Dream Town

Chapter 23

Down a short hall was the bar. It was not like any bar of Archer’s acquaintance, certainly not like the over-the-top Cocoanut Grove. It was not even like the decrepit Boleros. While it was small, dark, and dingy with a gummy plank floor, it also held splashes of color in the form of wall sconce lampshades and puffy balls tied to the ceiling, and framed Chinese-inspired masks behind the bar. Elaborately clothed and face-painted barmaids carried drinks on round trays to thirsty customers. There were no mirrors, no rows of bottles, no jukebox, no grand piano. No tables or bar stools, either. Folks were either standing at the small wooden counter or else in the middle of the room in groups of two or three chatting quietly. A quick sweep of the area told Archer that he was the only white man in the place. The customers here were of various ages and sizes and dressed in everything from three-piece pinstriped suits to long, embroidered robes. The drink glasses they held weren’t big; in fact they were all thimble-sized.

To a person they all turned and looked at him as he invaded their little domain.

He walked up to the bar, found a slot in between a tall, lean man wearing a scarlet embroidered robe and a chubby man in a two-piece seersucker suit and a dark-colored shirt. Chubby’s face was growing jowls, and the space over his mouth was trying and failing to birth a mustache. The man smiled, revealing enough gold fillings and caps to allow Archer to retire if he could find a way to extract them. The robed man sipped his drink and did not look Archer’s way. He bent over his glass as though he were saying a prayer.

If so, Archer hoped it wasn’t for him.

The bartender, a giant dressed in a long cloth robe the color of grain, and who would have looked perfectly at home in an arena wrestling a rhino, walked slowly over, cleaning a glass with a rag. He eyed Archer but said nothing.

“Can I get three fingers of whiskey with a splash of soda, pal?” Archer said.

The man looked him up and down, then walked away to discuss something with another gentleman who was, apparently, more to his liking.

The suit next to Archer said, “They don’t serve whiskey here, fella.”

“How about gin?”

The man shook his head and showed his gold again.

“Rum? Bourbon? Vodka?”

The man just kept shaking his head. “No, nothing like that.”

“I thought this was a bar. Do they serve any alcohol or should I ask for milk?”

“Tell him you want this.” He held up his thimble glass.

“And what is that?”

“Baijiu. It’s what we all drink.”

Archer looked at the robed man, who was staring at his empty thimble glass like he was wondering where his baijiu had gone.

The suit waved to the bartender, who came back over. He didn’t look at Archer. The suit said, “He wants the usual.”

The giant walked away, picked up a bottle from below the counter, and poured some liquid into a thimble glass. He brought it back over to Archer and said something in Chinese.

Archer looked at the suit.

“He wants payment, fella. Two American dollars.”

“For that?” said Archer, staring at the tiny glass.

“It is what you Yanks like to call quality, not quantity.”

Archer passed two bucks across and the giant drifted away.

Suit raised his own glass and said, “To your health.”

“How do you drink this thing, fast or slow?”

The gold smiled at him. “We do it as a shot, as you Yanks say. But I think you might want to take it slow, fella.”

The suit drank his in one tipped-back swallow.

Archer sniffed the liquid and was surprised that it held no odor familiar to him, though the smell was very distinct. It was also clearer than any water he’d ever seen.

“It is an ancient process in China to make baijiu,” explained the suit, wiping his mouth. “Very labor intensive. Americans cannot make it. The fermentation is the tricky part. It comes in different varieties, you can tell which by smell: light, medicinal, spicy, sesame, extra strong. We are lucky Jade gets some. That is why we come here.”

Archer took a sip and it immediately felt like he had swallowed liquid fire. As it went down his throat and landed like an inferno in his belly, the fire turned to something else and he thought he might be sick. He put one hand against the bar and closed his eyes, steeling himself to not vomit or pass out.

In about ten seconds, the twin sensations passed. He turned to the suit and croaked, “Impressive that you can slam this back, buddy.” It wasn’t just impressive, he thought, it was a damn miracle. As he looked around at the others, young and old, tossing their thimbles back and going on with their conversations as though they hadn’t just sucked down a flaming sword, the idea of Americans being the hardiest people on earth simply faded from Archer’s mind.

“It is an acquired taste. This version is forty-five percent alcohol.”

“Please tell me that’s the extra-strong one, because another sip and I’d be squiffed.”

The suit shook his head. “Pretty mild, actually. We Chinese do business around drinking, usually with baijiu. We feel it makes the true self come out. And we like to truly know who we do business with. Ha-ha!”

Archer coughed and cleared his throat. “Speaking of business.” He took out the photo. “You ever see this woman in here before?” He pointed to Lamb.

The suit glanced at the photo and grinned in gold once more. “No, mister. Who is she?”

“A friend I’m looking for.”

“I cannot help you.”

“Okay.” Archer showed the picture to everyone else there and got no replies in return, only blank stares. He didn’t know if it was the baijiu or just him. He turned to leave.

The suit said, “You won’t finish your baijiu? It is bad form.”

“Better form for me if I don’t.”

“You are leaving the Jade?”

“I am leaving the Jade,” Archer lied.

He exited the bar area and made his way back to the front room. The woman who had been there earlier had not returned. He looked out the front to see the Chinese gent open the rear door of a sleek silver Rolls-Royce. Out from it stepped a platinum blonde whom Archer recognized as a famous actress, although he couldn’t remember her name. She wore dark glasses and had a hat and fur stole that partially obscured her features. But she had lowered the glasses for a moment and that was when he recognized her.

She headed up the steps and Archer quickly looked around. There was a three-panel leather room divider set in one corner he had noticed before. He slipped behind that and almost stumbled over some boxes stacked there. He positioned himself so that he could see through one of the narrow openings between the panels.

The actress came in and was immediately greeted by the same woman in the yellow dress. She had appeared so quickly Archer assumed she had been watching from a window somewhere and had seen the woman’s arrival, too.

She didn’t point out the beaded doorway to the bar. She instead took the woman’s coat, hat, and glasses and escorted her through another beaded opening. The actress kept her gaze on the floor. She looked like she didn’t want to be there, and so Archer wondered why she was.

He waited for a few moments to see if the yellow dress appeared. She did and then vanished through another beaded gateway. This place really was a maze, he thought. If there was ever a fire here, everyone was going to die.

Archer had started to step out when his foot slipped on something on the floor. He bent down to see what it was.

The particles were small and gritty. Sand.

He took another look at the boxes. They seemed familiar to him, but crates like these were all over town. He felt along the sides of them. They had gritty sand stuck in some of the crevices, and bits of it had fallen to the floor. He lifted the top off one. It was empty. He put the top back in place, and checked to make sure the room was clear before stepping out. He passed through the same doorway the actress had. After a right turn he came to a long hall that had doors set on both sides. They had little slips of paper with numbers on them set in brass holders. He gently tried the door marked Number One. It was locked. And someone from inside the room called out, “It’s taken. Scram!”

He did that four more times until he came to one that wasn’t locked.

As soon as he eased it open, he heard someone coming. He ducked inside and closed the door behind him. A few moments later footsteps hurried down the hall.

They’re looking for someone and I think it’s me.

He hadn’t brought his flashlight and he didn’t want to risk turning on a light. There were no windows in the room, so the only illumination came from the small gap under the door.

He let his eyes adjust to the absence of light and looked around. There was a bed, a nightstand, and a large armoire with Chinese symbols carved on it. And there were mirrors on all the walls, and when he looked up, he was staring at a dim reflection of himself and the room because there were mirrors up there, too. The only part that wasn’t glassed in was where a heavy chandelier was located.

Narcissus would have loved this place.

He opened the armoire, and inside was some of the gaudiest women’s lingerie he had ever seen, and his experience with that, especially in his younger and stupid years, was extensive. There were also handcuffs, belts, ropes, and other bindings. And a long, black whip. Now, that was something he had no personal experience with, but he also knew this town was full of those who couldn’t get enough of it.

As if on cue, from somewhere down the hall Archer heard what sounded like the crack of a whip and then a scream.

He closed the doors of the armoire and kept looking around. The bed was springy and fitted with quality linens and a bedspread with intricate embroidery on it. He looked closer, but couldn’t make it out. He risked turning on the lamp on the nightstand.

He saw that the embroidery had created an impression of flames so colorful and real-looking that the cloth almost seemed to be on fire. With the light on he made a closer examination of the room and even looked under the bed.

There he found a small glass vial that was empty. But that wasn’t entirely correct. There was a bit of residue inside, a few white grains. He sniffed it, and then pocketed it.

The parts of the walls not covered with mirrors were wallpapered in a pattern that looked like purple lotus plants. He kept looking around before his gaze went back to the ceiling.

The chandelier had six light fixtures, all pointing down. But only five had bulbs in them. He stood on the bed and looked at it more closely.

Damn.

Unless he was much mistaken, there was a camera lens in the one light post missing a bulb. He hoped to hell no one was looking at him right now.

He climbed down, turned off the light, and went over to the door. Footsteps were coming. He also heard voices. A man was saying something loudly, but Archer couldn’t quite make out what it was. He slipped across the room and slid under the bed. A few seconds later the door was thrown open. He waited for them to look under the bed. But the door closed and the footsteps moved on.

Archer waited a few more minutes before he eased out into the hall. He made his way in the opposite direction of where he had come. Passing one door he heard what sounded like Beethoven, along with soft moaning, and then a woman cried out in pain. His hand slipped to the knob. It was locked. From his wallet Archer pulled out a lockpick. He inserted it as quietly as he could. After a few seconds of manipulations, the sounds of which were covered by Beethoven, the lock clicked free and Archer slowly eased the door open a couple inches.

The actress he had seen earlier was dressed in black lingerie. Her hands were cuffed to the bedpost. A phonograph was on a table, the classical music coming from the record rotating on it. A man with gray hair and dressed in a long robe held a belt and struck her on the buttocks, making her yelp and stand up on her stockinged toes. Archer looked at her unfocused eyes and her sluggish features. She was clearly high on something.

“You have been bad,” said the man. “You must be punished.”

“Yes,” she said breathily. “I am bad.”

Archer looked up at the chandelier and wasn’t surprised to see one lightbulb missing from it, too. He was sure every room had the same setup. Part of him wanted to walk in and knock the man through the wall. But the woman was there of her own free will. Still, he was about to intervene when that decision was taken away from him.

He eased the door closed and hurried down the hall as the sounds of footsteps and voices suddenly came back.