Week 43 - The Back Booth at The Reisender

The Back Booth at The Reisender

Matthew Ryan Fischer

Joe was drunk, as he so often was. It was how he spent most all of his days. He found beer to be an exceptional alternative to foods and other stuffs. He knew it was rot on his stomach and rot on his liver and rot on his brain and rot on his life... but it didn’t matter. Rot was good. Rot meant things were slowly ending. That there could be an end. There wasn’t much to live for anymore. There was no future. Not for him anyway. All there was, was this shitty hell of a present. There was no reason not to drink and drink and drink some more.

Joe drank his beer and stared at the front door. He wouldn’t admit it, but the one act was an unconscious contradiction to the other. Watching the door meant there was something he believed in. Something on the other side of that door. What? Was it hope, or a desire or a wish or a prayer? What it was, he didn’t know, he didn’t even realize he was doing it. But watching the door meant someone could walk in that could make a difference. Watching the front door meant that he still believed in a world that could change. That his world could change. That it might not be set in stone. That maybe, just maybe there was still a future out there somewhere.

But waiting was not an easy thing to do. Waiting was the worst. Waiting was forever. He waited and waited and waited and it broke his heart and it drove him mad. Waiting was easier if he didn’t have to think on it too much. Pouring countless pints of booze down his throat made time just speed on by.

The Reisender was a German Tavern, full of sharp and strong German beers, sharp and strong German food and a sharp and strong bartender behind the bar. Reisender was German for traveler. A perfect name for a tavern, for who else but travelers came through that front door? Who else but travelers needed a safe haven, a place of peace, to pass away the time and drink themselves to death?

 Things here were made out of dark woods and low lights, and the brew came in thick and heavy steins. There was a broken dartboard on the wall without any darts. There were electric signs with bulbs missing. There was always a faint smell of urine mixed with other unpleasantness. Nobody cared to change things. Nobody here cared all that much at all.

There weren’t a lot of smiles or conversations to be had. The people here came to drink and be left alone. Broken people with broken dreams, trapped in despair, helpless pitiable creatures with not a future among them. Joe fit in well. If he could have friends, these would be they. But Joe didn’t have friends. There was no reason to. No hope. No future. No reason at all to try and build a relationship.

Just because Joe was satisfied to speak to no one and know no one, didn’t mean others didn’t try to get to know Joe. Joe tried not to listen. He tried not to care. Everybody had a sob story. Everybody had a past or a future they were running from. Nobody here was any different. Didn’t mean Joe had to hear what they were saying. If he could get a cool buzz going, he could blend them in with all the other background noise and not really hear a thing.

But for that, Joe needed another drink. And for that, Joe would need more money. And with no job, and no prospects, that wasn’t always something Joe had.

Joe was a beggar. A self-effacing, self-loathing beggar. Not the best combination when it came to getting money. Can’t apologize enough, and I hate to ask, but blah blah blah, please don’t ignore me. Sometimes he could yell or rant or cry like some of the others. Sometimes he could lie and tell a good tale of woe. But for the most part, he was really bad at it. Most might think that a fight-or-flight sort of response would kick in and he’d learn to smile or learn to guilt or develop some desire to survive that would see him through. But that was all a thing of the past. Joe could barely muster up the energy to come in and out every day. He was a walking zombie, shuffling from one place to the next, trying not to think too hard, trying not to dream, trying not to try.

Sometimes he could find money. Sometimes one of the other Reisender patrons would take pity. Sometimes some socially conscious person would try to fulfill their civic duty and give him food or clothes or a place to sleep or something more. Sometimes. It didn’t matter. It didn’t change his outcome. It didn’t evoke any change inside him at all. He might as well die, he told himself. A seemingly simple enough thing. And yet years had gone by, and it had never happened. Surprising. Not that that was really some true goal. For to have a goal would mean he had initiative towards something which might mean he believed that the future was a thing to at least consider, and Joe no longer believed in the future. He knew he was trapped and that was all there was to it.

Joe wished he had studied more. He didn’t know what good it would do now. But maybe something. Probably nothing. One more thing to hate himself about. One more corner cut that came to bite him in the ass. He was obsolete. Broken like the machine. He was a waste of time and energy now. Nothing to change that. No one to change that. He could have tried something. He didn’t know what to try.

Joe drank the last sip from his beer and looked around the room. Familiar faces. All around. There were the regulars. They knew his story. They lived his story. He needed someone new. Someone different. Someone that wouldn’t know. He could trade his story for another beer. As he had done so many times before. As he would have to do again and again. He wasn’t even sure it was a good story. Probably wasn’t worth the cost of a beer. But he knew it by heart. He lived it. It meant nothing to him. It was hard to tell what would or wouldn’t matter to someone else anymore.

Russ and Larry and Mel and the others. If he couldn’t find someone new, he could probably beg a dollar or two from one of them. They looked out for each other. He wasn’t sure where they got their money. They didn’t look like beggars. Not like him. Not at all. They looked like they had places to go and people to see outside The Reisender. He should ask them about that someday. Ask them where they went. Maybe it would matter. If they had a present they must think they had a future. If they did, could he? He should try hard to remember to ask, the next time he was sober. But he was pretty sure if he got that next drink he would forget all about the questions.

At the bar, somebody new. A young face. Stubble. Not enough time to shave. A busy man with a busy face. And yet he came had come in here looking to kill some time. Hardly anybody new ever came in here. Joe knew he needed to get to him before the others did.

Joe took his empty glass to the bar and sat himself down next to his new best friend.

“I can tell you a secret. Sit and listen and I can tell you my story.”

The man was already sitting but that didn’t matter to Joe. It was all part of a rehearsed speech anyway. The man didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t seem to listen or to ignore Joe. Joe could work with that. He could warm the man up. As long as he was listening a little and not ignoring it all. As long as there was a spark of interest, Joe could work something out.

He began counting out crumpled dollar bills and pocket change.  Satisfied he had counted correctly he looked back up at the man. “Sit and listen and I’ll lower my voice and I’ll buy you a cold one for your troubles.”

The man sighed, which Joe took to mean as a sign of consent.

He straightened the few bills out and pushed them towards the bartender. They weren’t enough. The bartender didn’t seem to notice or care. He had seen this routine so many times. Joe could offer to buy a stranger a drink, but soon enough the man would be buying his. The bartender knew he would get his money. Even if it didn’t work out today, Joe was always good for it at some point. The regulars always found a way to drink their deaths. The bartender could spot Joe a second or two on that tab.

Joe winked to the bartender and then began to tell his tale, his secret. He was not a man from around here, no not at all. He was a traveler, trapped in this city, trapped in this bar. He was a long long way from home. So very far and so very long. In space and in time. Stranded now. Stranded in the bottle, stranded in The Reisender, stranded in the past that wasn’t his own.

“I’ll tell you how I got here… but first a toast. First we toast and take a taste of our beer...”

Week 42 - The Tracks

The Tracks

Matthew Ryan Fischer

The body hit the water a forceful impact, but he was mostly dead already. A little bit of drowning in his final few moments wasn’t going to change much of that. It was a final indignity. A final indignity after many other indignities had been performed. Red leaked out staining the water all around. He didn’t have any strength left to fight. Instead, he simply began to sink.

Above on the patio, a figure peered over. Lost in the shadows, a face hidden, a smirk hidden, but the sound of a satisfied chuckle could be heard. The shadow stood and watched, waiting, making sure. Until it was done.

*                             *                             *

“You hear about Jackie? Right in his own home. Right in his own swimming pool.”

Everybody had heard about Jackie. It was all anyone was talking about during the last twelve hours. Not a simple break-in. Not a simple dispute. It was a cold and brutal murder. There were signs of struggle inside. Signs of a fight. Signs of torture. Somebody had done Jackie and made a great big mess of it. Bobby had heard all about Jackie. Of course he had. He just didn’t feel like talking about it.

Bobby and Hap sat in the hallway outside Mr. Z’s office, waiting on their chance to talk to the man himself. Hap was a talker. Bobby had no appreciation for that. Bobby could keep his mouth shut when he needed to.

“It’s messed up,” continued Hap. “Some major bullshit. A man in his own home. A castle. That’s his castle. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. A man in his own castle. Major violation. Big time. No respect. None.”

Bobby was tired. He had been up all night with no sleep but for a moment or two when he nodded off waiting on the Red Line. He had been all over town yesterday and only heard about Jackie in passing. He was on his way to The Valley but promptly turned back around. He had to take a bus the rest of the way to Santa Monica. There was supposed to be a rail line built to the coast, but they had been saying that for decades. Time came and went and time just kept rolling on. The coast was no closer and he always got a headache riding the bus. Maybe it was the fumes. Maybe it was being cramped with all the other people. Bobby was in no mood for nonsense today, but Hap couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Sometimes Bobby hated Santa Monica.

“Talk talk talk,” replied Bobby.

“What? Come on?!”

“No, I agree. It’s all total bullshit. But what are you going to do about it?”

“Yeah you’re right. What are you gonna do? Right? Life’s fucked up like that sometimes.”

“No. I mean what are you personally going to go do? Are you going to find who did this? You going to knock heads around? You want revenge? Justice? Is that what Jackie deserved? Did you even know Jackie?”

“Whoa. Jesus. What is it with you? I’m just talking.”

“That’s the problem. Everybody talks about the weather, nobody does anything about it.”

“The weather? Wha’? Fuck?”

Bobby stood up and walked off. He was tired of waiting.

*                             *                             *

Amy poured the coffee. Or, what she called coffee. Bobby didn’t mind. He could drink his coffee, but then again, there was drinking coffee and then there was drinking this. Amy made shit coffee that was either too strong or too weak. She never looked at what she was doing; she just dumped some amount of some brand in and waited to see what would happen.

“Terrible thing last night.”

“Jackie was bum. Fuck that bum.”

“Okay. I’m just here to talk to you.”

“I know what you’re here for. You think you’re the first person to come by here today? All you little idiots thinking with your dicks. Jackie’s been dead less than a day.”

“It’s not like that...”

“So you’re here asking about the other thing?”

That kept Bobby quiet. He wasn’t sure Amy knew anything at all about Jackie’s business. They were married but separated. Living in different parts of town. But Amy still knew everybody. And she was smart. Can’t bullshit smart.

Amy took Bobby’s silence to mean that she had guessed right.

“Figures. You think with your dick alright, but not as much as those other assholes. Business always comes first for you.”

“Amy... your coffee tastes like shit.”

She looked at him cross, then laughed. Really laughed. Long and hard.

“Oh... you’re such an asshole.”

“I know. Look, I won’t bullshit you. I know I can’t do that. I’m not here for business or for the business. I like you, but Jackie was a friend and that’s not my style. And I’m not going to poke around asking what Jackie was up to or what he had done for whomever. But Jackie and I had a thing. And he was a friend. You don’t know anything about him having something for me?”

“I look like I was there last night? I look like I live there anymore?”

“No. I was just hoping maybe he had told you something.”

“What was it?”

“What was what?”

“What did he have? What are you looking for?”

Bobby took another drink from his mug.

“This coffee really is shit.”

“I know. I make it like that so all you numnuts will stop coming around.”

*                             *                             *

Jackie kept an office in the backroom of a dive bar that was next to the bowling alley near Pico and 3^rd. For a beach town, with tourists all over mere blocks away, the place was a real hole in the ground. Dark and dirty. That was how Jackie liked it. Just a dump. A dump that nobody outside of the neighborhood would go into. A real dump.

Bobby had his spare key, left over from a job from a long time ago, and he let himself in through the back alley. There was a desk and a safe and banker boxes everywhere. Bobby ignored the safe. There was never anything in the safe. It was just there to look good. Jackie used to have a system – he would hide his money and anything important in banker boxes full of random junk or office supplies. He figured if he got robbed, people would go for the safe. Nobody was going to dig through a hundred boxes of trash hoping to find something.

Bobby was willing to.

But he didn’t find anything.

Obviously the system had changed in the last couple of years.

Bobby went out front and ordered a beer. Lou didn’t seem surprised to see Bobby appear from the back room. Very little surprised Lou. That was a good quality to have in a place like this.

Bobby drank his drink and thought about his options. It was getting late and he was pretty sure the buses were going to stop running soon. He wished he had his car. He really needed to get that thing fixed. Or replaced. Buses and trains and cabs were not a long term solution in a city like this.

Some old-timers came and went. Bobby had a few too many and he found himself staying longer than he had planned. At some point a couple of guys came in that Bobby recognized. Maybe they had suffered Amy’s coffee as well.

“You guys seen Vincent around?”

“No.”

They weren’t the friendliest sort. Bobby considered paying his bill and leaving right then. But he had to find some things out and this day was lasting too long.

“You run that coffee shop over on 20^th?

“24^th?”

“Yeah, 24^th, whatever. You see Vincent around, you tell him I need to talk to him.”

“You heard about Jackie.”

“Yeah. I did. But I’m looking for Vincent right now.”

“Shame about the pool. It was a nice pool. Gonna have to drain it and everything. Somebody messed up. Somebody messed up bad.”

The kid stressed his words when he spoke. Messed. Up. Bad. It was almost like separate sentences. It was almost like he was digging at something. Accusing Bobby of something. Bobby was going to get upset, but then the jukebox kicked it. It was loud and full of pounding bass. Slow and methodical. Beat after beat after beat.

Bobby turned to the music. A woman danced next to the jukebox. Not many people ever danced in a rotten bar like this, but she did. Dark hair, darker dress. White skin like she had never seen the sun. Or maybe she powdered it that way. Bobby didn’t know. Bobby didn’t care. She stood out, slow dancing, rocking back and forth. She stood out. In a place like this she sort of looked like perfection, but Bobby was pretty sure she would have stood out no matter where they were.

Bobby stood there and watched her sway. The whole bar watched her sway. He forgot about Jackie and Vincent and the asshole kid who ran the coffee shop. All he could do was think of her.

Bobby didn’t dance. It didn’t matter. Not tonight it didn’t.

Sometime later, Bobby realized he had had too many beers and it was time to go.

*                             *                             *

Bobby woke up to another cup of Amy’s terrible coffee. He didn’t quite remember the end of his evening, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t been the one to call Amy. It turned out Bobby drank the night and Lou had called Amy when last call came around. Amy didn’t appreciate being woken that late at night. Bobby was pretty sure she intentionally made her coffee even worse to pay him back.

“Do I need to apologize for anything?”

Amy laughed at him. “For a lot of things. But not the way you meant it.”

“Thanks for picking me up. And for letting me sleep here.”

“You go through Jackie’s office?”

“Yeah.”

“You find what you were looking for?”

“No.”

“You want to tell me what this is all about? Why Jackie got killed and what it is you’re after?”

“I’m after something for the boss. I can’t tell you. Somebody might have killed Jackie for this or for any number of other things.”

“Jackie was a bastard, but he wasn’t that bad.”

“I’ve seen you say different. I’ve seen you with the bruises.”

“Fuck you. Whatever Jackie and I might have done... Fuck you. I gave you a place to stay. I was nice. How about you return the favor?”

Bobby needed to get out of Santa Monica. He needed to get out of LA. But he really needed to get out of Santa Monica. He called Vincent again and this time found him. One of these days he was really going to have to get a car.

Vincent came to pick Bobby up and Bobby again thanked Amy for her hospitality. Amy said she spit in the coffee. Bobby was pretty sure she might have.

“You and Amy? You work quick.”

“Shut up Vinnie. She gave me a place to sleep.”

“Sure sure, whatever.”

“God damn it. I can’t take this shit today.”

“So you want to talk about the other thing then?”

“I don’t know what happened to Jackie.”

“No, but you know something. I hear you been digging around. You been asking to talk to me too.”

“Jackie had something for me. I was hoping he might have told you about it.”

“No sir. So how about you tell me?”

“How about you drive me out of this dump?”

*                             *                             *

Bobby sat at the Red Line station at Vermont and Sunset.  He had read a story about an old man getting hit by one of the trains on the Red Line. Maybe it was an accident. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the old man was tired of being old. Or maybe he had problems. Bobby could relate to that. He didn’t know what it would take to jump in front of a train, but he was pretty sure it would take a lot. Bobby wasn’t sure how he felt about all that. Things were bad, but he wasn’t quite ready to explore that possibility.

There were two directions to choose from. One to The Valley and one to Downtown. Downtown he could go to Union Station and maybe catch a bus or train out of town. But in The Valley there was business. Business he should take care of.

He didn’t owe Jackie anything. He told himself that over and over. He didn’t have to do anything. He didn’t have to find Jackie’s killer. He didn’t have to cover Jackie’s debts. He certainly didn’t have to care what would happen to Amy and her terrible terrible coffee. He could just slip away and disappear.

Nobody was going to believe Amy didn’t know something. Separated and living apart meant nothing. Everybody would expect her to know something about Jackie’s business and where he kept his money. People were already asking around. And it looked like he was doing the same. Everybody would assume he knew something too.

Nobody was going to believe him, no matter what he said. He had been to see Mr. Z. He had been to see Amy. He had been all over Santa Monica yesterday. He couldn’t claim he wasn’t up to something.

Fuck Jackie for dying, for getting himself killed. Fuck him and his empty safe and his stupid system of hiding money. Fuck that.

Jackie was a mule and mules had to deliver their money, even if they were dead. Bobby would have to cover Jackie. There was no excuse for your partner getting killed. The old man would laugh if he tried to claim anything else. Bobby would be lucky if he only lost a finger or two. He would probably lose a whole lot more. Suddenly he was thinking the old man and the train made a lot more sense.

It would be so much easier to head Downtown and never look back. Forget about everybody. Forget about Amy. Forget about all of it. Let the old man punish whomever the old man wanted to punish. But Bobby couldn’t help but worry a little too much about her.

It came down to what sort of man he wanted to be. Bobby wasn’t sure. Instead, he sat and watched the subway trains pass him by.

Week 41 - The Eyes Have It

The Eyes Have It

Matthew Ryan Fischer

The darkness grew, and in perfect symmetry so too did the hole inside Eddie’s soul. The shadows fell and something, somewhere deep inside the hollow black stirred.

Eddie had always wanted something more. He had a craving deep inside. And a belief in the supernatural to match that craving. He believed in the dark and in the potential of secret knowledge and secret claims. It was his faith, unwavering. A blind trust, driven by the desire for something more, to be something more. Something special. Something powerful.

The shadows came, creeping, cutting down, unnatural. Squirming and swirling in all ways impossible.

The lights had burnt out. The moon was gone and the sky grew dark. It was an unholy thing.

Eddie lit a candle, but with a slip and a swish of wind, the shadows blew it out.

Alone in the dark. The sinister things all around. Creeping and crawling. Growing. Pulsing forth. Closer and ever closer.

Eddie cried out. He prayed. He swore. He wanted to see. All he wanted was to see. That was all he ever wanted – to see the truth. He went looking for answers, but ended up blind. Now all he wished for was a little bit of light.

The whispers came, but Eddie didn’t know how to answer them.

A dark force stirred and in the shadows, something crept forth.

As it turned out, getting a superpower wasn’t all that hard. At least that’s what Tommy would claim. He claimed he could see through walls. He claimed that some voodoo hoodoo was involved and a mystical magical lady who was willing to cast a spell. That seemed like clear bullshit to Eddie. No voodoo hoodoo lady was going to give out super powers. That was what Eddie thought when he first heard Tommy tell the tale. That was what he thought even when Tommy set out to prove his powers worked.

Tommy could see through walls. He would tell everybody what was on the other side. It had to be a trick. Eddie knew it had to be a trick. He just didn’t know how the trick was done.

Whatever it was, it sure looked a lot like it was Tommy seeing though walls. There was no other explanation. He didn’t think or struggle or concentrate or fuss. He just looked and something inside his brain sorted it all out, layer for layer, and told him what the proper order was.

Tommy called it magic. If Eddie hadn’t seen him perform the trick with his own two eyes, he’d have called it total bullshit. But Tommy did have the knack of being right about what was on the other side of walls. Eddie just wasn’t ready to concede and call it a superpower.

“What else can you do?” Eddie would ask him.

As it turned out, it was a pretty simple power. Not that seeing through walls was dull or boring or anything. But it was just that simple and straightforward. It was what it was. Just the one thing. Tommy wasn’t in control of it or what he could do. He didn’t get to decide what powers he got. He didn’t get to practice extra hard and develop new powers. He laid it all at the feet of the lady herself. She made the spell, she made the call. Tommy wasn’t going to complain.

“I would have asked for something better,” Eddie insisted.

“I’m sure you would have been very persuasive.”

As it turned out, Eddie was very persuasive. He just looked for better answers from a better source. Magic ladies and voodoo hoodoo seemed like too much bullshit. Eddie was interested in something darker, something more powerful.

The truth. The deep and dark secrets. The hidden things that people don’t admit. Those little truths that everyone was afraid of. That was what Eddie wanted to see. He wanted answers. He wanted eyes in the back of his head.

Tommy was a petty criminal with petty interests. He could play a trick and amuse an audience. He could get the jump on someone and rob them blind before they knew what was happening. None of that interested Eddie. He wanted something more. He wanted to look someone in the eyes and see what their soul had to say.

Eddie looked into the abyss and the abyss looked back. One eye on the future. One eye on the past. What was it? A gateway into the soul. A key that could unlock it all. What was that worth? To him, it might be worth everything.

“Show me your shame and your secrets. Show me what you’re afraid of when the night turns black.”

Eddie looked into their souls without ever stopping to think if something was looking back.

The nights turned black. Eddie lost the light around him. Just as he was losing himself. Deep down inside he was corrupted by something sinister. Deep down inside he was empty and alone and hurt and hardly human anymore. Deep down inside that void was pain – pain that could feed, pain that could attract the wrong things.

Eddie didn’t notice as the world grew dark. He didn’t dream and he hardly slept. He consumed. He ate. Not the flesh but the soul. He stared into their broken hearts and their broken dreams and he saw their infinite potential and their complete and utter failure. He drank it and only wanted more.

The shadows surrounded him. The shadows watched and the shadows listened. The shadows saw all that he did.

Eddie felt comfortable in the dark. He felt alive and at home. He had no idea what was really watching him. He had no idea what he had become a part of.

He fed on the darkness of others, but the darkness needed feeding itself. He filled himself up and in doing so became a tasty treat.

The darkness came. Eddie never noticed the gazing eyes, hidden in the dark, hidden in the shadows. He never noticed as the shadows grew. Not until it was too late. Not until there was nothing to be done and there was no escape.

Trapped, huddled, alone. Eddie cried. And the shadows feasted.