The Kwisling [The Isbjørn book 2]

Six

The night began surrounded by eager and shy faces; the lounge was full and the bar was crowded. Luce and John had arrived as part of the later crowd. It was the time of night where everyone else was several drinks in and no one under thirty was in the mood to sit anymore, giving the new arrivals a fine seat on a double sofa.
Drink in hand, John looked around at the busy tables. The oldest couple in the world sat not too far away, eating side by side like it was all they knew how to do. One glass of wine each, that's all they needed for the night, and their glasses were merely half empty.

Then there were the Occidens Terram tourists, trying to decipher the menu, mistaking the word 'beef' for 'chicken' as they ordered, only just starting off a night of disappointment and miscommunication.

A group of young men in their thirties collapsed helplessly on the other side of their room, their laughter mingling with the ongoing chorus as a stern woman dressed for a better crowd looked on and frowned.

The bar was ruled by businessmen in their evening wear, holding cigars adjacent to their tight fists.

John saw all of this and more as laughter overpowered the light static of night radio. Conversations swirled in the cloud of smoke, a scent that lingered with the stagnant stench of old cigarettes. The smoke level was high. The noise, too. But he told himself it was not a bother. He was used to it. He was supposed to be used to it. One day he would be used to it. That prison cell had screwed him up for then he would care to admit.

"How are you doing?" Luce's voice was the lowdest thing in the room.

"Fine." John relaxed his grip on his tumbler glass. Another few seconds and it might have shattered in his hand. He turned to Luce, pretending to be oblivious to the reason for his question. "Why?"

Luce would not admit that he was concerned. "No reason."

John took a slow drink. He had not escaped the apartment just to collapse under the weight of his first social outing in over a month; he was better than that.

They had been at the lounge for twenty minutes at that point and Luce was taking his first sip of the whiskey John had slapped down in front of him, appearing disinterested still as he put it down.

It was clear he was not at all into the scene. The closest thing John had seen of interest from Luce that entire evening was when he mentioned going out at all. John had used the word 'date' on purpose. If Luce had taken it as an allusion, as John had secretly hoped, he made no sign of it. He had been depending on Luce to somehow help things along, but he seemed nonchalant, clueless almost.

"Time flies, huh?" he remarked. "I can't believe July's already here."

Hell, John thought, he's so desperate to make conversation he's talking about the dam date. "Yeah," he replied. "Seems a little slower when you don't see the sun for a month though."

Luce locked up for a moment, forgetting about the sensitive subject, only to remember John himself insisted that he never be handled with kid's gloves. "That's too bad, I guess." He took another drink.

"July sucks."

"I guess."

Luce was no help at all. Instead of pushing the night forward, the small talk was slowing them down. They finished their drinks in silence.

It was John's turn to get the ball rolling. This night, he had a mission, or rather a game, and he expected Luce's full cooperation. First, he would have to set up the game board.

"So Luce, what's your type?"

"What?"

John had been relaxing, spread out, taking up a magnanimous amount of room on the couch until he leaned forward. He used his empty glass to gesture around the room. "Look at this place, full of young beautiful people. Who are you taking home tonight?"