“Not five or six. One. One from the scrum. One large one from the scrum. Singleton plus one. Just adequate to get us out alive.” Waldo smiled.
2.
The Spy’s offices were on the sixth floor of a restored building on Front Street overlooking Worcester Commons. The freshly sand blasted facade of the building was directly across from the parched earth commons, grassless and flecked with grey scraps of winter snow. There was a large reflecting pool, utterly empty save for residue clumps of ice/snow and several half- crushed soda cans. Beyond the empty pool was a small graveyard with slightly twisted or turned headstones from the 18th century. And beyond the graveyard was a mammoth horse and soldier statue for the Spanish American war, prancing upward, kicking its hooves toward the plywooded and abandoned downtown aptly named Commons Fashion Outlet Mall.
When Walling and Singleton entered the Spy Building, along with Ralph (the one from the scrum) they all hurried past the little lobby area with its matching leather loveseats. Singleton had honed in on the marble sheathing over the three elevators beyond the lobby and seemed intent on reaching the seventh floor before anyone else. Walling admired Singleton’s focus in this and all matters–no time to lose, no enemy too strong to be confronted, the perfect protector on any search for the toughest bar anywhere.
But Waldo from his leather loveseat headed Singleton and the rest off: “We’re here ready for the charge, way ahead of you,” he said, standing up and motioning to the woman still on the loveseat. “Suzan, meet our bodyguards.”
Singleton, a gangly fellow probably 6 ‘2” or 6’ 3”, with a military brush cut and very thick black rimmed glasses was non-plussed by Suzan’s appearance. How could you find boxing action with a woman in the entourage? The new Valhalla, a term Singleton cherished when Walling told it to him, might not have even a spot for visiting women. And on a mission women would only prove more vulnerable and difficult–didn’t all his commanders acknowledge as much, although publicly they might speak quite contrarily about the admission of women into combat.
Suzan Jelliffe stood up, a delicately coiffured woman of 50, still quite thin with a longish face, too large a nose, and disturbingly vacant look to her face as if she were constantly imagining something beyond the apparent focus point of her eyes. A doorway perhaps through which would come something more interesting than things at hand. Waldo took her hand and said, “She’s brought the camera.”
“The camera?” Walling asked.
“Of course,” Suzan said, suddenly present, “to record these events that alter and illuminate our time, together. Our little voyage into places where no one else has ever gone.”
“The frolic spaces for the lunch pails,” said Waldo, taking Suzan’s hand.
“I thought we were hitting bars,” Ralph the rugby player said.
“You’ll do,” Waldo said to him. “You’ll do nicely. Solid, and can take a punch. He can take a punch. See Suzy, he can take a punch.” And Waldo slapped him on the arm.
Walling said, “So we don’t have to go upstairs?”
“Nope,” Waldo said, “She’s got the camera right here.” He took a dark thick glasses case out of Suzan’s fabric bag. “I had a hole cut for the lens–takes digital pictures–we’ll get everything and nobody will notice.”
Singleton said, “I hope it’s not too valuable.”
“The publisher will pay.” Waldo answered. “Now let’s head over to the Brass Helmut and see if we can stir something up.”
“This will be exciting,” Suzan said, and she took Walling’s arm.
But the Brass Helmut was not exciting. It was nearly vacant–a smallish brown rectangle with a bar along the outside edge and only two very elderly fellows on stools near the door. The bartender was a young Latino woman who seemed to recognize Ralph.
“This place smells terrible,” Suzan said, loud enough.
“Maybe we’re too early,” Walling said.
“Look, I can get something going, “Singleton said. “I know I can. If that’s what you want.”
Waldo answered: “It’s not what we want –it’s what the venue offers. Don’t you get it? We’re here just to evaluate what the ambience is.”
“Ambience?” Ralph said.
“How fast we get into combat,” Walling said.
“The smell is just awful,” Suzan said. “Has someone thrown up? I don’t think we should stay here.”
“We’ve got to wait the nine minutes,” Singleton said, “to make the experiment valid.”
“Fuck validity,” Waldo shouted. “We’re outta here!”
They went out back onto Main Street, past the Beacon pharmacy and on toward some Irish bars further south.
“I really couldn’t drink in there. I really couldn’t” Suzan said. “I know the experiment won’t be valid, and I’m sorry, really sorry about that, but I just couldn’t stay there a minute longer. The smell was ghastly, just ghastly.”
“No worries, pet, “Waldo answered.” The place didn’t measure up. That was clear from the minute we entered.”
“We didn’t give it enough time,” Singleton said. “We need to stick to the plan.”
“Shut up,” Waldo said. “I’m running this operation.”
“And I can’t really do much walking. It’s too cold. I should have brought a heavier coat,” Suzan said. “I’m sorry but I can’t really walk much more.”
“No worries, pet.” Waldo said. “We’ll go back to the garage and get the van. I’ve got the best place in mind.”
“It’s got to have people in it. We’re too early,” Walling said.
“Maybe,” Waldo conceded, “but that can’t be helped now. We’re launched. Let’s get the van.”
“We’re not thinking clearly,” Singleton said. “If we need the van we’re going beyond the periphery of our experiment. You can’t drive to the toughest bar–that means it could be anyplace. We’re trying to establish the toughest bar in Worcester, a specific place.”
“Yes,” Suzan said slowly, “a very specific place. With boundaries of possibility.”
“Nonsense,” Waldo said. “Within the city limits, just too damn far to walk. The van will be okay.”
“I don’t think so,” Singleton insisted.
“You’re not being paid to think.”
“Are we being paid?” Ralph said.
“One way or another,” Waldo said, “now tell him to shut up.” Waldo pointed to Singleton, who had taken off his heavy glasses and was rubbing the sides of his nose.
Waldo drove them in the van up Belmont Street to the very edge of Worcester’s limits. Then he turned left, went up another hill and parked behind a large house, the first floor of which was labelled, ‘Bronzino’s Bar.’”
“I’ve heard of this place,” Walling said.
“It’s too close to the outskirts, “Singleton said.
“Ralph, tell him to shut up.” Waldo said.
Suzan said, “I feel nauseous. Let’s stay outside a while, in the cold. That helps. “
”Maybe we should have walked here,” Singleton said.
“Walling, where did you find