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It was obvious from its rough, nautical-themed interior, that The Black Cat was a watering hole every bit as predatory as the seas along Sweetwater’s coastline. The bar had very basic wooden furniture, bearing the scars of dozens of raucous bar fights. Pieces of driftwood and upended barrels had been recycled to create the bar's tables and chairs, in a basic, functional way, rather than for a hip effect. Ben eyed the smoke-stained walls draped with fishing nets and decorated with sets of bleached shark jaws; no doubt caught locally. Some insane, old-school jazz was unraveling from the jukebox, as he looked around and found hostile stares from the other patrons of The Black Cat, each drinking in their own isolated pockets around the room.
Ben and Jo followed Crazy and Leyton to the bar. Crazy ordered the drinks, while Ben continued to check out the faces gathered for tonight’s performance. There were about thirty other people in the room, a lot more than Ben would've guessed were still living in Sweetwater. He recognized Olander first, staring at him from a table in the corner where he was sat with his mother. Irma sat alone at another table toying with a sherry, her thick make-up plastered on as always. She flashed him a disturbing grin, which he did his best to return. Then his eyes settled on Henry and Angie Ho. Angie Ho looked at him with obvious contempt, while her husband aimed his gaze in the opposite direction, clearly giving him the cold shoulder. Ben shrugged and turned back to the bar, as Crazy handed him a whiskey. Leyton took his drink from the old man and left without a word. He made a beeline for an aging blonde in the corner who appeared to be dressed for something livelier than this. Ben watched Crazy talk to the serious looking Maori man who was serving behind the bar. The bartender was dressed in ripped punk gear, revealing that he was ripped too. The Maori was covered with biker style piercings and tattoos and generally looked like bad news. Ben looked away. He was starting to feel self-conscious. It wasn’t just that he had the feeling that everyone in the bar was staring at them; he could see that everyone was. It was more that he had the sensation that everyone else might be in on a joke except for him. He held on tightly to Jo and made a point of staring back at the faces scrutinizing them. Crazy leaned towards Ben and raised his glass, toasting it with Ben's, then Jo’s.
“A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do,” said Crazy. “So, here’s to us men.”
“And their better halves,” said Jo.
“And their better halves,” repeated Crazy.
The three downed their drinks and thudded the empty glasses on to the bar counter.
“I better make a move,” said Crazy. “I’m due on.”
“Cheer up,” said Ben. “I’m sure you’ll be great.”
Crazy slapped Ben's shoulder. Ben thought he looked awkward again, almost ashamed.
“Yeah...”
Ben watched the old man reluctantly slope towards the microphone, looking more like a condemned man than an entertainer. Ben shook his head, puzzled, and turned back to the bar.
“Same again?” he said to Jo.
“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s see if we can make this one last a little longer, eh?”
Ben tried repeatedly to catch the bartender’s eye, but the Maori deliberately ignored him, even though there was no one else waiting to be served. Ben took out a twenty and held it up. There was no response. Ben shifted position to stand directly in front of the bartender, blocking his view of the stage, but the man just stared past him with bored, cruel eyes.
“Can I get some drinks please,” said Ben.
The bartender finally turned and stared at Ben. He slowly took a cigarette out, lit it and exhaled a plume of grey smoke into Ben’s face. The man then poured a large glass of whiskey and proceeded to down it himself. Ben could feel himself shaking. He looked down to see both of Jo’s hands pinning his right arm firmly to the bar counter.
“Just another small-town asshole,” she whispered. “Let's wait around to watch a couple of Crazy’s numbers, then take off. OK?”
Ben looked up to see the bartender goading him, apparently amused that he was being held in check by a woman. He sighed smoke up into the air, then blew Ben a kiss. Ben’s fist clenched around the twenty, but Jo held him steady.
“Then I’ll take you home,” continued Jo. “And show you how much I love you.”
Ben held the bartender’s taunting stare, until eventually the other man finally broke off eye contact by looking towards the back of the bar. The man then turned away and started fixing drinks. Ben traced his last line of sight across the room to the Ho’s table. Ho was busy talking to his wife, holding her hand above the table between his own. Ben's eyes searched beyond Ho until another figure, a little further back slid into focus. A dapper looking man in his early forties wearing a suit sat directly behind Ho. A younger, seductive looking Asian woman in a figure-hugging dress sat next to him, or rather wrapped around him like a snake. Both of them stared at Ben from the back of the room and the man raised his glass to him. The Maori bartender reluctantly slid two more whiskies across the bar towards Ben.
“For the fastest fish in town,” he said with a smirk.
Ben tried to hand the bartender his twenty, but the bartender just snorted with contempt and headed to the other end of the counter to dry glasses. Ben looked back at the man in the suit again. The man raised his glass again and tipped it slightly in Ben's direction, before taking a sip.
“Looks like we’ve pulled,” said Jo. “Think we better say hello?”
The lights around the room began to dim and the jazz music on the jukebox faded out, replaced by the low, fuzzy buzz of an old amplifier.
“In a bit,” said Ben.
His eyes were fixed on the raised plinth at the other end of the room, now illuminated by a spotlight. This stage was empty, but there was a microphone and stand on it.
Ben watched as Crazy, looking every inch the jaded crooner, stepped up on to the makeshift stage, glass in hand, and squinted against the spotlight’s glare. Moments later, the light’s beam was adjusted to a less severe angle, allowing Crazy to blink and finally find his bearings. A badly worn, instrumental backing track of Ervin Drake's “It was a very good year” filled the room and Crazy began to serenade the bar.
Ben was impressed.
The old man’s voice was still up to the task, and he carried the song well. The performance wasn’t polished, but it had the genuine weight of one who had loved and lost many times over. Crazy's eyes even appeared to well up, as he appeared to channel his own emotions into the lyrics. Ben looked around the bar at the various silhouettes gathered there and began to wonder if Crazy’s emotional outpouring was more than just a performance. Ben and Jo weren’t just the only people in The Black Cat listening to Crazy’s song; they were the only ones acknowledging his presence at all. The rest of the crowd just carried on drinking and chatting without even looking at Crazy. Ben felt a sudden rush of sadness for the old man standing on the stage, giving it his all. The whole scene was brutal to watch, and it made Ben angry.
Crazy managed to finish the song and Ben made a point of clapping loudly against the sudden vacuum of silence it left in the room. Jo joined in too, but their lone applause only pronounced the sadness of the situation. The house lights snapped back on and Crazy's microphone and backing track were faded down to almost nothing, so that when he launched into “MacArthur's Park”, he was demoted to just background muzak for the bar. Crazy stuck it out though, and continued to put his heart into the performance, but the joke was clearly on him.
Ben saw the bartender smirking from behind a small mixing desk on the bar.
“Prick,” said Ben.
Crazy soldiered on with the song, despite being ignored by the room again, looking like a man slowly being destroyed, piece by piece. Ben downed his drink and turned to order another, only to see the bartender standing right in front of him with a tray full of whiskies. The Maori stared at him and then nodded towards the back of the room. He then moved off and Ben started after him. Jo grabbed Ben’s arm to stop him.
“Come on, baby,” she said. “Let's go.”
“I just want to see what’s going on,” said Ben.
Ben and Jo followed the bartender, as he cut his way through the room with his large frame. He led them towards the man in the suit at the back of the bar who paid for their last round. As their destination became apparent, Ben noticed anxious looks coming his way from wide eyes all around the room. He caught sight of Henry Ho shuffling back awkwardly in his chair as they passed by.
“Still here then, eh?” said the old Polynesian.
Ben ignored him and approached his benefactor’s table. He made eye contact with the man in the suit, as the bartender put the whole tray of drinks down. There were twenty whiskies in all. The man at the table smiled and gestured for them both to sit, so they did. Ben tried to read the man’s face. He appeared serene, maybe drunk, but somehow Ben didn't think so; his eyes looked too sharp, too mean. Ben was aware that the rest of the customers in the bar were watching them. He began to feel like a rabbit sitting down to dinner with a hawk.
“Evening,” said the man in the suit.
“Evening,” said Ben. “Thanks for the drinks.”
“That’s OK. It’s a close-knit community, it can be a little difficult for strangers to get served in here sometimes.”
Ben turned to look at the bartender, but the big man had already disappeared.
“Don’t mind Ali,” said the man in the suit. “He’s got issues.”
“Yes, he does,” said Ben. “And you are?”
“Dr. Harris,” said the man. “And this is my nurse, Kim.”
The Asian woman stared at Ben and Jo, and tightened her hold on Harris, coiling around him like a python.
“I'm Ben, and this is Jo.”
“I know,” said Harris, looking just a little smug and superior.
“So, you’re a doctor?” said Jo.
“Sort of,” said Harris. “Anyway, I just had to buy a round for the man crazy enough to try Olander’s game. That idiot’s asked everybody in town. So, bravo to you.”
“I didn’t really...”
“No,” interrupted Harris. “I know you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into, but you are still here in one piece, well sort of. Take it from me, considering what’s in the waters around here, that's some feat. So, like I said, bravo.”
Harris tilted his glass towards Ben. Ben raised his glass too, suspecting he was being mocked, but not sure why exactly. He could still see the faces of all the other locals turned his way, their expressions of anticipation all aimed at Harris’s table. The mood was one of fear and curiosity, as they all but held their breath waiting to see what would happen next. He noticed Jo’s eyes widen, as the woman sitting next to Harris held their gaze with a playful expression and slowly slid her hand up the inside of the doctor's thigh. Ben tried to ignore the gesture, quickly growing tired of these games.
“So,” he said. “Are you some sort of a big deal around here Harris?”
The man shook his head and feigned embarrassment.
“Me, no. Why do you ask?”
“No one here's taken their eyes off this table since we sat down.”
Harris flashed him a smug grin.
Ben was really starting to dislike the guy.
“It's not me,” said Harris. “It's you. You're the new novelty in town, the man everyone wants to meet.”
Ben felt a flush of embarrassment burn through his cheeks. He watched Harris ease back into his chair, still grinning, staring at him with those dangerous blue eyes; another in Sweetwater's parade of sociopaths just spoiling for a fight. He looked over at Kim. She was still staring at Jo, while her hand worked its way up towards Harris's zipper. Harris's gaze shifted to Jo too. He looked her up and down and smiled like a predator.
“Jo, eh?” he said, showing his teeth.
Ben took a moment to compose himself, to make ready for a fight. He started to open his mouth to speak, but Harris pushed a double towards him before he could get the words out.
“Are you game, Ben?” said the doctor.
A drinking competition, thought Ben.
Ben instinctively paused. He looked around the room for help, but found only an audience teetering on the edge of its seat. Even Crazy had now stopped singing, too engrossed by the strange scene unfolding at Harris’s table to carry on with the show.
Jo’s hand reached for Ben’s under the table and squeezed it tightly.
“Please baby,” she whispered. “Let's go.”
Ben drew strength from her, but her fear also made defiance and bloody mindedness swell up inside him too. He didn't know what Harris's problem was, what his game was. He didn't know why all the good folk of Sweetwater had been on their case from the moment they’d arrived, but he'd had enough. He wasn't walking away now. He wasn't turning his back on another confrontation with one of these pricks, not until he'd stood up to them, not until he'd showed them what he was made of.
Ben fixed his eyes on the doctor as he raised the glass of whiskey.
“Please baby,” Jo whispered in his ear. “Don’t.”
Ben squeezed her hand, then downed the drink in one. He leaned back in his chair and smirked at Harris.
Harris's own grin began to spread further along his features, threatening to split them.
“We have a contender,” he said. “I thought you looked like a man who enjoys a drink or two.”
“It’s what I’m good at,” said Ben.
“Very bad for your health though,” said Harris. “Don’t you worry about your health, Ben?”
“Not anymore.”
Ben let go of Jo's hand. He rolled a cigarette and popped it into his mouth, relaxing into the game.
“You want to play, Harris?” he said. “So, let's play.”
Jo’s fingers, deprived of his hand, clutched at his thigh, her nails digging tightly into the flesh above his prosthesis. Ben blew smoke and leaned forwards to rest his hands on the table.
Enough of this.
He was letting his dark side out tonight.
Harris eyed him coldly and downed his drink. He then turned to French kiss Kim. Ali the barman appeared next to the table and began serving more drinks. He put another full glass down in front of both men. Ben looked at all the doubles grouped in the centre of the table.
A real competition.
“Please Ben,” whispered Jo.
Ben said nothing. He stared dead ahead and slowly raised the next glass to his lips. He then dropped his head back and put away the shot, slamming the empty glass down on the table. He took a deep breath, but did his best to hide it. The doctor reached for his whiskey and put it away mechanically. Ali dished out two more drinks and stood back.
“You’re a thirsty mother,” said Ben. “Aren’t you?”
“It’s a dry country,” said Harris.
“Please Ben,” whispered Jo. “You've got nothing to prove to these people, or to me.”
Ben listened to the rain hammering against the corrugated roof above their heads; listened to it washing down through the guttering outside. Now that the music had stopped, you could hear a pin drop.
Nothing to prove to them, or to you. But what about myself, he thought.
He sank his double and put the glass down on the table, carefully this time. Harris lifted his drink in response, but then paused.
“I couldn’t help but notice your crippled gait as you limped in,” he said. “Would you like me to take a look at that for you? Maybe I can help?”
Harris then knocked his drink back, smiling.
Ben reached for his next drink before Ali could set it down. He was sweating now, but not from fear or embarrassment; he was lost to himself, lost to the animal side. The drinking side. The side that felt, rather than thought. The side that acted, rather than talked. The side that fought rather than feared.
Something flashed in the doctor’s eyes. Ben guessed it was recognition. After all, deep down they had the same condition, the same demon. He didn't know this man, didn't know his agenda, but he definitely knew what he was. He knew that behind their daytime masks of civility, they were both the same kind of self-loathing, asshole drunk.
Ben downed his whiskey and licked his lips, starting to enjoy the game more and more. Jo let go of his leg. She edged her chair further away from him.
Ben barely noticed. His focus was all on Harris now. He was starting to rile the man and he liked it.
Harris tipped his own whiskey down his throat and clicked his fingers. Ali instantly handed him another. He put that one away too.
“This fucking town,” said Harris. “Isn’t it enough that we have to scrape a living out here, in the middle of nowhere, without turds like you washing up on the beach.”
Harris spoke to the room, addressing no one in particular, and not making sense, at least not to Ben anyway.
“Is this the fucking best we can do?” he continued.
The bar was silent, until Henry Ho coughed.
Harris took a deep breath and regained his composure. He ran his fingers back through his lank hair and grinned again, but it was a hollow grin, a fake grin. Ben reached for his next glass, but Jo placed her hand over the top of it.
“Please Ben.”
Ben looked at her imploring face. The woman he had been gazing at a few hours ago, the woman he adored and would do anything to protect, the woman he had promised so much to, was now a million miles away from here. All he could see right now was someone else in his way, someone trying to manipulate him, to pull his strings; someone telling him no.
“Please,” she said.
“Relax.”
There were tears in her eyes.
Always tears, if they couldn't get their own way, if they couldn't control you, he thought.
“You swore it would be different, Ben,” she said. “You swore to me.”
Ben pretended not to hear. He had to focus on his adversary, and on the next glass in front of him. It wasn't going to drink itself. He tipped his head back and finished it. He then started on his second, to match the doctor's escalation, hardly aware that Jo had left the table.
Ben lined up the next drink and threw his head back again. He savored every drop, as tiny rivulets of stinking whiskey ran from his lips and picked their way down through the growth on his chin. He grimaced, creasing the lines at the corners of his eyes and along the furrow of his scar. He heard some abusive put-down slide out of Harris's lizard like mouth, but the man no longer made sense to him. Ben’s head continued to tilt backwards, as he allowed the booze to fill his throat, but he kept going, further and further back, until he finally tipped over. The back of his skull hit the bar floor with a jolt. He could hear people somewhere behind him laughing hard enough to burst blood vessels. He pushed his palms against the floorboards and tried to stand, but his muscles failed him. He saw more grinning faces peer down at him, but only for a moment. Their features quickly softened and became hazy, as everything began to slide out of focus.