Cabaret Dogs : The Return of Mutant Big-Toe, Chapter 3

Chapter Three: In Which Something Happens Somewhere Nearby.

I staggered not so much down the street as across it, in a zig-zag pattern that would have been slightly worrying had I been the slightest bit more sober but was, in my current and ultimate level of intoxication, humorous in the extreme. Ignoring the screeching of tires and blaring of horns on my next crossing, I bumped into a light pole on the other side and turned my backside to it to give it a right good kicking. Then I remembered I was in human form, and why I was in human form, which was also the reason for my inebriation. I settled for calling into question the moral and sexual history of the light pole's mother, took another swig from the bottle of Captain in my hand, and bounced off the wall of a nearby building to get my momentum going again.

A voice nagged at me from the very back of my mind, trying in vain to fight through the fog of alcohol to gain my attention. Over my loud rendition of “Runaround Sue” the voice screamed at me to listen. I raised the bottle, intent on drowning the annoying thing, only to discover that not a drop remained. I paused, swaying, in the middle of the street and upended the bottle. Nothing.

“Dammit,” I said, though it sounded more like “Drnz't?”

I told you so, said the smug thought at the back of my mind.

“Shut up.”

I dropped the bottle and made for the sidewalk. Brakes squealed again behind me, followed by a loud crash and cursing voices. Some idiot must have been going too fast and ran into some other idiot. People drove like maniacs in this town.

I negotiated the curb with only one fall, a new personal best, and found myself on the sidewalk in front of a tavern of some kind. The place had a dejected, forgotten air about it, like a beached fish left too long in the sun. Or maybe it was the smell coming from the place that made me think of a decaying fish. “Comedy Cabaret,” said the sign above the door. Looked pretty sleazy. But it served liquor. My kind of place.

On the third try I managed to get the door open (Push, not pull, dummy, said the voice in my head) and stumbled inside. The dead fish smell was worse in here and was accompanied by a mysterious haze. The bar was deserted, though I could hear voices through an open door behind it. The tables were all empty, too, so I chose a dark one close to the bar where I could pounce on the barkeep when he returned to duty. I settled in and promptly passed out.

#

I awoke slumped across two chairs wedged between the table and the wall. My back was killing me and my mouth tasted like an animal of some sort had died in there. I sat up slowly, groaning, and looked around.

Where the hell was I? I'd woken up in some odd places before; it was part of my...condition, but this place was the worst.

I was still trying to get my bearings when a Chihuahua trotted out of the back room, grabbed a bottle of liquor from behind the bar, and trotted back through the door.

Wait...grabbed?

My muddled brain tried to make sense of what it had seen: a man with a Chihuahua's head.

“No more drinking,” I muttered, and hauled myself to my feet. I figured I'd peek in the back room, find out where the hell I was, make any required apologies, and head back to the office. Not that there was anything to do there; ever since the...accident, business had been slow. I had only one client left, but I needed the money he was paying, so I'd have to go back and make a show of pretending to do my job.

I stepped into the open doorway and quickly stepped back out of it and out of sight. Jaycinth was in there, along with the weird Chihuahua-headed guy and some woman wearing a nun's habit and gun belt.

Jaycinth. Great. I only knew her from a grainy photograph, but I was sure it was her. I was supposed to be investigating her, and instead I'd stumbled into her pub in a drunken stupor. Fantastic. I amazed myself with my investigative skills.

“Feeling better?” I heard a woman's voice say.

“Yeah, she's fine,” said a man I assumed must be the dog-guy. “Told you that would fix her right up.”

I heard movement, then footsteps coming toward the door. Crap.

I dove under the table that had been my bed last night and watched the three of them walk out of the room toward the front door of the Cabaret.

“Jay! Jay! Jaycinth! Jay!” the dog-guy kept yapping. I was glad when they stepped outside.

I crawled out from under the table and right into a pair of impossibly huge legs. I looked up, and up some more, into the face of a man staring down at me curiously.

“Who're you?” he asked.

“Uh...”

“Never mind. You're not the first to crawl out from under a table in here. I'm Bernie. Hair of the dog?”

“No thanks,” I said, picking myself up. “Gotta go.”

“Your loss,” said Bernie.

I stepped outside and almost cried out as the sunlight speared through my head. When I was able to squint at my surroundings, I saw the odd trio heading up the sidewalk to the right; they were almost to the next corner already. I turned to follow, staying a safe distance back. Since I was here, I might as well earn my paycheck, novel as the idea was.


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it's me. your pal cray, again. now this is where you'd normally find your teasers for next week. i'm not doing that this week in the hopes that there won't be a next week!

peace.

define dreck?

fine...

you're the bees knees, jaycinth.