The Bagman's Destiny

Chapter 6

Power. Noun: the capacity or ability to direct or influence the behaviour of others or course of events.

Locus. Noun: a particular position, point or place where something occurs or is situated.

I had no power at the Locus.
I couldn't even tell if I had complete power over Mr. X or maybe I had none at all.

I was looking and feeling good. Twist and I managed to pull up outside the Locus at the exact same time. I was half expecting to see her naked when she stepped out of her limousine. Instead she surprised me with a sparkling, tight and golden dress. She had a fur scarf wrapped around her neck and arms and her hair was done up neatly. She reminded me of a movie star.

"Not very PC the whole fur thing" I mocked her.

"It's not real. As if I could afford a real one" She scoffed and I laughed, "Anyway you need to piss off. It'll be suspicious if we arrive together"

I jokingly held up my hands like I was being arrested and she rolled her eyes. Her 'Personal Butterfly' escorted her in and I lingered outside to have a cigarette first. I had dismissed Szilvia for the night. I told her to go have fun, she deserved it. I could handle myself. I was a big boy.

The smoke didn't taste right tonight. It tasted of hesitation and the perfume Twist left behind. I continued to drink it up though. I was perked up against the bricks under the illuminated sign that clarified that this dodgy building was, in fact, the famous LA Locus and it was, in fact, karaoke night.  Just the thought of the bitter enthusiasm made me excited to go inside and use my detective skills to deduce who Mr. X was. So I put out the cigarette and stumbled to the front door.

I went inside, into the room between the inside and the outside where the bouncers awaited to approve everyone wanting to go inside. It was blue. Well the lights were and it made everything else blue; the walls, the carpet, the bouncers' suits, the coats and the coat rack. My arms were blue too when I lifted my arm and rolled back my sleeve to reveal the realistic fake butterfly tattoo. They inspected it before nodding and signalling me to step through the beaded curtain into the party.

The other side was a fluorescent nightmare. It wasn't blue anymore but red. Red rained down on everything in the room and added an eery touch. I would've been afraid if not for the drunkenly karaoke singer on the stage, that was lit blue unlike the rest of the room. Actually, it wasn't eery... it reminded me of lust and infidelity. I looked around the room at all the laughing and chatting faces and loosened ties and short short dresses and thought, yeah, this wasn't eery at all. It even smelt like sex. Certainly didn't sound like it though.

I started walking across the floor, the slick of old spilt whiskey clinging underneath my shoes. I tried not to notice the vomit stains I'd pass by or the couples getting it on in their red cushioned booths up against the wall. One of them happened to be Twist but when someone's hand was up her thigh and his lips on her neck I thought it best not to stop and say hello.

It was a rather large venue, so I didn't look like an idiot mindlessly wandering around. I didn't want to go to the bar, there was already alcohol in the air and it was seeping into my system that way. I still wasn't a big drinker but god, I could've kill for another cigarette. I didn't want to sit down at a booth either, apparently those semi-circle seaters were aphrodisiacs and I didn't want to give anyone the wrong impression. So wandering around it was.

Someone had finally booted the horrible singer off stage and he was replaced with someone a little better but still off-key. The bass of the song was making the furniture vibrate.  Everything was so loud and so red that I kept forgetting my objective.

That was until I found him.

He was standing in a group of other men but he was the one that was really standing out. He still had his black coat on, the one with the golden loops around the buttons and the cute feathered hat he insisted he always had to wear when wearing that damn coat. A coat I was surprised still fit him after all these years. It was the coat he was wearing the day I met him. I didn't need a photograph to know who Mr. X was. I knew from the silver band around his finger. I think I knew the minute I heard about him. I knew he'd chase after me. I knew he'd find me.