Shakespeare’s Dead: Chapter Three

Chapter 3

Me and the boys had never been out on a Monday movie night, so I had no idea the bar was gonna be so packed, and the line going in didn’t look to be moving too fast. The guy at the door was some beady-eyed albino gorilla I’d never seen before, wearing a t-shirt that looked like he beat up a five-year-old for; the seams along his biceps looked about ready to fissure if he sneezed. Maybe he’d eaten the previous bouncer, who’s to say?

But the fact remained that the line was stretched down the street around the corner and I wasn’t Paris Hilton. I wasn’t about to palm the dude any cash, and Shakespeare Poole didn’t wait in line for nothing, so I reached for the only thing I had in my arsenal; a big, sloppy, shovelful of bull-shit…and my badge.

I flashed my shield and tossed the giant a story about the most dastardly criminal I could think of on such short notice: A crazed serial monogamist who’d been terrorizing the neighbourhood and was last spotted in the area wearing nothing but a dog-collar and a pink sweater.

The bouncer seemed sceptical—I might’ve crossed the line with the pink sweater. He looked at me, looked at my badge, looked past me at the crew, and nodded with his chin. “Those mutherfuckers cops too?”

The crew bobbed their heads and grinned, which kind of killed the sense of imminent danger any one of the hundreds of patrons might be faced with if confronted with a serial monogamist.

I said, long and slow, “You betcha.” Then I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder at Nature. “And if you’d like, I could leave one of the officers out here to keep you safe while the rest of us take a look inside.”

The big man’s eyes, which I didn’t believe could get any beadier—if that’s even a word—pulled together so tight you’d almost mistake him for a Cyclops. I got the impression he didn’t believe I was exactly truthful with him, but he shrugged and dropped the velvet rope for us.

After the door closed behind us, Nature caught up to me and grabbed me by the elbow. “What the hell were you thinking telling him we was cops? And offering to leave me out there with him? You could get in a lot of shit for that, uh-huh.”

That’s what I loved about Nature. He was just so goddamned practical, so innocent. I tousled his hair like he was a kid and slapped him on the ass. Over the music, I yelled, “Go get your dick wet and don’t worry so much. Besides, I think we coulda took him.”

I’m pretty sure Nature was a virgin, but it wasn’t because he was ugly. It was his mouth. Every time he got close to scoring, some idiot imp would take possession of his brain, and out would come some of stupidest shit you ever heard come out of the mouth of a man looking to get laid. Here’s a quick for example for you: “So, what are your thoughts on marriage?” I know, right? Poor bastard’s fucked from the jump and he doesn’t even know it. You know, thinking back, the rest of us should have pooled together and paid a hooker to plug him into the wild side. Maybe after a taste of the good stuff, he might not have acted like such a dweeb.

Dingo must have been expecting us to come out, even though I promised him we wouldn’t. Instead of being propped up by his elbows at the bar like usual, double-fisting Buds, him and his new girl were hunkered down in a booth near the back of the club. Dingo had his hand out, palm up, and his girl was holding it by the fingers They were both leaning over his hand, staring at it, like they were watching a flea doing somersaults between his thumb and fuck-you finger.

When we stepped up to the booth, Sarah saw us first and smiled, not knowing who the hell we were, probably, but smiling anyway. When I first saw her up close, my heart stuttered twice and stopped. For most men there was either Mary Anne or Ginger. Either or, that’s it—but she was both and then some.

I spent a lifetime in those eyes and, by the time she looked questioningly down at Dingo, I’d already mentally taken her in every position known to man—and even some known only to the spider monkeys of western Asia. I was in lust.

Dingo knew what he was going to find even before he turned to see what she was looking at. Before he’d turned all the way around, he was already telling her our names.

She said, just how I imagined she would, “Nice to meet you all. Dan has told me so much about you.”

She said it like she was saying it to all of us, but she was looking at me the whole time.

Then, sticking her hand out to me, she said, “I hear you’re a cop. I just love cops.”

I think we shared something in that handshake; I could feel a sort of connection, you know?

Maybe Dingo saw what I saw too, because he scooted over ’til he was almost sitting on her and said, “Since you’re here.”

I didn’t hear him add “you might as well join us,” but I’m sure he meant to.

I looked at his drink, not his normal pair of Bud, and asked, “What’s with the drink? What’s that, rum?”

When he shook his head, then darted his eyes at the rest of the boys, and mumbled “Pepsi,” I did a double take.

No wonder he didn’t want us around. Next thing he was gonna tell us was that salmon wasn’t a bad colour for some guys just as long as it matched their eye shadow.

I did the only thing a best buddy could do at a critical time like that. I flagged down the first waitress I could find and said, “Twelve Tequila, ten Bud.” I paused, raising my eyebrows to Sarah.

She said, just as sexy as I thought she would, “Bud sounds good.”

What an angel.

To the waitress, I said, “Okay, instead of ten, make that twelve Bud. Stat, lady. Go. I think I have a friend here in danger of falling victim to that serial monogamist that’s been running around causing pandemonium among innocent bar-go-ers.”

The waitress steadied her full tray of empties and leaned down with a look of shock on her face. “You know, I heard of him. They were talking about him outside just now. I hope they get that sick bastard.”

I glanced hurriedly at Dingo, who had his hands wrapped around the glass of Pepsi in a white knuckled chokehold. “Quick, lady. We’re running out of time…and don’t forget the tequila.”

Dingo wasn’t too happy with us at first, crashing his date and all, but after six or seven beers, he was almost back to his old self. We found out that Sarah was not only a Gypsy by birth, but that she was also a medium. Looked more like a petite to me, and I said so, too, but then she laughed and explained what being a medium was all about.

Believing she was yanking my chain, I said, “Aw, come on. You’re just yanking my chain. You telling me you talk to the dead?”

She nodded while taking a long slug from her bottle. “Sometimes.”

I said, “So, what, you learned from your mom? From being a Gypsy?”

“No. My sister and I trained with a woman we met at a nudists retreat.”

When my eyebrows rose and I leaned forward in my chair, Dingo Dan shot me a hard look. You know what, though? Hard as that look was, it wasn’t nowhere near as hard as I was right then.

Willie Cha-cha, who was just circling back to the table to drop off his empty and grab a full bottle from the cluster in the middle, said, “Hey, why don’t we have a séance and see if we can find out where Bobby Slow-mo kept his cash. Remember how he still owed us money before he died?”

Hoping I was wrong, I said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Oh, she doesn’t want to do that kind of stuff tonight, Willie. Besides, you know there ain’t no such thing.” Plus, just in case it wasn’t crap, I didn’t want some ghost telling him I already collected the money Bobby owed us, from his widow, but then lost it all playing cards.

Standing up, Sarah planted her hands on her hips and, if I’m not mistaken, shot me the evil-eye, and then said, “Ah, ho. Non-believer, eh?”

Raising my hands to ward off whatever magic might be behind the eye, I said, “No, It’s nothing like that. I just thought you’d rather have fun than work.”

I used to fish a lot when I was a kid, too. She was gonna be easier than a ten pound carp.

Sarah bent down and placed her palms flat on the table, effectively opening her top for me to see—hell, for everybody there, with the exception of Dingo—that she wasn’t wearing a bra. It even seemed like she was daring us to look away.

I gulped. “I, for one, would believe anything that came out of your mouth.” I’m pretty sure that opinion was unanimous, but it was kind of hard to tell with Dingo. He was way past shit-faced, sitting there with his lids half closed and his face greener than the envy I felt for him over bagging such an awesome girl.

Sarah, suddenly way more mysterious than she’d been before the wardrobe malfunction, stood there, still staring at me. “Well?”

I couldn’t speak for the rest of the crew, but I couldn’t remember the conversation well enough to know exactly what the “well” question was for, so I asked.

She said that we could have a séance for that guy Willie mentioned.

“I know just the place,” I said, winking. I downed the rest of my beer and slammed the bottle on the table. “Nature! Let’s roll.”

Nature knew. He was already swinging his keys on his finger. Or, maybe he does it all the time, and I only notice when I need him.

Yessir, I’d fallen in lust with her before I even heard her speak.

This, my friends, is the girl who innocently started the whole ball of snow tumbling down the mountain…at least for me. Without her, who knows if you’d even be seeing any of this shit.

I’m sorry. I’m getting a little ahead of myself again. My point is this: She was hot, had a clothing optional attitude, and seemed as airy as a carload of fog farts. I guess that’s all I’m trying to say. Oh, and best of all, she really, really, loved cops. Shakespeare Poole was in luck—Dingo Dan was apparently not. That’s because Shakespeare was a cop. That’s me.

While we waited for Dingo and Dan number two to finish theirs beers, I leaned across and asked Sarah what she did when she wasn’t raising the dead.

She looked at me for a second or two before answering. “I do legal piecework for The Wildlife Federation.”

Okay, so maybe you can forget what I said about the fog farts, but she was still my kind of gal.

* * *

On the way out of the bar a hand the size of a pancake skillet slapped my chest. “I thought you were coming back out if you didn’t find that crazy serial momogamist?”

After pushing his hand away, I stepped past him. “We did,” I said, pointing back at Dingo Dan, who was half stumbling, half being carried out between Willie Cha-cha and Dan number two. “That’s him there—had to stun him. We regret any inconvenience we may have caused. You’re safe now. Carry on.”

“It’s all good,” the bouncer said, nodding at our job well done. “I’m just glad you got him. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if somebody like him was allowed to roam free.”

I could tell the beady eyed muscle head was just dying for his shift to end so he could sprint home, dust off a dictionary, and look up a word or two. Behind his eyes, I imagined the gears were spinning fast enough to cause smoke.

Sarah laughed all the way to the car. I remember thinking at the time that it sounded just about what I imagined an angel’s laugh would be like.