Beyond Paradise

The chill that raised the hackles on his neck was nothing compared to the cold of Stroud's level gaze. What was the intent behind the threat he had so carelessly uttered? Heart hammering in his throat, Billie shuddered under the glittering cobra stare.

"So, Mr. Armstrong, assuming that you have no further questions, I believe the time has come for us to begin." The man held out the palm of one hand, and crushed the ember of his cigarette against it, his face serene and unflinching. He stood, extending his frame gracefully to its full six feet, and pulled out a crisp, pristine white handkerchief, wiping the ash primly from his skin.

Billie's hands were shaking, and he curled them into defiant fists. "Begin what?" he demanded. "None of this makes any fucking sense! Why would you single me out to punish like this?" By the time he finished speaking, his voice had risen to a shout, spittle flying from his tightly drawn lips.

"Why, that's the easiest question of all--I do it for my pleasure, of course! I have long admired your powerful commitment to your musicianship, and the fact that your emotions are so naked and unrestrained adds a charming complexity. It will be fascinating to see how those forces combine in the face of a real challenge, to see your essential nature in action." He returned the handkerchief neatly to his lapel pocket, and turned toward the front entrance of the club. "Best of luck to you, Mr. Armstrong. You will assuredly need it," he called over his shoulder, and with a flick of his wrist, he turned off the lights.

Plunged into utter blackness, Billie froze, afraid to move. "Stroud?" he called, but his only answer was the metallic thud of the door swinging closed. He stretched his hands out in front of him to feel his way toward the edge of the stage, and had inched just a foot or so forward when he bumped into a cold, smooth wall that seemed to swing away from him as he touched it. Suddenly he heard a click from behind him and to his left, and his eyes recoiled as the room was flooded with bright fluorescent light.

His extended hands were nearly touching the bathroom stall door that rotated slowly on its hinges. The bewildered bartender eyed him curiously. "Mister, it's not my business, but what are you doing in here in the dark? Couldn't you find the light switch?"

Billie looked blankly from the man's face to the mirror, which now reflected only the perfectly normal image of the opposite side of the men's room. If he didn't get out of this place, he felt he was going to go completely mad--and the irony of that thought that made him snicker, then laugh in earnest.

The bartender looked with concern at the disheveled, nearly hysterical man in front of him. "Hey, you okay? You don't look so good!"

Billie pushed past him, heading back up the hall as fast as he could without running. The barroom was empty, and he straight-armed the door, slamming it open. Outside, Snot lay drowsing on the sidewalk, head resting on his dusty paws, and his head jerked upright when Billie emerged.

The setting sun, warm and rosy-golden, shone brightly enough to give the illusion that he had somehow returned to reality, though the adrenaline surging through his veins made it clear that nothing could be further from the truth. He had no idea where to go from here, but for the moment it was enough that he was out of that infernal bar and away from Stroud.

He paced back and forth on the sidewalk, his brain a roiling maelstrom. There had to be something he hadn't thought of, some way to break away from this nightmare and return to his life. He tried to calm his mind, carefully thinking over every option.

He couldn't reach Adie or his home number. Well, then, maybe he could try calling Mike or Tre, or the Adeline office. One of them had to work. There were no buses, and he didn't trust anyone here enough to ask for a ride. The most obvious answer was walking--after all, that's how he'd gotten here. But the landscape had a funny way of changing, and he might end up walking in circles for hours, only to find himself right back in this godforsaken place. He was, to put it bluntly, screwed.

He was also, he realized, very, very hungry.

Wherever he was, whatever mental state he had descended into, apparently his body still needed the same old things. He sat down on the curb of the sidewalk beside the old dog, whose skinny tail thumped happily at his presence. It would be dark soon, and if he couldn't get himself back home, then there were decisions to be made, quickly.

Each time the practical side of him tried to think clearly about how he might find something to eat, and shelter for the night, another much less rational voice inside him interrupted his thoughts, insisting that he was wasting time on trivialities when he should be walking his ass as fast as he could in whatever direction home was most likely to be. Finally, though, his rumbling stomach overrode his logic and demanded his full attention, and he knew he'd be able to think more clearly once he wasn't starving.

Across the square from Bollocks, a short alley opened onto a courtyard where a tantalizing aroma teased Billie's nostrils. To his right, a faded blue and green awning partially concealed a large open window, into which was set a counter and sliding glass. A group of people, two girls and two boys, were talking with the woman behind the counter, and several others sat at little tables along the sidewalk. The scent of garlic, oregano and rosemary, mingling with the scent of roasting beef and lamb, made his mouth water.

The woman handed out a tray of steaming kebabs to the waiting customers, and reached back for a basket of fragrant, crusty bread. Billie was already pulling out his wallet, and Snot drooled uncontrollably.

"Next?" she called, waving him over.

He looked up at the menu, hand-printed on a piece of poster board in letters that looked vaguely Arabic, though the words were English. The woman's skin was a rich cinnamon, her eyes sable brown, and her dark hair was swept up in a knot atop her head into a gold filigree cage, held in place by a jewel-topped ebony stick. Chandelier earrings dangled at the sides of her slender neck, and her white chef's apron covered a long, turquoise kurti embroidered with gold and yellow thread.

"What would you like?" she said, in a rich Indian accent. The words seemed to roll from her tongue like pearls.

"Let me have two each of the beef and lamb, a large root beer and a cup of water," he said, pressing his grumbling belly with his free hand to quiet it. Snot looked up at him, whining pitifully. "Don't worry, boy, I've got your back!" Billie smiled down at him, and his tail thumped the sidewalk happily.

One small table sat open a few yards down from the takeout counter, and as he eased himself into the plastic chair, his feet and back groaned with fatigue. Hungry as he was, he first slid the juicy chunks of meat off two of the skewers onto a napkin, and set it down on the sidewalk. Snot attacked it ravenously, making obnoxious smacking and slurping noises, and then proceeded to eat the napkin before Billie could stop him. His hands were shaking with quiet laughter as he set the cup of cold water down for the dog. Thank goodness he had one friend in this place.

He chewed slowly, watching the faces of the people that passed through the courtyard. Helpless to stop his thoughts from turning to Adie and the boys, he wondered if they had finished their dinner without him. Adie wouldn't get worried about him in earnest until tomorrow morning; many nights, he'd stayed out all night, walking, smoking and drinking, when he had a lot on his mind. Now he regretted making it such a normal occurrence that hours would pass before she would look for him.

He finished his meal, tossing his napkin and cup in the trash barrel, and Snot dutifully hoisted himself up, joining Billie as he walked across the courtyard to see if he could find a place to stay for the night. The kebab stand was closing up, bars drawn across the window and the green and yellow lights extinguished. There were more people on the street now, and from somewhere a few streets away, he could hear a punk band thrashing out power chords.

Intent on looking for a hotel, he didn't notice the mohawked young man until their shoulders bumped in passing. He turned to apologize, and was relieved to see Jabril's familiar face looking impassively back at him.

"Oh, hey man, sorry about that," he told the boy, clapping him on the shoulder. Jabril returned his gaze indifferently. "I, um...well, I didn't have much luck with the phone, but I appreciate the tip anyway." Trying to explain everything that had happened in the bar would have certainly convinced the young man that he was completely nuts.

The boy acknowledged his thanks with an almost imperceptible nod. "Too bad you couldn't get through," he said. "Must be hard, worrying about your family."

Billie eyed him for a moment. He had never mentioned having family, he was sure of it. He had only said he needed to call "his people." A coincidence, he thought, and shrugged the thought away.. "Where's yours? Family, I mean," he asked.

Jabril looked off into the distance thoughtfully. Then he lowered his head, and the shadow of sadness that passed across his face was the first trace of emotion he had shown. "Don't have any. Haven't for a long time."

An awkward second passed, and Billie cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I'm really sorry," he said for the second time. "So do you live by yourself?" He tried to smooth over his mistake, looking as casual as he could.

"Not exactly. There's a warehouse that me and some friends crash at. The owners know, and they kind of ignore us as long as we watch the place, make sure there's no breakins, stuff like that."

"You think they'd mind if Snot and I joined you tonight? I don't seem to have any other connections here, and we won't be any trouble."

The boy considered for a moment. "I guess it'd be okay. Him, too," he said, glancing down at the dog, who seemed to be grinning at him. "But before we go, I've got some business to take care of. You better wait here, and I'll come back in a few."

Billie looked around at the unfamiliar faces. He had lived on the streets, he had been on his own in some of the toughest areas of Oakland in the band's early days. He was no stranger to taking care of himself. But in this place, there was nothing predictable, nothing he could count on from his experience, and it made him nervous to be alone, especially at night.

"Maybe I could help you," he suggested. "If you need another pair of hands, I'd be glad to pay you back for your advice."

"It depends," Jabril said, cocking his head to the side. "How are you on a guitar?"