Mortimer

Chapter 11

“Well?” Mortimer was impatient. He preferred a seat at the front of the sanctuary so that he could see everything clearly. Lilly Lou ignored him, waiting. There was the sound of a low whistle down the alley.

“Come with me.” Lilly Lou grabbed Mortimer’s large hand and tugged him into the alley. Until now, the only people Mortimer had allowed to touch him were Mrs. Dixon, Neville, and his mother. To be yanked into an alleyway with this bearcat was absolutely intolerable—yet it was happening. Her ironclad grip stymied his attempts to jerk his hand away. The next thing he knew he was being whisked through a small door into a darkened room.

“Who’s this character?”

“My friend, Mortimer.” It was stuffy in the room and Mortimer couldn’t see a thing. He began to turn and push his way back out the door, but a hand clasped his shoulder.

“Are you cool, man?”

“It’s a bit sweltering in here, actually,” Mortimer pulled on his collar with disdain.

“He won’t tell anyone.”

The foreign member squeezed Mortimer’s shoulder, as if contemplating Lilly Lou’s promise, and finally released its steel grip. Lilly Lou proceeded to pull Mortimer between two velvet curtains and into The Church.

***

The Church looked nothing like a church. In fact, it looked strikingly similar to what Mrs. Dixon had described to Mortimer as a saloon and saloons were places for miscreants. Not to mention that they were illegal. Mortimer scrunched his face in displeasure and wished he were back at the Ascariot Manor with his plate of sauerkraut, sausage, custard, and mutton.

nothing

The ceilings were low and painted black, the floors were carpeted and dotted with small tables that had candles atop them. The lighting was dim, but Mortimer could see patrons hunched over drinks and talking. A stage was set up where a languid auto harpist strummed out a sleepy song about lost love. To Mortimer’s left was a bar—the back was mirrored with glass shelves holding bottles of liquor. A man dressed in black stood behind it and wiped down the surface with a wet dishrag.

Mortimer’s mustache twitched.

“Lilly Lou, baby, how are you doing?” A character wearing a gray suit and bowtie approached them. A cigar glowed from his right hand and a tumbler containing a liquid the color of urine was on his left. Mortimer scowled, watching as the urine-drinker wrapped Lilly Lou into an embrace.

“Herbert,” she tossed her purse onto the bar. “How’s your mother?”

“Better, the doctor gave her medicine and she was right as rain the morning after.” He grinned at her and then reached out to shake Mortimer’s hand. “Good to see you Mort. How’s the old back treating you.” He was referring to Mortimer’s spill at the horse races.

Mortimer cringed away from the burning red cigar between the man’s outstretched fingers. “Oh, sorry ‘bout that old chap.” Herbert grinned easily. He was not affronted by Mortimer’s response, and without even waiting for Mortimer to answer his question about the condition of his back. Herbert focused his attention back on Lilly Lou. “What will you have, doll?”

“Hmmm…” She twisted towards the bar as another man approached them with a lewdly dressed blonde on his arm.

“Herbert, who’s the bell-bottom?” He asked, a smirk on his cleanly shaven face. The blonde jumped into Lilly Lou’s arms.

“Darling, you look absolutely magnificent.”

“Cindy! Oh, you don’t think the color’s off?” Lilly Lou flushed, running her hands down the threads of her friend’s dress.

“It’s absolutely beautiful, plum suits you.”

Mortimer’s chest puffed up and he tried to ignore the man who was grinning at him awaiting an answer. Herbert turned away from the ladies and greeted the man, apparently a friend of his. “Frank, this is Mortimer Ascariot of the Centennial Shipping Line. Mortimer, Frank Smith.”

“You’re in shipping?” Frank’s tone changed immediately upon learning Mortimer’s identity. Much to Mortimer’s chagrin, he took several steps closer.

“I assure you, I have as little as possible to do with that company.” Mortimer scoffed, leaning away.

that company

“Why’s that?” Frank looked disappointed.

Mortimer was no longer paying attention. “When does the service begin?”

Lilly Lou had been leaning against the bar with her friend and she glanced over her shoulder as Herbert raised his drink in support of Mortimer’s inquiry. “Here, here! I was wondering the same thing.” Then to the bartender: “When does the show begin old chap? I’ve had enough of this melancholy.”

“Let me get you some hooch,” Frank put his hand on Mortimer’s shoulder.

“Excuse me?” Mortimer was aghast.

“A drink, darling,” Lilly Lou clarified. She took a drag from a cigarette passing it to Cindy.

“Lilly Lou, you really are a live wire!”

“Church special: Communion wine.” The bartender added, enjoying the scene.

Mortimer seated himself at the bar and looked around, his captain’s hat glinting in the light. “I must assume that this is a protestant church,” he observed aloud. “My studies have confirmed that there is a growing lack of integrity to good doctrine and morality amongst the country’s religious leaders.” He sniffed the air. “This establishment reeks of cigarettes and cheap booze.”

“This cheap booze will be a nickel,” the bartender slapped a small glass in front of Mortimer.

“You charge for communion wine?” Mortimer was indignant.

Frank tossed the bartender a couple coins, “keep the change old man.” Before Mortimer could launch into a tirade, Frank interrupted him by raising his glass. “I don’t know what you’re talking about with doctrine and whatever, but I can tell you that this place puts on a good show.”