I'm sorry," said Addison, "what?"
"Did I mumble?" said Punch.
"Well, it sounded like you said you wanted our immortal souls."
"So I wasn't mumbling," said the little man.
"Oh," said Addison.
"Okay," said Milford, "you know what? The hell with this madman. Let's go, Addison."
"Where are you going?" said Punch.
"Anywhere but here," said Milford.
"You'll never find the Hideaway on your own," said Punch.
"That's our problem."
"I assumed you wanted to lose your virginities," said the man.
"No one said anything about us losing our virginities," said Milford.
"No one had to," said Punch. "Just look at the pair of you. If ever there was a pair of unfucked fuckwads it was you two."
"Okay. Goodbye," said Milford. "Come on, Addison."
"That's right, go ahead," said the little man, "go ahead and wander around lost all night, and for the rest of your pathetic lives for all I care, it's no skin off my nose."
Milford gave a pat to Addison's arm.
"Come on."
"All right," said Addison.
"Go ahead, go," said Punch. "But which way?"
Milford paused.
"Um," he said.
"See?" said Punch. "You don't even know which way to go, do you?"
Milford turned and looked one way along the hall, and then the other way in the opposite direction. Then he pointed the first way, with his right hand.
"That way," he said.
"Got news for you," said Punch. "That's the wrong way."
"Fine," said Milford. "So we'll go the other way."
"Fat lot of good that will do you," said Punch, "because I can tell you right now that there are some several more turnings in that direction, a few more winding dark corridors, perhaps even a staircase or two, maybe three! No, I'm sorry, my dear fellows, the odds of you two finding the Hideaway on your own are, by my reckoning, slim to none."
"We'll take our chances," said Milford.
"Yes, but why take a chance?" said Punch. He reached into his old army coat and brought out a scroll of some sort, on thick yellowed and dirty-looking paper. "Here, I have a contract all written up. All I will need are your two John Hancocks, and we're good to go and ready to roll."
"Fuck your contract," said Milford.
"No need for such vulgar language. And I am surprised to hear it from a young gentleman of such obvious good breeding as yourself."
"Fuck your contract and fuck you," said Milford.
"Look, what's the big deal?" said Punch. "It's only your souls I'm after. And in return you just might possibly get your ends wet, at long last. How about you, Mr. Hattieson? You seem a reasonable sort."
"To be quite honest," said Addison, "I'm not so sure I even believe in the concept of an immortal soul."
"Fabulous," said Punch. "In that case, why not sign?"
"But what if there is some truth to the concept?" said Addison.
"So what?" said Punch. "Bottom line, you want to get to this bar where these alleged 'ladies' are, and maybe – just maybe mind you, perhaps – get laid, and I'm the feller can take you there."
He put his cigarette in his lips and reached into his coat again, and came out with a quill pen. "Now all we require is your signature and, boom, Bob's your uncle."
"Don't you need some ink for that pen?" said Addison.
"Ink?" said the man. "Ha ha, no, we don't need ink, not for this kind of contract. What we do is, I jab you in the finger and draw some blood, and you make your mark with your own blood."
"No thanks," said Addison.
"Coward," said Punch.
"I may be a coward," said Addison, "but you, sir, are insane."
"Fine, call me insane if it makes you happy, I don't give a shit, and I've been called far worse."
"I don't doubt it," said Addison.
"Spawn of the devil, minion of evil, Satan's slave, Beelzebub's butt-boy, I've heard 'em all, and the epithets roll off my back like the tears of the damned."
"So you're saying you're a demon?" said Addison.
"What did you think I was? The Good Humor Man? Now, here, let me just poke your finger with this quill. It won't hurt. Not much."
"No, thank you," said Addison.
"Oh, okay, fine, so you want to be like your little buddy here, huh? Go the rest of your life without knowing what it's like to dip your wick into a woman's sacred socket of sensuality."
"Well," said Addison, thinking of his would-be paramour Bubbles, "I suppose if push came to shove, one could always pay for the privilege."
"Yeah, sure, great," said Punch, "as if you would ever pay for it, 'cause I can tell just looking at you, you would never spend a dime for poontang that you could spend on cheap whiskey and green beer, don't make me laugh, ha, and look, please don't take this the wrong way, but all I have to say is, get used to Lady Five Fingers, pal, because she's the only lady you're ever likely to perform the act of darkness with, and that's for sure."
Was it true, thought Addison. Was he destined to die as he had lived, a lonely celibate? And was that necessarily even such a bad thing? Had not even Jesus of Nazareth been a confirmed bachelor?
He turned to Milford.
"Shall we go then, old chap?" he said.
"Yes," said Milford.
"Splendid," said Addison. "Which way?"
Milford sighed (his twelve thousandth and forty-first sigh since so reluctantly re-entering the world of consciousness the previous morning) then pointed one way, not the way he had pointed to just shortly before.
"That way," he said.
"Wrong way," said Punch.
"But you just said the other way is the wrong way," said Milford.
"I was lying," said Punch.
"Fine, we'll go the other way," said Milford.
"Also the wrong way," said Punch.
"I think you're lying again," said Milford.
"Last chance," said Punch. "Just sign the contract, and I'll have you where you want to go in a matter of minutes."
"How do we know you're not lying now?" said Milford.
"You don't. Now come on, sign the fucking scroll and we'll get this show on the road."
Milford looked at Addison, and Addison looked at Milford. They both looked one way, and then the other. Milford noticed that his Husky Boy had burnt down to a stub, and he let it drop to the littered floor, then stubbed it out with his sturdy workman's brogan. Addison took one last drag on his own Chesterfield butt, and then flicked it away, not worrying in the least about stubbing it out.
And then as one the two companions turned and set off down the hall, in the direction Milford had first indicated not so long ago, although it felt like an hour ago, or a year ago.
"Go ahead!" called the man called Punch. "Fuck off, assholes, and godspeed and good luck, because you'll need it, and lots of it. I tried to help you, God knows, and the Devil too. Hey, don't let me stop you. Go on. Walk on endlessly into darkness and oblivion. Be my guests. Did I say fuck you? Well, I'm saying it now. Fuck you, the both of you. And your mothers too!"
Addison and Milford continued to walk down the dim corridor, toward the darkness.
The voice of the little man echoed behind them, shouting imprecations, warnings, and dire predictions, and, gradually, it faded away as the two friends wended their way down the dim and dingy winding hallway into the shadows.
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