Rainy Days

Chapter Fifty-One: Click Those Heels, Dorothy

"Sorry? Who are you? What's going on?" Jordan said frantically. Where was Five? This place smelled like cigarettes and alcohol and vanilla perfume and sort of like blood. It looked lovely, actually, but the smells where attacking his nose. His mind whirled, stomach spun like a washer on the highest setting, oh, he was gonna vomit fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck–

"This is your boyfriend? Figured you'd go for someone a bit more...manly."

Jordan's head whirled around to the doorway. A lanky, straw-headed boy with a tattoo of a scorpion on his hand was scowling at him; standing to the right was Five, pulling anxiously on his khaki shorts. He looked incredibly out of place here.

Boyfriend? Did Five tell them I'm his boyfriend?

"They aren't all going to be you, Teegan." He said, stalking into the room. Five seemed really pissed off.

"So, you must be Jordan." Teegan scowled, rolling up the sleeves of his black flannel. More tattoos decorated his forearms; a rose, a dragonfly, some strange cursive writing.

"Uh...yes. That is me. I'm Jordan." He winced. Fuck, he was awkward. "Where am I?"

"New York City, baby," the girl winked. She was holding a napkin on her bleeding lip. "The Big Apple. Skyscrapers and drugs. It's fucking great."

Five crossed the room quickly, grabbing Jordan's shirt sleeve and pulling him so that his feet dangled off the counter. He tugged hard and Jordan jumped down, stumbling as the world did a tilt-a-whirl move.

The room they were in had a dark wood counter; behind it was pretty shelves and cabinets with intricate carvings and designs on the glass, alcohol everywhere you looked. A vintage-looking cash register and a wine glass labeled TIPS in cursive was at the end of it. Plush red bar-stools sat every few feet. Dark wood tables and chairs spotted the floor. There where no windows; all the light emitted from either candles or warm lights on the walls. A stage was at the far end of the room with one of those weird microphones standing on it, a keyboard in the corner. He could see a drum set behind the curtains.

A sign over the stage read THE GOLDEN CROWN in the same cursive as the tip jar.

"Wait," Jordan stared at Five. "This is a speakeasy?"

Teegan and the girl snickered, exchanging a look. Five had a pained expression.

"Yes." was all he said before the girl interrupted.

"Only the best in all of New York, babe. The Golden Crown's been up and running since 1921. It's stayed in the family, too. Didn't ever loose it." she said this with the air of a white mom proud that little Jimmy made it on the soccer team. "Of course, we've modernized the place. Security systems, cameras, alcohol, entertainment..." she trailed off and shrugged. Turning around, she pulled out four cocktail glasses and slammed them on the table.

"Usual, Five?"

"Sure," Five mumbled.

"You drink?" Jordan asked, arching an eyebrow. Five shrugged, avoiding his eyes. Teegan rolled his eyes and huffed.

"Jim Beam, Suzie." he said.

The girl—Suzie—uncapped a bottle of amber liquid and filled up an entire glass, sliding it across the counter. Teegan went to where it'd landed and took a large gulp.