A Blood Red Reindeer Knows: Part 5: Snake Eyes/Black Eyes
A half hour later I’m checking into the North Light Inn. It’s a crappy room, in a shitty part of town, but it’s affordable. Plus, this is the kind of place folks know to mind their own business. Most just want to be left alone anyhow. Whether junkies cooking pixie dust, or doll families hovering over homeless, no one wants a witness to them ever having been here. Maybe that’s why, in my room, all the mirrors are broke.
First thing I do is call Cari. The sound of her voice is like warm honey. I can’t tell her everything. She might worry, and if she asks me to come home I’ll do it – no second thoughts. But I’m finally feeling a thread in my hand. It’ll lead me where, honestly, I’m not sure I want to go. Still, I tell her everything I can.
She’s no fool though. Cari can sense what I’m leaving out. There’s an outline full of implications in the missing puzzle pieces.
Still she says, “You do what you think is right. I’ll be here waiting for you.”
“Thanks a chuisle mo chroí.”
“Come home safe.”
“I will.”
It feels like a lie. Still, there are times the truth does no one any good. Hanging up the phone I figure on a shower.
Though there isn’t enough hot water to rinse off the feeling of this city, I get clean enough afterward to feel fresh. Stepping out of the steaming bathroom my body is well on the way to shutting down. Next item on the agenda is definitely a bit of sleep. Then I spot a note slipped under the door.
Getting my gun out of my jacket I go to the door. Stepping outside I can’t see anyone except for a nodded out rabbit on nearby stairs. Yet, there’s a hint of perfume drifting on the air. Something familiar, sweet and spicy – baked apples and cinnamon.
“Vixen?”
Going back inside I pick up the note. Sure enough it’s her handwriting.
The note reads:
“Rudy,
They’re watching you. Be careful.”
A knock causes me to spin round. I throw open the door hoping it’s Vixen. The stupidity of my reckless is made plain when I see Glitterspark.
Before I can react he thumps me over the head with a lead sap. I fall backwards into darkness. All I see is black dotted by twinkling Christmas lights. In the distance I can almost hear Vixen say, “I’m sorry,” but I figure it’s just part of a pleasant dream in an unpleasant moment.
When I eventually come to my skull feels cracked. The door to my room is shut, and I can’t make sense of what happened until it dawns on me my hands are empty. My gun is gone.
However long I’ve been unconscious is too long. Dressing quick as I can I hurry to the parking lot. Sirens are screaming in the night, and I’ve got a feeling anyone could be on the way for me. Whatever’s going on, Glitterspark is holding a coffin nail sure to seal me in.
Getting on my bike I roar out of the motel parking lot unsure where I should go. The obvious choice is out of town.
Then I hear a jack-in-the-box springing out shouting, “Extra! Extra! Read all about it!”
It doesn’t take eagle eyes to spy an old mug shot of mine on the front page. Trouble this deep, there’s only one place to go. The problem is I know I’m not welcome there either. Still, it’s not like that’s ever stopped me before. So I head for Black Jack’s Cooler.
#
At first glance it seems like a glacier. Then the neon adorning the outside comes to life. A tsunami of colors flood forth filling any eye that happens by. There’s no way not to look.
What a person learns, though, is that all those lights are distractions. Strobe bursts pull attention away from the sad bastards slumped over slot machines. Poor puppets looking ready to feed the slots blood for one more shot at gold. Over at the blackjack table several glum faces are ignored in favor of TVs flashing sexy plushies foretelling fabulous fortune while they dance on dice. A craps table is ringed by sweaty faces too desperate to dwell on anything but hope. Meanwhile, the neon’s a rainbow blindfold hiding the truth.
For every single smiling winner there a thousand losers who risked their last penny betting with galactic odds against them. In fact, the only cheery toys are the ones already rich. It doesn’t mean a thing dropping a hundred bucks here and there – pocket change to them. They can burn dollars for fun. No, the sad truth is Black Jack’s Cooler doesn’t live off them. It thrives on the desperate hoping to hit 21, roll seven, catch a full house on the river; the people most likely to leave penniless after chancing everything to win… does it really matter what they’re after if they’ve lost? The house knows every sad story, and ignored them all.
Walking into the joint my first thought is how long before they know I’m here. Eyes are watching from a hundred spots, half of which I can’t even guess at. Action Figures acting as security patrol the casino floor. However, it’s been almost a decade. Perhaps things have changed.
Tossing down a small stack I slip into a poker game, and wait. Things are going well, to the point I actually feel like a winner. Sure enough that’s when the hammer comes down.
I feel a heavy hand land on my shoulder.
I say, “Let go you wanna keep the hand.”
The grip tightens. I sigh. Today is not the day to test me.
Jerking my head back I ram my antler into the Action Figure’s stomach. It jabs him back, and before he can recover I’m turned around cracking his chin with an uppercut. Obviously he’s not alone. Folks who brag about fighting jabber on about style this, and all kinds of kung fu bullshit. The guard closest I kick in the balls, while the other, I toss a handful of chips in his face then throat punch; he’s on the ground.
It isn’t more than a second until a fresh crop of Action Figures are charging my way. However, I’ve made my point. So I put my hands up.
Surrounded I say, “I told him to get his hand off me.”
A slow round of solitary clapping sounds behind a row of burly Action Figures. The column parts revealing the elf himself, Black Jack Frost, in an ice blue suit. Shaking his head he can’t seem to help a sardonic grin.
Pointing at me he says, “It’s good to know you haven’t changed.”
“Why’s that?” I ask.
“Because I won’t feel bad about what happens next.”
I see his eyes move, glancing over my shoulder. I turn in time to see Kung Fu Karl coming up from behind. There’s no time to dodge. I get a cattle prod in the side, and for the second time in as many hours I’m laid out. Though not unconscious, I’m out of action.
Action Figures scoop me up, and drag me to somewhere in the bowels of the casino. They cuff me to a chair in a room that smells like piss, blood, and shit. I can’t help thinking I’ve made a tremendous error coming here.
Not long after, Black Jack walks in with Kung Fu Karl beside him. Two of the grimmest gangsters in the North Pole, they look oddly pleased to see me.
Black Jack says, “Been a long time.”
“Not long enough,” I say.
He nods, “Yet, apparently, you missed us. Why else would you be here?”
“Haven’t you seen the news?”
Black Jack shrugs, “I’ve heard what’s been said, but that don’t make it true. Unless you’re here to settle old scores.”
“If I was, you think I’d walk in the front door?”
He smirks, “Depends. Maybe you got an attack of conscience, and came here to pay what you owe.”
“I don’t owe you shit.”
Kung Fu Karl growls.
Black Jack says, “Don’t owe shit, huh? For what you did to Karl – he can’t do his kung fu chop no more. Think about that.”
“Maybe if you weren’t running a crooked casino, I wouldn’t’ve had to bust the place up.” Snorting I add, “Hell, you could’ve given me the money back. Save us all the trouble.”
Approaching me Black Jack says, “First off.” – he throws a vicious combo battering my face – “My joint ain’t crooked.”
Spitting blood I ask, “Second?”
No words this time. He just goes into the beating. There’s a heft to his punches almost like waiting ten years made his fists heavier. Maybe it’s just a decade of experience. Either way, it isn’t pleasant, and the whole while I can half see Karl in the background, itching for his turn.
After a seemingly endless barrage Black Jack steps away. Snapping his fingers commands an Action Figure to bring him a chair. Taking a seat nearby, Black Jack mops his forehead with a handkerchief.
Chuckling he says, “I’m gettin’ old.”
“I can take over,” Kung Fu Karl says.
Black Jack waves him off, “Not yet.”
“When?” Karl growls.
“Soon.” Eying me Black Jack says, “I gotta know why you came back, Rudy.”
Deep breath then I say, “I’m wondering the same thing.”
I’ve made worse decisions in my life. Still, there’s no doubt this’ll rank in the top ten. Truth is I’ve never been much of a planner. That requires thinking about tomorrow. I’m more of a doer which is not always a good thing. I react to situations, going with the first thought that pops into my head. If that means ripping an Action Figure’s arm out the socket in order to beat my money out of his gangster boss’s pockets, I’ll flip the goddamn poker table over, and go nuts.
Vixen used to say, “You always do the right thing for the wrong reason.”
I’d reply, “Better than the wrong thing for the right reason,” thinking I was clever.
She’d just smile in that strained way you see on a person who loves you, but is disappointed. She wanted me to consider what comes next. That would mean thinking tomorrow is worth anything. I could never do that, at least not while living in this city. So I left, and she stayed with her eyes hooked on a brighter future I couldn’t see.
Considering the future I tell Black Jack, “You hear how some folks think things are about to change?”
“There are rumors.”
“That change is coming, and I don’t think it’s coming clean.”
Getting to his feet Black Jack straightens his suit. Shaking his head he steps towards the door. Passing Karl, a nod is all it takes. Looking like a delighted hyena Kung Fu Karl comes at me.
As he lays into me I hear Black Jack saying, “If change is coming that’s tomorrow, and Rudy, you don’t need to worry about tomorrow.”
