dochermes

"Thirteen O'Clock"

3/24/1955

I.


"Cool, cool, we love digging us some Charlie Parker," said Seymour into the stand-up mic. He had remained clean-shaven, even keeping his curly brown hair short, but the red-and-white horizontally striped shirt had its sleeves torn roughly off and the knees had long worn away from his chinos. "But the records can always spin. Right now we need to open an ear so we can let in some wisdom from the brainpan of our own.. BELINDA!"

Murmurs of acknowledgement and some scattered applause sounded in the dim smoky cellar. A thin young woman in black tights and a baggy black sweatshirt stepped up to the microphone and adjusted it to her height. Belinda wore her straight black hair back in a ponytail that reached the center of her back, her face was a pale oval without make-up and her blue eyes caught the single spotlight directed at her.

Without preamble she began, "Thirteen O'Clock. The Afterhour. When the cops of reality are off-duty and the laws which govern our universe go unenforced. Anything can happen. You might find yourself walking down a wet cobble street in a merciful fog which hides the new scars on the city from the day's lies and betrayals. You might see the stars spell a warning, you might see shadows with eyes. Anything can happen. You might even find a friend."

After a dazed moment, one pair of hands began to clap and general applause rolled back and forth in the gloom. A voice sang our, "That's our Belinda! Go, chick, just go. Coming up next, Lenny will do a solid on the bongos."

Bowing deeply from the waist, straightening up to flip her ponytail behind her, Belinda stepped down and went back to the round table where her friends sat. Candles stuck in the necks of empty wine bottles gave most of the illumination in THE BEAT DOWN. Waiting for her were her sister Myrna and Myrna's boyfriend of the week, Danny.

"Man, that was far out," Danny said. "Are you writing this jive down? I can see a booklet of your poems being memorized by cats everywhere. THIRTEEN O'CLOCK by Belinda Van Aken."

"No, no, I don't put anything down on paper," she replied. "Did you try the lasagna tonight?"

"Eh, kind of dry," her sister said. "I'd ask them to put a little olive oil on it if I were you." She lit a lumpy cigarettte, took a deep breath and held it, holding the joint out to Belinda without saying anything.

Gratefully, Belinda took a drag and passed the joint over to Danny. Myrna rolled her own, using regular cigarette papers and adding enough to tobacco to mute the marijuana tang. It gave them some deniability.

As she finally exhaled twin plumes from her nostrils, Belinda relaxed slightly. "Have you guys been outside? It IS a weird night. Thirteen O'Clock if I ever saw it. Foggy and damp with no moon, it's the Afterhour I love."

"Speaking of weird," Myrna put in, "Are you eyeballin' that joker by the door?"

Belinda swung around. The BEAT DOWN was a cellar club below street level, with wide cement steps leading up to the door at sidewalk level. One of the round tables up against the steps had a solitary figure sitting there, holding up a coffee mug and scowling as if mad at the world.

As a car outside pulled up, its headlights shown down into the cafe to reveal every detail of the stranger clearly. He was tall and athletic-looking, wearing a white business suit but without a tie. The top button of the dark blue dress shirt was open. A long narrow face under bristly short blond hair regarded the scene with evident anger that was barely repressed.

Not knowing she was going to go over there, Belinda rose and strolled over to stand next to the man. Up close, he looked even odder. He didn't seem more than a teenager himself, certainly under twenty-one. The bony face and deepset cloudy blue eyes had a strange foreign undercast that she couldn't place. High up on his temples, just below the close-cropped white hair, two rounded bumps showed. He glared up at her as if annoyed at being approached by a pretty young woman. She wasn't used to such a reaction.

"Haven't seen you here before," she said.

"You couldn't have. I have never been here before." He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and sat up straighter. "But I must be polite by the customs of your people. Good evening, hello, how are you."

"Mostly good," Belinda replied, pulling out a chair and dropping down lightly with one foot tucked easily up into her lap. "Not from these parts, huh? Ever been in Florida before?"

"No, never. This is part of your world." He held up the mug and managed a wry smile. "This 'espresso' is new. It pleases me. Should I offer you a cup, is that the custom?"

"Sure, why not?" Twisting in her chair, she caught the attention of her sister and Danny, giving them an Okay sign with forefinger forming an O. Then she snagged the passing waitress and gave her the stranger's mug, asking for one for herself.

"That's done," she said. "Tell you what. My name is Belinda Van Aken, I dropped out of Miami U a few months ago because Beat Life called me. Got a handle?"

To his credit, the stranger caught that 'handle' meant name. "Yes. Atron."

"Cool. That your first name?"

"It is how I am addressed. I am Atron Ke [pronounced 'Kay'] of the House of Atron. I have come to this southern end of the Florida State for a reason." Their coffee came and she clinked mugs together before sipping. The gesture amused him.

"You don't seem like the sort of horndog who ambles down here seeking college girls of questionable morals," she said. Studying the stranger at closer range, she was annoyed at being unable to guess his age. Obviously an adult, if only by his condfidence and self-assurance. But beyond that, he could have been anywhere from a mature twenty-five-year to some one in well-preserved middle age, mid-fifties or more.

Before he could respond, Myrna and Danny came over. "What's buzzin' cousin?" her sister asked.

"Flinging the bull hither and yon," she laughed. "Sis, this is Atron. He's not a local. Atron my friend, meet my big sister Myrna and her squeeze Danny."

Half-rising from his chair, the stranger nodded. "Good evening. Perhaps you Humans can help me locate what I seek."

"Us Humans...?! I mean, sure, lay it on us."

Atron leaned closer to the candle in the wine bottle, its flickering light gave his face a diabolical edge. "You may think it a legend. Have you ever heard of the Gilled One?"

"Oh, sure. Absolutely!" replied Myrna.

"As a kid, I got the jitters plenty of nights hearing stories about that weirdo," Danny added. "Seven feet tall. Webbed feet. Claws and fangs, bone plate all over his body. Brrr. They say you only saw him when he was about to pull you out of your boat to drown you."

"Which doesn't make much sense," Myrna said. "If he drowned you, how would anyone know what he looked like? Yeah, the Gilled One is well known in this part of the State. Like Gator Joe or the Skeeter. He's a monster but he's OUR monster."

Atron did not smile. This close, they could see even his eyebrows were whitish-blond. The wide flat face with its thin mouth was not something to invite friendliness. "The sea has many strange legends, and many of them come from more than mere imagination."

"Wait, wait," Belinda interrupted. "I don't wanna be a square. I'm not saying there can't be such a creature. The ocean is a big place. But you've come here to find the Gilled One?"

"More than that," Atron told them with grim intensity. "I believe he has been captured. I intend to free him before it is too late!"

( the rest of the story )