# 6
Cozy Cat Club, Wednesday in the evening
The taxi slowed down in the desert narrow street and finally stopped right under the Cozy Cat’s sign: a cat of pink neon tube enjoying some sweet roundness. Three men dressed in black unimaginative suits and wearing bowler hats got out of it and one of them, a tall big blond-haired guy with watery eyes paid the driver, giving him a small tip. Clouds have obscured the sky all day long and the evening air wasn’t too cold, barely allowing faint plummets of vapour to escape the mouth of the man as he waved a goodbye to the taxi driver.
The three of them hesitated a few seconds in the sick light of the streetlights at the prospect of plunging in a notorious den of sins. Just like neat office workers afraid of their own naughtiness. The club was the only lit building. An old district surrounded them with peeled off walls and foul street gutters. The immediate vicinity of the Cozy Cat had been cleaned up though. They took time to read some posters on the front wall and in the entrance doorway. Then the second man, a podgy black-haired in his fifties and wearing a narrow moustache, gave a nod to the others and showed them the heavy door. The third man, a nervous redhead with blossoming freckles, went to it and knocked. The door opened quickly, revealing a robust doorman in a groom outfit who stared at them intently, from their polished leather shoes to their hats.
[Note:] Si tu passes par là, Denise, je te prie de bien vouloir m'excuser d'avoir massacré la perspective...[/Note]
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“I don’t think I know you…”
The podgy man had a shy smile:
“Indeed, we’re first-timers sir. We’ve heard that would be a great club for honest lonely men.”
The doorman smiled.
“I see. Enjoy your evening then. But behave yourselves! We do not like trouble here.”
He stepped aside and closed the door behind them.
They passed a thick curtain and got in a wide smoke-filled room. Lights were dim, except for a stage where a luscious singer was murmuring a naughty love song in duo with a piano. Her sensual warm voice wrapped the audience far better than what her glittering dress would do about those wonderful shapes she had to show. The podgy man had to jog his companions to get their attention. Neglecting the tables, they headed to the bar, a chrome counter highlighted with some pink neon tubes. They managed to find three free stools and sat, the redhead and the blond on both sides of the other one. They had to wait a few minutes due to the number of customers, but the barman, a playboy in his twenties, finally came to them. The podgy man moistened his lips, bent over the bar and whispered:
“Do you have something to really cheer up a weary man?”
The barman smiled and answered on the same tone:
“We’re specialised in barely legal things my good man. But still legal. So, what is it you want?”
His customer was obviously disappointed.
“Bah, never mind. Give me a coffee with some vanilla ice-cream in it. And I guess a little drop of rum would be feasible too, wouldn’t it?
- Of course it would.”
He observed the other customers leaning on the bar while his buddies were ordering a strong hot black coffee without sugar and a mug of ale. The pink neon lights under their faces gave them an interesting Frankenstein’s monster touch, in a pinkpantherish kind of way. He did not recognise anyone. More precisely, he did not recognise anyone he wanted to, and fortunately this desire was reciprocal. The three of them peered in the rest of the room until their drinks arrived, but it wasn’t easy to distinguish details since the bar was a little more lightened than the tables, not to mention that anyone in the cubicles along the opposite wall was out of sight. In spite of the attention dragged by the singer, many conversations were melting in a consequent background noise.
The podgy man just had time to relish a couple of spoonfuls of his ice cream when a young woman dragged a stool and sat in the narrow space between him and his blond big colleague. She wore a heavy make-up and her dress was essentially made of a deep cleavage competing with the vent running along the left leg from her high heels shoes almost up to the haunch. “
Damn, he thought,
fashion is keen on minimalism in this club.” He smiled. She dragged on her thin cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke between her shining red full lips. He was pleased to notice that her lipstick was good enough not to stain the cigarette. She looked at him.
“Maybe you could buy me a drink? There are very comfortable private places over there waiting for us to take our time and taste those cocktails.”
She bent over him and slipped her hand in his back. She did not have time to touch him though, for the redhead man grabbed at her wrist and sprained it in the same motion. She shrieked in surprise, slipped from her stool, and fell on her back in a spinning motion. Her overly tight dress dissipated its sudden tension with a loud tearing.
This caused some emotion around, catching nearby customers attention. A man went to rescue the shocked damsel in distress, but was intercepted by the big blond-haired acolyte who grabbed his blazer and single-handedly lifted him from the ground.
“Easy! The podgy man interjected, are you mad? You have no manners. I won’t party with you anymore!”
He helped the puzzled woman on her feet while the blond man let the scared customer go.
“I’m sorry miss, these bears shouldn’t be allowed to wander in civilised places.”
She stared at him, seemed about to say something and gave a look around to the thickening wall of curious eyes peering at her gaping dress. She grabbed both sides of the ripped up stitching to keep them together.
“Hum, never mind… I… I really have to go, you see…”
She had a crisp nervous smile and slipped away as quickly as possible, trying to repress some big tears. The redhead guy kept his eyes on the floor as he tried to justify:
“It was a reflex. I’ve overextended myself a bit.”
The podgy man was reddening and muttered:
“No, absolutely not. Just brandish a tommy gun and fire at will in the crowd next time.
That might be overextending.”
He spent a few minutes trying to minimise the incident and calm the other customers down. Then he went back to his coffee, obviously exasperated. The ice-cream had completely melted and the resulting blend was tepid.
“This moustache suits you well Mr Kallistos.”