A Woman of the Swamp 2-2 [1 of 2]

Apologies, had to split this one in two again because it went over the word limit!

Previous Chapter

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2. An Ordinary Dive Bar

It was summer in the city and moisture hung heavy in the air. Every breath Nick took was heavy and sweltering. He had no real recollection of the last time he had been in New Orleans, only a memory of what happened after. It was a long day spent doubled over a hotel toilet, regretting the decision of drinking rum in a pirate bar. He still looked back on the lack of memory with fond wariness. Being somewhere that wasn’t Midway felt good, even if they were about to enter on of the last places he wanted to be.

            Shirley and Lopsang had been arguing even before the wheels touched the ground, and showed no sign of stopping. “I’m just saying, if you survived that plane crash, the least you can do is let us run some tests. Think of what that could do in the right hands.”

            “And I’m telling you, I’m not sure if you’re the right hands. I’m not sure if anyone is the right hands! One person already has my blood that I regret, and a government organization isn’t exactly an entity that fills me with trust.”

            Nick smirked. The same person that had taken Lopsang’s blood had also infused Nick with a vile substance that kept him alive. A horrifying image of two severed heads connected to his arm by IV tubes floated through his memory. He tried to block it out, feeling the same visceral disgust he had then.

            “So, is this the bar?” asked James, trying to defuse the situation. He had spent most of the car ride gently tapping his head against the window and fighting off an oncoming hangover.

            Nick was finally starting to feel better until he looked up at the neon sign plastered to the brick building they had pulled up to. It read: ‘Martin’s’. “Well, if it isn’t the right bar, we can probably still get a cheap drink.” The entrance to the bar was down a short flight of stone steps and colorful lights flashed through cracked black paint over windows at gutter level. “But, judging by the fact that the man built an underground bar in a city that sits below sea level; it definitely sounds like the Martin I remember.”

            An arrow illuminated beneath the sign, pointing them below. “Feel familiar?” asked Lopsang, clearly thankful to be free of Shirley’s needling.  

“Unsurprisingly, I’ve got a fuzzy memory of the last Martin’s we visited.”

“I believe you keeled over right as we sat down at the bar.”

Shirley scoffed. “Well, that bodes well.”

“I don’t think it counts if it’s in the Land of the Dead. If I’m remembering right, I nearly stayed dead after that one, so I don’t think it goes on my tally.”

“I’ll give you that one. But no freebies in here.” Lopsang gave him a grin.

“Last one to the bar is a—”

Shirley stepped in between them, cutting off the challenge. “Alright, let’s focus up. I know that you’re used to running the show here, Nick, but this is an official operation now. Everything needs to be by the book, recorded, an—”

“Look, Shirley, we get it, you’re a government agent, this is a sanctioned operation, but as I’ve told many people before—”

Shirley interrupted. “Let me guess. I don’t want to see you work without booze? I believe the last time I heard that line was in a hick diner in the middle of nowhere.”

            Nick shrugged. “It worked didn’t it?”

Shirley’s eyes were ice. “I’m not sure if spending six months on the run after nearly dying counts as working, but sure.” She held up a hand, silencing any more complaints. “The point is, I need you sharp, and I need you paying attention. If my sources are right, this isn’t a place we’ll want to stay long.”

“Alright, fine.” Nick didn’t want to stay any longer than they had to. Plus, the faster they got the job done, the faster they got paid, and the faster he could go back to obliterating his bad memories the good old-fashioned way.

“It looks like any other dive.” James squinted at the windows, unable to make anything out inside. Muffled jazz music was playing, but through the concrete, it was nearly impossible to hear clearly.

“It likely is just another dive, on the surface anyway.”

As if to prove the point, the door to the bar banged open. A scruffy old man in a faded duster walked up the stairs pinching a bloody nose in one hand and holding a wide-brimmed hat in the other. He muttered something under his breath about cheating.

Nick gave him a polite nod. “Better luck next time then, eh?”

“Fuck off.” The man gave him the finger and walked away.

“See? Just like any other dive.”

Shirley rolled her eyes. “There’s that famous Ventner charm. Yes, I’m sure that’s going to help us get where we need to be. Why don’t you just follow my lead?”

Nick looked to Lopsang and James who remained silent. “Bunch of help you two are.”

“She is the one paying us,” pointed out James.

Lopsang shrugged. “Last time we went into a bar under your lead, I had to carry you onto a plane, and that was just this morning.”

“Fine, Shirley, lead the way.”

“Thank you, Nick. Everyone, we’re going to keep an eye on each other, but don’t cluster too closely. My sources say the fighting pits are below the bar somewhere. We’ll need to find a way in.”

“Couldn’t we just ask to see the fighting pits? Anyone bold enough to straight up ask about necromantic entertainment propo—”

Shirley cut him off. “I think we’re going to need a little more tact than that.”

Nick shrugged and motioned for her to lead the way. They would need his help sooner or later. In the meantime, he was going to see how many free drinks he could get on the government’s dime.

Shirley walked in and Nick followed, careful to be the last one to enter. The floor was sticky with years of spilled drinks and gave each footstep a wonderful squish. He smiled – it was the sign of a decent dive bar.

The main room wasn’t big. In the back corner, a band played on top of a raised stage. They weren’t talented, but they made up for that fact by being loud. Off to the left was a long bar that ran nearly the length of the wall, and a few booths had been arranged around the edges. Multicolor lights illuminated the stage, and the rest of the bar was left in a dingy yellow. As far as Nick was concerned, it was perfect. He could have done without the live music, but in New Orleans, that was par for the course. Nick had never really come around to jazz music, but he did like anything loud enough to drown out small talk.  

“Can I see some IDs?”

Nick jumped at the sight of a small, toadlike man in a fedora sitting on a stool right next to the door. He exchanged a look with Lopsang that said This is far too familiar and began rummaging around in his wallet for identification. “Of course, just give me a second.” The trick was sorting through all the false identification to find the one piece that was real.

“I’m just fucking with you.” The toad man laughed, a grating noise that sounded like it had been filtered through an ash tray. “Bar’s on the left, band is on for another fifteen minutes. If you’re talent, see Margie in the back.”

            Déjà vu hit Nick like a freight train. He felt suddenly lightheaded. “I’m going to get a drink.”

            Shirley was on the verge of protesting when Lopsang spoke. “Me too. We’ll listen for tips at the bar. Good luck you two.” He gave Shirley a short salute and peeled away.

            “Save me a—” but James’s voice was drowned out by the booming brass band starting up a new number.

            Nick sat down on a ripped stool with wobbly legs and ran his hands across the bar. The pock-marked finish was rough under his fingertips and brought him back to the present moment. “Whiskey?” he asked as Lopsang sat down.  

            “Make it a double.” Lopsang looked nauseated.

            “A man after my own heart” Nick motioned to the bartender. “Two double whiskeys, no ice, thank you.”

            They sat in silence waiting for the drinks to come. When they eventually did, Lopsang took a sizeable gulp before speaking. Even finding the words seemed like a painful task. “So, what are the odds?”

            “Finding a bar mirrored after one we went to in the underworld? I’d say it’s about par for the course at this point.” In truth, Nick was feeling strange just sitting at the bar. Ordinarily, there was nowhere he would have felt more at home. He looked down at the hourglass tattooed on his wrist. There were still plenty of sand grains in the upper bulb, but it was hard to tell how much was left.

            “That thing still working?”

            Nick looked down at it, squinting. “Some days I think yes, some days I think it’s just another stupid tattoo.” It was a relic of his time in The Land of the Dead. A doctor had given him the tattoo as an indication of how long he would be able to stay in the wretched underworld before permanently expiring. Down there, the sand had moved quickly, reflecting the razor’s edge he rode with his life, but upon returning to the Land of the Living, it had mostly frozen. Nick tried to look at it day to day and spot a difference, but over the course of a year, it had been increasingly difficult to tell.

            “Why do you think this is here?” Lopsang finished his whiskey and called for another.

            “Well, it seems like there are two options. One, someone else has been to the Land of the Dead.” Nick finished his whiskey as the bartender approached. “Or, this was the first and the original owner is now dead.”

            Lopsang looked around the bar, taking it all in. “The one down there’s better, right?”

            “Oh, by a mile.” Nick tried to think about the Land of the Dead as little as possible, but their brief moment in Martin’s had been one of the high points. Sure, the standard for a high point on that wretched journey was low, but it was still a bright spot.

            “Are they going to find anything?” Lopsang nodded his head toward James and Shirley.

            “Almost certainly, but I can guarantee they’re going to be back here asking for help any minute.” Necromancers and fight clubs were insular groups on their own. Combining them made for arcane entrance rituals, secret handshakes, and a deep distrust of anything that looked even slightly government related. Hell, he would have been surprised if Martin even had a driver’s license, for fear of the secret society running the DMV.  

            Nick and Lopsang passed their next round in as much silence as the bar afforded. The musicians got better as their set progressed, but the volume never ceased being near-deafening. Neither man minded the opportunity to avoid conversation. It had been a long year and putting what they had experienced into words wasn’t an easy task. Nick had the story he told at bars for free drinks, but it never seemed to do justice and almost always ended in a painful blackout. No matter how many times he recounted it, there was no change in the nightmares that came to him almost every night.

            Lopsang took to quiet reflection and heavy drinking. At first, it had been almost comical watching a grown man who had never felt drunk before trying to handle it, but as time went on, it grew sad. Lopsang lost a piece of himself and it was plain for everyone to see, even if he didn’t want to talk about. Most people they ran into on their evening benders assumed it was a woman, and Lopsang did nothing to correct them. There was nothing in the world anyone could do to make up for the loss of his immortality. It had saved James’s life, but Lopsang still carried the burden with every waking breath.  

            Having James back had been a lift to both their spirits, but he was fighting demons of his own. Passing the evening in a dingy bar with cheap drinks didn’t feel all that different from their nights in Midway. Nick knew in his heart that the cycle couldn’t last forever, but he also had no idea how they were going to break free. The fear was, if he really tried, he wouldn’t be able to. All three of them were broken in some unique and irreparable fashion that the others couldn’t begin to fathom. They found comradery in the dim light, but no understanding.  

            Nick was roused from his reflection by the sudden appearance of James and a disappointed Shirley. Neither said anything.

Nick perked up from his morose stupor.“Well, that was quick. Did you find the entrance?”

            Shirley chewed her lip. “Yes.”

            Nick sipped his whiskey, taking a moment of silence and already reveling in what would come next. “Well, should we order another round, or…”

            “They wouldn’t let us in.” Shame bloomed hot in Shirley’s cheeks.

Nick felt a pang of sympathy for her, but it evaporated with the slow, wafting presence of strong drink.  “Strange that a secret, illegal, underground operation wouldn’t let two upstanding people like you in. Guess we should call it a night then?”

            “He’s going to get you in.” Lopsang smirked. “But he’s going to make you work for it.” Lopsang had taken a shine to Nick’s coarse nature almost immediately. Sure, their working relationship had been contentious, but at the end of the day, they kept each other safe.

            Shirley swallowed her pride. “Will you please help us?”

            Nick raised an eyebrow. “The great Shirley Codwell asking me for help. Feels familiar and yet still brings me joy. Alright, Lopsang, drink up, we’ve got work to do. James, you’re still my apprentice, so drinks are on you. Leave a nice tip for the barkeep.” He stood up and headed toward the bathrooms.

            “Hey, wait a min—”  

            Nick held up a finger. “Don’t test me, my young apprentice!” There was humor in his voice, but it was also clear he wasn’t turning around.  

            Lopsang put a hand on James’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll work off the whole resurrection debt someday.”

            Shirley slipped James a black card. “Put it on that. The Sixth Side owes us a few libations every now and again.”

            “Sure.” James muttered something sarcastic under his breath and went to pay the barkeep.

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Continued here