in danger. Come on!” She pulled him by the arm out onto the street and marched towards Second Avenue. “We’re taking a cab home. You’re paying.”