• Jack and Kadie took the back seats in the bus, Jack at the window. “I need a drink,” he mumbled to himself.
    “I’ll join you,” Kadie smiled.
    “You don’t drink.”
    “I’ll smoke.”
    “They don’t allow smoking at this bar.”
    “Which bar?”
    Jack paused. “My bar.” He didn’t have a bar.
    “We’ll go to Kelly’s.”
    “Don’t like that place.” He had never heard of it.
    “Please? I don’t wanna leave you alone like this. You’re still shaken up.”
    Jack looked over at her and rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He looked back to the window, and watched the cars splash through puddles on the road. The only thing he wanted right now was to finish a strong drink as far away from Kadie as possible.
    Maybe if I drink enough, I’ll forget she’s there.
    “Does Vodka taste like potatoes?” Kadie asked aprubtly.
    “What?”
    “Does Vodka taste like potatoes?” she repeated. “I read somewhere that Vodka is made out of potatoes, so I was wondering if it tastes like them too.”
    “No, it doesn’t.”
    “Well what does it taste like?”
    “It burns.”
    “Okay, but what does it taste--”
    “I don’t know!” Jack snapped. “It’s just alcohol. Burning, unpleasant. It’s like water, but with some weird empty flavor, and then it turns into fire when you swallow it.”
    Kadie paused before speaking. “Oh. Why do you drink it then?”
    “How far is this place? What’s it called again?”
    “Shanghai Kelly’s. And it’s at the Richmond Square stop.”
    “What? I live in Richmond Square, and I’ve never heard of any bar called Kelly’s.”
    “It’s a secret bar,” Kadie smiled. “One of those places that sold alcohol during the 30’s.”
    “Speakeasies,” Jack provided.
    “Right. You have to give a password and everything. They don’t even have a sign.”
    “You don’t drink. Why would you know about this place?”
    “Cus it’s a fun place to smoke.”
    “But . . . How did you find out about it? How do you have the password?”
    “Oh, hang on. This is our stop.”
    They stepped off the bus at Richmond Square. It wasn’t raining anymore, and the colored lights of the neighborhood illuminated the wet streets.
    Richmond Square was a predominantly-Russian area in the city, and the majority of the signs were in the Russian alphabet. Jack fit in perfectly because he was - and more importantly, looked - Russian.
    “I live right over there, ya know.” Jack pointed to the blockish apartment building on the corner down the road. On top of the building was the word, PОCГОССТРАХ, in large, red letters.
    “Really?” Kadie said. “Neat. Kelly’s is this way.” She pointed down a poorly-lit alleyway between a book store and a diner. Jack had wandered down the alley several times before, usually as a short cut through the block, and he had never noticed any bar down there before.
    Kadie led the way, walking briskly while pulling out another cigarette. Jack followed while checking his wallet to make sure he had enough to get drunk.
    “Do they take credit?” he asked, worried after finding only a twenty and a five.
    “I’m not sure,” Kadie said. “I’ve never actually bought a drink there. Remember?”
    “Right.”
    “Here we go.” Kadie stopped in front of an inconspicuous wooden door halfway down the alley. Jack had passed by plenty of times and never thought anything of that door. Kadie knocked three times and then kicked the door once.
    “Password?” a voice demanded from the other side.
    “In Soviet Russia, word passes you,” Kadie said in a very thick Russian accent. She looked at Jack, and said in a grave murmer, “The password is always something stupid like that.”
    The door swung open, and a very large man in a gray suit stood in the entry way, welcoming them in.

    Jack had never known that speakeasies still existed. They didn’t actually need to, with Prohibition repealed, but the atmosphere of secrecy was still in the air of the bar. To begin with, Shanghai Kelly’s was very spacious, with lots of round tables with white table clothes, and a very lengthy bar with the biggest assortment of alcohol Jack had ever seen in one spot.
    The bartenders and waitresses all wore tuxedos and black dresses, respectively, and most of the male patrons were in suits or at least dress shirts, while the females wore nice dresses or pant suits. On a very small stage, a jazz band of five was filling the room with calming music.
    “Holy s**t,” Jack mumbled to himself, amazed at the class of such a bar. He immediately felt very out of place in his dark jeans and open flight jacket. Kadie led him over to the coat check – Jack went wide-eyed at the sight of its existence – and she gave the man her rain jacket. Jack realized that Kadie had been wearing a very nice, simple white dress the entire time.
    “You were planning on coming here?” Jack said.
    Kadie shrugged. “Not planning. But I figured it was possible, so I dressed prepared.”
    “Am I gonna be alright with what I’m wearing?”
    “If anyone asks, tell them you needed an emergency drink and didn’t have time to change. If anyone gives you trouble, tell them you know me.”
    Jack didn’t understand how knowing Kadie would get him out of trouble, but he didn’t have time to ask because Kadie saw someone she recognized and dashed over to talk to them. Jack saw an empty table nearby and akwardly sat down. There was a menu, but the room was a little too dark and smokey to read it, so Jack simply waited.
    He didn’t have the confidence to flag down a waitress without Kadie with him, so he tried to relax and listen to the music. The nagging thought of people staring at him –because he was new there, and because of his clothes – lingered in his mind. He casually looked around the room, searching for Kadie, but she had dissappeared.
    Jack wondered if he even had enough money on him to buy a drink. At any normal bar, he usually had enough extra cash to buy two or three martinis, but this could have been a cash bar, where a drink would cost more than a pair of shoes. He tried to read the menu again, and finally gave up, feeling very distressed.
    A waitress stepped up next to his table. “Cigars? Cigarettes?”
    Jack’s first thought was how stunning she looked. Next was his reponse. “No, thanks,” he barely said loud enough to be understood. His third thought was how he wished he was a smoker, just so he would have something to do.
    He had once heard that old movies would have the actors smoke in scenes where they weren’t doing much else, just to make things look interesting. They’re only talking, or waiting for something, so lets throw in some marketting. Jack chuckled a bit.
    “What’s so funny?” the waitress asked him. Jack thought she had moved on, and the shock of her question made him jump a bit.
    “No,” he said. “Nothing. Just . . . Nothing.”
    “Oh, c’mon. You sure you don’t wanna tell me? I always think that’s so weird, when people laugh for no reason.”
    Jack felt uncomfortable. Why was this waitress talking to him? Didn’t she have to work? Why had she picked him out of the bunch? A dreadful idea occured to him: what if the manager had sent her over to size him up and decide wether or not to kick him out of the bar?
    “You’re new here?” she asked with a smile.
    “Yeah,” Jack said hurridly. “Sorry I’m not dressed better.”
    “It’s alright,” she laughed. “There’s no dress code.” Jack finally started to feel his tension decrease. “Since you don’t smoke, I guess you must be here for drinks. What would ya like?”
    Jack took a moment to think. He was so used to regular pints of beer, but would they have beer in a place this nice? It wasn’t the wonder of that, but simply the urge to try something new in this new environment that made him say, “Scotch on the rocks. . .?”
    It almost sounded like a question. “Sure thing,” the waitress smiled, and headed off to the bar. Jack felt a tidal wave of relief move through him, as if all his worries had melted, thanks to the smoothness of his first order here. Maybe he would fit in just fine.
    As he waited shortly for his drink, Jack thought about what he would wear if he ever came back. He didn’t own a suit, and his dark-blue-with-brown-stripes dress shirt wasn’t very nice looking. Still, if he combed back his hair and bought a pair of matching slacks, maybe he would pass it off. Then he worried about where on earth he would find matching slacks for such an ugly dress shirt.
    “Here ya go,” the waitress brought back a large glass filled with scotch and ice. “My name’s Gracie, by the way. If you need anything, just get any of the waitress’s attention, but just cus it’s your first night, and you probably feel a little nervous, I’ll stick close to help you out. We keep track of your tab, so when you’re ready to leave, just ask me for your check. Okay?”
    Jack nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” God her smile was amazing, he thought. He briefly wondered if all the waitresses were trained to be that friendly, or if she was just a great person. She left to handle the next few tables.
    Jack looked down at his drink, and immediately remembered his worries about the cost of a drink. Had he just ordered a scotch on the rocks that only a millionaire could afford? How much would it cost anywhere else? Five dollars? Ten? And what about here? Double that much? Triple?
    Jack sighed. He had already ordered it, so he might as well drink it. And he did. It wasn’t a pleasing taste like beer, but it was still friendlier and more inviting than Vodka. Jack, for the first time since walking in to Shanghai Kelly’s, smiled.
    Gracie, he thought. Gracie the waitress with the dark brown hair and beautiful smile.

    When he was halfway through his drink, Jack had reached a point where he could relax and just enjoy the music from the jazz band.
    “Here he is, Dad,” he heard Kadie say. Jack turned and saw Kadie and her father, a man Jack had never met, standing next to his table. “Jack Barzini.”
    “Hello,” Mr. McCarthney said, putting out his gloved hand to shake. He was in a tuxedo, like all of his male employees. He was a very large, well-built man, with a chisled face like stone, and a haircut that suggested he had been in the army. When Jack took his hand to shake, he felt a very boney hand beneath the glove, and quickly realized he was shaking a prosthetic hand.
    “Hello,” Jack said a little nervously. “Sorry I’m not dressed better, I didn’t know–”
    “That’s fine,” Mr. McCarthney interrupted. “Kadie told me you didn’t plan on coming here tonight. We’re not too strict on that, but still, next time a dress shirt would be fine.”
    “Yes, sir.” Jack was amazed to be adressing the man as “Sir,” even as the word left his mouth. McCarthney’s presence demanded a lot of authority.
    “Sir?” McCarthney laughed. “I haven’t had anyone call me Sir since my war reunion, not counting my employees.” He laughed heartilly and took the seat across from Jack’s. Kadie remained standing, watching the band play.
    “So,” McCartheny said. “I hear you and Kadie went . . .” – he checked with Kadie– “rail sporting?”
    “Rail spotting,” Kadie corrected.
    “Right,” McCartheny said. He turned back to Jack “So you’re into all those buses and trains too?”
    Jack had no clue what he was talking about, but Kadie made a barely visible nodded to cue him in. “Yeah,” Jack lied. “Totally.”
    “Really?” McCarthney said. Jack thought he sounded skeptical. If he was in the army, was he trained to be a human lie detector? Would he use his prosthetic hand to punch Jack in the face? “That’s funny,” McCarthney laughed. “And here I was thinking my little girl was the only one alive who rode buses just for the fun of it.”
    Jack was catching on. Railspotting, being a fan of riding public transportation. Sounded plausible enough. And he could understand why Kadie would be lying about their whereabouts tonight. It all came together quickly.
    “Well, it’s a lot of fun,” Jack lied further. “I can’t really explain it. Just . . . seeing the sights through the window of a bus. It’s . . . exhilerating.” He noticed Kadie smile.
    Just as McCarthney was about to respond, Gracie the waitress came over and asked him for his drink.
    “What’chya drinking there, Mr. Barzini?” McCarthney asked. “Scotch?” Jack nodded. “I’ll have the same.” Gracie left with the order. “Great drink, scotch. Got me through therapy, and then some.”
    Jack just nodded politely. Kadie was still watching, or at least pretending to watch, the band. McCarthney’s stone face stared Jack down.
    “So,” McCarthney went on. “You and my daughter are friends?” Jack looked at Kadie, and wondered if it was true. After the earlier events, it had become increasingly apparant that they had very little in common. But they still enjoyed each other’s company.
    “Yeah,” Jack nodded.
    McCarthney tapped his fingers on the table. “I don’t suppose I should start saving up for a wedding. . .”
    “Dad!” Kadie snapped.
    “No,” Jack laughed. He honestly had never even considered dating Kadie. He had felt more romantic notions for Gracie in the last five minutes than he had for Kadie his whole life. “Not at all. We’re just friends.”
    McCarthney nodded, still looking a bit unconvinced. “Alright.” Jack considered that McCarthney’s skeptical expression might just be the way he always looked. Or maybe he was always scanning people for a tell, a giveaway. But in this case, Jack had nothing to hide.
    “Well, you know,” McCarthney went on. “Kadie told me you were here, so I decided I just had to meet you. I’m very surprised to meet a fellow scotch drinker, and I hope we can share a bottle or two some night when I’m not as busy.” He stood up. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Barzini.”
    “Nice to meet you,” Jack said. They shook hands, and Jack once again felt the metallic prongs and plates McCarthney had in place of a right hand. He whispered something into Kadie’s ear, and then walked off to the bar to entertain some of his guests.
    “He seems nice,” Jack said, a little unsure of himself.
    “Sure,” Kadie said, sitting down in her father’s seat. “Don’t let him get to you, Jack. He’s always like that. The war really ******** him up.”
    “I noticed the . . .” he held up his right hand and moved his fingers around.
    “Yeah,” Kadie said. “Het got captured by extremists. They chopped off his right hand for a terror video, but his platoon found him and saved him before they could kill him. The hand is pretty new. I actually suggested it to him. Showed him pictures of the kind of prosthetics they have already, and the top of the line one caught his eye.”
    “Top of the line?” Jack said. He took another sip of scotch.
    “Yeah. Fully robotic. It connects with his muscle tissue and nerve endings to recognize brain signals, so he can movie it mentally just like a real hand. If he’s wearing a glove, then no one can tell the difference, unless they shake it. And for him, the only difference is that he can’t feel anything with it, and he has to take it off when he showers. Otherwise, it’s the closest thing to having his hand back.”
    “Is that why you’re into all this stuff?”
    “No, I was into it before Dad even went to Iraq. It’s just neat to have him as an example of what I’m looking for.”
    “So I’ll take it we won’t be telling him about the body?” Jack asked, even though he didn’t need to know the answer.
    “******** no!” Kadie glared. “I can’t even tell him I smoke, much less let him know I spend all my nights running around Dead Techno with you or by myself.” She paused, and like her father, tapped her fingers in the table for a moment. “He seems to kinda like you. If you and him become friends or whatever, can I tell him you’re my boyfriend?”
    Jack put his drink down. “What?”
    “You know. Just because he’s always questioning me, asking me if I’m seeing some guy when I go out ‘riding buses’,” she laughed. “If he thinks we’re dating, he’ll think I’m with a guy he likes and trusts, and he won’t bug me as much.”
    Jack seriously doubted he and McCarthney would become drinking buddies, and that mixed with the scotch that was already making him tipsy led him to say, “Sure, okay.”
    “Thanks,” Kadie smiled. “Let me buy you a drink.”