Dungeon Divers

A man in need of money will do some odd things. Well I guess anybody will, they don’t have to be a man or even an adult for that matter, I thought to myself. I for instance, found myself standing on a street corner well past midnight in downtown Mobile. I had been waiting on the corner long enough that I had taken the time to appreciate that the halogen bulb above me still worked and hadn’t been replaced by the brighter, more energy efficient LED lights. It was SOP for the City of Mobile to replace as needed rather than replace all the bulbs at once. The signs of the bars and restaurants also helped light up my night. The overcast night and the artificial lights caused the buildings to appear to exist in blackness each separated by an endless void as if each brick building existed entirely on their own plane.

I gave a quick glance at my watch to show that it was now exactly 1:00 am. I took a deep breath and reached for the folded paper in my pocket, all of this felt so odd in today’s age of cell phones and instant communication but I needed the money. For the 100th time that night I grabbed the twice folded sheet of paper. I reached for it, unfolded it and read “Corner of Dauphin St and Royal St. 0115”. I looked at the street signs on the intersection S. Royal St. and Dauphin St. they read in green and white. I closed my eyes and gripped the paper tighter, my friend, who told me about “this job that I would be absolutely perfect for”, wouldn’t have played some prank on me. He knew I needed money so I doubted he would just have me stand on a street corner late at night, then again I wouldn’t be entirely shocked if he drove by in his white Ford Focus at exactly 1:15 am to give me grief.His refusal to tell me about the work I would be doing, beyond that I would love it, kept me checking the paper to see if it was all real.

Now, considering my location, I assumed that job was helping clean a bar after close. There were plenty of bars by me. It would make sense for a bar owner paying under the table to someone who needed a quick buck. Jobs like that usually were advertised through word of mouth. Though you would think a phone number or a name, to call ahead of time, would have accompanied the paper.

I folded the paper and put my hands in my pockets. I began rocking back and forth on my heels. A couple stumbled loudly out of a bar across the street from me. Their laughter and animated talking quieted the moment they crossed the street and looked up at me. Their stares caused me to become overly present of how I stood, where I was staring, and that my hands were in my pockets. I began trying to think of anything to say or what to do to explain my situation as they got closer. They were dressed in fairly decent clothes to go out in, and both looked rather nice albeit a little disheveled, still their appearance made me question my attire of blue jeans and a shirt. They were clearly going someplace to have more fun than I was, I was standing still going nowhere. My brain rushed to think of something to say as they were now only a few feet away and could only come up with a simple nod.. When they were a few feet past me I heard her try to whisper to her beau “Do you think he sells drugs?”. “None that we would want to buy” He quickly replied. My shoulders slumped and I looked at the ground, and looked at the paper again.

I began to take my mind off things by guessing which bar was the one to hire me out. The Wired Kraken made the most sense. It, like most of the other buildings here, were older Spanish style buildings. All two stories with cast iron balconies. Most of the buildings dated back to the early-mid 19th century. If you didn’t know where you were you thought you may have been in the French Quarter in New Orleans. Restaurant by day and bar by night, the tables were brought up stairs, a stage pulled out and it was a bar. It was a popular spot for the young 20-somethings like myself. The couple who had just walked past me had just left there. I myself had more fun nights there than I could count, live music on Friday and Saturday nights, sometimes a random Wednesday or Thursday, fair drink prices, there was places to grab late night food nearby, not too expensive cab ride from my house and, most importantly, pretty girls liked to go there, so why not there. Most people, myself included, tend to make a mess of things in pursuit of a good time. So I’m sure they needed extra hands to get the place spick-n-span and all the tables and chairs down before they started prepping for lunch in the morning.

My next bet would have to be Pablo Pete’s a Mexican fusion place. They had a bar there but it wasn’t really known for its bar scene. The kitchen closed at ten but unlike the Wired Kraken they kept their tables out and just kept serving drinks, chips and salsa until 2:00 am rolled around or no-one was left to serve. That’s not to say it was a bad place, I spent a date or two there till 2:00 am, drinking margaritas, eating chips and salsa, and talking about everything and nothing until we were forced to leave. I looked through the window now and only could see maybe 8 or so people in there enjoying margaritas or taking tequila shots.Part of me hoped I would be working there. With only one bartender inside it made sense that maybe they would want some extra help to make cleanup go by quicker. That would be a fairly quick and easy job. Already in my head I was sorting out the order of operations, wipe down the surfaces, sweep, mop, and clean the bathrooms. And considering how dead it looked inside there probably would only take me an hour, hour and half to do all that.

My third place winner, Miami Cigars. A Miami themed cigar bar, in case the name didn’t give it away. I had been there before. It was a big hipster hangout. Artists sitting in booths talking about their works and shows, men ranging from their 20’s to 50’s with waxed handlebar mustaches, wanna be business execs talking over the business ideas, it was a heavily male dominated bar but always packed. I enjoyed the place myself, good cigars, excellent cocktails, authentic Cuban music, great tapas. The interior designer had done their best to capture a Miami feel and had succeeded with red walls and black leather furniture. The serving staff was so pretty I had wondered how they hadn’t been sued yet, because they certainly weren’t being an equal opportunity employer. I was worried about having to clean that place. It was always spotless. If it wasn’t for the permanent cigar smell, you could call the place surgically clean. I was told that everything was polished and treated on a weekly basis. I could see myself spending all night polishing glass cigar trays, whiskey tumblers, and mahogany tables while trying to not let the smell of stale cigar smoke get to me. It was one thing when you were enjoying a cigar and glass of bourbon and entirely different thing when you had to be on your hands and knees polishing all the brass on the stools.

I continued to wonder about which bar would need their help with cleaning but failing to answer one question that kept rolling around in my head. Why would the owner of a bar need me at 1:15 am when bars close at 2:00 am? I kept coming up with half baked answers like maybe they needed to show me around or had very specific instructions but for the life of me I couldn’t come up with an answer that made sense.

I stood there staring off into space going over different scenarios that I almost missed seeing a man exiting from the Wired Kraken. I shot a glance over towards him as my eyes instinctively moved to the new movement in my peripheral. He opened the door and quickly walked toward me ignoring the crosswalk, his eyes locked on my position. I made eye contact with him and decided to walk towards him. I wouldn’t want to give someone the impression that I was the type of guy who expected you to pay me and to be grateful that I would even be there to help you. So I set towards him walking with my shoulders back, making eye contact, and giving him my biggest attaboy smile, I could muster at this hour. We met in the middle of the street. He was of average height which made him taller than me with thinning sandy blonde hair and red stubble on his face. His eyes were bloodshot, but he had warm smile welcoming “Are you the boy Dolo told me about?”

Dolo was my friend’s online gamertag and nickname, once upon a time he had told me his real name but I had forgotten and only referred to him as Dolo. Hell, even his own parents called him Dolo. I finally forgot about the paper in my pocket.

“Yes sir, that’s me” I said relieved, grasping his hand for a firm handshake.

“Don’t call me sir” he quickly replied “I’m not that much older than you, just call me Robert.”

I smiled and gave back my crafted response, to the ‘don’t call me sir’ response, “Just being polite, my parents would drive all the way from Jackson to remind me of my manners.”

Robert laughed and said “Hell, mine too. Come on let’s get out of the middle street and I’ll show you where you’ll be working tonight”

Robert turned around and I followed him. I gave up on any small talk as we made our way inside the Wired Kraken. With the live music and the sea of drunks there was no point in even trying to have a conversation. The crowd paid us no mind as we elbowed our way through. The bartenders were steadily serving drinks and didn’t shoot either of us a glance as we walked behind the bar. At the end of the bar was a worn narrow white door with a worn brass handle and simple turn lock above it. The door opened to a staircase. Not surprising considering many of the old downtown buildings had been built for a shop downstairs and living upstairs. The staircase looked over a hundred years old. Worn, warped, uncovered pine made up the narrow steep staircase. The walls were painted white and were flaking with age. I wonder how old this paint is, I thought as we went up the steep stairs, hoping no lead was in the paint.

Robert opened the door and walked through, I followed. I closed the door behind me to shut out the sound of the bar below. I began to ask about the job. As soon as I heard the latch hit the strike plate I felt as if the floor dropped out from under me. It was the same feeling you get when you start to fall asleep in bed and your body thinks you’re falling. My vision blurred. I quickly dropped my center of gravity in an instinctive attempt to catch myself. As soon as I felt I had solid footing I straightened up.

I had absolutely been transported somewhere, that much was clear. The floor I stood on was carved stone, not old pine. The room echoed in silence. The walls were large dark stone of different sizes, not the familiar flaking lead laden paint. The skylight on the stone ceiling showed a crescent moon, criss crossed by iron bars. The skylight allowed pale silver light streaked into the room forming a rectangle on the stone floor. But the most convincing piece of evidence was the person who stood in the middle of the light.