Walking up to street level from the PTP system underground, downtown seemed especially lively for a Sunday night. There was always a lot of activity, but the air had an extra charge of electricity. I scanned the clubs for my friends and found them in Martina’s favourite dance club. It was a popular place but not extremely large. They had funky clear glass pillars filled with water and lit from underneath. It was one of the many visual effects that set the tone. Poor Doug looked like a fish out of water, leaning against the bar, trying to look cool. When he was in an environment like this, he got clumsier than ever; usually spilling one or two drinks a night. Whenever he approached a girl, it did not go over so well. Like his military uniform, his civilian clothes always seemed a little ill-fitting. The look he gave was an attempt at aloof coolness, but it looked more like constipation. I came up from behind and knocked his leaning arm off the bar, jostling him off balance and slightly spilling his drink on his fancy new duds.
“Aw man” he said, “watch what you’re doing!”
“Sorry dude, you can’t go into a bar and not expect some spilt alcohol on you.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” He dabbed at the stain on his shirt.
I spotted Martina. She was on the dance floor. She was in her full glory moving rhythmically to those electronic dance tunes. Watching her, she almost made that music sound good. She cleaned up very nicely for a cop. I laughed to myself. I felt sorry for any lout who tried to get farther than she wanted him to go. I whistled to gain her attention and waved at her. After a couple of attempts she noticed me and tried to wave me out on to the dance floor. I feigned deafness and incomprehension. She rolled her eyes and continued dancing for a few more minutes.
"So Dougie," I said, "did you guys have fun last night."
"Sure, after Stoneman stopped bitching about your softness--it was alright."
"That's okay. He talks like I'm the one all nervous about the Exodus, but he's whinier than ever."
"I guess we're all nervous," Doug twitched on his seat, trying in vain to catch the eye of passing girls.
The club was alive with action that night--seemed more so than usual.
"I wouldn't call myself nervous. I'd call it anxious. I'm ready to go."
"Still, can we trust everything the government says? How safe will it be?"
"Aw Doug, take it easy man. Do you want to be cooped up here forever? Think positive!"
I slapped his back and caught the sight of a fine young thing looking back at me. She reminded me of the girl from the other night.
"You're right Tyler, but you know me--worry wart--I guess."
"You ain't that bad Doug--you're a cop--takes some balls--especially now!"
"True. Man, this place is rocking tonight."
We looked around. More people were flowing in to the cramped club. I tried to keep my eye on Martina, but now there were too many people around. In a place like this, she always had guys around her--though she rarely paid them a moment's notice. She came to these places to blow off some steam from her stressful job, not get picked up.
When Martina was getting a little tired, she wandered over to us--leaving a string of disappointed guys who had been dancing around her.
"Wow, I'm sweating."
"You're blowing too much energy Lever," I said, "should save it for the job."
"Don't worry about me Jonz. I got plenty to spare."
"I'm tired of yelling. Do you guys want to go someplace quieter?" I said.