Chapter Six: You're Not Rick And I'm Not Ilsa.

These people love juxtapositions, Martin thought.

The light inside was all purples and greens and soft blues. It seemed both vast and cramped. The air was smoky with incense and tobacco and cloves. People were secluded into booths, chatting and drinking and wearing lots of vinyl clothing. The bar was a huge dark wooden monstrosity crammed with people who looked like futuristic pharoahs and modern analogues to fairy tales. Beyond the bar, a spiral staircase led up to a little Romeo and Juliet balcony.

To the left was a tiny stage crammed with bruised-colored velvet and musicians and instruments. A banner above the stage proclaimed: WE ARE HALLOWEEN in a spiky font. The band's name, Martin supposed, or the theme of the evening. Onstage, an Amelia Earhart, Samus Aran, Rich Uncle Pennybags and Alf were singing in beautiful voices:

"Dream
When you're feelin' blue
Dream
That's the thing to do"

Along one wall were hundreds of TV screens playing loops both black and white movies and cartoons. Seven Samurai bumped into Tom & Jerry. Ren & Stimpy melted into Un Chien Andalou. Tod Browning's Freaks hobbled next to Fantasia. It's like Weimar Germany's best vampire bar where people come to find out how to get a ship to take them out of The Matrix by way of Alderaan, Martin thought.

"Hey-hey, Looky-loo, whaddya doing here, hey, yeah?"

The owner of the voice was bald as a cue ball with a Bond villian's scar across one milky dead eye. He didn't seem to be wearing a costume, just a nice suit. He was backed a a hairlipped gentleman in a tux and ginger haired bruiser with one shriveled arm, also in a tux. Whether they were in costume or just really dressy, Martin couldn't tell.

"I'm here to give a package to Cassandra Fiver."

Cue Ball smiled, Hairlip hiccupped, Baby Arm chuckled.

"No-no-no, friend, you-do-not do this-thing, yeah. I take whatever Cherry-he-bring for Miss Fiver. You, you-lucky-I don't give you a slap before you go. Red Sturges, Cairo, you get this-package, yeah."

The man's patter was hard to follow, like Yoda talking in over the top stage-y Italian. But when the baby armed brute and the hairlip grabbed him it was easy enough to figure out. Three normal arms and one baby arm patted him down, searching for the package. Martin felt their hands as they kept just missing the package. Red Sturges, the baby armed fellow, looked up at Cue Ball.

"He's clean, Marwan. No package."

Marwan, the Cue Ball, sighed and spread his arms wide.

"You, errand-boy-you, you give-it-up, hand-it-over, to Cairo there, or, so-help-me, OR, me, I'll have Red Sturges cave-in your stubborn head he-will. Me, I'm not-going-to have any wind-up-toys of Cherry make me-and-my boys look stupid."

"Oh, it's too late for that, Marwan."

The new voice floated down from the balcony. The woman it belonged to would force anybody to reconsider their top ten most beautiful women. In the world. To Martin she looked like a calculation of curves in a Eve's apple red dress. Her hair was a 1940s styled root beer colored cascade. The eyes were dark and unreadable, from this distance or any distance. Her was mouth a bee stung pout with a smile playing at the corners. The green and purple lights didn't seemed to touch her, it was like she had her own gobos and gels just for herself.

"He's no gatecrasher. And he's certainly not one of Cherry's automatons. He's from the Lolas. Send him up and stop frisking him...maybe I'll get lucky and he'll be dangerous."

With that she turned and walked back the way she came. As soon as she was gone, Marwan let out a hiss and snapped his fingers at Cairo and Red Sturges. They let go of Martin. He walked up to Martin.

"This-is-it, huh, lucky-winner, huh? Let me tell you something, quick."

Before Martin could react, Marwan punched him. Once, twice, three times. In his already blackening eye, in the nose, and in the stomach. Martin doubled over and fell to the floor. Marwan was in his face, breath hot and close, his voice a snake's whisper.

"You threaten, I know. You glam, I know. You touch, I know. I make your-world nice place to die in just to get-away-from, yes-yes. Then, maybe I go up to that piss-hole rat trap, where your bosses spin-spin-spin little webs-to-gold. Maybe I put a knife in that black bitch's eye and take her little-Sapho-friend and show her good time. Ten-inch-good time, yes. You, yes-yes, you stand up, you."

Red Sturges and Cairo helped Martin to his feet. Marwan shooed them away and arranged Martin's clothes, fixed his hair. He led Martin to the foot of the stair and gave him a little pat on the back. Martin went up the stairs to the balcony. He took a moment to look out over the club, he felt like he was three miles in the air. The woman's perfume still floated in the air, trace molecules. Martin turned from the view of the club and walked down a short hallway to an office of sorts.

It wasn't what he expected. At this point, Martin expected some vampire queen's lair. The light was bright but soft. Warm. The room was a triangle shaped and he'd walked into the middle of the base. To his right, the whole wall was taken up with that famous picture of the sailor kissing the girl at the end of World War II. In the corner to his right was some sort of statue. It looked old, some Indian god with tons of arms. Shiva? Kali? Some wrecked thing pulled out of Angkor Wat?

In the corner to his left crouched a naked couple wearing gas masks and nothing else. One man, one woman. As Martin noticed them, they undulated into a new position. Spooky. Both of them had an odd little brand. The man's was on his forearm, the woman's was on her calf. Raised flesh in the shape of a spidery tree with one leaf. Same symbols as those kids out front, Martin thought. Lucifer Beard and his brother. There was a placard at the man and woman's feet, it read: CALL ME OLD FASHIONED, A COUPLE. By Gail Alice. Positioned in the middle of the left side wall was a large photograph of a gigantic black cloud rushing towards a small town in somewhere in the plains. The Dust Bowl? And at the apex of the triangle there was a couch shaped like Mae West's lips. On it sat Cassandra Fiver, poised like a pinup on a bomber jet. She looked Martin up and down.

"You're cute."

"I try to be. Your security guy helped a bit."

"You have something for me?"

"Yes."

"May I see it, or would you like me to frisk you this time?"

"That's okay. Here it is."

Martin took out the package with its brown paper and odd, shifting weight, and handed it to her. She made sure their fingers brushed a little as she took it from him. Her nails with glossy and shorter than they seemed like they should be. The package balanced on her knees for a moment, then she delicately tore the brown paper and open the box.

Inside was a stoppered vial. Some smoky green liquid was held inside. There was a little piece of white tape on the vial. There was something written on it but Martin couldn't make out what it said. Cassandra Five purred to herself.

"Troublesome. And perfect."

Martin couldn't help himself, he asked.

"What is it?"

"You ARE cute."

"That's fine, don't tell me."

Cassandra Fiver smiled.

"What should I tell you then?"

"There was a girl, the girl who, I think, was suppose to bring this to you. She was taken by a man, Butch Pierce, and --"

"Otto Cherry's Butch Pierce?"

"I don't know, I can't imagine there are a lot of huge walking mountains going by the name of Butch Pierce in the world."

"One of the Lola's factotums was taken by him...and he didn't take this package too?"

"Well, she hid the package on me and --"

"Butch Pierce would have looked for it. He would have found it. Why did he take her?"

"That's what I was hoping you could tell me."

"Take a look out there, darling. It's Casablanca on amphetamines outside. Information and deals and doublecrosses. There are any one of a dozen reasons. I could guess but I don't know."

"Could you help me find out?"

"You're cute. But I'm not Rick and you're not Ilsa. Sorry."

"Maybe I'm Claude Rains then?"

Again, Cassandra Fiver smiled. At that moment, Marwan and Cairo burst out of the hallway behind Martin. Marwan looked shaken and Cairo was bleeding from a cut on his head.

"Miss Fiver. Butch Pierce is here. He has asked to speak with you."

Cassandra Fiver looked at the state of her men and then looked over at Martin.

"Now you are dangerous."

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And in our next volume of The Hopeless Romantic. Chapter Seven: Snicker-Snack!, we find Martin Hollys caught between Cassandra Fiver and the dreaded Butch Pierce.