The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)

A Short Way with the Warehouse

Previously: "A Virgil of Your Own Inferno" 

Carson holds your eye. You find his stare unendurable, and look everywhere except at him.

"Look, I'm sorry," you say. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay. Fact is, we've been lucky you're the first guy we've ever seen out here who might've spilled something. In fact—"

He breaks off, to cast you a critical eye up and down.

"Well, I was gonna say you could help give us some cover." He peers at you closely. "Did you come out here looking for some action?"

You hate the way the question makes your heart seem to plunge toward your knees. "Well, uh—"

"How much money did you bring?"

"I got, like, almost twenty."

"Twenty!" Carson practically has a heart attack right in front of you. "You expected—! Jesus, you are a virgin!"

"Hey, fuck you, man! And keep your voice down!" You glance around to see how many people could have heard.

"You need at least a hundred if you're going to have even a little fun out here. You know how much stuff costs? And if you were counting on going upstairs—"

"I just want to meet someone! Jesus, is that a crime?"

"It is if you're planning on cheaping out! Look—"

He puts a hand on your shoulder and gently steers you back to the table where James is still slumping.

"You didn't know what you were getting in to," he says, "you jumped in with both feet without looking. Happens to the best of us. Now you know. Just hang out with me and James, we'll help cover you." He pulls out a chair and tries to push you into it.

You resist for half a second, then drop into it with a jolt. Carson takes his own seat. James looks away from you, and puts a cigarette in his mouth.

There's a moment of awkward silence.

Then Carson pulls out his wallet, and from it extracts a bunch of twenties.

"Go get us something to drink," he says, and points to the bar. "Pedroza or Sanchez over there, get two lagers from one of them, get a third if you want one too. Belz is selling Sam Adams if you want that instead. Then get three shots of whiskey from the blonde guy next to Belz. Oh, and gimme whatever cash you brought," he says, and snaps his fingers demandingly. "We'll carry you the rest of tonight, but fuck you if you think you're walking out of here with any of your own money."

* * * * *

The beers come in bottles, but the three shots are all poured into a single plastic cup. You have to dodge a couple of beefy guys as you're returning to the table, and almost you spill the whiskey, but you make it back safely.

Carson must have spoken to James while you were gone—that was probably the reason he sent you off—because Lamont is a lot more civil to you, and asks what you think of the place.

"Kind of overwhelming," you admit. You glance around. "But it doesn't seem worse than the cafeteria back at Schuyler." That was your middle school.

"Things haven't got started yet, people are mostly sober still," James says. "And Apollo's Creed is playing." He takes a hit off his cigarette. "They bring out the worst crowds, and get 'em riled up hard."

"You should come out when its Los Scorchicos playing," Carson advises you. He also slips a cigarette into his mouth, and lights it with a wooden match scratched across the table top. "All the sophomores come out for them, especially the girls, so it's a lot calmer." He makes a face behind the plume of smoke he exhales. "Guys at the bar hate it when they're playing."

"What made you decide to come out here tonight?" James asks.

Carson answers before you can: "He came out with McGehee."

"Patrick McGehee?" James looks startled, then frowns thoughtfully at you. "He the one that convinced you to dress up like that?"

"Look, what's wrong with the way I'm dressed?"

"Nothing, if you're Keith Tilley, 'cos Tilley's dumb enough to look the part," Carson says. "McGehee, too. I didn't know you hang out with them."

"I don't. I mean, I ran into them at the— Uh, up by the mall."

"You said earlier you were at the minigolf," James says, dryly. "How do you get from the minigolf to out here?"

"You let McGehee do your thinking for you," Carson says.

"It was my idea!" you protest. "We were out at this restaurant, hanging out there after— Yes, the minigolf! And they were talking about going to Legends, but someone said, Maybe Will wants to go out to the Warehouse, and I was like, sure, that's what I want to do."

Neither James nor Carson look impressed. You feel yourself turning red. "What's wrong with Patrick and them?" you ask.

They just each make a face, and shrug.

"Look, you can hang out with whoever you want," Carson says. "You just gotta be willing to take the consequences."

"What if I hung out with you?" you demand. "Like, what if I wound up with you guys this afternoon? Would you have asked me to come out here with you?" You feel your anger spiking again. "Or would you have been all, like, it's Prescott, he's lame, we don't wanna—"

"Calm the fuck down," James says. Carson says, "No more whiskey for you, man, if you're gonna get yourself in a snit. Yeah, sure, we might'a told you—"

He's interrupted by a meaty hand clapping onto his shoulder. He looks up and around, and you do too. The guy isn't in a red shirt, but he looks the type: a curly-headed bruiser named whom you seem to remember plays on the lacrosse team.

But his expression is friendly. "Dude, what're you doin' here?"

"Looking to score," Carson replies.

The other grins. "With one of these guys?" His finger flicks a finger between you and James.

To your alarm, Carson reaches over to stroke the hand you have wrapped around your beer.

"Me and James had a fight," he says. "So I'm trying to sweet-talk Will."

You jerk your hand back, almost spilling the beer into your lap. The big guy laughs.

"We got a room reserved here, you know, paid up and everything," he says. "If you move fast enough and need it, come talk to me."

"Magic Eight Ball says it happens," Carson replies.

"Really?"

"But Magic Eight Ball ain't been right yet."

The guy laughs again, and moves off. Carson catches you looking at him. "What?"

"I thought—" You twist around to look at the other's retreating back. "I thought your job at school was to make guys like that miserable."

"McCarthy's okay. There's a couple of guys on the lacrosse, football teams we're cool with. But that reminds me," he continues as he leans forward to get up. "We're not gonna get any if we just camp out here." He looks at James.

His friend remains in his slouch for a long moment, then grinds his cigarette into the table top. With a sigh, he heaves himself to his feet. Carson rises with him.

"We're gonna hit the dance floor," Carson tells you. "You can come with, or finish our beers and shots for us. But you have to find your own girl if you come with. I don't want you stepping on my heels out there."

You hesitate, then get up to follow. On the way, you pass the table where Patrick's friends are still sitting. You look at them as you pass, but none of them look back at you.

* * * * *

You don't know how Carson and James manage it, but they each score a dance with a random girl on the floor, by simply sidling up and starting to dance with her, it looks like. You try doing the same, but it turns out that she's already dancing with a guy, and he turns around to shove you hard. You crash into some other people, and there's a sudden flurry of flailing limbs. A fist grazes your cheek.

Then a whistle screams nearby.

Instinct takes over, and you duck and scamper off in a crouch, dodging and weaving through the crowd. If anything comes of the fight, you don't hear of it. But it would be hard to hear anything over the screaming guitars, the roaring drums or the shouts of the crowd. You make it back into the atrium, then run out the front door lest one of the security goons has followed you.

Outside you bend double, panting with your hands on your knees, and feel yourself start to tremble.There's dozens of people out here with you, preoccupied with each other, and no one pays you the slightest attention. When the doors open again behind you, it's only to vomit out another small crowd of laughing and chattering teenagers.

You go in search of your truck.

For a good while sit huddled in the bed of it, trying to work your nerve up to go back inside. But you are suddenly exhausted. When your phone vibrates with a text from your mom, asking if you will be back soon, you take it as a sign, and crawl into the cab.

* * * * *

You expect to hear from Patrick rather than Carson the next day. But it's Carson who texts you just before church services, asking if you want to get together at the coffee shop. It seems a friendly gesture, but after last night you wonder if there is a subtext. You don't have time to answer, though, before the service proper starts, and you have to shut off your phone.

And your reluctance to meet with him gets a boost when you turn your phone back on after services, to find a text from Caleb: Wtf did u do last night?!!! It sounds as though Carson (or James) has been talking.

* To meet with Carson: "Carson Ioeger Explains It All" 
* To talk to Caleb: "A Yumi Afternoon Cordial" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 5)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)"