BLUE FLAME Chapter One: A Desert Town Pt2

Part II: Bending the Hands of a Clock

Alex steps outside and fixes the thin brim of his black hat to shelter to shadow his eyes. There never seems to be a cloud in the sky. He walks through small crowd along the main street. Everyone parts out of his way without making eye contact. His arrival has rumored fast. The Ghost man is the Devil himself.

Two short thin men push a large cart of vegetables. Hours of labor engraved across their faces. A man wearing brown overalls leads a goat. A woman grabs the hand of her child, turns and goes inside. More people stop alongside the road as he passes though. Alex smiles feeling the weight of their glair. He tips his hat and waves. No one waves back.

“Tough crowd.” He whispers stepping under an awning where an over weight man with little round glasses sits at a table with pocket watches scatter across.

“We ain't use to strangers.” He says without looking up. “We don’t like them.” He fumbles with a watch shaking it near his little ear. “Your lucky the Good Doc has a sympathetic heart.”

Alex notes the rosiness of his cheeks. “Suppose I am.” He says looking at the objects on the man’s table: Rolex, Omega, Casio, Oakley, Timex, he's collected and traded many of these decades ago. He pulls out a silver watch from his inside pocket and twists the knob that starts spinning the gears inside. It begins to tick. Through a little glass window all the moving parts can be seen. It's been his companion for most his life. Its creation predates batteries. He says tossing it on the table.

“How much for this?”

The little man's eyes widen. He scrambles for the trinket. He puts it to his ear. Shakes it. Then tastes it with the tip of his tongue and puts it back to his ear. “Magical. Just magnificent.” He says sitting back in his seat closing his eyes. “Magical. I’ll give you 500 Kron.”

“Is that a lot or a little?” asks Alex.

“It’s enough.”

He turns to a boy walking a cow. It’s the only person that hasn’t cleared the streets.

“Hey kid.” The kid stops as if he’s been caught in the enemy’s crosshairs. “Is 500 Kron a lot of money?” The warm color of his face pales, “Ghostman,” he mutters and he runs off.

“It’s all I have.” Says the watch dealer. “It’ll have to do.”

“Very well then.” Alex says picking up the pile of silver coins and frowning. “Which way is the Barstrow?”

“There,” points the watchman. “End of the street. You going to drink away all my Krons now?”

“I have other business.” Alex says turning to walk away. A new weigh heavy in his side pocket.

Town folk watch from behind small fog stained glass windows as he crosses through main street. There is a sprawl of small buildings and two story homes that lead out from the main road and down into a strange looking suburban landscape. Dwellings with dirt yards crowd each other in long rows divided by black streets. Houses build over a hundred years ago. He kicks a red ball that’s been abandoned. It rolls to the sidewalk and stops after bouncing into a light post. The glass at the top is broken and the bulb missing.

He sees a sign reading BARSTROW carved into a wooden shield that dangles from a crossbar. It sits motionless in the wind. Two green snakes coiling around the edges of the shield. Engraved down the center behind the words is a dagger with a twisting blade.

“Found ya.” He says entering the tall abandon looking building through a heavy front door. There are no windows. Inside, the dark room smells of yeast and baked bread. Alex strolls to the counter, peeling off his hat allowing his thin long dark hair to fall over the sides of his face. Vacant stools line a wooden counter where an individual has their back turned as they dusts out a cup with a rag.

“Sorry, we ain’t open,” the individual with bushy blond hair tided in a bun says without turning around. “Not till midday. You know better Charlie. You still drunk? Or the Mrs kick you out? Again? You know you ain’t suppose to be drinking before noon. Shit...” She turns around mid sentence pointing an index finger. “...you ain’t suppose to be…” Her voice frozen.

“Drinking at all… Hey, you’re not Charlie.” She says setting down the glass and rage. “What the fuck you do with Charlie? You look like a fucking scarecrow.”

“I don’t know any Charlie.” Says Alex pushing his unwashed hair behind an ear and reaching into a pocket. Setting a hand full of Krons on the table a few fall and clink on the hard wood floor.

“I'll pay you to open early.”

READ CHAPTER ONE:
https://steemit.com/writing/@ghostfish/blue-flame-chapter-one-a-desert-town-pt1