A little bit of a new start on the old shit. More, really, an excuse to post something up on this rapidly rotting little blog.

The Sheik, he doesn’t hate me, that much I know. He doesn’t respect me enough for that kind of intensity of feeling, really. He pities me, maybe, he’s annoyed with me, yeah. But hate?

No. You have to be a threat to be hated.

The Sheik and I, we met forever ago in the Broken Promise. We both sat at the bar and ordered gin and the Sheik coughed twice. I looked over. He pointed his sunglasses my way and said: “Davey, I don’t think you’ve got the slightest idea how fucked you are, man.”

The Sheik, regardless of his other – and multitudinous – faults, knows how to leave an impression on you.

I did ignore him then, and went back to my drink and my notebook but whatever I’d been thinking about writing had been completely derailed. I shut my book and looked over.

“What’s that mean, man?”

The Sheik stared at the back of the bar and smiled and tipped his drink up to his thin lips. “I mean, man, that if I know who you are then some of the other folks up here know who you are and they’ll be coming to look for you toot-fucking-sweet.”

I sipped my own drink and slipped a smoke out from my inside pocket. “I’ve been here forever, man. If someone was going to come for me, shouldn’t they have already?”

The Sheik killed the rest of his drink while I lit my smoke. “Davey, Davey, c’mon. You know how big this place is, right? Don’t you think that it’s gonna take ‘em some time to get here?” He waved his hand at Brevan for a refill.

I blew smoke into the haze that had gathered on the Promise’s ceiling. “Time isn’t real here, right? Shouldn’t matter. They should be here as soon as they want to be.” Brevan slid up and took a fresh drink from under the bar, placed it neatly in front of the Sheik. He glanced my way and raised an eyebrow. I looked into my glass and saw nothing but wet ice cubes and a shredded wedge of lime. I gave Brevan a nod and he pulled out a fresh drink and put it on the wet coaster in front of me.

The Sheik pulled a lit cigarette out of midair and took a drag. “Davey, time isn’t real for you or me or, well, really, anybody here, right?” He swept out an arm to indicate the gathered imps, sprites, nymphs, souls and what have you that tended to congregate in the Promise. He leaned in close to me. “But none of us are from here, either. Rules don’t apply if you’re not from here.” He smiled and took another drag off his smoke. “Who do the rules apply to, Davey?”

I sipped at my fresh drink and took another puff off my smoke. I’d been kind of worried that something like this might be heading my way. Fuck.

I put out my hand. “So, what’s your name, man?” The Sheik slid his leather-gloved hand into mine and smile his thousand-watt smile.