Science Fiction Multi-Feature Picture Show

Fortuna Lemon (part 4)

"Ah, new arrivals!" The woman in red clapped her hands together, her formerly brittle flesh sporting a healthy glow of fresh cream. Her brow creased at Sykes's expression. "There, there, pet, no need for hysterics."

Flabbergasted or not, Sykes couldn't tolerate a knock to her disposition. "I assure you I'm far from hysterics," she managed, her fingers still digging into the bark for support. The warping orbs appeared to cease once the lady of the lemon tree was revived. "What just happened?"

The lady shrugged. "The gloaming hour, I imagine." She surveyed the surrounding meadow. "Oh, yellow today, how lovely." She winked at Sykes. "They must approve your coming. It's been so long since fresh blood has joined the flock."

Sykes paused in the act of detaching herself from the bark. The strange woman's words prodded a bit of alarm into her stunned brain. "Pardon?"

"Hmm, I was sure I put'em somewhere," the woman muttered, patting the pockets on her hips. Sykes belatedly remembered pocketing the cards, wondering if she should cough them up with an awkward apology. "Fresh blood, dear, it's been an age since the last wreck." Her odd colored eyes perused Sykes's figure. "I think the boys shall like you," she added with a waggle of her eyebrows.

Hang her cards.

"I'm not here to stay," said Sykes, taking a step back with her hands up. "My partner and I are simply investigating the appearance of this land mass."

"I very much doubt that," said the woman, rising to her bare feet. Her layered skirts where fringed with glass beads, tinkling together as she dusted off her lap. "No one ever leaves, and your partner is quite settled in already." She pinched her chin. "I bet the sea shell cottage would suit. You are a woman of nostalgic tastes."

"Sea shell what..." Sykes trailed off. The woman ignored her mumble, searching the ground for something. The enforcer resisted the urge to stomp her foot like a neglected toddler. "What is this place?"

The woman scuffed her foot through the fallen lemons and dark soil, not looking at Sykes. "That which is lost." Her expression lit up. "Ah ha, here we are." At first the enforcer thought she picked up a live snake as the gold curled up her wrist before unfurling for her to place around her neck. There it settled, the mouth consuming the tail in a delicately rendered ouroboros. The gemstone eyes sparked at her in the fading daylight.

"Nice necklace," mumbled Sykes, wondering how fast she could run to the beach. Surely Barth was long gone with their ride. The woman smiled, running her fingers along the gleaming scales.

"I never perform without it," she purred. She started, glancing at the sky. "Speaking of which, I'm late. And we have a new patron tonight." Hiking up her skirts, the lady darted out of Sykes's line of vision, disappearing around the crooked bent of the lemon tree.

"Hold up, I have questions!" Sykes chased after her, turning the corner to find she'd vanished. "The hell?" She leaned into a knotty bit of the tree, banging her head against her fist. A section of the tree slid open, revealing a candlelit passageway. Whistling at the sight of it, she tried to assess the best course of action. Tambly was the risk taker, she was the sensible one. Right. Rolling her eyes to the heaves, Sykes darted in after the strange lady.

___***___

Tambly wasn't ashamed to admit when the bubbles started rising out of the ground, he wondered if the air was spiked with hallucinogens after all.

The steps led to a plain wooden door, bathed in red by the emergency light humming beside its frame. The metal handle was warm to touch as Tambly entered. The first thing he noticed was the old fashioned Wurlitzer jukebox, squatting in the corner of a catwalk stage, complete with two strip poles. Steppenwolfe's Magic Carpet Ride drew to a close, clicking over the next song.

'Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest, don't you cry no more.'

Tambly hummed along, surveying the rest of the bar in hopes of beer. The desire for alcohol elevated in the presence of the other patrons, slumped over tables and chairs, little more than bones and rags. A grinning skull leered at him, still clutching the nub of a cigar between brown teeth. Somehow, the tumbler beside him contained a shot of rich amber liquid. Tambly ignored the impossibilities of the situation, lifting a respectful toast to the body before gulping the burning liquid down his throat.

"Damn, that's good," he said, morosely eyeing the bottom of the glass. Most of the former patrons still had their drinks beside them. He considered drinking his way through the whole bar, but he could only disrespect the dead so much. The bar in the back appeared fully stocked. He patted a bony shoulder. "I'll get ya a refill buddy."

He'd discovered a dusty bottle of Jim Beam when the floor began spitting out orbs of chaos.

Wherever the globes floated up, they left bits changed in their wake, especially the bar patrons. He watched one sphere ripple through the cigar man, the unsettling reformation of flesh before he emerged whole through the opposite permeable side. A faint tail of smoke rose from his cigar as he sat up, the brass of his naval uniform glinting in the dim bar lights. Similar phenomena took place throughout the joint, as the patrons revived one by one. An orb rose up in front of him, phasing through his hand clutching the bottle of liquor. A pins and needles sensation passed through him. The flesh aged rapidly as he watched, until skin peeled away to bone. Tambly thought he might vomit.

The orb continued upward, revealing his hand, whole and unharmed, now clutching a bottle of Jack. He unscrewed the cap, taking a healthy swig.

"Where in the Sam Hell is my damn drink?" The cigar man's drawl made him flinch, clutching the bar like a life line.

"I will have to insist on a glass, mister," said a calm voice behind him.

Tambly whirled around to face the bartender, swallowing the mad giggle threatening to escape him mouth. Without a word, he handed back the bottle of J.D. The man eyed him, retrieving a tumbler from beneath the bar. After a generous pour, he slid the sloshing glass in front of the enforcer.

"Drink up, lad, settle your nerves."

He couldn't agree more, tossing back the contents in one go. "Thanks. Could I trouble you for another."

The bartender gave a knowing smile, topping him off. "All the newbies get a little shaky with the first gloaming hour. Don't worry fella, Fortuna's on tonight. She'll put ya at ease."

"What's that?" Tambly asked, but his question was drowned out by the cigar man, who plopped onto the bar beside him, demanding another drink.

The enforcer turned away, boosted by the occasional sip of whiskey as he observed the now hopping bar. The patrons were an odd mix, garbed in a variety of period costume. The closest table sported two Spanish sailors, an early 20th century aviator, an affluent gentleman in a sailing blazer, and possibly a Viking, all engaged in a vigorous round of stud poker.

"Huh," said Tambly, taking another long swig.

The lights dimmed, causing a riot of activity. The poker game was forgotten as every occupant rushed the stage. The Wurtlizer dropped Kansas, a new track clicking into gear. The opening brass rift brought an answering spotlight to the stage. Tambly nearly dropped his drink as she entered, sparkling red dress and dark brown curls, swaying with her hips as Screaming Jay Hawkins smoky voice rolled through the bar.

'I put a spell on you.....because you're mine'

This must be the aforementioned Fortuna. Tambly felt his jaw grow slack as the sashaying dance began. He slid into an empty seat at the poker table. Warmth curled in his gut as the red dress fell to the floor, revealing a body made for sinning. He rubbed his mouth, watching every twist and bend of her marvelous form, outfitted in nothing but scarlet strips of cloth. He was so preoccupied by her movements, he didn't notice the distance closing between them until she practically sat in his lap.

"Welcome home, darlin'," she said, her mismatched eyes dancing as she ran her nails along the back of his neck.

"Because your miiiiiiine.'