The Rose Trimmed With Gold

Chapter 6

The next night, Ramiro walked briskly through the stygian night that twinkled around him, and he looked at the neon sign of a Peacock that glistened and stabbed through the night, a sign that called to everyone, whispering in your ear and telling you to come in, pull up a chair, and have some fun, but also told you that  terrible things could happen if you weren't careful. The Peacock seemed to stare at him, trying to tell him something, but Ramiro couldn't quite place what it was trying to say, in the infinite worlds of possibilities. Ramiro stepped back, wondering if this was a good idea, and nervousness engulfed him like a fire engulfs a forest. The moon, the mistress of the world, twinkled hilariously as it battled the Peacock for dominance, but backed down against the pompousness of the Peacock, and it hid behind a blanket of clouds for protection, afraid of the haughty Peacock that ruled the night. Ramiro walked into the bar and was overtaken by a strong smell of liquor and loud, bellowing music that scraped at his ears. Lights of different prismatic colors. In the middle back of the room, next to the bar, a walkway sat menacingly and filled the room with a thick fog of lust. Just as he had noticed the walkway, a name was called and a woman came out in a tight outfit that barely covered anything at all, and walked down the walkway and towards a pole that Ramiro hadn't noticed before. She was a very young woman, Ramiro wouldn't belive it if he was told she was more than 16, and looked like she was here against her will, her eyes shining with fear and tears that made her eyes glisten in the seizure of lights. Ramiro noticed that her left eye had a large spot around it that seemed like she had tried to cover it with make-up but had failed miserably. Ramiro looked away, feeling as if being here was cheating, and he felt disgusted by himself, and his disgust protruded out towards everyone in the bar, especially the people who began to cat call the woman. He couldn’t believe anything like this could ever happen. Ramiro felt a strong feeling of repulsion. Not towards just the people in the bar, but mankind in its entirety, for the desire of man that was as plain as day and absolutely abhorrent. Ramiro wanted to help the young woman, but he knew he couldn't, for it would blow his cover and would ruin the whole operation. He knew he needed to get out, or this would lead to him having a large crisis later. He decided to call up his wife later, for her silky smooth voice as smooth as butter would be able to calm him down, or at least he hoped. He began to feel light-headed, as if someone had sucked his brains and skull out and replaced them with helium. He looked for a spot to sit and found only one open. He sat down next to a man wearing a red Hawaiian shirt with intricate designs of white flowers and long, pure white khakis with gleaming black shoes. Ramiro ordered a drink, and the man looked over at him, and Ramiro looked at him. He was a handsome man with shiny black hair that was swept in a pompadour, his skin was bronze, and he had full lips and a sharp small nose. He peered at Ramiro with eyes that peered with nothingness and that had wrinkle lines starting to tug at the edges of them. He was a handsome man, a masculine man, even while not being as muscular as it could be, he still shone with an aura of power and arrogance. Ramiro felt an instant dislike of the man, although he had to put up a face of friendliness.

"You look new, I've never seen you before," the man decided, and Ramiro nodded his head in agreement. The man had a husky, ponderous voice, a voice that could get you places.

"No, you haven't. Just moved here from Chicago," Ramiro explained to him, and the man smiled, his full lips parting, his nose dilating, and his upper lip raising, so it looked like he was sneering while smiling.

"The name's Kaveh," Kaveh told him, and Ramiro shook his hand and told him his name. They talked for a bit as Ramiro's drink arrived, and Kaveh told Ramiro that his favorite drink was, "Whatever the most expensive drink on the menu is." He felt his light-headedness drain from him as his drink made him and his stomach feel warm, and it also dried up his mouth.

"So," Ramiro began abruptly, "What do you do for work?" Ramiro felt sweat begin to form on his upper lip, giving him a mustache of sorts that hung in his real mustache like ornaments from a Christmas tree. His clothes began to feel oddly uncomfortable, and Ramiro felt like his back was wet.