03-11-2020, 02:50 PM
More humans crowded the bar than Gavin could ever remember seeing at this place. The Hideaway wasn’t for the average man, but there were always a few who thought they could brave the smoky darkness and live to tell the tale. Place was infamous in those days. A supernatural hangout before those places grew in popularity.
But today? Its reputation didn’t seem to matter. Men in their blazers and women in their sundresses smoked endlessly in the underground bar, drinking whatever they were served. A crowd three people deep hassled the bartender, yelling at the shifter who provided the Paynes with occasional bits of intel for the last 70 years. They screamed for Secretariat and toasted the ‘magnificent machine’ who’d just taken the Triple Crown for the first time in 25 years. Gavin remembered the 1948 race, too. That horse’s name escaped him.
He’d never been a gambling man, not in the monetary sense. Nor was he a race man, as so many around him clearly were. The single, tiny television set high above the backsplash of the bar replayed the race over and over. News stations abandoned all pretense that there were better things to talk about. Gavin wanted to hear about the war. Seemed like the humans would forget about that until the morning.
That rusted hope that a drunk human might also get him drunk hung in his mind as the cellar door opened for the tenth time in the last hour, letting in the glow of street lamps for a moment before slamming shut.
People turned to look, but Gavin’s cousin wasn’t in the mood for talk, by the look on his face.
By the time he reached Gavin’s table near the back, Gavin could read him like an open book.
“Yeh didnae find the lass?” He didn’t wish to provide an alternative and just let the question hang in the air.
SUCK MY PEEPEE