- Entropy Short
- Entropy Short part 2
Markus Two Coats fumbled with the double wafer lock, a simple enough design, but it was not turning out to be his best day and the thing was giving him more trouble than its complexity warranted.
Losing my touch, hand is unsteady.
He took a sip from his hip flask to calm his nerves, but by then it’s half empty, and nothing seems to be cutting the edge off. His hands felt clumsy and inefficient, the steel of the picks cold against his even colder hands refusing to give him the familiar feedback that guides such delicate operations. Could also be the smell of puke and piss that pervades the stoop that is throwing his game, this particular street being behind several clubs and art houses it came with a certain ambiance. In the end it’s just persistence and a poor lock that gets him through the door and he pulls it open to reveal a small vestibule leading to stairs going up.
The Woman in Green was here, of that he was sure of. The black Lincoln was parked directly in front, tinted windows and vanity B-MAJIK plates, it screamed for attention. Whoever these guys were, their game was intimidation and not subterfuge. When she had gotten in the car they both got out to escort her, and both screamed high end thug with smart silk suits too tight over muscled figures. Markus knew the best outcome of running into them square would be his ass thrown back into the pools of piss outside, and far worse outcomes were highly probable.
Come on Markus, the client wasn’t even paying you for this. What the hell are you doing?
But there was something about that first look he had of her, face in the window, that told a story he could not let go of. Pain there, and the kind of loss that triggered a part of himself that he sometimes thought gone forever. For a moment, he actually gave a shit, and if he let that go then he might as well just keep drinking until he never woke up.
Speaking of, he took another pull, just in case they do throw me down the stairs, being a little drunk will sure help.
Any excuse really would do, but in this case, he figured he might be on the mark. To add to the picture he slipped a little of the whisky onto this shirt, and smeared it with his hand down the perpetual stubble of his chin.
The stairs were an open affair, with intricately designed metal balusters supporting a smooth oak handrail that curved elegantly up into a darkness only cut by a single sconce near a red door on the level above. Markus could hear soft music from the door as he ascended, a violin, or perhaps a viola as it did not cut, but rather gave the impression of flowers.
Yes, a viola, but I don’t recognize the song, Markus thought as he pulled the door lightly open to reveal a smokey private club; the kind he used to be welcomed to in nights gone by. The set up here was typical, but well done: center stage, long curved bar, tables near the dance floor for those who want to be seen, booths in the back for those who don’t. It was too early for the place to be hopping, only a couple tables occupied, and none by who he was looking for. These types don’t really get moving until after midnight and the sun had hit the sea less than an hour past.
Explains the viola, it’s just a sound check.
Markus gave the musician a nod like he knew him, he did not, and walked to the bar as naturally drawn as any fish to water. Tender was still polishing but willing to serve.
Maybe my luck is turning, it’s a whisky bar! At least I know what to order.
“Yamazaki, neat and a glass of ice water”, Markus leaned slightly on the bar. Even if he was going a bit out of bounds, the client was paying him to keep an eye on her, and expenses were part of the game.
“Tab?”
“Yes, please.” It was the kind of place that did not take credit cards, nor ask how or if you could pay. The way they operated, everyone would eventually pay, so why worry on the front end? “Hey, I am looking for a friend of mine: real looker said she’d be wearing green dress, answers to the name Cindy.”
“Green dress? Black hair?”
“Yeah naturally, but she’s dyed it almost white.. Can’t miss her.”
The tender places the whisky, neat, with a clean and precise movement with one hand, while pocketing the hundred dollar bill with his other.
“Haven’t seen her. It’s early, just wait around and enjoy. The band starts the practice set in about twenty.”
The tender rapped his hands three times on the bar and gave a nod toward the back. Markus sipped his whisky, the single glass worth more than several bottles of his usual go-to, then used the cold water to clear his throat and mind. Could be that she was just having a night out with some very intimidating friends, and him walking into that, was gonna get his cover blown for no gain whatsoever. The job was to watch her, and gather evidence. What evidence had not been discussed, as it’s always the same thing: Who is she sleeping with? But Markus was beginning to suspect this was something quite different.
The first clue was how she had returned to her apartment earlier in the night, by seemingly stepping through a hole in the air. He would not have believed even himself, if he had not caught it on camera and reviewed it now a dozen times.
Which means I already have the evidence. So what am I doing here? Save the girl, become the Hero? Hell, I have not been in shape for that sort of thing for years. Just drink the damn whisky and get out of here.
Markus found himself walking toward the back of the joint, taking the whisky and leaving the water as he wove between the tables, swaying a bit to the groove of the music.
Into the lion’s den with a whisky and a smile. Not a bad epitaph.
Third booth, and was occupied, from the back he could just make out a black leather shoe, expensive and probably italian, extending into the isle. Just enough for Markus to stumble over, catch himself clumsily, and then come down hard, grinding his boot into the other man’s toes. It should have worked so beautifully. Another good epitaph, damn it!
Magic you see, was not a thing that Markus had taken into consideration, despite the evidence already gathered to that effect of its existence. Even then, the application of it here seemed unnecessary to him, as both were young strong men, probably with weapons, and should not have had to resort to any extraordinary means to rid themselves of a whisky drinker pushing 50. His miscalculation was in thinking that Magic was something to be held back in reserve. But these two were driven by it, even obsessed with it, and would take any excuse to use it.
What happened went a bit like this: Markus tripped over the foot, then came down with his healonly to see the thug’s foot fold away like a retracting origami snake.
Impossible, his brain screamed.
Behind him he heard the scraping of chairs as the club patrons rose from their tables. Before him the two suited hard men rose in unison with the sound, sliding out of the booth with practiced ease. There was no Woman in Green.
Set up, the whole place is a fly trap set with honey.
Markus Two Coats was faced with the inevitable, like a plane falling to the sea, any and all action on his part would lead to the same conclusion. He could only hope it was just a beating, but his instincts were screaming that this was not a crash one survives. So pray for a miracle? Laugh and dance one last time? Scream your defiance into the coming night?
Markus raised his glass and drained the last of the Yamazaki. It was the best last drink he could have asked for.
……….
The Woman in Green dropped to her knees quick as a dancer and scooped up the very confused looking bird. She loved it at first sight, with its gleaming feathers that caught the morning light, shimmering green to purple depending upon the angle of incidence.
“Poor thing! You can’t even fly yet… but you will.”
She set the bird down softly on her lap as it cried in little gasps, holding it to calm its racing heart and murmuring, “It’s ok, it’s ok, rest now… it’s going to be just fine.”
I really do love how his plumage changes with the light, almost like he has two completely different coats.