Edward Lee - The Black Train

He followed the clean street down, ducking whenever it appeared he’d been recognized. This celebrity crap is getting on my nerves. I should’ve grown a beard… When he got closer to the store, he realized it wasn’t a store. It was that place he’d seen last night.

THE RAILROAD SPIKE, read the awning sign.

Just what I need, another bar…

A swing door with a circular window opened into murky darkness. Cigarette stench smacked him in the face, and the place smelled like stale Miller Lite. A long bar descended deep, with padded stools as though the place had once been a diner. Collier peered through murk but saw no sign of Jiff. A woman sat alone in a booth, applying lipstick, while several men eyed him from another booth. The bar itself stood tenantless.

What a dive, Collier thought.

A tall barkeep cruised slowly down to his spot. His apparel seemed off-the-wall and then some: a leather vest with no shirt beneath it, and he had a haircut that oddly reminded Collier of Frankenstein’s monster. He held a shot in his hand, slapped it down on the bar, and slid it to Collier.

“That’s a tin roof, just for you,” the guy said in a wrestler’s voice.

“A tin roof?” Collier questioned.

The keep rolled his eyes. “It’s on the house.”

“Uh, thanks,” Collier said, dismayed. Damn, I hate shots, and I don’t want to stay if Jiff’s not here. But he’d feel rude in declining. He sat down at the cigarette-burned bar top. Collier downed the shot. Not bad, even though I HATE shots. “Thanks. That was pretty good.”

“Glad you liked it, Mr. Collier, and like I said, that’s on the house. I heard you got to town yesterday. It’s damn exciting to have a TV star in my bar.”

It never ends, Collier’s mind droned.

“I love your show, and it’s good luck, you being a beer man and all.” The keep extended a huge hand behind him, to a row of beer taps. “We’re not some redneck dump here, Mr. Collier. We’ve got the good stuff here.”

Collier was almost visibly offended by the typical domestic beer taps. I wouldn’t drink that stuff if you had my head in a guillotine …“Uh, actually, I was just passing through—”

“Oh, Buster!” a tinny voice called out from one of the booths. “He doesn’t drink domestic beers! Give him a Heineken. On my tab.”

Collier quailed. “On, no, really, thanks but—”

The green bottle thunked before him. “That’s on Barry over there.”

Collier slumped. His raised the bottle to the guy in the booth—whom he could barely see—and nodded. “Thank you, Barry.” Damn …At least Heineken was a beer snob’s Bud, which could be drunk in a pinch. But Collier didn’t want to drink anymore. “Say,” he addressed the keep, “I’m looking for Jiff Butler. Could’ve sworn I saw him come in here.”

“Oh, that explains it now.” The keep seemed gratified.

“Explains what?”

“Why you’d be coming into a place like this. I got a pretty good eye, you know? I pegged you as straight.”

Collier blinked. “Huh?”

“But how can you be, if you come in here looking for Jiff?” The keep smiled and began polishing some highball glasses.

“Wait a minute, what do you mean?”

“This is a gay bar, and I didn’t make you as gay.”

Collier blinked again, hard. “I didn’t, uh, know this was a gay bar…”

Suddenly the keep’s friendly face turned belligerent. “What? You got a problem with gays?”

Jesus …“Look, man, I’m from California—I don’t care what people’s preferences are. But I’m not gay. I had no idea this was—” All at once, Collier considered the bar’s name, and felt asinine. “Ah. Now I get it.”

The keep looked quizzical. “And you’re here looking for Jiff? ”

“Well, yeah. I’m staying at his mother’s inn. I wanted to see if I could borrow his car, but—”

“He’ll be out in a minute…Say, do you know Emeril?”

I sure know how to pick ’em, Collier thought.

He almost knocked his Heineken over when an arm went across his shoulder. A handsome man in a business suit cocked a smile. “You say you need a car, Justin? Wanna borrow my BMW?”

“Uh, uh—no. Thanks—”

A squeeze to the shoulder. “Love your show.” He shot a finger at the keep. “His next one’s on me.”

“Oh, thanks, but—”

“That Ken doll who just bought you the beer is Donny,” the keep told him. “Donny, leave Mr. Collier alone. He’s straight. ”

“Oh…”

The man disappeared in murk.

Collier leaned forward and whispered, “Hey, tell me something. If this is a gay bar, why’s that woman sitting over there looking like she wants to get picked up?”

The keep chuckled. “That woman’s name is Mike. I’ll call him over if you want.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, please. No.” Collier’s heart surged. “I was just curious.” He tried to clear his head. “Did I misunderstand you? Did you say Jiff was here?”

“Yeah, he’s in back. He won’t be long.”

“Oh, you mean he works here?”

The keep grinned, revealing a Letterman-type gap between his front teeth. “Sort of. And now that you mention it, he owes me some money…but that’s another story, Mr. Collier.”

This was too weird. I’m sitting in a gay bar drinking mass-market beer, Collier realized. And another thing: Jiff’s obviously gay—why else would he “sort of” work here? No wonder the young man hadn’t been interested in the eye candy at Cusher’s last night. And Sute…Could he maybe be an ex-lover of Jiff’s? Sute had seemed distraught enough, but the rest didn’t add up. Jiff’s young and in good shape, Sute’s old and fat… Collier didn’t care—he just wanted to borrow Jiff’s car. He stood up and looked at his watch—one thirty. Still plenty of time to be ready for his date tonight. “Say, where’s the bathroom?” he asked the keep.

“You’re standing in it!” a voice called from the back booths. Laughter followed.

“Don’t listen to those queens, Mr. Collier.” The keep pointed. “Down that hall, last door on the left.”

Collier smiled uncomfortably when he passed the other booths. Men barely seen in the shadows all greeted him and complimented his show. The hallway was even murkier; he practically had to feel his way down. Did he say last door on the left, or right? Only a tiny yellow makeup bulb lit the entire hall. He saw a door on either side.

Then he heard, or thought he heard, the words: “Get it, come on.”

Collier slowed. That sounded like Jiff …But where was he? In the bathroom?

Dark light glowed in an inch-wide gap at the last door on the right. That’s not the bathroom, is it? There was no sign.

Then he heard: “Yeah…”

A man’s voice but definitely not Jiff’s. Collier peeked in the gap.

He didn’t know what he was seeing at first, just…two shapes in the murk. Only a distant wedge of light lit the room, which looked like a lounge of some kind. There were several ragged-out couches, a table, and some beanbag chairs. The shapes he’d seen were moving.

Jiff’s voice again: “Ya better get it soon, your thirty bucks are runnin’ out.”

Collier’s vision sharpened like a lapse dissolve in reverse. You’ve got to be shitting me!

Jiff was in there, all right, bent over like someone touching their toes. He was also naked. Another man stood behind him, buttocks pumping…

Then, “Yeah…”

The motion slowed, then stopped, and the shadows separated. The other man, exhausted now, gushed, “Thanks, that was great.”