Chapter Text
The heavy wooden door swung open with a satisfying thunk. Abrams took a deep drag of the cigarette that stuck crookedly in his mouth. It was good to be back here. The weather outside was far too cold. As he exhaled the smoke through his mouth, he ducked through the doorway, his horns barely clipping the doorframe.
The detective spent a moment taking it in: the fragrance of the pinewood furniture and incense, the orangey warm light from the flickering candles, the quaint little pool tables with a few people milling about them. His eyes drifted instinctually to the centerpiece of the room. No one would have guessed the sky outside was grey and gloomy seeing the colourful lights that streamed through the large stained glass window. The reds, blues, pinks and greens were honestly some of the warmest colours he'd seen in days. It warmed the soul.
Eventually his gaze landed on his favourite place in the room. A long wooden bar with some of the finest alcohols stocking the shelves behind and above it. Small flame lit braziers hung from the shelvings above the bar. They were always disconcertingly close to Abram's head, but he didn't really care. A few simple, but comfortable plush bar chairs were arranged out front. They were currently all empty, but that suited him just fine.
Behind the bar, the enigmatic, fiery barman stood. His blood red fedora was tilted just so you could barely see his glasses, as per usual. A small crooked smile framed his face as he noticed the detective approaching.
"Welcome to Jezebel's," the barman's gravelly voice called out," It's been a while, brother. Nice to see you."
"Hey, Fern," Abrams raised his free hand in a lethargic wave. With a long sigh he ambled over to the bar and plopped himself down right in front of Infernus.
Maybe it was his slouched posture, or the deep bags under his eyes, or the subtle gnawing of his cigarette, but Infernus' concern was immediate.
"What's eating ya?" Infernus didn't look up, but Abrams could make out his raised brow from under his fedora.
"Cases," Abrams grumbled," They've been tough."
"Dead ends?" Infernus continued, his hands deftly grabbing a whiskey glass from under the counter.
Abrams groaned, tilting his head back. With a swift motion he tossed the tome he had been gripping so tightly onto the bar top. The large leather bound tome hit the wooden table with a solid thump, followed shortly by the clinking of the magical handcuffs that bound the tome to the large ixian. With his hands finally free, Abrams leaned against the bar, fiddling aimlessly with his broken horn.
"Fern, there's absolutely nothing about the tome," Abrams gestured towards the oversized book with a furrowed brow, "OR the Paradox Organisation. Nothing."
Infernus shook his head and let out a quick sigh. Perhaps it was out of sympathy or a sense of exasperation at his bullheadedness. Abrams couldn't really tell with him.
"Warm you up?" Infernus interjected, holding out a shot of whiskey. It was subtle, but a fiery glow flowed from his upper arm to his fingertips, illuminating the intricate tattoos on his ashen grey arm. In that moment, his skin looked like it was gilded in a glistening gold. In tandem, the flames that wreathed his head flared gently, bathing his face in a gentle glow.
Abrams hesitated for a moment, his large hand hovering over the glass. He didn't want to spend even more money... It was looking a little grim in his wallet, but he really wanted to take the edge off. The swill that was left at home wouldn't do it for him anymore.
"I'll put it on your tab," Infernus crooned, a charmingly slick smile spreading across his face. If those garish red glasses weren't so tinted, Abrams wouldn't have been surprised if that triumphant statement was accompanied with a wink. Infernus always knew what to do to make his customers feel at ease.
"Thanks Fern, you are a lifesaver," Abrams grabbed the glass and took a careful sip. As much as he wanted to gulp it all down, he probalby wouldn't be getting much more for a while.
It was exactly the way he liked it. Whiskey, warm. Terrible to most human palettes. "Turpentine", they would describe it. To an ixian, it was gold. Abrams didn't have as much of an affinity to fire as other ixians, but it didn't stop everything about his people being steeped in fire. Warmth like this was scarce on a dreary winter's day. The burning bitterness, the sting on the back of his throat, it was what he needed in this cold place.
"Tastes like home," Abrams exhaled shaking his head slightly.
Infernus let out a dry chuckle, "Glad you liked it, brother."
Abrams' gaze shifted from the glass to Infernus. The barman was staring at him expectantly, with that same glint still in his glasses. He was probably waiting for a story. As cool of a cat as that ixian was, under that facade, he loved some good gossip. He usually never spoke of what he heard to anyone, unless it was appropriate, but Abrams has seen the intensity at which he did meaningless tasks when a good story was at hand. With Abrams, there was no need to put up a show of being occupied. At least, he was probably sure the detective would see right through him.
"It's been rough," Abrams sighed, "it's been a while since anything's happened to me." He paused, swirling his cup.
"I know that should be a good thing... But I can't help but feel like something terrible's coming my way." Abrams' tail instinctively began to lash behind him. The harassment has been relentless the months prior, but it had stopped for weeks now. He had nothing left to follow, no fresh leads that weren't dead ends like the last few were.
"Worse than a car bomb?" Infernus muttered, tilting his head bemusedly.
"Well, I'm not sure," Abrams continued, "I've just got a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach... Haven't been able to get many jobs either." Abrams tapped the bar top instinctively. He knew it wasn't true. He just couldn't tear himself away from the tome case, even if he was just chasing his tail...
"Hmm," Infernus muttered, his expression unchanging. Abrams sat quietly while Infernus continued polishing glasses. Both silent, staring into space. The quiet moments at the bar were usually something relaxing for Abrams, but Infernus definitely knew he was bluffing.
Abrams grumbled for a moment, before breaking the silence, "Enough with my whining, how's it been lately at Jezebel's?"
Infernus pondered for a moment, pursing his lips.
"It's been fine. No more new infractions , for now. Few new customers. Won't miss em if you see em around," Infernus mused, filling Abram's glass once again. Abrams tried to refuse, but Infernus was insistent.
"This one's on me," Infernus smiled.
"Thanks," Abrams grunted, sipping at his whiskey a little more confidently. For a few more moments, Abrams sat in silence, his head feeling a little clearer now.
Suddenly, Infernus' fire flared up once again as he straightened himself out. His glasses lit up, and he swiveled to face Abrams.
"You know what, brother?" Infernus chuckled," I think I might have a job for ya."
Abrams raised his eyebrows and pushed his glasses up.
"Hey, thanks Fern, but my hands are full right now." He responded apologetically.
"Full?" Infernus chortled incredulously," Brother, the tome's a dead end and the Paradox Organisation ain't going nowhere. These cases are gonna be the death of you and you know damn well none of them are gonna pay you a dime."
"It's not like I can stop," Abrams' eyebrows furrowed, "at least with the tome. It's dangerous and..."
"I know it is," Infernus cut him off before he could go on a rant," I'm not sayin you gotta stop doin the job, butcha can't keep running on fumes."
"I've still got some cash," Abrams muttered.
"How's the down payment for that new car goin?" Infernus jabbed at him without missing a beat.
"Shut up..." Abrams barked. He kneaded his brow for a moment. Infernus had a point. He needed to do something else for a moment. As polite as that ixian was, he was surprisingly relentless with his good old friend.
Abrams groaned, "What's the job?"
Infernus snickered, putting his hands on his hips. His lips curled into his signature grin as the flames danced around his tattoos.
"Some kid came by and told me about some... Missin spell of his. He owns the pawn shop down by that ixian bakery on York. He said he'd pay good money to get it back..." Infernus gestured in the general direction of York, "You should go talk to him. Should be a decent job. Better than finding cats."
"Hmm," Abrams mumbled, tapping the tome, "I'll go have a look."
Abrams sat at the bar, taking in the atmosphere once again. The warmth of the bar and its eccentric barman had done him good. It was nice to be out and about even if it was only for a little while. The short reprieve had calmed his nerves at least. Eventually, he had to leave. Abrams got up from his chair, giving a quick two finger salute towards Infernus before ambling to the door.
"Hey," Abrams turned around, "Thanks for the tip, Fern." He gave his old friend another curt wave as he ducked his way out of the door and back into the cold streets of New York.