Dogs Bark in The Night

I sat in the dim Mexican bar hunched over my warming rum and coke. My shirt clung to me in the humid heat coated in a fine layer of dust and soot. There were two others in the bar - to my left some suit wearing fruit was in an animated conversation with the young handsome bartender - you know the type, calls the bar tender by his first name using vague gay innuendos in every sentence, rolling eyes, flipping wrists, takes bets on the current futbol game, keeps a girl handy to divert suspicion from his co-workers. A real asshole.

On the other end was a bloated balding queen deep in the drink that kept glancing at me with blood red eyes - greasy face. A real loser. I sat there depressed, looking at my shimmering ravaged reflection in the bar mirror when someone sided up into the stool next to me.

"Mr. Blasini, I am so glad I have contacted you."

I look over, my eyes droop and I cough out carcinogenic vapors. "Yeah? Who are you?"

The thin man in black suit and tie, eyes bulging and predatory, his face a mask smooth and shiny as a China Doll. He smiled back showing long yellow horse teeth. "Don't feign surprise, Agent Blasini - under the current situation, you knew Control would contact you. I am authorized to tell you they are very impressed with your reports - and that's coming from the top, I might add. The Head Controllers are impressed by your mission here."

I took a long drag from my Lucky and downed a swig. My head swam, I felt woozy. "Go on."

"Agent Blasini, I am here to inform you of a new directive. One I think you may enjoy - if you live that long." His monkey like laugh was derogatory and defensive.

"What do you mean if I live that long?"

He placed a veiny hand on my sleeve, black hair covered his knuckles. "Pay that no mind, my friend - just an inside trade joke. Here take this." He pulled something out of his jacket and slid a long envelope across over to me, tapped it with a finger.

"What? What's that?" My head swirled and hurt. Ringing in my ears.

"A ticket to Puerto Rico. Tourist class I am afraid - but what do you expect in today's economic climate?"

"Puerto Rico? You mean the Caribbean island?" I asked glancing down at the ticket. The ringing in my ears and the dull ache in my head intensified.

His face grew blank as a poker dealers, he drew close, "A black dog will bark in the night. This dog does not realise his fate - but he barks. The distant breathing of the highway, the Wild Boys and The Fallen Angels with Dirty Wings, the moon so big and yellow - so close you can almost reach up and goose it. He fears the night, you know? He fears. But he barks. Is it to drive away his fear? Or the voices that control his action?" He then burst into uncontrollable barking and face turning pink with laughter, "Woof! Hahaha!! Woof! Hahahaha! Woof! Hahahaha!"

I sat staring at this character. The laughter stopped as if cut off by light switch.

"Continue to write your reports, Agent - and of course do not edit any of the tasty details." His eyes go dreamy, " The look of shock on his face when you ripped his ear off - the gushing of blood, the passion of your hate. Ooooh, baby - that was sweet." His face snaps back into focus. "We will contact you once you reach San Juan. Oh, before I go - you gotta smoke?" Suddenly he was in dirty tattered street clothes, his hands stained black as a shoe shine boy. I reached in my pack and handed him a cigarette. "Gracias, compa - y adios."

I sat hunched back over my drink, ice cubes long gone as the character disappeared into the hot dusty streets of The City. I looked up into my reflection and nodded, thinking, Yes, this is it. They were right. It will never stop. And as Kafka once stated, this is the point reached when there is no turning back...