Authors: Brian Harmon
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Horror, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers, #Suspense
“Thanks.”
Stuffing the phone back into his front pants pocket, he retrieved the daisies from the table and then left the apartment down the spiral staircase. At the bottom was a heavy, steel door. Like the others, it was unlocked.
He stepped through the door and immediately found himself standing in a shadowy room that smelled of leather, stale beer and faint cigarette smoke. A round, oak table stood before him with a single, unlit candle resting in the middle. Four high-back chairs of matching oak stood around it. Similar tables were set all over the room. The walls were painted black, the floors were hardwood. The décor appeared to be a passionate marriage of Harley Davidson and United States naval history. Leather jackets, gloves and biker helmets mingled with American flags, framed photographs of aircraft carriers and battleships, paintings of sailors, framed medals and other various war memorabilia.
This was a bar.
He was still on Main Street, just a few doors down from the florist. He thought for a moment and finally realized where he was. This was Big Brooke Tavern.
Fantastic. He was now trespassing in a biker bar before business hours.
This was definitely
not
somewhere he wanted to be.
Quickly, he turned to retreat back up the steps, intending to instead leave the way he came. But the heavy, metal door to the spiral staircase was no longer there. He was staring at an empty wall adorned with a painting of a bald eagle.
Baffled, he croaked a stifled, “What—?” and twirled around, scanning the room.
Where the hell had the door gone? He just came out of it. It was right here.
Wasn’t it?
He pressed his hand against the wall and felt it. It made no sense. Doors didn’t just disappear. Yet this one had done just that. It was utterly gone.
He turned and looked out into the bar again. He had to get out of here.
Stepping around the table, he saw that there was a door to his right, but it was clearly marked “FIRE EXIT” and warned him that an alarm would sound if he attempted to open it.
That wasn’t desirable.
The only way out seemed to be the front door.
A loud bang came from the rear of the building, followed immediately by a deep, angry voice that he couldn’t clearly hear but was certain had uttered a profanity of some sort.
He wasn’t alone here.
Again, he wondered what would happen if he was caught. Would the owners call the police and have him arrested? Or would they simply beat the crap out of him and toss him out with the garbage?
Still clinging to the stupid daisies, Eric made for the front door, weaving around tables as he went.
He glanced back. From here he could see the polished bar with all its bottles of liquor neatly organized behind it and its cozy stools sitting empty and waiting for the day’s first patrons. He could also see the door to the right of all those bottles, leading back into the store room. There was a light on back there, shining through the window in the door. If someone were to glance out from behind that window, he would be right out in the open and impossible to miss.
He reached the front doors without drawing anyone’s attention, only to find them locked tight. The handles clanked noisily down, but refused to budge.
Panic exploded in his chest.
No
! This wasn’t fair. What was he supposed to do now?
“Hey!” boomed a frightful voice from the rear of the building.
Eric spun around. Standing behind the bar, having just emerged from the store room, was a large man in a leather vest with big, tattooed arms and an even bigger gut. His hair was cut so short it was little more than a shadow covering his scalp, but he had more than enough beard to make up for it. Black as coal, it cascaded down his chest and came to rest on top of the huge bulge of his belly. “What are you doing in here? We’re closed.”
Frozen and wide-eyed, significantly outweighed and cradling the big, pink bouquet of daisies in his arms, Eric never had a chance of intimidating this monstrous man. Not even a little. He might as well burst into tears and wet himself on top of it all. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I think I’m lost.”
Eying the bouquet, the man said, “You think?”
From somewhere in the back room, he heard another voice, this one the deep, throaty voice of a woman: “What are you going on about?”
“I’m not talking to you,” the hairy barkeeper bellowed back.
“What?”
The man lifted his head, exasperated, and filled his mighty lungs. “
Nothing
!”
“I’m really sorry,” Eric said again. “I don’t know what happened.” He reached behind him and tried the door again, but it still wouldn’t open.
Stepping out from behind the bar and strolling toward him, looking even bigger now that the bar wasn’t obscuring any of his impressive girth, the man said, “I don’t either. Those doors’re supposed to be locked.”
“Yeah…” Eric glanced back at the doors and was struck by fleeting inspiration. “They seem to be. Now. I was…” He had to force himself to relax. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, he was trespassing…but he hadn’t done anything
seriously
wrong. “I wasn’t paying attention. I came into the wrong building. When I realized my mistake, I couldn’t get back out.”
“Are you talking to somebody?” bellowed the woman from the back.
The barkeeper stopped and turned his back to Eric. “Just some guy at the door!” he shouted back at her.
“We’re not open yet!”
The barkeeper threw his hands out to his sides as if to say, “No kidding!” and shouted, “I know! He’s just lost or something!” He turned back to Eric, shaking his head and muttering something that sounded like, “Crazy trucking woman…”
Eric was fairly sure the woman in back wasn’t a trucker.
“I really didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”
But the barkeeper waved a dismissive hand at him as he walked up and shoved at the door. They were locked tight. “That’s strange. Why would it let you in but not out?”
Eric feigned bewilderment and shrugged. “No clue.”
The man looked at him, eying him up and down, and fished a huge set of keys out of his pants pocket to unlock the door. At that moment, the store room door swung open and a frightfully immense woman sauntered through. She was even taller than the man, at least six and a half feet tall, with broad shoulders and broader hips, a huge mane of badly dyed red hair and a vast amount of cleavage spilling out from a too-tight corset top. She was wearing a lot more makeup than was strictly necessary and gave off a far more impressive presence than the bearded barkeeper. “Why’d you let him in?” she asked, her voice booming over the silent bar. Eric thought she was probably used to the atmosphere being much noisier in here.
“I didn’t let him in. He got in on his own.”
“Didn’t you remember to lock the door?”
“Of course I remembered to lock the damn door. Don’t I always remember to lock the damn door?”
“Then how’d he get in?”
“Hell if I know! Something funny going on with the lock, I guess.”
“Well you’d better fix it. We can’t have people just walking in whenever they want. We have business hours.”
“I know I’ve got to fix it. I ain’t stupid, woman.”
“Again,” said Eric. “I’m sorry. I’m really embarrassed about this.”
The barkeeper shook his head and thumbed through his many keys.
The woman now eyed Eric with a distressingly keen interest. “Those for me, sweetie?”
“What?” Eric looked down at the daisies, startled. He felt an instant blush wash across his face. “Oh… No. I mean… They’re for my wife. I mean, my wife sent me out for them. They’re for a baby shower. My sister-in-law, actually.”
A curious smile touched the woman’s lips. For some reason, he felt like a slab of meat dangling in front of a hungry tiger.
“I was supposed to go to the flower shop and the bakery, but I was daydreaming and I guess I got turned around.”
“I’ll say you got turned around,” the woman told him. “The bakery’s right next to the florist. Two doors back the way you came.”
“Really? Two doors… I’m… Wow. I’m sorry.”
“You would’ve had to walk past it to get here.”
Eric didn’t know what to say to this. Now he was embarrassed about losing the door back up to the apartment
and
about being too stupid to find the bakery.
The woman laughed. It was a hearty laugh, loud in the silence of the closed bar.
“Well shit, it ain’t no wonder,” said the barkeeper. “Look at the size of that bouquet. Poor guy probably couldn’t see where he was going.”
“
Real men buy pretty flowers for their women.”
“I buy you flowers,” the man returned quickly, managing to sound hurt.
“Not pretty ones like those.”
“I buy you
roses
.”
“Red roses. I know. Every time.”
“I thought you liked red roses. They symbolize love.
Passion
.”
“I do like red roses, but I like other flowers, too. Like those kind right there.”
The man looked at Eric, bemused.
“I should really let you two get back to work,” said Eric. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
But Brooke went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “You just like buying red roses because you think that’s the only kind you can buy that makes you look romantic instead of like a pansy.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the man, but there was a wounded look in his eyes that told Eric she knew exactly what she was talking about. “Anyway, here you go.” He unlocked the door and swung it open, puzzling over it. “Maybe I didn’t lock it all the way or something.”
“That could be it,” Eric agreed. “Maybe it didn’t quite catch or something.”
He nodded. “You might be right. I’ll keep an eye on it. Maybe it’s just one of those one-time sort of things. If it happens again, I’ll have the locks replaced.”
Eric apologized again.
“Not your fault, buddy. Honest mistake.”
These people were nice. Eric almost regretted lying to them. But he had no intention of telling them the truth.
“Come back and have a beer sometime during business hours, why don’t you?” said the woman.
“Oh, I might. It’s a real nice place you’ve got here.”
“Thanks,” said the man. “We’re real proud of it. I’m Leon, by the way. Leon Rufar. That’s my wife, Brooke.”
“Brooke,” said Eric. “Right. This is…”
“Big Brooke Tavern,” said Brooke proudly. “
I’m Big Brooke.”
Eric had thought Big Brooke was a place, not a person, but it was just as apt. Brooke
was
quite…
big
…after all… “I’m Eric Fortrell.”
Big Brooke gave him a curious smile and said, “Bring me a pretty flower, Eric, and maybe I’ll give you something on the house.” This offer came with a mischievous wink that left Eric baffled and more than a little uneasy.
Leon rolled his eyes. “Jesus, woman…”
Eric bowed out
the open door with an awkward smile. "Thanks," was all he could think to say. Then he was walking down the sidewalk, squinting in the bright sunlight again, the daisies rustling in the breeze.
His phone chimed
at him, alerting him to a new text message.
It was from Isabelle. As always, her messages went straight to the screen, never giving him the option to view or ignore it. This one read, I LIKE YOUR NEW GIRLFRIEND
Eric shoved it back into his pocket. “Ha ha.”
About the Author
Brian Harmon is an author of horror fiction, suspense and dark adventure. He grew up in rural Missouri and currently lives in Southern Wisconsin with his wife, Guinevere, and their two children.