Page 41 of Mann Hunt
“Look, Mateo, if Declan is trying to set you up with me, tell him thank you—I’m sure you’re a really nice person, but—”
“No. That is not the reason I am calling. Declan is a little too drunk to leave here, and we were hoping that you could come and get him. He told me to look you up on his phone and call you.”
“Oh, he did, did he?”
“Yes. I’ll text you the address. See you soon. Bye-bye.”
Mateo disconnected and a moment later Charlie’s phone chirped with a text.
“Declan wants me to pick him up because he’s too drunk to find his own way home. If he thinks he can just call me at any hour, just because he needs my help…” Charlie muttered.
“You’re going to go get him, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am! Heneedsme.”
* * * *
The address was a few blocks east at some place called The Greek.The Greek what?he asked himself. His question was soon answered.No way. I can’t go in there! What if it gets raided and I get arrested? What would my parents think?
A hot young blond guy came out of the building. He was wearing an old hockey jersey cut off above the navel and a tight pair of jeans. He paused for a moment to check Charlie out. He cracked the gum he was chewing and blew a bubble, then said, “Are you heading in?”
“Uh…” Charlie muttered, then checked to see if anyone was watching.
“‘Cause if you are, I might just have to go back in there,” he said, before reaching up and rubbing the back of his hand against Charlie’s chest.
Charlie took a deep breath, mustered all of his self-control and said, “Just heading in for work.”
“I’ve never seen you before. I’ll look for you next time,” the blond said before sauntering away.
Charlie walked cautiously up a flight of stairs, where he found what looked like a ticket booth with red velvet curtains on either side. A handsome Latino man sat behind the glass. He was reading a book. This struck Charlie as odd for a place like this. The book didn’t even seem to have any pictures.
Charlie cleared his throat. “Ah, excuse me.”
“Yes?” The man closed his book. Charlie noticed the title—Nietzsche on Truth and Philosophy. A man exited from behind the red curtain. He wore full cowboy regalia.What wasn’t covered in clothes was covered in sweat.
“Ah…” Charlie couldn’t focus.
“You must be here for Declan. I’m Mateo,” said the man in the booth.
Mateo hung a ‘Be Back Soon’ sign on his glass window. It bore an image of a muscular male back, used in place of the second word.Very Nietzsche, Charlie thought.
Mateo led Charlie behind the red curtain into a world he had only fantasised about. Men of all shapes and sizes wandered down hallways, in all states of undress. Pulsing techno-beat music thrummed in the background. This world seemed to have an unspoken language—a quick glance for “no thank you,” a lingering gaze for “I want you.” Charlie picked up the language quickly. It was primal. One handsome, well-toned man—Charlie guessed he was in his fifties—locked eyes on him. Charlie stopped in his tracks, held in a trance. The man’s hair was silver, his metallic-grey beard was a well-trimmed half-inch in length and his eyes, steel blue. Charlie felt himself being drawn towards him.
“Charlie,” a voice said. “No shopping unless you pay. Come.” Mateo took Charlie’s hand and led him down the hallway.
As they approached a dark-red door, Charlie could make out the sound of a voice he recognised. Mateo opened the door and there was Declan, fully clothed, slumped in a chair and mumbling to a tightly T-shirted burly man. The man looked up at Charlie and smiled.
“I think you’re going to need help with this one. At least until you get him to the street,” he said as he threw a beefy arm under one of Declan’s arms and around his back.
“Okay, my friend, up you go,” he said as he lifted Declan onto his feet. Declan’s head pivoted around until it faced Charlie.
“Charlie! My dear, dear, dear, dear friend. They found you.” Declan’s face lit up with a liquid smile. He spun his head towards the burly man and whispered, as if revealing a great secret, “This is my friend Charlie. He’s waaaaay smarter than me.”
“And hopefully a good deal more sober,” the other man replied, then laughed. “Come on, my friend. Let me get you downstairs where your best friend Charlie can get you home.”
Declan didn’t walk down the stairs as much as he was carried, then was placed in the back of the Uber which Charlie had managed to order on their way down.
The driver took one look at Charlie and said, “He pukes back there and it’ll be a hundred-and-fifty-dollar charge.”
