Aug 12 2008
a world without coffee
I am currently working on a novel which is set in an alternate earth in which coffee is illegal. I fyou think about it, this is a world that could of easily come about. Caffeine is a strong psychoactive and coffee contains a butt load of it. In this world people secretly smuggle coffee into the country and roast it in underground labs, many of which are run by gangs. Sounds all to familiar right? So anyway here is a short excerpt for your enjoyment…
David looked at his watch phone; it read 11:45, only ten minutes left. He looked outside, the rain had stopped, for the moment, and a heavy bay fog began creeping into the cold, dark streets. He glanced towards the monolithic facade of the nightclub,the doors were thudding to the beat of the band’s final number, Bruce the doorman was leaning against the cinder block wall with the look of boredom etched onto his face. David caught Bruce’s attention with a quick whistle then pulled a flask out from beneath his jean jacket, flashing it inquiringly Bruce turned down his offer with a disinterested shrug and then lit up a contraband low tar cigarette from China. David unscrewed the flask’s cap and took a long healthy swallow of the hot, black elixir within savoring the initial chocolate, tobacco bitterness then swallowing to mellow in the slighty grainy, licorice aftertaste. He felt the immediate effects of the caffeine, waking him up, making him alert, it was good stuff. He took another swallow of the hooch and was pondering yet another when he heard the low rumble of approaching vehicles. Thinking it might be the HSD making their rounds, He quickly replaced the cap and put his flask back inside his jean jacket. He then popped a mint hoping to mask the odor of the illegal coffee.
A dozen motorcycles appeared out of the dark soupy fog, all of them were Harley Hybrids, and the riders were all wearing matching white sequined jump suits. They were definitely not HSD, unless they were some special task force on assignment from Las Vegas. David had trouble believing what his eyes were telling him: a dozen Elvises on bikes was just too much visual stimulation for one night. They stopped about fifty yards from the ticket booth maneuvering their Harleys into a straight militaristic line, keeping the hybrid engines idling. Then, the oldest, fattest looking Elvis heaved himself off of his bike and trudged up to the ticket booth. He paused in front of David and sniffed the air like a hungry bear.
“Ohh Mama, I smell good hooch.” Fat Elvis said with a signature snarl.
David nervously cleared his throat, but chose to remain silent.
“Whatsamatta boy, cat got yer tongue?” Fat Elvis asked as he stepped closer, “Yes sah, someone sure has been hitting the Joe around here. My nose always knows. Ohh mama, what I would do for a cup of that good stuff.”
“I don’t have any clue what you are talking about,” David said, finally gaining some of his composure back. “Do you and and your friends want to see the show or what? There is a big finale coming up, eleven Charlys on the stage at once.”
“No thank’s boy, My brothers and I have no interest in that Charly Freedom nonsense,” Fat Elvis said.
“Too bad, it’s going to be a rockin finale.” David said
“What ever you say lad,” Fat Elvis said. “Now how about you tell me how to get to the freeway from here, We got lost on our way to Sacramento.”
“Umm sure, just take a right on Peralta then make a left on Grand,”David said while pointing down the street. “You can’t miss the exit.”
“Much obliged,” Fat Elvis said, then added, ” So I guess we will be on our way, unless you wanna give a taste of that fine java you got hidden in there, unh huh.”
David scrutnized Fat Elvis and the situation. If this was some sort of vice trap, he had to give the police points for originality. He pulled out his flask and tried to push through the homeostatic slot. The slot sizzled and popped, rejecting the metallic container. “Oops,” said David snatching up the flask. He did his best not to feel like an ignoramous, and flicked off the barrier, waited ten seconds, then slid the flask through.
Fat Elvis reached down and with his pudgy fingers and gingerly picked up the flask. He opened it, held it up to his pug like nose and sniffed the contents. “Ohh mama, I never thought I would see the day when just smelling coffee would give me such pleasure,” he whispered half to himself. He then raised the flask to his lips and took a long healthy swallow. ” What you got here son, some Jamaican Blue?”
“It’s actually New Guinea Bourbon, I have a friend who knows a guy,” David replied as Fat Elvis took another long greedy swallow. “Hey man, save a couple of drops for me.”
“My apologies,”Fat Elvis replied as he replaced the cap and pushed the nearly emptied flask back through the slot. “It has been so long since I got my hands on some gourmet coffee, I guess I lost control”
He then reached inside his jumpsuit and produced a shiny gold coin which he pushed it through the slot. “Please accept this token as gesture of gratitude for your generosity.”
David picked up the coin and examined it. It was a Sacajawea Dollar Coin.
“It may not look like much son, but that coin is a lucky coin. May it help you in times of trouble and my guts a-tellin me that there is a-trouble coming your way soon.” Fat Elvis said as he walked back to his gang, donned his helmet and climbed up on his bike.
The bikes started up with a roar and David watched as the rotund leader led his gang down Peralta street in search of the freeway. David examined his new lucky Sacajawea dollar coin and contemplated upon the trouble that the Fat Elvis Impersonator was talking about. His watch phone then beeped signaling the end of his shift. He slipped the coin in his pocket, secured the lockbox, and began to punch in the code that would let him out of the secure ticket booth. He was was about to open the door when a large explosion erupted within the ThundaDrone. The last thing David remembered seeing before the hard concrete floor took away his conciousness were the doors of the club being blown off their hinges and Bruce the doorman flying through the air like a rag doll tossed by an angry child. The last thing he remembered thinking was: “Lucky coin my ass”.
