Charm City was boiling. My shirt stuck to my back and my shoes were filled with perspiration. The heat from the sidewalk burned my feet. I was wearing jeans. I hate jeans, but sometimes you have to play the part. T-Bone Burnett was on the record player in my head. Sometimes the record got stuck. I was looking up at an ancient neon sign listening to the record skip. The sign said Tavern and below that, Package Goods. An old drunk came stumbling down the stairs. His shoes were covered in a filthy black-grey fur. He missed the last step and fell face first onto the fiery sidewalk. He was too drunk to get up. I dragged him into the shade and he asked me if I wanted to buy some mink shoes. His broken yellow teeth flapped with every word. I choked back bile and left him mumbling. The Tavern’s door was still open. I heard the sound of table tennis coming thru tin speakers, and over that, men shouting with the slightly slurred speech of a morning drunk.
I went up the crumbling stairs, my shoes slipping on dozens of discarded butts. The interior was warm and sticky. Smoke hung at eye level. The ceiling fans couldn’t budge the murk. It was so dark that I could barely see the dim beer signs at the far end of the room. The click clack of a pinball came from the back of the bar. There were a few old men clustered around the black and white TV, shouting and pounding on the blue linolium counter. They were drinking tall glasses of warm beer and taller glasses of vodka with melted ice cubes. The bartender was attractive. When Regan had his first term. She was dancing with an old short black Puerto Rican in the middle of the room. Her eyes were glazed with booze and percosets. There wasn’t any music on.
I sat down at the bar and pulled out a tired fistful of ones. I slowly spread them out. They were sad, lonely dollars. I stared at the bartender until she got the hint. I took my lukewarm PBR to the juke and stuffed a ruined bill in. There was some Ray Charles amongst mountains of crap. I punched some numbers and took my seat.
The heat made the passing cars look like cartoons. They stretched and wobbled and danced. I drank my PBR. I thought about less than nothing. I watched a fly land on my hand and I didn’t bother to wack it. Something else was buzzing though. It wasn’t the fly.
The bartender was talking at me. She was saying something I couldn’t understand.
Maybe she was asking me who was the president of Albania. I just nodded and laughed like the nice guy I am. It was the wrong answer. I was out on the dance floor and she was singing into my ear before I could ask for a recount. I thought about appealing to a higher court but decided it wasn’t worth it. She told me her name was John. Or Joan. I cant’ be sure. She had on a bra from 1963. It poked my in the chest. I didn’t mind. It was like stepping back in time. The Puerto Rican looked on with a toothless grin. John/Joan led me. She spun herself, she dipped herself. She was a good dancer. I was just an arm ornament.
The door to the Tavern opened and the bartender went to play hostess. I hoped that she would gimme a refill while she was at it. The figure that came through the door was slim and purposeful and definitely not old. The figure moved with a casual grace that isn’t taught in grammar school.
Grace or no grace, I had beer to drink.
I turned back into my glass. The next two rounds were on John/Joan, who also kept feeding me bills for the Juke. She knew good taste when she saw it. I kept playing Ray, but added some Merle Haggerd for good measure. Something elegant passed behind me. The smoke cleared and I whirled on my stool to look. I knew who she was just by the way she held her head. I couldn’t help it. I should have kept my trap shut.
-Marlee! This place is worse than Myspace. What are you doing here?
She turned and squinted at me.
-I have to go to the bathroom.
I drained my beer. I wandered behind the bar and poured a cup of coffee. I kicked myself in the teeth. She didn’t even remember me. I was the sap that kept thinking about her. My head hurt. I stared at my creamless coffee.
Marlee went back to her seat. Then she picked up her books and came around and sat next to me.
-Sorry. I really had to pee.
I almost cried into my styrofoam cup.
Marlee was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window, as Chandler once wrote. She was dressed like a man but it worked. At least, I wasn’t complaining. She was drinking cheap champagne out of a bottle with a screw top.
-That’s some bling drank,
-Yeah, it was a rough week. Or rough 13 days. I haven’t had a day off in that long.
Marlee signaled for another round. I was down to my last George W.
-Do you know this girl?
-Yeah. She used to make a helluva egg sandwich.
Joan/John poured our drinks and mourned the loss of her dancing partner.
Marlee shot me a glance.
-Don’t tell her, I’ll have to make em for everyone
Marlee’s eyes twinkled like a fireworks factory on judgement day. They pierced the gloom like the lost light house of Alexandria. My face lost all feeling. My hands were pork chops with extra sauce. I couldn’t grip my beer. There was music in my ears and it wasn’t Ray Charles.
We caught up on the last 6 years over a few drinks. I got progressively more hammered. Marlee just got sharper. Damn that girl. I explained what I was up to. I told her I was on a mission. I don’t know the short cuts to stories. I explained that I was after a burnt orange Waterford with Tusk Panels. Her eyes light up. She pulled out her Iphone.
-An iphone!?! You used to drive a 28 year old truck, and now you have an iphone?
Marlee shushed me and showed me a stream of pictures. She found the one she was looking for.
It was a painting of a kitchen sink, piled high with dishes. Underneath the painting was an orange bicycle frame. It might have had a Campagnolo Record headset. It definitely had a Brooks saddle.
-Where.
-My exboyfriends. He’s not friendly, especially to men I used to know.
-We were never…
-It doesn’t matter
-What if I pretend to be gay?
-He’d never buy it.
-What are you trying to say?
-Skip it Johnson. You know it already.
If she meant my wrinkled jeans and sweaty dress shirt, my stubble strewn face, or my hair that hadnt seen a barber in 15 years, maybe she was onto something. OK Marlee, pass.
-How do I get at it then?
-You don’t
I set my face into the grimmest look it could manage.
-I do. You tell me how.
She gave me a smile I could feel in my hip pocket. Thanks Raymond.
-Ok, but it won’t be easy.
-These things never are.
-Ok corn ball.
-Ok Alexandria.
-What?
-Skip it Marlee. This smoke makes me say things.
We headed out and piled into her heap. It was a purplish gray thing from a decade when purple gray was socially acceptable. It started with a cough and carved out into traffic like a cold knife through frozen butter.
The melting streets of Charm City passed under our wheels. We drove out on 40, through neighborhoods that scared the piss out of me six years ago but now just passed like those fake backdrops in Hitchcock movies. We drove out into Balitmore County. The houses got a little neater, the lawns a little greener. She drove like the road was made of glass. When a woman is a good driver…well….
-He squats here.
-Huh?
I was daydreaming about something. I won’t tell you what.
-He squats here. In there.
Marlee pointed to a tall link fence topped by a foot of razor wire.
-What? In those woods?
We were stopped in a bank next to stand of trees. I couldn’t see more than 10 feet into them. Vines looped down and brush grew thick, obscuring what lay within.
-Yeah. It’s the Enchanted Forest. It used to be an Amusement Park in the 1950s. See?
Marlee pointed to a decayed wooden sign over our heads. Enchanted Forest. Amusement Park. Family Fun!
It looked like the cover to The Jungle Book.
-You didn’t say I’d need a machette. And I forgot my fedora.
We threw a blanket from her trunk over the barbed wire that topped the fence, hopped it, and dropped down on the other side. The woods and vines and weeds were thick. I touched my Jethro Tool, and cursed my lack of foresight. I had left my Craftsman and Cogs in my car.
-You didn’t happen to bring a weapon did you?
Marlee, with fake seriousness, brought out a beautiful fountain pen.
-You know what they say.
-Yeah. Mighter than and all that.
Marlee pointed down an overgrown path that wound back into the dense trees.
The humidity increased in the woods. The sun was blotted out and the dark damp leaves immediately soaked our clothes. My pants felt like bar rags, my shoes squished with every step.
Out of the damp foliage forms began to take shape. A huge dilapidated ice cream cone appeared through the leaves. Chocolate. I don’t like chocolate. The 20 foot cone was attached to a faux thatched hut.
-Is this it?
-No. He lives in the castle.
-Of course he does
-He calls himself the ‘Count’
-Of course he does. You sure can pick ‘em can’t you?
The path gave way to a clearing of sorts. Humpty Dumpty stood watch over a ruined concrete circus tent and a giant pumpkin building. The spires of the castle appeared off in the distance. We stuck to the perimeter of the clearing, and slowly made our way over to the castle. There were no lights on, but it was midday, so that told us nothing.
Rotting amusement rides stood watch outside of the castle doors. The drawbridge was down, bridging a fetid moat choked with alge and rubbish. We approached the castle from an oblique angle, hoping to not be spotted. Marlee’s hand crushed my arm. Her eyes pleaded with me.
-I have to.
Marlee clamped her eyes shut and nodded. I brought out my Jethro Tool and palmed its weight. Ok Johnson. You can take a fella. You know how to take a punch. Let’s do this thing.
We crossed the draw bridge on tiptoes, but the rotting wood groaned and creaked and screamed. I held up a finger. The stillness ate at our ears like rats on a hotdog bun. The quiet was unnerving.
The interior of the castle was poured concrete, quieting our footsteps. We wandered through tiny themed rooms. Concrete Knights stood watch over pilfred medieval feasts, fairy tale characters lay smashed in corners. Oddly, there was no graffitti. We found a set of stairs and started up them. The sudden clank of chains almost made me jump out of my skin. I whirreled around as the clanking ended with a solid thunk. The Count had closed the draw-bridge. I ran up the stairs, dragging Marlee with me. The windows, in true Dark Age fashion, were narrow arrow slits. No escape there. We ran into a long gray room. A futon mattress, some canned food on a cinder block shelf, and a stack of porno mags made up boyfriend’s suite. The Waterford was nowhere to be found.
-We’ve gotta blow, Marlee. This looks bad.
Before Marlee could reply, the Count slipped into the room. He made Andre the Giant look small. His flat black eyes soaked in light like two tiny black holes. The air got cooler, the room dimmer. He had an eight foot concrete shepherds staff in his huge hand.
-Been fraternizing with Old Mother Hubbard fella?
Boyfriend shoved Marlee against the wall where she crumbled and folded against the grimmy floor.
-You ah ah. Will ah ah. Die ah ah ahhhh.
-I don’t doubt that, but not today thanks. My meter is gunna run out in a few hours and who will pay the fine?
Boyfriend raised the staff over his head and tapped it lightly on the floor. The poured concrete floor shook. His stack of literature fell over. My heart skipped a beat.
-You ah ah. Will ah ah. Die ah ah ahhhh.
-Ya know. You don’t strike me as the type of fella who would ride a lugged bike. Do you even know what a lug is? See it’s sort of brazed-
The Count swung his staff at my head. I ducked, and felt the air swirl over me. The staff finished its journey by smashing a grapefruit sided hole in the wall.
I grabbed a can and tossed it at his kisser. It bounced off his mouth like a JuJuBee.
-Ok then.
He swung his staff at my crouched form and I rolled backwards to avoid the blow. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Marlee coming to. The staff swung again before I could regain my feet. The floor splinted with the impact, missing my hand by 26.4 millimeters.
Marlee was on her feet, her pen held like a dagger.
-Listen boyfriend, you’re ruining your luxury pad. How about we talk this out?
Smash. Old Mother Hubbard’s staff obliterated a can of baked beans, covering the room in sticky brown goo. I vaguely wondered if the old croan would approve. Probably. I scurried over to a battered metal candy cane proped in the corner. I heard the staff whistling through the air. I turned, branishing the candy cane like a confectionary sword.
The staff clanged into the cane, sending me spinning into the wall. I didn’t see Marlee jump on boyfriends back and drive the pen into his nostril. But I heard the result, and saw Marlee flying through the air, landing on boyfriend’s futon like a sack of turnips.
When I opened my eyes, boyfriend was keeling around the room like a patron of the Tavern at last call. He was holding Marlee’s pen in his hand, his crossed eyes examining the bits of mucus and brain that covered the point. His face was a waterfall of blood. He roared a soundless roar, and fell to the ground in a slow motion arc. The floor radiated tiny cracks from his impact.
I stumbled over to Marlee’s unconcious form. I scooped her up and staggered out the door, glancing back at the motionless mound of murder. Downstairs I found the drawbridge release, and dragged Marlee across it. A slight breeze rustled through the dense woods and for a moment I breathed the tepid city air with a sense of relief. I felt myself being born up, almost floating. I was hovering high in the air, looking down at Marlee in her men’s jeans, admiring her sweat, bean, and blood splatted hair. She looked beautiful.
The world began to spin. Slowly. Then faster. I snapped out of my revierie. Boyfriend was holding me over his head, preparing to body slam me back to the Middle Ages. I struggled to free myself but my efforts were wasted in his grasp. Boyfriend seemed to enjoy spinning me, and slowly increased his velocity. His steps became dizzy and lopsided. We careened toward the concrete King who stood a few yards away from the castle entrance. I reached out hopeful finger and snagged the King’s 4 foot cast aluminum septre. Boyfriend noticed not. Perhaps the pen had done something to his reasoning skills. Perhaps he was just stupid. I voted for the later. I brought the septre down on his head, a clumsy blow that annoyed him just enough to drop me. The septre and my beaten body fell to the gravel with a loud clang and a dull thump. Pain radiated though my body like a trip to a quack acupuncturist. No time for self pity though, and I snatched the septre up and brought it around into the still disoriented giant’s ankle, which splintered slightly, shoting little bits of flesh and bone through the air. I swung again, this time at Boyfriend’s jewels. He fell to his knees. His eyes showed white. The septre exploded his right ear. His nose shot away from his face and stuck to the king’s royal blue coat. The king looked on. Impassive.
Boyfriend started to rise. He got his feet under him, despite the rain of blows. His face looked like the buisness end of a sausage grinder on a busy day. Chunks of his teeth poked through his cheeks. He smiled at me, and wrenched the septre from my hand. His massive paws bent it over his knee, and he tossed it into the stagnant moat.
-You ah ah. Will ah ah. Die ah ah ahhh-
I tossed my Jethro Tool into his gaping mouth like an oversided piece of steel popcorn, and he swallowed, involuntarily. The gagging that immediately followed shot a stream of blood from his shattered teeth and missing nose. His massive hands clutched at his throat and he whirled in small circles, the huge man looking briefly comical before he stumbled into the moat with a splash that put a breeching whale to shame and vanished beneath the murk. I watched the water for a good 15 minutes. Even then, I was unsure that Boyfriend was dead. Marlee was only starting to come to when I scooped her up and carried her back toward the fence.
Riding home later that night, I wondered what the Count had done to the Waterford. Probally mistaken it for a cheeze curl. I started, for the first time, to doubt that I would ever find the missing bike. My Surly flask talked some sense into me and as I cleared the mountains and saw Frederick sprawling out, twinkling in the evening air, I vowed to continue the search, regardless of the consequences.
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