Black Iris: Chapter Thirty
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CHAPTER THIRTY
If The Top Hat and Monocle is a meat market for horny, middle-aged politicians, the Purple Pub is the Chuck E. Cheese version of that. It’s where Tommiss was last seen before he disappeared, and it’s where I meet with the three interns that were with him that night.
It’s barely 7:30 when we arrive, and the place is already packed with burping, speech-slurring college kids, many of whom aren’t legally old enough to drink. Of the three people I’m with, only Tammy, the bubbly sometimes-assistant to Annette Bottom, is 21. Her roommate Grace is 19, and Vance is only 18. The waitress goes through the motions of checking their IDs without really looking at them.
“So, what’s it like being a P.I.?” Vance undoes the top button of his pit-stained dress shirt that’s too tight around the belly.
“Is that really what you want to ask me?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m a cat-man son of an Egyptian goddess. I would think my job is the least interesting thing about me.”
He laughs. “You’re right. I just didn’t want to be rude. So, what’s it like being a cat-man son of an Egyptian goddess?”
“The cat part is awesome. I have super strength and can run faster than a cheetah. Having a goddess for a mom can be kind of a pain in the ass.” I lap at my bowl of water. “What’s it like working at City Hall?”
“It’s pretty cool if you’re into politics.”
“What’s the Director of Public Safety like?”
“Joe? He’s fine, I guess. He tells a lot of dad jokes, but at least he’s nice.”
“So, he’s not a hardass like Annette Bottom?”
“Hey!” Tammy says, giving me a gentle whack on the arm. “Annette’s a badass.”
“Isn’t that what I said?” I pop a pawful of complimentary peanuts into my mouth. “How about you, Grace? What’s it like in the Office of Immigrant Affairs?”
The small Asian coed with braces looks down at the table. “It’s ok.”
I give her a moment to elaborate, but she doesn’t.
Vance is very enthusiastic about the food here, so we let him order for the table. Twenty minutes later, we get a Margherita pizza, another one with goat cheese and sun-dried tomato, and an order of potato-chip-battered chicken wings.
“How well did you guys know Tommiss?”
“We had just met him,” Vance says. “He’d only been working at City Hall for a week before he went missing.”
“He was really… nice,” Tammy says, looking down at her greasy hands.
Vance and Grace exchange subtle glances.
“So, what happened that night?” I take a gooey bite of pizza.
“There’s not much to tell, really,” Vance says. “It had been a crazy day, so we came here and got hammered.” He puts his hand to the side of his mouth and whispers, “this is the only place in town that serves us.”
“Speak for yourselves,” Tammy says with a smirk. “I can drink anywhere.”
Grace frowns. “Well, some of us look like we’re 12 years old, so…”
I shove an entire wing in my mouth and crunch it down.
“Whoa,” says Vance. “Did you just eat the bone?”
“Yep.”
Vance and Tammy laugh, but Grace winces.
“What time did you guys leave?”
Vance clears his throat. “Grace and I took off around midnight.”
“And you just went home after that?”
They both nod.
“Seems like kind of an early night.”
Grace wipes sauce from her lips with a napkin. “We got drunk pretty fast, and I’m kind of a lightweight.”
After three-quarters of a drink, her face is already flush.
“How about you, Tammy? When did you leave?”
“I don’t know, maybe a half-hour after Grace and Vance.”
“And you and Tommies left together?”
“I mean… we left at the same time.” She drinks the last sip of her second vodka tonic.
“Do any of you guys know where he lived?”
“I think he was living outside the city somewhere,” Vance says. “He took a bus in.”
“And did he ever say where he was from?”
“Out of state,” Tammy says sharply.
She knows more than she’s saying. They all do. I let it go for a while, giving them a chance to get a little drunker and looser. The conversation shifts to music, then to video games, then to funny office stories. When I think they trust me a little more, I get back to business.
“Hey, uh… did the police ever talk to you guys after Tommies went missing?”
The three of them look at each other before Tammy answers.
“Yeah. They brought us down to the station and kept us waiting for hours before someone finally came into the room. It was annoying.”
“What kind of questions did they ask?”
She shrugs. “Pretty much the same questions you’re asking.”
“And should I assume you gave them the same answers?”
“Of course.”
“Do you remember the name of the cop that talked to you?”
“No, sorry.”
“Actually, he didn’t identify himself,” Vance says. “And I’m pretty sure he wasn’t even a cop.”
Tammy and Grace flash him anxious looks, and he diverts his eyes to the table.
“He wasn’t a cop? What was he, then?”
“I don’t know, maybe he was. He was just dressed better than everyone else, that’s all.”
“What did he look like?”
“Dark skin. Indian, maybe, but no accent. Glasses. Nice head of hair.”
Shit, that sounds like Dr. Nehrashani. But what the hell was he doing at a police station talking to witnesses in a Missing Person Case? Either he somehow infiltrated the Kibble PD, or they’re complicit in what’s going on.
Meanwhile, the interns are still holding back.
“Hey, what do you say we get a few more drinks?” I suggest.
“We really shouldn’t,” Grace says. “We have an early meeting tomorrow.”
“Pff. Come on,” Tammy says. “We’re interns. Nobody cares if we’re hungover.”
“Annette cares. You’ve been kind of slipping lately, if you know what I mean.” Grace makes the universal “toking-on-a-joint” hand gesture.
“It’s fine, we’re just drinking tonight.”
Vance puts his hand on Grace’s back. “Just a couple more drinks. Come on. How often do we get to hang out with a celebrity?”
She sighs. “Fine. Two more drinks.”
Tammy smiles. “That a girl.”
As expected, “two more drinks” turns into five, and everyone becomes slower, louder, and a little more fun.
“Debate club,” Vance says with heavy eyelids and a slack-jawed grin. “That was my jam.”
“You are a living stereotype,” Grace says.
“Yeah, well, look at me. I’m not exactly captain of the football team material, am I?”
“Nachos,” Tammy says, chin resting on her hand, staring at nothing.
“Huh?” Grace and Vance say at once.
“I want nachos.”
Grace hiccups. “We just ate two pizzas and a shitload of wings. How on earth can you still be hungry?”
“I’m not really, but… ok, you guys are going to think this is weird, but when I hear the word ‘football,’ I taste nachos.”
“Wait, what?” Grace says.
“When I hear the word, I experience the taste.”
“You’re right,” Vance says. “That is weird.”
“Let me get this straight,” I say. “Hearing a word triggers a completely unrelated sensory experience?”
“Yep. And it’s like that with other words, too. When I hear the word ‘benefit,’ I taste oatmeal. When I hear the word ‘mistake,’ I taste popcorn.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Since I was a kid.”
“Huh.”
“What? It’s not that weird, is it?”
“It is,” Vance laughs. “It totally is.”
I put my paw on Tammy’s hand. “The word ‘family’ makes me taste chocolate chip cookies. The word ‘neighborhood’ makes me taste milk.”
She cocks her head to the side. “Are you fucking with me?”
“No, I’m serious. But for me, it’s a recent thing. Like only a couple of months.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Is it, though?” Grace says.
I pull my chair closer to Tammy’s. “I’m experiencing other weird sensory things, too. Like this spoon smells shiny to me. And the other day, I heard the light coming through the blinds in my apartment. Does anything like that happen to you?”
“Not exactly. Oh, but how about this: The number three is always orange, four is red, and the word ‘number’ tastes like raw green peppers.”
“I can’t see red or orange at all, but that’s always been true. One time I took a drug and could see red for a while. It also made me see demons.”
“Sounds like a hell of a drug.”
“It is. I should get more of that stuff.”
“Well, if you do, let me know.”
I realize my hand is still on hers. Grace and Vance look awkwardly towards the ground until they see our waitress coming with our next round. The two of them have switched to beer, but Tammy is still doing the hard stuff. The waitress puts a bowl of heavy cream in front of me.
“What’s this?”
“Greg, the bartender thought you might like something other than water. Don’t worry, it’s on the house.”
I look back at him, and he gives me a nod.
“Cool, tell him I said thanks.”
“Will do.” She walks back to the kitchen.
“See?” Vance says with a grin. “They love us here.”
“Cheers to that.” I clink my bowl against his bottle.
“Ok, guys,” Grace says, “this has to be my last round. For real.” She takes a gulp of her Bud Light.
We proceed to finish our drinks. I can’t taste the sweetness of the cream, but the lactose does boost my serotonin levels, giving me a comfortable, mellow buzz. Meanwhile, Grace seems to be getting crankier with every sip of her piss water, and Vance is struggling to stay awake. I’m no longer holding Tammy’s hand, but our pinkies are still touching on the table, and our knees are touching under it.
“You got a little… on your…” She dabs my whiskers with her napkin.
“Oh, thanks.”
Grace scowls, then chugs the rest of her beer. “Alright, the rest of you can do what you want, but I’m going home.”
“Aw, come on,” Tammy says, without taking her eyes off of me. “Stay.”
“It’s been a long day, and tomorrow’s going to be even worse.” Grace turns to me and reaches into her wallet.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” I say.
“Really?” Tammy asks.
I nod.
Grace thinks about it for a second before dropping a Hamilton on the table. “For the tip.”
“Thanks.”
She slaps Vance on the arm, and he snaps to attention. “You coming?” she asks him.
“But I still have half a beer here.”
“Well, it’s late, and I don’t want to walk home by myself.”
“Fine.” He chugs the rest.
“Are you coming home tonight?” Grace asks Tammy.
“Of course, I’m coming home. Where else would I go?”
“Ok, well… I’m going to be asleep, so don’t be too loud.”
Tammy laughs. “Yes, mom.”
Grace drags Vance out by his sleeve.
“Well, I guess it’s just you and me,” Tammy says.
“I guess so.”
She leans close and whispers, “Now that my chaperone is gone, would you like a treat? Something to dunk into your milk, maybe?”
“What do you mean?”
“I brought special brownies.”
I’ve been known to eat marijuana leaves right off the plant, but I prefer pot in dessert form. Luckily, it doesn’t affect me quite the same way it does regular humans, because I’m paranoid enough already.
“Sure, why not?”
She passes me a bar under the table. After making sure nobody is watching, I soak up what’s left of my cream and take a nibble. It’s a little bitter but not bad.
“Sorry if Grace was a bummer. She can be a little uptight.”
“No, she was fine.”
All three of the interns were equally dishonest with me, and since this wasn’t supposed to be a social visit, I shouldn’t care who was cranky and who was pleasant. But now that the others are gone, it kind of feels like Tammy and I are on a date.
“She’s right, actually,” Tammy says with her mouth full. “I should be more responsible.”
“We all should.”
“So, you’re a cat, right?
“Last time I checked. Actually, the last time I looked in the mirror, I thought it was another cat, so who knows.”
“Ha. Do you have nine lives?”
I take another bite of the bar. “I had nine, but I’m down to my last one.”
“Really? Then you’re in the same boat I am.”
“Not exactly. I’m immune to most diseases and my body doesn’t age.”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“Shoot.”
“I think I’m immortal. And it scares the shit out of me because I know that I’m not.”
“Uh… I’m confused.”
“The other day, I was looking out Annette’s office window, and I had to pull myself away because I thought I might jump. Not because I wanted to die, but because I didn’t think that I would. I imagined hitting the ground, then dusting off my pants and walking away as nothing happened.”
“Were you stoned?”
“Not at the time. In fact, when I’m stoned, I never want to do anything dangerous. It’s when I’m sober that I get the urge to step out in front of a bus or swallow the barrel of a gun just to see what’ll happen.”
“Weird. Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know, I just feel so… separate from the world. Its causes and effects. I feel like I exist outside of it.”
The edibles seem to be hitting her pretty hard. Meanwhile, I feel fine, although… now that I think about it, the room does smell a little bluer than it did earlier. And everyone seems to be walking with a motion blur trailing behind them.
She takes a swig of her drink. “When I was six years old, I was in a car with both my parents, and we were hit head-on by a pick-up truck. I was thrown through our windshield, continued through the truck’s windshield, out the rear glass, and landed on bags of mulch in the back. Both of my parents were killed instantly on impact, and all I needed was five stitches in my forehead. Then, as my grandparents were driving me home from the hospital, our car was struck by lightning, causing us to swerve off the road and hit a tree. Both grandparents died, meanwhile, I had no new injuries.”
“Shit, that’s…”
“Fucked up. I know. But I think it’s why I feel indestructible.”
“I remember that feeling. It was nice.”
Tammy flags down our waitress so we can order another round. I get more cream, while Tammy goes with Kahlúa because she says it pairs better with her dessert bars. To me, it still smells like booze.
“In your religion, do people go to Hell for committing suicide like they do in Christianity?”
“Not usually. Which is a good thing because I — never mind.”
“What? You killed yourself?”
I shake my head.
“Oh, come on, you can’t leave me hanging like that. I told you about my parents and stuff.”
“Ok, yes. I killed myself. Are you happy?”
“Why’d you do it?”
“I, um… so one of the benefits of having nine lives was every time I died, I got resurrected well as new. And I had this… injury that was never going to heal, so I offed myself.”
She laughs. “You had something wrong with your dick, didn’t you?”
“What? No — ”
“You got it caught in a bear trap or something.”
I reflexively grab my crotch. “No!”
She puts her hand on my paw. “Chill out, I’m just fucking with ya. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“Thank you.”
One therapist is more than enough.
Normally, the noise in a place like this is overwhelming, but the drugs are slowing my brain down to a point that I can distinguish every voice in the room, every slam of a mug on a table, every screech of a chair leg on the laminate floor. Instead of making me anxious, it sounds like music.
I feel Tammy’s hand on my inner thigh. “I know we don’t really know each other, but… you really get me.”
There’s a tingle in my shorts. It’s been so long that I didn’t recognize the sensation at first. My cock grows alongside my leg, creeping towards her hand like a python stalking a rat.
“What’s in these brownies?”
“Just pot. Want another — ” She makes contact with my bulge and raises an eyebrow. “Well, hello there.”
My cock reaches its full glory, and I can hear it throbbing like the Tell-Tale Heart. She takes a long slow breath through her nose.
“Should we… go under the table, or… maybe meet in the bathroom?”
She laughs but then looks past me.
“Can I get you another round?” our waitress says from directly behind me.
I jump in my seat, knocking a spoon onto the floor.
“Sorry,” she says. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
We race for the fallen spoon, and while she’s down there, she gets an eyeful of my pitched tent.
“Uh — ”
“We’ll take the check. Thank you.”
Tammy bites her lip fighting off a laugh.
“You’re all set,” the waitress says, avoiding eye contact.
“Really?”
“Yeah, we just put it on Mrs. Bottom’s tab.”
“Thank you, guys,” Tammy says.
“You two have a great evening.” She walks briskly back to the kitchen.
“Won’t Annette be pissed?” I whisper.
“Pff, she won’t even notice. Besides, it’s taxpayer’s money. You pay taxes, don’t you?”
“Sometimes.”
“Well, then you’re kind of paying for dinner.”
“Can’t argue with that logic.”
“Shall we away?”
Normally I’d let my boner go down a little before trying to stand up and walk through a crowded room, but I haven’t had an erection in a long time, and I don’t know when I might get another one. I can’t afford to let this one go to waste. “Yeah, let’s get the fuck out of here.”
I drop a generous $120 tip on the table and waddle out the door with Tammy on my arm.