chest spit and flipped me the bird.
Milo moved his badge back and forth in front of the bouncer’s eyes.
The bouncer followed it, as if hypnotized.
Milo held it still. The bouncer read laboriously.
Someone cursed. Someone else howled like a wolf. That caught on and
soon the street sounded like something out of Jack London.
Milo said, “Open up, Spike, or we start checking IDs and health
codes.”
The lupine chorus grew louder, almost blotting out the music.
The bouncer crunched his brows, digesting. It looked painfiil.
Finally he laughed and reached behind himself.
Milo grabbed his wrist, big fingers barely making it around the
joint.
“Easy.”
“Op’rung it, man,” said the bouncer. “Key.” His voice was unnaturally
deep, like a tape played at slo-mo, but whiny nonetheless.
Milo backed away, gave him some space, and watched his hands.
The bouncer pulled a key out of his surf-shorts, popped a lock on the
bolt, and lifted the bar.
The door opened an inch. Heat and light and noise poured out through
it. The wolf-pack charged.
The bouncer leaped forward, hands shaped into what he thought were
karate blades, baring his teeth. The pack stopped, retreated, but a
few protests sounded. The bouncer raised his hands high in the air and
made patwing movements. The light from above turned his irises red.
His armpits were shaven. Pimples there, too.
“The fuck back!” he bellowed.
The wolfies went still.
Milo said, “Impressive, Spike.”
The bouncer kept his eyes fixed on the line. His mouth hung open. He
was panting and sweating. Sound kept pouring out of the door crack.
Milo put his hand on the bolt. It creaked and stole the bouncer’s
attention. He faced Milo.
“Fuck him,” said a voice from behind us.
“We’re going in now, Spike,” said Milo. “Keep those assholes calm.”
The bouncer closed his mouth and breathed loudly through his nose. A
bubble of snot filled one nostril.
“It’s not Spike,” he said. “It’s James.” Milo smiled. “Okay. You do
good work, James. Ever work at the Mayan Mortgage?”
The bouncer wiped his nose with his arm and said, “Huh?”
Working hard at processing.
“Forget it.”
The bouncer looked injured. “Whaddya say, man? Seriously.”
“I said you’ve got a bright future, James. This gig ever gets old, you
can always run for Vice President.
The room was big, harshly lit in a few spots, but mostly dark. The
floors were cement; the walls that I could see, painted brick. A
network of conduits, wheels, gears, and pipes adhered to the ceiling,
ragged in places, as if ripped apart in a frenzy.
Off to the left was the bar-wooden doors on sawhorses fronting a metal
rack full of bottles. Next to the rack were half a dozen white bowls
filled with ice.
Shiny porcelain bowls. Raised lids.
Toilets.
Two men worked nonstop to service a thirsty throng of minors, filling
and squirting and scooping cubes from the commodes. No faucets; the
soda and water came from bottles.
The rest of the space was a dance floor. No boundary separated the bar
crowd from pressure-packed bodies writhing and jerking like beached
grunion. Up close, the music was even more formless. But loud enough
to keep the Richter scale over at Cal Tech busy.
The geniuses creating it stood at the back, on a makeshift stage.
Five hollow-cheeked, leotarded things who could have been junkies had
they been healthier-looking. Marshall Stacks big as vacation cabins
formed a black felt wall behind them. The bass drum bore the legend
OFFAL.
High on the wall behind the amps was another BAKER FERTILIZER sign,
partially blocked by a hand-lettered banner tacked diagonally.
WELCOME TO THE SHIT HOUSE.
The accompanying artwork was even more charming.
“Creative,” I said, loud enough to feel my palate vibrate, but
inaudible.
Milo must have read my lips because he grinned and shook his head.
Then he lowered it and charged through the dancers, toward the bar.
I dived in after him.
We arrived, battered but intact, at the front of the drinkers.
Dishes of unshelled peanuts sat beside toilet paper squares improvising
as napkins. The bartop needed wiping. The floor was carpeted with
husks where it wasn’t wet and slick.