Grey Shadows

 

Oily jazz staggered out of the club like a cutoff drunk, angry and directionless. The shadows around here had names. Lex was the dark space nearest to the Lonely Lounge. It was a place muggers got mugged.

Derek Grey sneered at the streetlight as he went by, willing it to shine a bit brighter as he shuffled along the alley. Tendrils of music slithered towards his ears and bit down hard. Sour notes oozed through his blood like an unnamed poison, slowing his progress. He limped coldly from obstacle to obstacle looking for cover from prying eyes. The light flickered as it thoughtlessly rebelled against Grey’s request.

“Hey you!” said a deep voice in the depths of the darkness.

Derek tipped his hat to the sound, but made no further acknowledgement. The politeness of the response shorted out the grim answer the voice had in mind.

“This place is trouble!” it finally said in a resigned bewilderment.

Grey shrugged and shuffled perpendicular to the words creeping out of the named blackness. Not confronting, but not fleeing either. It seemed to be the right answer. Whoever was back there wanted a fight or a chase – this was maddeningly neither.

The Lonely Lounge was anything but, and the door blasted open with the roar of celebration and light. Grey saw the distraction and turned away from the mesmerizing cacophony. He wanted in, but tonight wasn’t the night.

He wondered how the place got so popular with the dangerous shade boxing it in. He realized that even the men that went bump in the night had rules and people they didn’t cross. Derek wasn’t on that list, but he was tantalizingly close to it.

The Lounge’s last big draw had met an untimely end when a new thug coloured a little outside the lines and didn’t realize who he was dealing with. Police and pugilists were all looking for the guy that broke the rules. Derek had a lead and the thread led back to the Lounge itself. He needed in, but he needed to be in one piece more.

A few of the nameless nobodies in the shadows owed him a favour, but tonight wasn’t their night to slink about. A uncommonly friendly car rounded the corner slowly and the gleaming headlights shone a path back out to safety. Derek flew down the route to the welcoming islands of less temperamental illumination.

Grey again gave a silent thanks to the unending web of retaliation that would keep him safe from harm. Safe as long as he stuck to the visible oases of light in the unforgiving pool of black cityscape. He’d try this trip again tomorrow.

After a fitful sleep filled with drowning dreams of smoke and lost clues, Derek woke up with the first light of the sun. The day took a sideways glance at the greasy city and hurried by. Night stretched it’s maw over the buildings and swallowed them whole. Time to get moving.

Tonight, random chance had dialed in the right people as he took another try at Lex’s gauntlet. “Is that you Grey? You shouldn’t be down here.” was the call from the blackness that time.

“I’m afraid I’ve got to be.” Derek said as plainly as possible. He didn’t want to sound accusatory, but any one of these thugs could be the guy everyone was looking for.

“I’m just looking to get Lonely.” he winced. It was the key phrase to get by, but only if you were on the list. The dark men saw through his bluff, but enough of them owed him a small debt and a free pass.

“Don’t be too late.” was the canned response. It was a soft reminder that chaos ruled the early morning and the denizens of the alley has shifts and duties – like a business born of necessity. The next crew might not look the other way, so it was best to get in and get out.

The doors burst open again, but the music was tired this time. The new singer wasn’t there, so the draw of the Lounge was lessened. That explained why this group was guarding this time. They weren’t as familiar with the crime families, so they weren’t trusted with the ins and outs of the alliances and feuds.

Only the small players were out tonight, so the water was less murky. None of them liked to move the pieces on the board -- no deals, no fights, no drama.

Which wasn’t to say the Lounge was safe. It never was. Saying the wrong thing to the wrong person would still land you in a lot of hot water. At least tonight it wouldn’t bring down half the city on you.

Derek strode in to the club, motivated by purpose and the need to get out as soon as he could. He cornered the least dazzling waitress and got her take on the situation.

“All I know is that Bran finally stopped talking up a storm when the news hit. It used to be he couldn’t shut up about making his move, now he just nods like the rest of the new thugs.” It wasn’t proof, but it was a convincing second opinion from someone who had nothing to gain.

The crime tape was still up in the back of the building. Painfully yellow ribbons screamed at anyone who wandered by. ‘A line has been crossed’ they said ironically holding everyone at bay. The police weren’t respected here, but at least this time all the parties wanted them to do their job.

Processing the scene was painfully slow. None of the badges wanted to ruffle any feathers – a futile task in the bird themed Lounge, where plumage influenced decor and dress code. The police slothed around like molasses in a meat-locker and just as out of place.