Krueger - Last Call at the Nightshade Lounge

To the bartenders, baristas, and waiters who pour the world a stiff drink and keep em comin

It was another Friday night, not that it mattered to Officer Jim Regan of the Chicago PD. There were fifty-two Fridays in a year, and hed been around for fifty-two years. That meant the number of Fridays hed lived through was was The hell with it. He wasnt gonna do the math.

After all, it was Friday.

His usual routine was to get off his beat, squeeze back into his civvies, then head down to the Loose Cannon with the rest of the Twentieth Precinct and drink the night away. But tonight hed gone solo and wandered south into Ravenswood, to the Nightshade Lounge. It was a neighborhood joint his partner mentioned once upon a time, a place where no one would give a shit that hed flunked his sergeants exam for the fifth time.

Jim slurped down the last of his boilermaker and slammed the entire thing on the counter, the empty shot glass rattling inside the equally empty beer glass. Good stuff, he boomed to everybody within thirty feet, which was pretty much nobody. It was past one a.m. and the bar had mostly emptied. He clapped a meaty hand on the counter. Ill take one for the road.

The bartender studied him from behind a pair of square eyeglasses. I think youre good, man, he said.

Jim studied him back. He was youngpractically a kidand wore a white dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a tucked-in tie like an old-timey barkeep. Little punk.

Come on, Jim said, pulling out his wallet. Its for the road. Give me a break, huh?

The bartender shook his head. Our drinks arent going anywhere. How about you come back tomorrow night, and your first ones on me? Ill call you a cab. The kid whipped out his phone before he was even done speaking. Jim waved him off.

Sall right, he said. Dont hafta worry about getting busted. Im a cop.

The kid grinned. Knowing what the city pays you, Ill make it two rounds then. But for now, lets get you that cab.

Jim waved him off again. Keep the damn cab, he said, scowling. I can walk. He lurched to his feet, then looked back. Maybe because hed been pickling his brain in bourbon and beer since getting off work, but he only just noticed that Mr. Shirt-and-Tie was alone behind the bar. Hey, he said, what happened to the girl? The friendly-looking redhead with a pretty face and not too terrible figure had been happy to serve him.

The kid mimed smoking an invisible cigarette.

Jim grimaced. Now that was a bad habit hed never picked up. Walking the beat was risky enough. He dropped a fiver on the bar but couldnt focus well enough to give the kid the dirty look he deserved. Well, tell her thanks for doing her job.

Get home safe, Officer.

And so Jim Regan staggered out, muttering darkly with each step.

Officer. It wasnt like he was gunning to be the next commissioner, for chrissake; he just wanted the stripes on his sleeve. But these days everything was run by up-jumped little shits like that punk bartender.

Summertime Chicago was sweltering. Jim got only three blocks before blotches of sweat darkened his shirt. He stopped and reevaluated. New plan: screw walking and take the bus. The nearest stop was just over the Montrose Street Bridge in Horner Park, a quick trip even for him.

As he heaved across the two-lane bridge, Jim eyed the rusted pedestrian railings. What a goddamn surprise, he thought; something around town needed fixing up. Hed seen six mayors come and go since he first put on the uniform, and if there was one thing each generation of paper pushers downtown was good at, it was coming up with new ways to fuck up something that was already pretty thoroughly fucked.

The streetlights flickered overhead. Something was rustling behind himnot a car; didnt sound like wheels. More like footfalls.

Jim turned and froze.

God, no. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, no.

Not the DTs. Not now. Jim might be a drunkan alcoholic, he was supposed to saybut he knew when to stop. Stopping was all that kept him from turning out like his old man, a real drunks drunk: the thrashing, then trembling, sweating through his undershirts. Moaning and clawing at the air, at things that werent there. Things like this.

Jim blinked, but the thing didnt go away.

It wasnt hugethe size of a big dog, maybebut it was a horrible skinless pink color, as if made of flayed muscle. And it was crawling forward.

Jim glanced around wildly. Stop, he said as the thing took one ponderous step closer. Police! But the thing just blinked a yellow eye and took another step. He tried again: Stop! Police!

The ugly bastard didnt even falter. Sped up even, scuttling toward him like a fleshy crab as the streetlights flicked faster. Its head was barely a stub, with lit-up catlike eyes and a horrible, tooth-ringed, flesh-flapped mouth. Jesus, the thing had fangs.

Jim ran.

Gym membership, he thought between puffs, first goddamn thing tomorrow. Show thosepuff, puffshaved-chest pretty-boy rookies what a real man can do.

The thing was still coming. Zigzag, he thought. Thats what youre supposed to do to get away from bears or crocs or whatever, right? He threw his left foot over his right

and fell face-first. He dug his fingers into the ground. The world was spinning at an unmerciful tilt and a sickening groan was tearing through the night air: metal dragging on asphalt, like a loose car muffler. But there were no cars. Just the streetlamps of Montrose Avenue and the scrabbling sounds of the thing behind him and distant sparks

Sparks. Jim shoved himself to his feet. Something was barreling toward him, grating out sparks in its wake.

Police! he yelled with what little breath he had left. Clear the street! Police! He mightve been in his fifties and still not making sergeant, but if he was going to die, at least he would die a cop.

It was a personblack female, tall, dreadlocksand she was dragging a stop sign, a chunk of concrete still attached to the bottom. She hefted it as she sprinted, even though there was no way her skinny arms couldve lifted it, and the sparks and the noise stopped.

Pol Jim couldnt even get the word out before she jumpedright over his headand sliced the stop sign through the things neck like an executioners ax.

The head bounced into the darkness as the girl landed with a soft thump. The things body swayed, collapsed onto its haunches, and then exploded in a burst of thick, ugly smoke.