Santa's Really Sexy

Pre-Christmas Pleasure

Snow layered the ground now as the sun disappeared behind the city skyline.

Walsh drove through a strange part of town, that I've never noticed before.

He pulls up to a little hole in the wall bar with a rusted, painted sign out front that read, "Toad Stools Tavern ."

I give my young limo driver a strange look.

Walsh just shrugs with a grin, then says, "Outside of driving this is the place to be."

Well, I did tell him to surprise me.

The building sat small and round like a dirty corner store. Rust crawled up the walls and black, old wads of gum seemed to cover every square inch of the little building.

Walsh pulls to a stop and lets me out.

Immediately a putrid acrid scent stiffened my nose. I scrunched up my face in displeasure.

I trudge over the snow covered ground, my feet crunching over the snow.

Walsh parks the vehicle and leads me to a secret door. He knocks on the cold, rusted door with a gloved fist.

A little rectangular compartment on the door slid open revealing two baggy, bloodshot, tired eyes.

The eyes adverted left to Walsh, then right to me.

"Eh Walsh, long time no see buddy." The old voice gruffed then the eyes faced mine again.

"And who's you're little rich and fancy friend over here?" The guy asked.

I scoff out loud a fog of my breath blows in front of me. Did this guy ju- Does he seriously not know who I am? I mean who doesn't ?

Another mental blow to the head. God this headache will be the death of me.

Walsh turns beet red, and I don't if it's because he's cold or embarrassed.

"No, this is my boss, Nikolass Sorrentino. He's cool." Walsh reassures the strange pair of eyes.

Suddenly the compartment closes.

"Don't worry. They have the best drinks in town." Walsh whispers clearly out of his comfort zone.

The old, rusted door creaks open and all I hear is, "Hey everybody Walsh is back, and he's brought his little rich buddy, too!"

An clash of cheers and praise fills the little dimly lit bar as Walsh and I parade inside.

I follow Walsh to a bar in the back. And to my surprise, the bar smells quite suitable.

Tangerine and lemongrass perhaps?

Before sitting down, I take caution by noticing how disgusting and dirty the stools appeared.

I carefully placed a napkin and then my spare handkerchief onto the stool before sitting down.

My head throbbed and pounded practically as if my brain were bouncing loosely inside of my skull.

I know someone who's practically an expert at brains, and headaches and of the such; Stella.

I cursed silently to myself as I felt another excruciating blow of pain to my head.

I look around the bar for perhaps the bar tender. I notice how gruff and beat up everyone seemed.

Men and few women sat in all shapes and sizes. Missing sets of teeth, even limbs, bruised, dirt covered skin, scraggly, greasy hair, torn and stained clothing. The whole nine.

Everyone looked like they belonged on the set of Pirates of the Carribbean.

One person drew my attention. A girl maybe my age. With a dish rag tossed over her shoulder, long curly, wild pink and light purple hair, and frightening pale skin, she resembled a fairy.