Jorge Alabaster And the Secret City

by Mike Mayak

Jorge Alabaster turned the motorcycle off the highway as he drove into the city. He rode down the street into what had been the downtown area He passed what had been a fast food place with it’s fake 50s dined décor. The windows were dark in the mid-afternoon sun and the raccoon perched on Jorge’s shoulders didn’t so much as glance at the building.

Jorge smiled. So far, Cooter’s instincts had been pretty good. He’d sniffed out food in the last big city they’d been through and even in the little towns along the highway that hadn’t been evacuated after everything went blooey a couple of years ago.

He glanced around. He thought he’d seen a neon sign in the distance somewhere. Some of the cities were partially opened up. That’s how he was able to keep the bike gassed up.

Jorge turned onto what had been the main street through town and headed East, past a bunch of closed businesses, some with boarded-up windows. Some showed signs of being open, one even had a hand printed sign in the window reading “Yes, We’re Open Sometimes.”

Jorge smiled at that. Some things were getting back to normal. After a few minutes he found himself in an area of old brick buildings that more than likely had been warehouses converted into shops. There were still some street signs: Mead and Mosley and the like. Jorge turned down a street still paved with bricks. The city had probably been keeping the Old Town ambiance up for tourists. What there would have been here to tour he didn’t know.

Cooter shifted on his shoulders. There was a neon sign lit in a lower window by a stone archway with a railing and a flight of stairs going down to a level under the street.

“May as well see,” Jorge said parking deliberately beneath an old NO PARKING sign on the wall. He cautiously walked down the stairs, Cooter eagerly sniffing the air. Cooter seemed interested which was a good sign. A few weeks earlier he had ignored Cooter’s fidgeting and walked into a knife fight.

The room was small with the feel of a small-town bar and it probably had been a bar at one time. It was lit by a few lights to the side as well as a few small windows that were at street level. There were a couple of people sitting in a booth. Music was playing low from an old boombox set on the end of the bar. Jorge could smell good smells from the kitchen. The bartender smiled as Jorge walked up.

“What’ll you have?” the man said.

“What’ve you got?” Jorge asked.

“We grilled out some burgers earlier, we even have some buns today. No cheese, I’m afraid.”

“Sounds like you’re getting deliveries in at least,” Jorge said. “Any fresh produce?”

“Sometimes,” said the man. “Tell you what; if your friend…” he pointed at Cooter “wouldn’t be too picky I think I have a few scraps from the trash. Even remains of a tomato.”

Cooter looked up wide-eyed as if he understood the word “tomato.”

“Sure,” Jorge said. “And I’ll have a burger.”

“Coming up,” the man said.

“Oh, what’s this gonna cost?” Jorge asked.

“Money’s no good here,” said the man. “But if you like you can do a little work around here. Maybe help hauling the trash barrel a few blocks from here to the refuse dump. No trash service anymore.”

“Okay,” Jorge said. “Oh, I’m Jorge Alabaster, at least I am now, and this is Cooter.”

“Bob Mills,” the man said with a nod. Nobody shook hands anymore.

In a few minutes the bartender had heated up the burger and set it on a plate on the bar in front of Jorge. Then he went back into the kitchen and returned with a piece of tomato, some crumpled green lettuce and a chunk of burger. He set this on a plate in front of Cooter who happily dug in after holding the tomato up in his front paws to inspect it.

Jorge found the burger surprisingly good. Cooter seemed to agree.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Jorge said finishing the meal.

“We like it,”Mills said. “And there’s actually more of the city open than it looks. We just don’t advertise. We think of it as the Secret City.”

“Sounds like an old movie serial,” Jorge said.

“Yeah,” Mills said. “You’re not planning on staying are you?”

“No, Jorge said. “Cooter and I are headed out West. Wanna see if some friends of ours are still alive.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Well, I didn’t intend to start another serial but this sure has the feel of one! We’ll see what adventures await Jorge and Cooter in the Secret City at a later date. Again, thanks to Victor for the picture.

Posting this and the prompt pic for next week a day early because I’m going to be busy and a little out of it on Friday. ——-mike, AKA jeff