The smoke was so thick it nearly swallowed the pool hall

Darker Shades of Fear

(Installment 3)

The smoke was so thick it nearly swallowed the pool hall. Clamor sounded in a cacophonous din, composed of drunken slurs, angry shouts, loud demands, and simple discussion. Any average person would have either combusted from the discord or evacuated immediately. However, those present were not by definition average and found solace in the blaring volume.

The uneventful days passed, leaving the blond haired man slouched against the wall bored and lazy. He took another swig from his glass and scanned the crowd. It looked like it was time to move on. This place had little to offer him now. It was useless to measure time, he had concluded long ago. He moved on whenever things got too dull, and it looked like the circumstances favored the suggestion. He finished his gin and carelessly plonked the glass down on the table beside him. He put a cigarette between his lips and nearly dropped it as his eyes looked past his lighter. At the end of the bar, a few feet from him sat a brunette woman who was glancing in his direction. It wasn’t the staring that bothered him. Women did that all the time. There was something about her that seemed terribly familiar. Something that reminded him of the past, something he did not want to remember. She seemed to acknowledge the familiarity between them for a moment, and then looked away. He came remarkably close to asking her, but found that he didn’t care much. It would be best if he didn’t. Things were so different now. He was so different now.

He decided in that moment he would leave town. He could just as easily find a new shithole. Things were starting to become routine. Familiarity was achieved. Connections were slowly being formed. Plus, he couldn’t have people getting suspicious. With that, he smiled and flicked the filter to the floor and ground it under his foot as he slowly made his way out of the building.

He breathed in the cold air of the city streets, quite a contrast from the thick smoky atmosphere of the pool hall. He walked blindly through the maze of interconnecting sidewalk, though a passer-by could have easily assumed that he was moving with a purpose. He never had a particular destination in mind. He walked until it bored him and then either boarded some form of transportation, or settled for a motel. He’d never owned a car and in his line of work, he had no use for one. He smiled at the thought. How exactly did he define his line of work? He didn’t think himself a “criminal”, but sort of liked the sound of it. “Murderer” was too extreme, and carried with it a connotation of bloodlust and frenzy. Calm and patient didn’t quite coincide with its definition. After mentally sorting through several other terms, he concluded that “rebel” best suited him, “criminal” a close second.

He sighed easily and let his eyes wander into the abyss of the night sky. Almost instantly he named several constellations. He knew every one of them and their respective myths. The infinite patters of light and lines across the sky created a spectacular show in his mind. It reminded him of an acid trip, only this was much more pleasant. He could trace the constellations and watch them form, not explode into blinding blurs of white. That was one thing, next to heroin he’d never try again. Since his first encounter with heroin he had lost the desire (if there had ever really been one) for drugs. That had been a long time ago.

He took a long drag on his cigarette. That shit hadn’t crossed his mind since… he’d forgotten when. He preferred it to stay that way. It wasn’t the drugs that made him uneasy, but that was how he assured himself. He’d always been a good liar. Modesty aside, he knew that he was one of the best. He’d proved it on several important occasions, as well as those that didn’t matter at all. He smiled inwardly at himself. He could deceive anyone. Upon unconscious reflection of that thought, his mind amended it to “almost anyone”. There was only one person he could never seem to fool. He saw right through him. Kenny used to be amazed at how he could detect even the smallest shred of untruth. He’d asked him once about it, all he said was,

“I know you.”

Kenny choked on the smoke he’d been inhaling and dropped his cigarette to the ground. He was shocked at first, then furious. Once he’d managed to get his coughing under control he shoved his hands in his coat pockets and bit his inner lip. What the fuck was with him tonight? Why had he all of a sudden remembered things? He was distracted by the coppery taste in his mouth, not realizing how hard he’d been biting it. It had to be this town. He’d been there too long. Not far ahead of him, he caught sight of a train station. He sighed thankfully as he jogged toward it.

He purchased a ticket for the next departing train, not caring where it was going as long as it would get him away from wherever he was now. He felt incredible relief when the train pulled into the station. He relaxed in the seat of the almost empty train. The car rumbled and the scenery began to whip by. This had a calming effect and after some time, he could barely remember having felt frustrated. He lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply. This was followed by a disembodied obnoxious cough. He shut his eyes and shook his head with the beginnings of a smile. He took another long drag and exhaled slowly and deliberately. Sure enough, it came louder and more obnoxious. He grinned and repeated the previous action. Now he heard the click of feet storming toward him against the train floor.

“Excuse me,” the cougher said, “but would you mind putting that death stick out?”

Kenny inhaled and blew a smoke ring toward the intrusive man.

“Was that supposed to be funny?!” He asked, rather aggravated. “Because my wife and I are over there, seven rows back on the opposite side and you’re blackening our lungs with secondhand smoke!”

He laughed. He couldn’t suppress it any longer.

The tall, lanky man in glasses and a blue suit fumed. “I’ll get security!”

“You can’t.” He replied matter-of-factly, flaunting his cigarette.

“And why’s that? Because you don’t want me to?”

“Because he’s on a cigarette break.” Kenny replied smugly, blowing a puff of smoke into the obnoxious man’s face.

He stammered for a moment and then retorted, “You’re a filthy smoking liar.”

“I just gave him a smoke. He’s in the next car.”

“Well that’s where you should be!”

“If you have such a problem why don’t you move?” The conversation was beginning to dull.

The man proceeded to give a tirade about something that Kenny paid no attention to. He stood in the middle of his speech and bumped into the other man as he walked past him to the back of the train.

“Where are you going?!”

Kenny refused to answer and crossed into the next car. He collapsed into an empty seat and smiled as he reached in his pocket and pulled out an expensive looking wallet and viewed its contents. Loose bills, credit cards, generally what one would expect to find in the wallet of an upper class white male. Kenny’s lips slowly shifted into a sly grin as he removed a card from his own wallet and placed it inconspicuously into the other. He called the security guard over to him and handed him the wallet and a hundred dollar bill, along with some instructions.

The security guard made his way routinely to the car in front of Kenny’s. He appeared to be checking that things were in order when he bent over and revealed a black, expensive looking wallet.

“Sir,” he asked, “does this wallet belong to you?”

The man felt his pockets for his wallet and was shocked to find it was gone. “Yes! Thank you, sir. Where did you find it?”

“Up there by the doors. You musta dropped it when you came in.” He replied.

He looked at his wife, “You know, I could have sworn I felt it fall when I tripped on the platform.”

She nodded.

He opened the wallet, pulled out a five-dollar bill and handed it to the man. “Thank you, sir.”

His wife caught sight of the corner of what looked like a pink business card stashed inside her husband’s wallet. She grabbed it from him and easily stole the card. She sported a horrified expression as she read it.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

She slapped him across the face, hard. “What’s wrong?! What’s wrong?!” She screamed, “This is what’s wrong!” She held up the business card, which read: The Pussycat Club. Good times for $150 an hour or all night for $500. It also came with a note on the back, Thanks for the tip, come back soon, k baby? xoxo- Cookie.

He stared at the card in disbelief. “I never-”

“How can you lie like that?! I caught you red handed!”

Kenny listened to them scream from his quiet little car. He took a drag on his “death stick” and smiled, satisfied. He knew he’d kept that card for a reason, other than the fact that Cookie gave great blowjobs. He sighed as the train slowed down and came to a stop. He stood and exited the train, leaving the feuding couple far behind him.