Page 3 of Disturbed Lucidity

Yep... definitely a Tuesday.

With a tight grip on my backpack, I headed for the front door as a few of the bikers stopped what they were doing, giving me their undivided attention.

It was nothing new.

Everywhere I went, people gawked.

The big guy guarding the door, who stood close to six foot six with tattoos covering every inch of his muscular arms, sneered at me when I approached. He was the one standing between me and entering the club. And from the look on his face, he wasn’t in the mood for idle chitchat.

“Bitches enter from the back.”

Excuse me? I know this motherfucker didn’t just call me a bitch.

“I’m here to see Michael Myers.”

“No one here by that name.”

“Please check for me. This is the address he gave me.”

“Look, bitch. Said ain’t no one here by that name.”

Seeing that the men lazing around now fixed their gaze on me, I steeled myself. I didn’t want any trouble, far from it, but I knew Mikie wouldn’t give me this address unless he was here. I just needed to get this big ape to let me inside.

“This is 1369 Goldwater Drive, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then I am at the right address,” I said, standing my ground. I didn’t hitchhike across the fucking country for some asshole to turn me away. If Mikie was in that damn building, I was getting in. “Look, I just want to speak with Mike. Can I go inside and look for him?”

“Like I said. Bitches enter from the back.”

“Call me a bitch one more time and we’re gonna have a fucking problem, you troglodyte.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?” The big man stepped forward.

The door he was guarding opened and a man with spiked white hair and the clearest set of ice-cold blue eyes I’d ever seen smiled at me as he looked me up and down.

“Fresh meat?”

“Told this bitch she needed to go around back. Think she’s hard of hearing.”

“And I told you I’m not a bitch.”

“Who are you looking for?” the man with the white spiked hair asked.

“Michael Myers. He gave me this address. Told me to be here by three. It’s three and this asshole won’t let me go inside to see if he’s here.”

“Myers?” the guy smirked, shaking his head. “Big, funny looking guy with curly red hair, looks like little orphan Annie?”

I smirked. “I always thought he looked more like Howdy Doody, but yeah, that’s him.”

“Hannibal, text Slash and tell him he has a guest,” the guy ordered, then looked at me. “Follow me. I’m Logic.”

“Makes sense,” I muttered, doing as the guy said when he frowned at me. Gulping, I added, “Sorry. I meant nothing by it. It’s just that you seem to be the only one around here that understands the meaning of logic, besides I’m almost positive that big oaf couldn’t even spell the word.”

Opening the door and letting me walk in first, he whispered, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

I didn’t know what I expected when I walked inside, but whatever it was, had nothing on what I was seeing. A long bar to my left took up the entire wall, with shelves of every kind of liquor I could imagine lining the walls. A big burly man stood behind the bar, eyes focused directly on me as I slowly stepped forward. To my right were several tables and booths that sat in front of the blacked-out windows, only allowing those on the inside to see out. The smell of smoke, booze, and sex rankled my nose. Women barely clothed with scraps of cloths either lounged around doing nothing or were propositioning men. One woman in particular was currently bent over a pool table in the far back corner as a man fucked her from behind. Music blasted from speakers attached to the walls, drowning out any semblance of conversation. In fact, I found it even hard to hear my own thoughts when the man named Logic said close to my ear, “Follow me.”

---