Free Demon's Door by Graham Masterton Page B

playing ‘Won’t You Come Home, Bill Bailey’ and he knew that he ought to go home and see Tibbles but actually he wanted his life to go on hold for an hour or two, and nothing else to happen, so that he could try to catch up with what had happened so far.
    He sat up at the bar and ordered a bottle of Fat Tire Amber Ale, which he drank much too quickly, so that he couldn’t stop burping. He ordered another, but this time he sipped it more slowly. He crunched a few giant pretzels, too, to see if they would help, but they kept surging up in the back of his throat, so that he had to swallow them twice.
    A tawny-blonde girl in a very short miniskirt climbed on to the barstool next to him and said, in a cheerful British accent, ‘You look sad, mate!’
    â€˜Sad?’ said Jim. ‘No, I’m not sad. I’m just trying to make sense of the world.’
    â€˜How about a shag? That should cheer you up.’
    Jim looked at her. She had a chubby oval face and double false eyelashes and dark circles under her eyes, even though she couldn’t have been much older than Maria Lopez, or any of the other girls in his class. Her miniskirt was covered with glittery purple sequins, and she wore purple stilettos with worn-down heels.
    â€˜A shag?’ Jim asked her. ‘What’s that? Today’s special?’
    The girl gave a throaty little laugh. ‘It’s a screw , silly.’
    â€˜Oh, I get it. I thought you were offering me some weird British meal like bangers ’n’ mash. Or maybe a carpet, or a seabird, or an ounce of tobacco. They’re all different kinds of shag.’
    â€˜You’re nuts, you are. But you can still have a shag if you want one.’
    â€˜No, no thanks all the same. A little early in the day for me.’
    â€˜What do you mean? It’s never too early to cheer yourself up. What time is it?’
    â€˜Seven twenty-five.’
    â€˜What – seven twenty-five in the morning?’
    â€˜Seven twenty-five in the evening. Do you know what day it is?’
    The girl stared at him for a long time and then she shook her head. ‘No. Surprise me.’
    â€˜Don’t you think it matters, what day it is?’
    â€˜I don’t know. No. Every bloody day’s the bloody same, as far as I’m concerned.’
    He stared at her so intently that she gave him a quick, defensive smile. ‘Something wrong, mate?’ she asked him.
    â€˜No, nothing,’ said Jim. ‘Well, nothing that you need to worry about, anyhow. But you’re right. Every bloody day is the bloody same. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. All the bloody same.’
    He left his last bottle of Fat Tire only three-quarters finished, and handed the bartender fifteen dollars.
    â€˜Keep the change,’ he told him.
    â€˜Oh . . . Mr Generous rides again,’ the bartender clucked at him.
    The tawny-haired girl looked at the bartender and shrugged. ‘Nutter,’ she said, but Jim didn’t hear her because he was already halfway to the door.
    When he stepped out into the parking lot, Jim looked up and the sky was a strange purplish color, with clouds flying past much faster than they should have been. Even though he could feel only the lightest of breezes, the yuccas along Hollywood Boulevard were shaking as violently as cheerleaders’ pom-poms.
    He drove back to Briarcliff Road and parked at a steep angle next to Summer’s yellow Beetle. Dry leaves were scurrying around and around in front of the steps, as if they were chasing each other. He climbed up to his apartment and opened the door. It was gloomy and airless inside and there was still a lingering fishy odor from Tibbles’ shrimp dinner. He switched on the lamps and the air-conditioning.
    â€˜Tibbles?’ he called out. ‘You there, boy?’ Tibbles always trotted out to greet him when he arrived home but this evening there was no sign of him.
    â€˜Tibbles?’