The late night streets bustled with the cocktail crowd. It was nearing “last call” at the city’s bars and restaurants, but that didn’t stop the night dwellers from overindulging. One of the hopping places under the cloudy sky was The Hideaway. The cool breeze picked up to a chilly wind, but none of the extravagant patrons leaving the restaurant seemed to care. They simply tightened their overcoats and buttoned their animal furs as the valet drivers scurried to retrieve their vehicles.
Roger and Miles stood across the street peering at the building like two wannabe robbers casing a jewelry store. They had walked over two miles through the dark streets, but finally made it. Roger watched as a gray-haired man in a trench coat handed a young valet driver his ticket, which prompted the youth to hustle toward the side garage. For a brief moment, Roger pictured himself as that man. While it was several hours later than a date for him and Lois, an eerie feeling of déjà vu tingled his subconscious senses. As his thoughts swirled, the valet driver returned with a white SUV. Roger widened his eyes as the valet driver commanded a bizarrely similar make and model. At first, Roger doubted the vehicle as an exact replica, save for the pure color, but the large silver-finished rims shined in such a way that confirmed the vehicle’s exactness. Roger could not talk. He could only watch as the valet driver opened the door for the elegant woman accompanying the man. Roger could not see her face. He tried to reposition his neck, but the pain in his muscles nagged him.
Is that Lois?
Somehow, he couldn’t be sure unless he saw her face. The woman entered as the tinted glass consumed her identity. Then, the man in the trench coat walked around the side and handed the valet driver some money. The young worker opened the driver’s side door and the gap gave Roger a moment of direct view of the woman. She was much younger than the man, about thirty, and she had a softness to her feminine features. The woman glanced up and, for a brief moment lasting less than a second, her eyes connected with Roger’s. It was as if she knew he were there watching from across the street. Roger wondered whether she was placed in front of him for a reason, a subtle signal to confirm his presence just over twenty-four hours ago. The SUV’s engine roared down the road into the night. Suddenly, Miles’ nasally voice filled Roger’s ears as he jarred from his own universe back into reality.
“Hey, is that the place or what?”
“Yeah, that’s the place. I was there last night,” Roger said.
“Ha-ha, I bet you were. I myself was having broiled lobster with the Queen,” Miles boasted.
Roger thought about responding with the pieces of the puzzle he knew in his mind, waking up in a hospital, journeying from his house to the city, or how the SUV he just watched drive away resembled his black SUV demolished in the crash on the bridge. He needed to transfer the vivid images traversing his mind to Miles like uploading information over a computer network. Roger, however, could not do that; he could only use words to communicate. Since talk was cheap, in fact it was free, he had no way and no desire to explain the events gusting through his mind. Roger decided to use his energy to move forward, instead of to dwell in the past. Besides, the runt following him was getting on his already stressed nerves.
“The Queen? What? Were you in London?” Roger lashed back, trying to defuse Miles.
“The Queen, I like to refer to our mayor as the Queen,” Miles responded.
“But our mayor is a man,” Roger replied shaking his head.
He realized it was useless to provide any clarity to the weasel’s illogical logic. What was logical, however, was another clue to his riddle just across the street. An image flashed into his mind. It was of a burly fellow holding two wine glasses. Then, a bell rang. It was his waiter from last night.
“I need to talk to our waiter. John, I think. He might be able to fill in the gap after dinner,” Roger continued.
“Okay, I got ya. So we need to talk to John. What if he’s not working?” Miles said.
“I don’t know. I have to at least check. It’s my only clue.”
Roger checked for an opening in traffic. He knew his fatigued muscles required extra time to function. A car passed as Roger saw headlights several blocks away. A window of opportunity presented itself. Roger took it and scuttled across the street. Miles followed, mimicking the moves of his mate. Roger saw the door to the restaurant a half block in front of him. Valet drivers swarmed the front like the Queen’s Guard defending Buckingham Palace. He paused to contemplate the best line of attack, but then Miles walked into his back.
I have to get rid of this guy, he thought.
It was one thing to take advice from a man with an intimate connection with the streets, but a drifter was someone Roger had no interest in befriending. He wondered if Miles’ persistence was due to a genuine interest in his mission or if it were just for his own personal amusement. Either way, Roger was putting his foot down, even if his foot had pained him.
“I’m going to go in alone. I don’t want them to think we’re staying,” Roger said with conviction.
“You sure? I could distract them while you—”
“We’re not robbing the place! Just give me a few minutes.”
He pushed Miles away, trying to get his response embedded into the stubborn man’s brain. In his thirty-five years, Roger couldn’t remember actually resorting to violence to seal a deal. His urge surprised him, but then again, so did every other action he had performed this day. He was a fish out of water, but he would fight his way through an army on the streets to find the woman who made his heart beat.
Miles became quiet. His eyes stared at the ground. Roger’s jolt seemed to add the right punch to where his words faltered, which made him proud. He hoped Miles would listen to his commands, as he wanted to focus his energy on solving his conundrum, not on managing a mutt.
Roger slithered toward the entrance. He knew his outward appearance would certainly create a ruckus with the gatekeepers, so he slowed in anticipation of a diversion. The door came closer, but a distraction failed to surface. No one walked from the front of the restaurant, which would spring the awaiting dogs to fetch a bone. As Roger panicked, a high-class couple exited the building prompting the two valet drivers to butt heads to assist the patrons. The opportunity presented itself. Roger picked up his steps, but the pain in his leg intensified. Now was not the time to waver. Roger scrunched his brow in an attempt to manage the pain.
“Thank you, sir. It’ll be one moment,” the valet driver responded to his customer.
The glass door was a few more steps away. Roger eyed the glass, which reflected the image of his potential captors. Suddenly in the reflection, Roger saw a hefty valet driver reaching toward him. He prepared to be seized and tossed down, but quickly realized the distorted perspective made the valet driver appear closer than he actually was. The valet driver, in fact, was reaching toward the well-dressed man waiting for his vehicle. He was a tax accountant and offered the valet driver his business card, a typical action he performed to promote his private company. Roger reached for the door handle and felt the cool metal on his sweating palm. He pulled it and scurried inside, but then realized the small hurdle to enter the building was only the beginning as he found himself inside a lion’s den.
The shadowy interior engulfed Roger’s senses as his eyes took in the wide angle. He smelled an intoxicating perfume, and his ears focused on the sound of laughing. The concoction of his new environment caused him to stop cold, trying to process the location. One side led toward the deserted hotel lobby, while the other opened up to the unique restaurant. Roger forgot the intention of his arrival into the building, but then he realized it was the search for a server named John. His eyes fully adjusted, as he looked to his left. Abruptly, he jumped back as he saw a horrifying image, an image of pain, an image of darkness. Little did Roger know, the image was not from this world, but created with brushstrokes of paint on canvas. The face of the shrieking man in Munch’s The Scream glared at Roger. He finally realized it was just a painting on the wall.
The laughing continued, which turned Roger’s focus. Off in the distance, he saw a woman across from a smiling man at a table in the restaurant. The placid place settings added a certain finesse to the dinner tables with other classy couples sprinkling the area. Roger raised his head, flaring his nostrils to find the feminine perfume. He finally saw its owner. It was the cute hostess behind the nearby podium.
Roger shuffled toward the young woman. She was the same bubbly hostess from his previous encounter working a double shift tonight, but Roger couldn’t place her. As he neared the young woman, however, he realized her bizarre familiarity. It wasn’t her face; it was her cleavage. Roger stared at her chest as a flash of his encounter with her flowed through his mind. He remembered the bubbly girl seating him and Lois last night. While the environment mimicked his experience from the night before, one crucial detail was missing. Roger looked to his left, but a void filled the space once occupied by his love. Finally, he returned to reality as he shifted his eyes to the face of the hostess, but the expression she had was no longer warm and vivacious. She darted her eyes around the room, as if in search of something. She had no smile, and she nervously flicked her ear as she squirmed in place.
“Um, can I, uh, help you?” she asked without making eye contact.
“I was looking for a server. I think his name is John,” Roger asked.
“Um, what?”
“A server. Is John working tonight?”
Nearby, the stout manager from the previous night walked around the corner. He had been in the kitchen putting out a stove fire, but when the cooks had it under control, he decided to focus his attention on offering thanks to the departing patrons. As he rounded the corner to the entryway, he saw Roger hovering over the innocent hostess. The manager widened his eyes and picked up his steps, as he wondered how another bum had breached the front line of defense.
“Hey, is everything okay here, April?” the manger interjected.
“Oh, I was looking for John,” Roger replied as he turned toward the baritone voice.
The manager cut through the tension and inserted himself between beauty and the wandering beast. The manager took the opposite approach with Roger and instead of failing to maintain eye contact, he stared back with a look of rage.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he snarled.
“I don’t understand,” Roger innocently replied.
As the pressure intensified, a burst of noise erupted from the door behind Roger. Everyone instinctively turned toward the commotion, including most of the patrons. It was Miles pouring through the door like a spoiled carton of milk spilling on the freshly polished kitchen floor.
“Hey, Roger, did you find him? Is this him?” Miles yelled.
“Get out of here you two!” the manager commanded.
Roger couldn’t believe Miles’ disruption. He knew he should have tied down the weasel.
“I don’t understand the problem. I was here last night,” Roger continued.
However, it was too late. The manager had enough of the commotion. Several couples gasped from the disorder. A middle-aged woman having a drink with her husband rolled her eyes and scorned the bums, as she classified them.
Two muscular servers sprang to action as the manager signaled to them. This was the second night in a row that bums had entered his establishment, which made his temper flare. He was not going to let these two disrupt his customers.
“You’re trespassing on private property. I’m going to call the police if you don’t leave here immediately,” the manager snarled.
Miles tried to resist the encroaching server as the manager jumped toward the phone. Finally, one of the servers grabbed Miles and dragged him toward the door.
“Hey, get your meat hooks off me!” Miles shouted.
A female server dropped her tray of drinks as the chaos surprised her. Glasses shattered. Another woman screeched.
Roger positioned his neck to see if he could make out John through the confusion, but he soon found the other server’s hands grasping his shoulder. Roger conceded as the man ejected him out the door.
Outside the restaurant, Miles and Roger spewed from the glass doors and hit the concrete like rag dolls. The two servers towered over them and wiped their hands clean.
“And stay out! We don’t cater to bums,” the server manhandling Miles exclaimed.
“Get out of here!” Roger’s bully belted to motivate the two away from their establishment.
A prudish old woman walking nearby looked down at the action and shrieked. She clutched her husband’s arm as The Hideaway’s finest worked on Roger and Miles.
The valet drivers gathered around the two and formed a circle with the only open part toward the south end of the sidewalk.
Roger rolled around on the hard pavement. He felt his bones yell. Since Miles was closer to the ground and frequently used the earth as his own bed, he had suffered a lesser impact. Therefore, his bones had accepted the fall with more ease, and while it certainly hadn’t been like one performing a dive onto a comfortable bed, it had been graceful compared to Roger’s tumble.
Miles picked up Roger and hustled down the sidewalk as the gang of men roared at them.
“I can’t believe those clowns. The nerve!” Miles said.
“Let’s get out of here before the cops come,” Roger replied.
“Yeah, me and the fuzz don’t mix.”
Roger knew how the police seemed to have the wrong idea of his intentions, but the cards he played all ended in a bust.
Miles seemed to have a spark in his step that Roger lacked. He led the way on the sidewalk as the two headed toward the cross street. Miles turned the corner ahead of Roger and, for a brief moment, the lost businessman felt a sudden feeling of emptiness. Then, however, an image stopped him cold. He realized he was not alone as the pristine glass store reflected his true self. The man in the mirror startled Roger. While the tousled hair and grubby clothes looked the same as his previous meeting with the man, blood, scuffs, and bruises now painted his face and neck. The reflecting wanderer seemed to be spiraling downhill. While their meetings focused Roger’s attention and gave him a look into his new universe, he feared his next encounter with the reflection.
“Where’re you at?” Miles asked from around the corner.
He peered around and saw Roger entranced in the window of the closed business. He looked up at the unlit sign and saw “Frankie’s Dry Cleaning.” Miles wondered why Roger was interested in getting his clothes dry cleaned, but figured his shirt and pants did need a good scrubbing.
Maybe they could let out the cuffs in his pants to add a few more inches, he thought.
Miles’ voice brought Roger out of his fixation. Then in a flash, the visitor in the glass vanished into the emptiness of the night. Roger continued down the sidewalk behind his leader, but his brief moment of reflection left him feeling overwhelmed with his journey. He was so close to finding a clue to his mystery, but as he trekked farther from The Hideaway, he felt far away from the woman he loved. Roger looked ahead and saw a mess of identical streets with no clear direction in sight.
Chapter 18