How Not To Be A Groupie

Chapter Sixty One: Calling The Boys Up

Now this bar was sketch.

The only tables in there were all crowded in the shadows with clouds of smoke hovering over them. I couldn't see any of the patrons sitting around them and maybe it was for the best. The bartender was drying off a glass before setting it down and reaching behind the counter for a bottle of beer, opening it. Phil and Angus approached the man no problem but I lagged behind as I took in my surroundings. No one was speaking. The radio was very quiet and most of the action was where the pool table was, balls clacking against each other. It felt like all eyes were on us.

"'Scuze us," Phil said to the bartender. At least this man looked kind despite his untidy appearance. "Ya' have a phone we can use?"

"One that doesn't need change?" Angus added. The bartender considered all three of us and started laughing. 

"Yeah, I got a phone, alright," he said before reaching behind the counter again. If I thought the rotary phones of the seventies were fascinating, it was nothing compared to the living fossil from the twenties. A black candlestick model with a gossamer hanging off the mouth piece. Wiping his hands on the phone, ridding it of any dust, the man passed it across the counter toward us. A long wire trailed behind it like a snake. "You just plug this little lady in and make your call."

"Uh...thanks," Phil said, lifting the telephone off the counter. We looked around for a place to plug it in. There was an outlet hanging from an extension cord, and that cord was hanging from something on the ceiling. Probably for the bar lights. Not that they used any of them. Phil forced the plug into the outlet and it put up a fight. All eyes were on us now for sure. Angus took the phone from him so he could use two hands to shove it in. "If this starts a fire..." Phil muttered. 

"Have enough material for your notebook?" Angus asked me, trying to smile through the pain. The phone must have been heavy and I helped him support it. After plugging the phone in, Phil picked up the mouth piece and turned the dial. It chattered louder than the pool balls and interrupted their game.

To everyone's surprise, it actually rang. 

"Hello?" The voice on the other end was warped and garbled. Like they were speaking through a ball of tin foil. 

"Who am I talkin' to?" Phil asked. 

"Phil, where are you?" the voice said. "They're all askin' for us an' we don't know what to tell 'em." 

"I think it's Cliff," Phil whispered to us. He turned back to the phone. "We're out of town at the minute," he said. "Bon wasn't in his room so we're lookin' for him."

"They're not happy with us," Cliff said. "Ya' know, they got Mal cornered an' he's pretty upset. They said they could reschedule us but we know we can't."

"Has Bon called at all?" Phil asked then shook the mouth piece in disgust as a tiny spider fell out of it onto the floor. He took the phone from Angus and I and we let our arms rest. "Has the bastard explained himself?"

"No, we haven't heard from him all day." There was some warbled yelling in the background. "Mal's gettin' worried. This isn't like him."

"No, it's not," Phil said. "We found a pub to ask around...ya' know, if anyone's seen him." There was some muttering from the pool table and I turned to see the men looking right at us. "Thought maybe he had a friend around here."

"Bon's got friends stashed all over the globe," Cliff said. "There's gotta be someone."

"They still up for the interview?" Phil asked. Angus went to the back of the bar where the restrooms were.