71

Incubus Dreams sits by itself in the middle of an open field, a distant stand of trees, and a gravel parking area. It sits by itself, partly by accident and partly because it is the only all-male show on this side of the river. Bright multicolored neon surrounded the entrance. There was a large printed sign on the door that read, "All-Male Dancers." It was a last chance for the drunks to make sure that this was what they wanted to see, and they weren't about to stumble into the wrong club.

The three of us stepped into the foyer, or whatever you call an open space with an empty display case and a little desklike area. There was no one behind it, no one to ask if we wanted to check our coats. I was actually the only one wearing a coat. It was mild for October, and lycanthropes tend to run warm. I had the short leather jacket on, mostly to hide the gun under my arm, more than to protect against the autumn chill. But whatever bouncer was supposed to check people out at the door wasn't at the door. We entered the club unmolested and unchecked out. Bad security, no cookie.

Of course, maybe they were counting on you being deafened and stunned for a moment by the music. It was so loud you could feel the bass in your bones, and not in a good way. You literally stood a moment on the raised area inside the doors, just trying to adjust your senses to the damn music. Who needs security when the music is like a blow against the side of your head? A headache started almost instantly, faint, but promising to be a real bitch. I went over how much money I had on me, and how much it would cost to get them to turn the music down. Twenty dollars, it'd be cheap at twenty dollars. Of course, the DJ in his raised booth would probably be offended. I tried to ignore the music and looked around the room, trying to spot Ronnie. How many tall, leggy blond women could there be here? More than you'd think. The room was packed. Shit.

We must have hesitated too long, because the DJ leaned down over his booth wall, which happened to be above us and to the left. He yelled, "Pay at the bar."

"What? "I yelled back.

He repeated himself, still yelling.

I took the opportunity to ask if he could turn the music down. He smiled, shook his head, and vanished behind his wall. I started to reach for my pocket, and Nathaniel touched my arm. He leaned in so that his face was almost touching my ear. "Don't offer money for him to turn it down, you might offend him."

I yelled back from an inch away, "Like I care."

Nathaniel smiled and yelled, "He could turn it louder."

I gave him wide eyes and let my hand fall back away from my jacket pocket. I didn't really think the music could get any louder, but just in case, I wouldn't tempt fate.

There was a dance floor to the right, and several small raised stages with shiny poles in their centers. A pool table to the left and little tables scattered around hither and yon. Bathrooms were strangely prominent against the far left wall. There seemed to be no door to the men's room, and no doors on any of the stalls, so even standing at the door you could see directly into it. That seemed weird. The bar was, of course, at the far side of the room.

There seemed to be a large group of women clustered around the nearest stage, though the stage itself was empty at the moment. But other than that one group of women, the rest of the customers were men. There were three blondes who could have been Ronnie, but when they turned, I realized they were so not Ronnie. The last blond was a man, who either liked the way he looked, or nature had been cruel. He'd have made a lovely women, but junior high must have been hell for him.

Micah got us both moving down the little steps and into the crowd, a hand on either of our arms. We threaded our way through the happy, mostly drunken crowd, and finally made it all the way across the room to the bar. We paid our cover charge, mostly by pantomime, because the bar was too wide to get close enough to yell in the guy's ear.

I tried to ask him where Ronnie was, but he just smiled, shook his head, and managed to hold an empty glass up, asking if we wanted a drink. Since I didn't have a blonde to hold up to ask if he'd seen one of those, I just shook my head, and we moved far enough away from the bar so that we weren't blocking those that did want a drink.

A man wearing only loose boxers and socks came out of a black-draped area to the side of the bar. That must be the dressing rooms.

We huddled, and I yelled, "Bathroom. I'll check the bathroom."

They both nodded, and we began to work our way around the bar toward the women's bathroom, which had a large piece of cloth suspended from the ceiling, covering the door. Maybe it was to hide the fact that the women's bathroom had a door, so the men wouldn't feel cheated.

There was a commode in the middle of the room across from the sink. It was just sitting there, in the middle of the floor, no stall, no nothing. It held water, and seemed to work, but it was just sitting there. There were two stalls against the wall, one had an "out of order" sign. There was also a line. None of the women in there was Ronnie. The walls must have been thicker than they seemed, because I could hear myself, say, "Ronnie, are you in here?"

No answer. I finally turned to a tall brown-haired woman and said, "My friend called me for a ride home. Five feet eight, blond, gray eyes, attractive. Too drunk to talk right."

The woman shook her head. A woman's voice from inside the stall yelled, "Hell, that could be almost every blonde we've seen tonight."

I explained that I'd seen the blondes in the bar, and they weren't Ronnie and asked whether they'd seen her earlier. No one had. One of the women was using the commode in the middle of the floor as I left. Oh, well. I opened the door, and either the music had actually been turned down a notch, or I was getting used to it or going deaf.

Micah and Nathaniel were where I'd left them, but they'd been joined by a man I didn't know. He was taller than either of them, but so thin all over that he looked smaller somehow. He had short, curly brown hair and was wearing a T-shirt, shorts, and socks. No shoes. Interesting.

Nathaniel took my hand as soon as I got close enough to be touched. The stranger touched Micah's shoulder and let his hand linger there, just a second too long. He was smiling and asked, "Do the two of you like dick?"

I kept Nathaniel's hand and moved up in front of them both, so that it forced the man to step back from us. He actually reached around me and touched Micah's shoulder again. I had to let go of Nathaniel's hand, but I moved up two more steps. For a moment the man was almost pressed up against me. He started to smile at me, then saw my eyes, and the smile faltered, and he stepped back.

I don't know what look was on my face, but he stumbled a little over his words, "They said they liked dick."

"I said, I liked my own," Micah said.

"If anyone else asks," Nathaniel said, "just say no."

I said, "We've had a misunderstanding here."

The man nodded. "Sorry." He started to move away.

I said, "We're trying to find our friend. She called drunk, needs a ride home." I described her.

He gave me nervous eyes. He knew something, and I'd been scary, so he didn't want to tell me. I should really learn to tone down the whole silent threat thing, but damn, I've just gotten so good at it.

Nathaniel's hand snaked around my shoulder. The hand had a twenty dollar bill in it. He said, "Ask again."

I took the twenty and creased it down the middle. The man watched me do it. He seemed less nervous, but I could tell he still didn't like me or what was happening. Things hadn't gone the way they were supposed to go, and it had thrown him.