The Happy Haven - James Gerard (ebook reader for surface pro .txt) 📗

from either direction, so the surrounding scene should be foreign.

 

Bill briefly entertained the services of a taxi, but the motivation to see Scott was not so urgent.  Instead, he looked around the sidewalk and across the street to spot any bench indicating that public transportation served the upscale neighborhood of towering condominiums and specialty shops, but neither a bus nor bus stop could be seen.

 

“Funny,” he chuckled, “I’ve never ridden a bus in my life.”  He stood there perplexed as to what to do, but then realized, “When all else fails, turn to science and technology.”

 

Fingers tapped the smart phone’s touch screen and activated the website containing the city’s mass transit routes and schedules and instructions.  Scanning the screen, he spotted a convenient feature where by inputting the starting point and destination, instructions would automatically provide details on how to arrive at The Happy Haven.

 

Rambling down the sidewalks for a few blocks led Bill to the spot where the specifically numbered bus was just minutes from arriving.  It was nearly seven o’clock.  While waiting, he knew that there would be no time to make it to the magazine stand after talking with Scott, but scoffed at the idea over their outrage of missing a possible message since there was yet to be an answer to the question. 

 

To Bill’s surprise, the bus came lumbering up the street in a matter of minutes and came to a stop.  The doors swooshed open to let a single passenger off and apparently waited for him to enter.

 

How strange, he thought, as he stepped on and looked around at the unfamiliar configuration of seats half-occupied by riders with tired expressions.  “Um…how do I pay?” he asked the driver.

 

The driver pointed to the slot to feed the bills and informed Bill of the two dollar fare.

 

Bill reached into a pocket and pulled out a wad of cash.  “Do you have change?”

 

The driver laughed and shook his head, “For a hundred dollar bill?  You must be nuts!”

 

With a shrug of the shoulders he peeled off a bill and fed it into the slot.  “You can keep the change.”

 

The bus lurched forward.  Bill grabbed onto a rail up top to steady the walk to the back of the bus.  With each step he maintained a smile while wondering why the passengers were apparently staring at him with suspicious stares.  It was as if they were surprised to see him riding a bus.  Considering how out of place he looked, the stares were dismissed as simple curiosity.

 

Not bad, he considered, as the ride was somewhat smooth yet a bit bumpy at times.  Curious over his fellow passengers, Bill looked around and considered the reason why they would be on board.  He wondered if public transportation was their main means of travel or if it were just a temporary solution until the repair of personal transportation.

 

He noticed older folks sitting at the front with some toting large bags and considered they must have been off to some outlet for food shopping.  The other elderly passengers anchored down walkers with their hands and were most likely on their way to see a doctor.  Noticing the younger men and women sitting in the seats, some appeared to be attired in rugged clothing befitting a hard, laborious day’s work, while others appeared to be young mothers escorting their children to school.  Bill found the strangest part of the ride was found in what he could only see as sad faces and an eerie absence of chatter amongst them all.

 

The attention diverted suddenly to the outside to glimpse a name of one of the cross streets to check it against the transit map still occupying the phone’s screen.  According to the map, the bus should pass two more streets before the stop for The Happy Haven would come up.  A hand reached up and yanked a yellow cord and immediately a signal chimed out loud.

 

Stepping off the bus, Bill found the surroundings were worse than expected.   The depressing view of abandoned, dilapidated, boarded up storefronts came into sight.  All he could imagine was the once thriving businesses had fallen victim to the death blows of a poverty stricken neighborhood that had not survived the blows of a bad economy.

 

All that survived, as far down the street as he could see, were cheap and seedy motels, liquor stores, pawn shops, discount tobacco outlets, small markets selling a variety of wares on the cheap, and a few bars here and there.  What was most peculiar, however, was why Scott chose such a depressing neighborhood to hang out at.   

 

A check of the directions to The Happy Haven led Bill to the right and further down the street.  Along the way, thoughts concerning why the area had not been slated for funding to receive a total makeover confounded the mind.  Certainly, the best course of action would be to raze everything and build anew to revitalize the area.  Then again, he concluded, no financial corporation or developer is going risk the investment to do it.     

 

Up ahead a faded sign with chipped and peeling paint jutting out from the face of a four story building marked the place, The Happy Haven, where Scott should be.

 

Within seconds he stood in front of the doors and cautiously stepped inside.  Instantaneously, he felt as if he were stepping back in time.  A line of bar stools with ripped vinyl seats were lined against a long and narrow counter and stood upon an old tile floor blotted with stains of what only could have been spilt beer and mixed drinks.  Behind the bar’s smooth, wooden surface was an eclectic assembly of framed and faded photographs and posters and memorabilia of what only could have been actors and actresses from the heyday of Hollywood and sport’s stars whose careers had long ago faded away.  There were also photographs of what he suspected to be distinguished statesmen and frequent drinkers from the past that clung to dirty plastered walls.   There were also booths surrounded with posters advertising certain brands of beer and alcohol which he had never heard of, and tabletops covered by rough, splintered sheets of wood.

 

Without notice, he abruptly detected the smell of stale tobacco and cheap booze mixed in with fried foods wafting in the air.  An old television hung from the ceiling broadcasting some news show no one was paying attention to.  And surprisingly, unlike the melancholy look of the silent travelers of those riding the bus, the place was alive with smiles and laughter and the cackling of those having a good time. 

 

“Is that Scott?” whispered Bill while staring at a vaguely familiar face sitting at a barstool.  If it was him, he was slowly sipping from a glass.

 

Scott suddenly swiveled around and looked towards Bill.  “I’ll be a…look my fellow patrons,” he announced, “we have been honored by the presence of a great and esteemed gentleman, one William P. Adams.”

 

Bill looked around and chuckled at the non-response of those that sat around lost in their idle chitchat then walked up to Scott and laughed, “Wow, it’s really good to see you again.”

 

“What are you doing here?” asked Scott.

 

“Ah, just wanted to see what had happened to you.”

 

“How dare you my boy see me in such light.  Look around you.  Why, all amongst us are our friends dear Bill.  And as your friends they should have an intimate knowledge of your greatness.”

 

Bill chuckled.  “Unlike you, I was never considered great.”

 

“Take note.  My friends, this is the man that brought to us the henway.  Please, show him your appreciation by a round of applause.”

 

Bill again chuckled in response to the eruption of shouts of “we’ve heard it a thousand times before Scott.”

 

“The henway my friends.  Yes, I tell you the henway.”

 

“Okay,” said Bill, “I’ll take the bait; what’s a henway?”

 

“Why about four to six pounds I’d say.”

 

“Oh, that’s pretty bad,” Bill laughed as the rest of the bar’s patrons showered Scott with a chorus of boos.

 

“Bartender,” shouted Scott, “give this man a shot of your finest scotch whiskey.”

 

“One shot of turpentine coming up.”

 

Scott threw a hundred dollar bill up on the counter and said, “Relax, she’s just kidding,” then escorted Bill over to one of the empty booths.

 

Under the light of a lamp hanging precariously above the table, Bill noticed the unkempt mop of hair.  “No offense, but who’s your stylist?”

 

“A local barber up the street.”

 

“Seriously?” Bill asked.  Then the attention was drawn to Scott’s hands and the strip of grime under the fingernails.  “Have you given up on manicures as well?”

 

“Hey, am I hearing a tone of disbelief from my old friend?”

 

“Wow, are you buying your clothes off the rack now?”

 

“Worse my friend.  I now purchase my wardrobe from the finest thrift stores around.”

 

A woman came walking from the back of the bar carrying a plate of what looked like food but Bill could not be sure.  She set the plate before Scott and was paid with a hundred dollar bill.

 

“Is everything expensive around here or are you just paying on a bar tab?”

 

“Have you considered rewarding one’s hard labor with generosity my friend?”

 

“Really Scott?  I could understand such generosity at the country club, but at this dive?”

 

“Please Bill, your spoiling my appetite.  Now, I invite you to sample this fine cuisine.”

 

Considering the bar’s unsanitary state, Bill hesitated to take up on the offer, but after watching Scott reach out a hand and pluck a sliver of the food off the plate with his fingers he decided what gastronomical catastrophe could it cause?  His sophisticated palate, however, was instantly overwhelmed with the presence of sodium, and as he chewed on what he believed was chicken he nearly spat out the detestable taste of heavy oil used to fry up the battered concoction.

 

“I’m sorry Scott, but this is pretty bad,” Bill complained.  “I mean, you can do a lot better than this Scott can’t you?”

 

“I am able to handle all of your disparaging remarks aimed at me my friend, but I must draw the line when you speak in such negative terms concerning my home.”

 

“Your home?  You live here?”

 

“Yes I do.  In fact, just above us in a small apartment.”

 

“Again,” declared Bill, “you can do much better than this.”

 

 “Enough of the small talk already.  So tell me, what are you really here for?”

 

“Just a little snag with a project...well actually, a question that needs answering….”

 

“Whoa,” shouted Scott and shot out a hand to cover Bill’s glass, “You are old enough to drink?”

 

Bill smiled.  “Well…in most countries I am.”

 

“Okay then   As long as you are of legal age in most countries.”

 

After taking a sip of the drink to wash away the foul taste of the fried food lingering in the mouth, Bill gasped and sputtered out, “Yikes, this is turpentine.”

 

“As I remember, you never were eager to sample the alcohol at our wild parties,” Scott laughed.  “Anyway, I digress.  I take it to mean the snag involves the project that you and Kevin and Kenny and Paul are working on?”

 

Bill leaned in towards Scott and whispered, “How do you know that?”

 

“Because my friend, they approached me first.  Unfortunately for you, I turned them down.  Hence, you were selected as the fourth member of the team.”

 

“Why…unfortunately for me?” asked Bill.

 

Scott blared out, “Don’t let it bother you.  I know it’s a blow to your ego.   But look at it this way; you were the first alternative.”

 

“The first….”

 

“Look,” Scott spoke up, “originally they wanted Kevin, Kenny, Paul and me to lead the team, but when I declined they went to you just to have a fourth member.  You’re just as competent as them.  I’m sure you are doing quite well.  Now, how can I help?”

 

Bill inhaled deeply to snuff out the anger kindling in the mind.  He looked at Scott and calmly asked, “You were never blackballed were you?”

 

Bill listened intently to Scott as he matter-of-factly talked about his father and mother.  In a way he understood how his parents had not appreciated their dear son thumbing a nose at ascending to the top as they had arranged a proper and respectable life.  Then again, he