Redshirts: A Novel Part 20

"That's okay," Dahl said. "I think you're better looking than me."

Abnett smiled. "I'll take that," he said. "And speaking of which, it's time to take you folks clothes shopping. Those uniforms work in the future, but here and now, they'll get you branded as geeks who don't get out of the bas.e.m.e.nt enough. Do you have money?"

"We have ninety-three thousand dollars," Hanson said. "Minus seventy-eight dollars for lunch."

"I think we can work with that," Abnett said.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

"I hate these clothes," Kerensky said.

"You look good," Dahl said, a.s.suring him.

"No, I don't," Kerensky said. "I look like I dressed in the dark. How did people wear this?"

"Stop whining," Duvall said. "It's not like you don't wear civvies back where we come from."

"This underwear is itchy," Kerensky said, tugging.

"If I knew you were this whiny, I never would have slept with you," Duvall said.

"If I knew you were going to drug me, kidnap me and take me back to the dark ages without my pants, I never would have slept with you," Kerensky shot back.

"Guys," Dahl said, and motioned with his eyes to the cabbie, who was studiously ignoring the weirdos in his backseat. "Not so much with the dark ages talk."

The cab, on Sunset, took a left onto Vine.

"So we're sure Marc Corey's still there, right?" Kerensky asked.

"Brian said his friend called as soon as he got there, and would call if he left," Dahl said. "Brian hasn't called me since then, so we can a.s.sume he's still in there."

"I don't think this is going to work," Kerensky said.

"It'll work," Dahl said. "I know."

"That was with your guy," Kerensky said. "This guy could be different."

"Please," Duvall said. "If he's anything like you, he'll be totally infatuated with you. It'll be like looking into a mirror he can poke."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Kerensky said.

"It means that you being fascinated with yourself isn't going to be a problem," Duvall said.

"You don't actually like me, do you?" Kerensky said, after a second.

Duvall smiled and patted his cheek. "I like you just fine, Anatoly," she said. "I really do. But right now, I need you to focus. Think of this as another away mission."

"I always get hurt on away missions," Kerensky said.

"Maybe," Duvall said. "But you always survive."

"The Vine Club," the cabbie said, pulling up to the sidewalk.

The three of them got out of the cab, Dahl pausing to pay the cabbie. From inside the club, music thumped. A line of young, pretty, studiously posed people waited outside.

"Come on," Dahl said, and walked up to the bouncer. Duvall and Kerensky followed.

"Line starts over there," the bouncer said, motioning to the pretty, posed people.

"Yes, but I was told to talk to you," Dahl said, and held out his hand with the hundred-dollar bill folded in it, like Abnett told him to do. "Mitch, right?"

Mitch the bouncer glanced down almost imperceptibly at Dahl's hand, then shook it, deftly sc.r.a.ping the bill out of it as he did so. "Right," Mitch said. "Talk to me, then."

"I'm supposed to tell you that these two are Roberto's friends," Dahl said, mentioning the name of Abnett's bartender friend, and nodding back to Kerensky and Duvall. "He's expecting them."

Mitch looked over at Kerensky and Duvall. If he noted Kerensky's resemblance to Marc Corey, he kept it to himself. He turned his gaze back to Dahl. "First floor only," he said. "If they try for the second floor, they're out on their a.s.s. If they go for the bas.e.m.e.nt, they're out on their a.s.s minus teeth."

"First floor," Dahl repeated, nodding.

"And not you," Mitch said. "No offense."

"None taken," Dahl said.

Mitch motioned to Kerensky and Duvall and unlatched the rope; audible protests came from the line of pretty, posed people.

"You got this?" Dahl asked Duvall, as she walked by.

"Trust me, I got this," she said. "Stick by your phone."

"I will," Dahl said. The two of them disappeared into the dark of the Vine Club. Mitch latched the rope behind them.

"Hey," Dahl said to him. "Where can a normal human go get a drink?"

Mitch smiled at this and pointed. "Irish pub right up there," he said. "The bartender's name is Nick. Tell him I sent you."

"Thanks," Dahl said, and headed up the street.

The pub was noisy and crowded. Dahl worked his way to the bar and then fished in his pocket for money.

"Hey, Brian, right?" someone said to him.

Dahl looked up to see the bartender staring back at him, smiling.

"Finn," Dahl said.

"Nick," the bartender said.

"Sorry," Dahl said, after a second. "Brain freeze."

"Occupational hazard," Nick said. "You get known by your part."

"Yeah," Dahl said.

"Hey, are you all right?" Nick asked. "You seem a little"-he wiggled his hands-"dazed."

"I'm fine," Dahl said, and made the effort to smile. "Sorry. Just a little strange to see you here."

"It's the life of an actor," Nick said. "Out of work and bartending. What are you having?"

"Pick a beer for me," Dahl said.

"Brave man," Nick said.

"I trust you," Dahl said.

"Famous last words," Nick said, and then headed off to the taps. Dahl watched him working the taps and tried very hard not to freak out.

"Here you go," Nick said a minute later, handing over a pint gla.s.s. "Local microbrew. It's called a Starlet Stout."

Dahl tried it. "It's not bad," he said.

"I'll tell the brew master you said so," Nick said. "You might remember him. The three of us were in a scene together. He got killed by a swarm of robots."

"Lieutenant Fischer," Dahl said "That's the one," Nick said, and nodded at Dahl's gla.s.s. "Real name is Jake Klein. His microbrewery's taking off, though. He's mostly doing that now. I'm thinking of joining him."

"And stop being an actor?" Dahl said.

Nick shrugged. "It's not like they're tearing down the doors to get at me," he said. "I've been out here nine years now and that gig on Intrepid was the best thing I've gotten so far, and it wasn't all that great. I got killed by an exploding head."

"I remember," Dahl said.

"That was what did it for me, actually," Nick said. He started washing gla.s.ses in the bar sink to give the appearance of being busy as he talked. "We did ten takes of that scene. Every time we did it I had to toss myself backward like there was an actual explosion. And around take seven I thought to myself, 'I'm thirty years old and what I'm doing with my life is pretending to die on a TV show that I wouldn't watch if I wasn't on it.' At a certain point you have to ask yourself why you do it. I mean, why do you do it?"

"Me?" Dahl asked.

"Yeah," Nick said.

"I do it because for a long time I didn't know I had a choice," Dahl said.

"That's just it, though," Nick said. "You do. You still on the show?"

"For now," Dahl said.

"But they're going to kill you off too," Nick said.

"In a couple of episodes," Dahl said. "Unless I can avoid it."

"Don't avoid it," Nick said. "Die and then figure out the rest of your life."

Dahl smiled. "It's not as simple as that for some of us," he said, and took a drink.

"Mortgage, huh," Nick said.

"Something like that," Dahl said.

"C'est la vie," Nick said. "So what brings you down to Hollywood and Vine? I think you told me you were in Toluca Lake."

"I had some friends who wanted to go to the Vine Club," Dahl said.

"They didn't let you in?" Nick asked. Dahl shrugged. "You should have let me know. My friend's the bouncer there."

"Mitch," Dahl said.

"That's him," Nick said.

"He's the one who told me to come down here," Dahl said.

"Ouch," Nick said. "Sorry."

"I'm not," Dahl said. "It's really good to see you again."

Nick grinned and then went to tend to other customers.

Dahl's phone vibrated. He fished it out of his pocket and answered it.

"Where are you?" Duvall asked.

"I'm at a pub down the street," Dahl said. "Having a very weird time. Why?"

"You need to come back down here. We just got kicked out of the club," Duvall said.

"You and Kerensky?" Dahl asked. "How did that happen?"

"Not just me and Kerensky," Duvall said. "Marc Corey too. He attacked Kerensky."

"What?" Dahl said.

"We walked up to Corey in his booth, he saw Kerensky and said, 'So you're the f.u.c.ker whose picture is on Gawker,' and lunged at him," Duvall said.

"What the h.e.l.l is a Gawker?" Dahl asked.