Penny Dreadful (27 page)

I ignored her. I decided that if Griffin ever went to the bathroom I just might try to Tremble her myself, for kicks. Her tongue was probably nine inches long. I lit a cigarette and looked around and everyone seemed to be waiting for something to happen. And while some of the patrons had the pallor and attitude of zombies, there were plenty of others who looked like Griffin. Hungry and watchful.

So. What are we doing here? I said.

Hmmm. Do you want a drink? said Griffin.

That depends. Do they have anything but that Pale shit?

Griffin shook his head. Please, Ray. Will you keep your voice down?

I think there is some kind of sweet wine at the bar, said Kink.

Yes, said Griffin. There is usually a barrel of port.

Fantastic, I said. I’ll see you later.

Griffin blinked at me and didn’t smile. He obviously didn’t think it was a good idea for me to wander off alone and unsupervised. What the fuck. That was as good a reason as any.

Wait a minute, Ray.

I rolled through blue smoke and although it did cross my mind that handicapped folks would probably be pretty unamused to see a guy with two good legs zipping around in a wheelchair like it was some sort of toy, I have to say it was a gas. And lately I hadn’t been having much fun and I would have to take it wherever I found it. I rolled over to the bar and was about to ask somebody what kind of currency was accepted here, brass buttons or seashells or actual dollars, when I found myself staring into a familiar face. Long and gloomy and washed of color. The same self-administered haircut, the mental patient special. Crumb, of all people. And why not. Crumb would naturally gravitate to any underworld scene that featured drugs and regular nudity.

You son of a bitch, I said.

My God, said Crumb. As soon as you think the day is wasted you get a nice surprise.

Never fails, does it.

You’re alive, said Crumb.

Pretty much.

Did you take a bullet in the spine?

What?

The wheelchair, said Crumb. Are you a paraplegic?

No, man. I’m just fucking around.

What are you doing here?

I’m looking for a drink that isn’t laced with methadone.

Fancy that, said Crumb. You don’t care for the Pale.

Not really.

I would have thought it was exactly your speed.

Yeah, well. Once upon a time.

I stood up and was so stupidly glad to see Crumb that I threw my arms around the old fucker and he still smelled like he never bathed. I lit a cigarette and wiped at my eyes. Fucking hell. I was lonely, wasn’t I? Two days in the city and I had briefly touched three friends, with mixed results. Eve had promptly disappeared. Moon was dead. And Griffin was out of his fucking mind.

It’s good to see you, I said.

Now I turned to the bartender and asked for a jar of the port, a request that was met with mild disgust and a trace of fear. For God’s sake.

People are suspicious of nonconverts, said Crumb.

I shrugged and paid two dollars for a tall glass. It was strong and sickly sweet.

What about you, I said. Do you drink that shit?

The Pale? said Crumb. I take a drop, now and then. Purely medicinal.

Uh-huh. And are you involved in the game?

Crumb licked his gray lips. I am Gulliver, he said. The Redeemer.

Perfect, I said. I’m Ray Fine.

And have you chosen a caste?

I’m a Fred, I suppose. I’m self-aware.

Crumb grinned. He scratched at his dark, unshaven jaw. The harsh whisper of sandpaper against stone and I was surprised to find my senses were still unusually heightened.

Eve:

Out of the bathroom and right away she saw Dizzy Bloom and Mingus standing in an uneasy circle with Adore and Theseus and without even thinking about what they must be discussing she hopped over to them and was glad when Dizzy smiled and pulled her close. Eve needed that, didn’t she. She needed someone to protect her, someone to tell her she was okay, to love her. Because everything was coming apart and Theseus was already spitting electricity.

What will we do, said Mingus.

Nothing, said Theseus. You will do nothing.

But Chrome is dangerous, isn’t he. This is real, it’s too real.

Adore scowled. What do you propose, little one?

I don’t know. The police?

Theseus laughed richly. The police, he said. What an idea.

He should be severed, said Adore.

Yes, said Theseus. Amputated from the game like an infected limb.

You’re going to kill him, said Dizzy.

Don’t worry, pet. Chrome won’t be harmed. The dear boy. I will take care of it and none of you will be the wiser. Chrome will simply disappear for a time.

Eve didn’t want to say anything but she couldn’t stop herself. Her voice was escaping whether she liked it or not, her voice was a desperate little air bubble.

Excuse me, she said.

They all looked at her and she tried to focus, to remember what she wanted to say but she couldn’t help noticing something different about Mingus. He was not so pale and amorphous. He didn’t look like you could just put your hand right through him. There was a touch of new metal in his eyes. Oh, well. This was obviously sex. He had finally fucked or been fucked by Dizzy and Eve wanted to give him a squeeze and say she was happy for him. It was about time.

Adore was staring at her. What do you have to say, dear?

His name was Christian, said Eve. He has parents somewhere, and a brother. He has a master’s degree in French lit and he works in a video store. Or he used to.

Brief, unpleasant silence.

He loves movies, she said.

Theseus and Adore looked at each other, smoke trailing from their noses. Eve had hoped that Adore would be on her side but that was just silly.

I don’t believe my fucking ears, Theseus said.

Maybe she’s right, said Dizzy.

But she took a half-step back and Mingus grabbed for her hand as Adore extended one bony fingernail and traced a slow, hypnotic figure eight in the air before tucking a loose strand of hair behind Dizzy’s ear. Mingus looked like he might faint but Dizzy never flinched.

Adore licked her lips and said, I detest Breathers.

Eve felt calm. Her blood was still furious beneath her skin but she was calm.

Open hunting, said Theseus. He smiled. I will spread the word among the Mariners that the three of you are to be hunted like dogs if I hear another word about the police. And it will get very bloody if I hear any silly rumors about a fictional person named Christian with a master’s degree.

Adore turned to Eve. Are you performing tonight?

Eve stepped close to her and said softly, yes. I think so.

Adore smiled, showing two jagged rows of bright yellow teeth and Eve wondered how much the sick bitch had paid to have her incisors sharpened. Or had she done it herself, with a file.

I’m glad, said Adore. And what piece would you like to do?

The Scavenger’s Daughter, said Eve.

How yummy. Who will be the victim?

They stared at each other for a perilously elastic moment and Eve wanted nothing more than to drop her eyes and look away but somehow she borrowed the guts from Goo to lazily grab Adore by the crotch and give her little make-believe cock a fierce, familiar squeeze. Theseus coughed, apparently embarrassed.

I will, said Eve. I will be the victim.

Hail of Frogs:

The blades of the giant fan had begun to move. The blue haze fell away and Phineas gratefully reclined on a lemon-yellow couch in the darkest corner of the space. He sat close to Crumb, his head lowered like a thief. Crumb was talking philosophy, however.

It’s all about obliteration of self, said Crumb. The utter loss of self. I have failed at the game personally. It amuses me to be Gulliver for a day or two but I’m still Crumb.

And what about these others. Do they know their own names?

I’m never sure, said Crumb. Everyone lies to me, which is peculiar. I’m a Redeemer, a confessor. And still they lie. But a lot of them have day jobs so they must be able to come in and out.

Brief silence. Phineas thought about the fact that he would really have to find a job soon, or starve. It was a surreal notion.

Who did you come here with? said Crumb.

Friend of mine, a lawyer. He called himself Major Tom.

He’s a Mariner?

Yeah, said Phineas. I took a girl’s tongue with him this evening.

Disturbing?

A little.

The intimacy is fantastic, said Crumb. Obviously. But the transaction is strangely antisexual in the end.

It’s fucking creepy. And I don’t quite understand it.

What? said Crumb.

The tongue. The temptation.

Crumb smiled. It’s not so complicated, he said.

You obviously have a theory.

Have you ever had a good look at hieroglyphs, said Crumb.

The sideways people? said Phineas.

The sideways people, said Crumb. They have very large mouths.

Okay.

Think about it, said Crumb. In religious art and literature, the mouth and tongue are always big symbols. They carry serious voodoo. The tongue is the spoken word, the tongue is Creation. Then you have the chaos of Babylon, the scattering of tongues.

Crumb paused, grinning. Phineas lit a cigarette because he knew Crumb didn’t want his opinion, not yet. Crumb was only warming up.

But that’s not really what this is about, said Crumb. The mouth is often fearsome, a source of destruction. The mouth devours, after all. And the most hideous beasts in medieval literature always breathe fire, right. The tongue of fire.

Phineas regarded the stoned kids around him.

The powers of fire and speech, said Crumb. The two skills that set us apart from the lower animals. Creativity and destruction are thereby intertwined in man.

No shit.

Have you read the Upanishads?

What do you think? said Phineas.

I suppose not, he said. But if you had, you might know that the mouth is said to represent an integral consciousness in the context of sleep. The mouth is the door between real and unreal worlds, between reason and madness. And if one is unlucky and sleeps too long without waking, then the soul must escape through the mouth.

But look at these people, said Phineas. They don’t have a clue about that shit.

That’s irrelevant, said Crumb.

And he was right. A child may not be able to explain how or why he is affected by the symbolism of a dream, but he knows he is affected. He can feel it in his skin. He is instinctively afraid of spiders, rats. He is charmed by beauty. He is moved to do things he doesn’t understand. Phineas sipped his port and watched Crumb, who was now smoking a leisurely cigarette.

Do you know a guy named Jimmy Sky? said Phineas.

Crumb shrugged. He’s a player, I believe. A Fred of some kind but I don’t know him.

He’s an undercover cop, said Phineas.

That’s beautiful, said Crumb. Does he know what he’s gotten himself into?

No, said Phineas. I don’t think so.

And you want to save him?

Phineas laughed. I’m not sure, really. I think I’m looking to kill him.

Theseus stood by the bar, immaculate and white.

His lips were wet as he surveyed the crowd, his jaw clicking. A young Mariner named Peter Quince appeared at his elbow, whispering that there was a telephone call for him. Theseus frowned. He did not like to use the telephone at the Unbecoming Club. It intruded upon his dreams. But Peter Quince was a fine fellow, very discreet. He never touched the Pale and Theseus often used him for difficult errands. The call must be important.