Zoey noticed that Ian was staring at the little man, much longer than what would be considered polite by any measure. She tugged on Ian’s right arm slightly, which broke his trancelike fixation. As Ian looked away from the midget, realizing why Zoey had broken his concentrated stare in the manner she had, he thought, There’s just something about that ... little devil.
After waiting in the cold and drizzling rain for about ten minutes, it was becoming clearer by the moment that it was going to be a very long wait to move up in the line, let alone ever gain entrance. That was until Ian saw a man hand the dwarf a fat wad of cash. Fortunately, Ian had anticipated that this night might require a lot of green, so he reached inside his recently heavily-fattened wallet and pulled out three portraits of Benjamin Franklin. Ian folded the bills in such a way as to show off the sum of his offering intended for the little jester.
The maniacal-looking munchkin was standing near the front door with his back turned towards them. Then, as if the demon dwarf had eyes in the back of his head or could literally smell money, in less than three seconds he was standing hip-high alongside Ian. The dwarf never spoke a word; rather, with mouth open wide and his gums fully retracted, displayed a killer, shark-like, terrifying smile as he grabbed the money from Ian.
The monstrous miniature then pointed up to the large black man, who nodded back at him. The huge bouncer signaled Ian and Zoey with a wave of his massive hand to bypass all those ahead of them in line to proceed forward to the doorway to be admitted at once into the club.
Once inside the front door, Ian and Zoey were greeted by a veiny-faced blond albino man of no consequential size. He was also nattily dressed in a black tuxedo. He stood eerily glowing blue under a large, black-light illuminated podium. The man was checking everyone’s identification before allowing them to proceed any further.
Zoey had given her driver’s license to Ian earlier in the evening so she wouldn’t have to pack her purse around and risk getting it stolen. Ian had subsequently locked it in the trunk of the rental car.
Ian handed the man both his fake driver’s license as well as Zoey’s real one. The man glanced at both for just a second. Ian figured it was mostly formality due to their ages, and the lighting that the black lights emitted was so dim he didn’t figure the guy could read them anyway. Unless, of course, he’s got some kind of night vision.
After less than two seconds had passed, the man looked at Ian as he spoke in a heavy Eastern European accent, “You and your date have a lovely evening, Mister … McBride.” When the man spoke, Ian and Zoey both couldn’t help but notice he had Hollywood-styled stereotypical vampire fangs. Ian wondered, Are his fangs permanent prosthetics? Or are they removable? Or are they unnaturally natural?
Once Ian had retrieved their IDs from the man and had put them back in his wallet, they were instructed to go over to an elevator that was located just a few feet straight ahead of the entrance.
When they approached the elevator, Ian noticed in an instant that it was configured to only go up from where they were, which was technically the second floor. The next floor, the third floor actually, was the nightclub level.
Ian was more than happy that they’d only checked IDs and weren’t patting people down, or worse, using a metal detecting wand. He had his trusty .32 Beretta that he’d years ago affectionately named Ole Caretaker strapped to his right ankle. After giving it more thought, Ian knew there was little to no chance at all of going with his first plan of trying to sneak in the large 9mm Glock that Ned had given him, so he’d left it in the glove box of the rental car and opted for his much smaller, easier to conceal weapon.
Once Ian and Zoey, along with a few other chosen ones, were inside the elevator, Ian looked over the control panel and quickly deduced that the elevator probably did go down to the daylight basement below via the insertion and activation of a key into the unmarked keyhole located just below the button labeled ‘Level One’.
A young, beautiful woman, distinctly Gothic in appearance, quickly pushed the button marked ‘2’ and soon, the doors closed. Within less than ten seconds, they were up on the club level.
The moment the elevator doors opened, Ian, Zoey, and the other occupants quickly shuffled out into the club. There was a free-standing portable sign directly ahead of them that said, Enter of your own free will - and please seat yourself.
Once they were inside the club, it was immediately obvious the place was designed to look like a medieval European castle. Its walls and archways that led to various adjacent rooms were all constructed from imitation stone. Ian surmised the material must be similar if not identical to what Hollywood would use to construct a medieval-looking fortification on a movie set when painted Styrofoam wouldn’t be structurally strong enough to serve the purpose.
There were wrought-iron chandeliers that sported imitation candles all over, torches that lined the walls, and corridors whose burning flames, upon Ian’s close examination, were not flames at all, merely cleverly devised lighting effects that created a very convincing illusion of fire.
Ian thought, Apparently, even vampires have to obey fire codes when building their clubs.
As Ian continued looking around at the imitation suits of armor, period-perfect-looking furniture, and stained glass darkened windows … he thought, Maybe this guy Salizzar’s no boogieman. No more real than those torches. Maybe this club and his eccentric lifestyle just mark him as an easy target to pin the killings on. Still, the killer, or killers, could be freaky frequenters of this place. Come on, Ian. Stay focused. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a …
“Hey, how about we sit over there in the corner? That little booth for two. It should offer a pretty good view of at least half of this place,” Zoey said, almost shouting. The music was loud, almost intolerably loud for Ian.
Ian followed Zoey over to the table. She was right. It offered a good vantage point that would allow them to view much of the main room and what appeared to be the main bar. Ian felt lucky to have gotten a table at all. The place was filling up fast. It was just a few minutes past 10:00 p.m. Ian knew that was still very early by clubber’s standards. At the rate people were pouring in from the elevator every couple of minutes, there would be no tables left and the place would be standing room only within an hour.
As Ian looked about the main room of the nightclub, he noticed that there were a few presumably private booths built into the walls. They had burgundy velvet, crescent-moon-shaped couches with lots of matching pillows. Their style was slightly Victorian, with diamond-tucked upholstery. And small, probably imitation Duncan Phyfe-style tables in their center. Ian surmised they were imitations and not actual antiques, since all of the tables appeared to be clones of one another. The booths had dark burgundy velvet curtains tied back with thick, golden ropes that if pulled shut would offer assured privacy.
One such booth already had its curtain closed, but not completely. Ian could see inside just a bit, primarily due to light emitting from the booth’s table lamp, an incandescent candelabra.
What Ian saw going on inside the booth almost made him gag. A young woman was slitting her wrist with an antique-looking straight razor and letting another woman lap up her flowing blood.
Ian directed Zoey’s attention to the booth. When Zoey saw what the two women were up to, she had to immediately and momentarily cover her mouth, fearing that she might get instantly sick.
Just moments later, a very tall, exceptionally-pale male waiter came to their table.
“May I get you something from the bar? We have a fine selection of licentious libations and of course pride ourselves on serving the best Bloody Marys in town. We also have imported Romanian absinthe. It’s been said absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.” The waiter flashed a maniacal grin in response to his own lecherously-delivered levity. He too spoke in a thick Eastern European accent, but his was the voice that Ian felt could launch a hundred nightmares. It was devilishly deep and freakishly monotone. Ian loudly
replied at a volume that he could only hope the waiter would hear, “I’ll have a Jack-n-Coke. Light on the Coke. And the lady will have …”
Zoey smiled at Ian and nearly shouted, “That sounds perfect. I’ll have the same.”
The waiter nodded his head once as he replied, “Excellent!” He turned and headed towards the bar.
“Wow! It’s so loud in here. That guy must have the ears of a …” Zoey didn’t know how to finish her statement.
Oddly, to both Ian and Zoey, even as loud as the room was from the band that was playing in the adjacent room … and they were VERY loud. The waiter was easy for them to both hear and understand. Even odder was that he could so readily hear Ian. Zoey only barely made out what drinks Ian had ordered, and she was facing him directly and much closer to him than the waiter was. Zoey only agreed with Ian’s choice because she didn’t want to have to try and yell out her own choice of drink.
Ian thought that it was if the would-be Lurch spoke directly to his mind, more like thought transference than mere spoken words. But within moments, Ian recanted that thought as being ridiculous, merely his imagination getting the best of him.
The waiter was quickly back with their drinks that he held among others that he balanced on a drink tray. He said nothing as he first placed cocktail napkins on their table, then set their drinks down on top of the napkins. The waiter, still without speaking a word, quickly turned and left to deliver drinks to other tables.
Zoey suggested to Ian, more by hand signals than words, that they leave their coats at the table and take their drinks to walk around the place, primarily down the short corridor past the restrooms that led to the room where the band was playing. Ian smiled and nodded firmly twice, indicating that he thought that was a good idea.
Ian motioned for Zoey to take his hand. They began walking through the corridor that led past the restrooms and into the next room. Upon entering the band room, Ian and Zoey immediately understood why the name of the club was The Morgue.
The room was about two-thirds the size of the main room they’d just come from and was designed and filled with decor to look just like a real morgue. It had what looked like stainless-steel, refrigerator-styled cadaver drawers stacked one atop the other, three drawers high. They were all installed along the room’s south wall.
Ian thought, The steel drawers look genuine. Maybe this room during the day serves as some kind of demonic dormitory for the hell-spawned help.
Ian walked over to the steel drawers and put his hand on one. It was extremely cold to the touch. He realized instantly that they were in fact refrigerated. The genuine article.
All along the sides of the room were what looked to be genuine gurneys and antique I.V. glass bottles with surgical-style rubber tubing attached, as well as various machines that appeared to have been devised for the purpose of voiding a human body of all blood in preparation for a quid pro quo infusion of formaldehyde, commonly known as … embalming.
On its eastern wall, the mortuary room had a slightly smaller bar than the main room of the club. Located on the river side of the room was a stage that was being used to its capacity by the heaviest metal-looking group of musicians that Ian had ever seen. The entire middle of the room was comprised of a very large dance floor that was nearly packed with young twenty-something, vampiric-stylized and Gothic-attired raving party revelers.
The intense high-decibel level that the band and its scream-singing lead vocalist had achieved reached far beyond Ian’s ability to tolerate what he considered to be nothing more than head-banging, hate-mongering, sweat-slinging, helter-skelter rabid noise rather than any semblance of what could be called music, regardless of its being labeled death metal or otherwise.
Zoey had already finished her drink. Upon noticing that, Ian quickly guzzled the remainder of his. He then took their empty glasses and set them on the nearest corner of the bar.
Ian considered for a second what it would probably look like to the surrounding crowd. Old man can’t take the music. But at this point, it no longer mattered. Ian cupped his hands over his ears as he returned to Zoey’s side.
Zoey noticed immediately that Ian was suffering severe decibel overload. She smiled at him and pointed towards the corridor from which they’d entered into the room, clearly indicating that she wanted to leave the band room. Ian knew that her decision to leave the room was mainly due to his distress and not her own.
Once they were back near the restrooms, Ian motioned to Zoey that he was going into the men’s room. “I’m gonna go back to our table.” Zoey nearly shouted. Ian smiled and nodded.
Almost shouting, Ian replied, “Wow, I never guessed it would be this loud.”
Zoey smiled as she actually yelled, “Yeah, this is insane.” Hearing Zoey say that made Ian feel not quite so ancient.
Before Ian and Zoey parted, he spoke nearly as loudly as he could, “Hey, order us a couple more drinks if ya don’t mind.” Ian handed Zoey a fifty. “That waiter … He never asked for any money for the last round, so we must have a tab going. But just in case, here’s some money for what we owe and …”
Zoey smiled large and nodded. She then turned and headed through the archway corridor back towards the main room.
The men’s room door flung open, and a young man and a young woman came bounding out. Ian entered without having to touch the door. The restroom was admittedly beautiful. It had marble floors as opposed to the refinished hardwood flooring throughout the rest of the nightclub which well supported the club’s castle-like motif.
The restroom’s sinks and faucets were brass. It was packed nearly beyond capacity with heavily made-up and vampiric-costumed young men and very attractive young women.
Ian thought as he looked around the bathroom, Some of these supposed women are likely she-males. But I swear they could pass anyone’s discernment short of a full body search.
There were no independent urinals, just one continuous brass troth that Ian estimated was around twelve feet long. It was slightly sloped from both directions and had running water streaming into it, causing all deposited urine to flow to the center and rapidly drain away.
Ian opted to check out and use one of the restroom’s six fully-private toilet stalls. He zigzagged past a number of people of varying sexual persuasions and made his way over to the center stall. Ian noticed its door was not locked because it did not display the small occupied sign that the door was devised to display. Even still, Ian decided that he’d better knock to be safe. He loudly rap-tapped on the door with the knuckles of his right fist. Nobody answered, so Ian pushed the door; it swung open but only to reveal that the room was in fact occupied by a man who was sitting on the toilet and a woman who was sitting on top of him. She was facing him with her skirt hiked up to her waist, revealing her very shapely, naked hind-side. Neither of them had heard Ian’s knocking on the door due to the ambient noise and their feverishly-engrossing activities.
The woman was moaning loudly and uttering very convincing sounds of genuine ecstasy while performing what to Ian appeared to be perfectly-timed rhythmic pelvic thrusts ... simultaneously bouncing her body up and down on the man’s phallus like she was skillfully bareback riding a wild stallion.
Ian backed away from the bathroom stall a little ashamed. He realized that he had lingered watching the couple a few seconds longer than was appropriate by any civilized standards. He closed the stall door, took a deep breath, and went over to the stall on the immediate left. It was occupied, so he went further down the line until he spotted another one that indicated it was vacant.
Ian knocked louder on this door than he’d knocked on the other. Two seconds after he knocked, a young man came semi-staggering out of the stall. He had white powder residue under his nose, which came as no surprise to Ian. Street drugs of every kind abounded in the place. Cocaine and ecstasy were easier to procure than paper towels, as patrons huddled in groups around the sinks of the restroom-slash-pharmacy. Ian couldn’t help but think, You’d think the pol
ice could get this place shut down just for the rampant drugs if nothing else. But I guess in the vernacular of the locals – they’ve got bigger fish to fry.
Once inside the restroom stall, Ian immediately locked the door. He then proceeded to relieve himself. Once he’d finished with his nature call, he began tapping on the wall behind the bathroom stall. Ian continued examining the seams of the wall for several minutes, though he couldn’t find any type of obvious irregularity or apparent removable panel. He did notice that the wall seemed very thin, and he thought it might have had an unusually hollow sound when he tapped it hard. But due to the noise in the restroom, he couldn’t be certain if there was anything out of the ordinary about it or not. The floor appeared to be seamlessly solid.
Ian exited the stall and made his way past a number of people over to a sink. He washed his hands and dried them under a hand blower, then left the bathroom and headed back to rejoin Zoey.
Once at the table, the room that had initially seemed horribly loud to Ian didn’t seem so bad. He realized that he was rapidly adjusting to the volume but wondered if that was necessarily a good thing.
The drinks Zoey had ordered for them had already arrived. Zoey had already drank around a third of her drink. Ian picked up his glass and began taking small pulls from it as he once again began panning his eyes around the room.
Zoey spoke, “I paid for all of our drinks. The ones from before and these. I figured if we need to make any fast moves, that would be out of the way.”
Red Tide: The Flavel House Horror / Vampires of the Morgue (The Ian McDermott, Ph.D., Paranormal Investigator Series Book 2) Page 22