Dark Penguin
          by Jeff Williams          

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    Two figures slipped quietly through a large wooden door and walked into Dark Penguin Tavern, an unearthly white light spilling in behind them before the door slammed shut.  They moved their way through the crowd of patrons and noted the ‘Check Your Alignment’ sign above the bar.  The two ordered drinks and sat down at the bar.
    “I tell you,” William said as his large posterior settled onto the hard surface of the barstool, “things just aren't like they used to be.”  He gulped down several large swigs of beer and whisky and turned to look at his companion, who, as if in reply, belched a cloud of red brimstone and alcohol tinged vapor.  The cloud burned at the edges of a black velvet picture of James Dean and Mother Theresa.
    William's companion at the bar of the Dark Penguin Tavern, Grewel, stuck his finger into his Bloody Mary and stirred it with an outstretched claw protruding from the end of the digit.  “I know what you mean,” he stated through gnarled, twisted, hook like teeth.  “Things were great fun in the old days!” He laughed a long, phlegmatic, coughing laugh, punctuated only by occasional bursts of flame which singed at the pretzels.  “We used to throw ya’ some great twisters then!”
    “Careful there, buddy,” Snake Eyes the bartender hissed, which was easy enough for him since he was a bona fide serpent.
    “I mean, Grewel” William continued, drinking and looking at the perfect fingers wrapped around his glass, “when did it all change?  When did the fun go out of it?”
    “Oh you know when. What's missing, dear chap,” Grewel said,  “is a load of good, old-fashioned, righteous indignation.  I mean, these modern buggers, they ain’t a clue what they're doin’.”  Grewel sighed, sending a portion of the countertop into flames.
    William finished his beer and adjusted his Stetson, tapping the glass for a refill.  “I donut follow,” he said as he took out a pack of Holy Smokes, sliding a good non filtered between his lips and lighting it up on the smoldering embers on the counter.  He inhaled a drag and momentarily luxuriated in the normally forbidden activity.  His thoughts then returned to the conversation.  “We've got a lot of righteousness these days,” William continued.  “I mean, didn't that fella in Virginia call for a hurricane to hit some city or another down there?  That's pretty righteous.”
    “Nah,” Grewel dismissed.  “It was egotistical.  Took balls, man, but ain’t no genuine fire of the spirit there.  No, for both of our scenes to work, you've gotta have some holy ghost feelin’ and some good, raunchy rebellion, both in balance like the Flyin’ Wallendas or whoever they were.”
    Snake Eyes slithered back to the two patrons.  His two yellow black slits focused angrily at the flames.  “Grewel,” he growled, “I warned you.  I'm puttin’ thissssss on your tab you sssssmarmy ssssslime ball!”
    “Don't flatter him,” William interjected, a wry smile crossing his perfect face.  “I still don't quite get what you're saying.  I mean, on our side we have a pretty good set of rules, and your side, well, the rules you play by seem to be pretty successful.  What do you think is really wrong with it all?”
    “Think of it like this,” Grewel muttered, positioning a knife across the top of a glass of water.  “This here glass is the world.  And on this side,” he placed a salt shaker on the handle, holding it in place, “we've got the good.  And on this side,” he placed a pepper shaker on the blade, “we've got the bad.”  He let go of both, but the knife and the two shakers stayed in place.  “It may teeter like a seesaw, but the damn thing works to both our advantages.”
    “I get it,” William said, scratching at his back and sending a couple of white feathers towards the sawdust covered floor, “you need the good for the evil to react to, and vice versa.”  William smiled and was proud of himself.  “I'd thought something like that before, but I just couldn't figure how to express it.  I never have been able to figure it out.  I can speak in a thousand tongues, but I just don't have the gift of gab.”
    “Sodom and Gomorra,” Grewel continued, even as fireballs ignited when he sneezed a couple of times, “it only came about because of those nutso Israelites putzin’ around the desert.  Rebellion only grows when it has somethin’ to fight, right?  And man didn't those righteous brothers piss on all that salt when they got the chance!”  He snickered to himself, and a loose tooth plunged through the floorboard.  “Ya only get good when there's somethin’ to compare it too.”
    “There really isn't much genuine good there these days,” William sighed.  “They even riot when sports teams win championships.  You've got babies having babies, pornography everywhere on the internet, kids beating up their folks for drug money, cross dressers running around in public, candy bars getting smaller by the day. . .  And the ‘good guys’, sheesh,” he said, “I had such high hopes for these new gals and fellas in their politics.  This family values thing looked like it  had such promise.”
    “But they didn't mean it,” Grewel said shaking his gargoyle like head, “it's all politics and bluster.  Face it, there ain’t enough real good to hang a hat on, and that ain’t no good for my side either.  You don't get Las Vegas without teetotalers and sticklers sincerely trying to keep you from having a good time. I mean there ain’t no point in building palaces of sin if no one really cares about it. And without sin, there's nothin’ for me to do.  Or for you either.” The two of them drank somberly.
    “It's a vicious cycle,” William muttered, glancing at the hour glass on the wall and watching as the last few grains of sand began falling through.  “Speaking of which. . .”
    “I know,” Grewel muttered, standing up and leaving a stack of gold coins on the countertop.  Addressing Snake Eyes, he said, “I hope this is sufficient.”  The serpent slithered over and picked up a coin with its mouth, biting it in the corner.  It examined the indentation its fang left.
    “Yeas,” the serpent hissed.  “Thisssss sssssshould be ssssssufficient, Mr. Grewel.”
    “Remember,” Grewel said reproachfully to William, “it's your turn to buy next time.  Don't go forgettin’ yer wallet, okay?”
    William nodded and reached down to the floor for a suit case.  Opening it up, he pulled out a file and placed it on an unburned section of the bar.  He passed a copy of the file and some basic information over to the demon.  “It looks like Davey Kramer would be a good one.  A normally upstanding fellow, but he's havin’ money trouble right now and could be tempted if the price is right.  This would could go either way.”  Stretching his wings out for the first time in an hour, William stood up and looked around the bar at the other patrons, both living and dead.
    “You want it to be the loser who doesn't convert pays for the drinks?” William asked.
    Grewel began carefully studying the file in front of. him. “Might could work,” Grewel said unenthusiastically.  “Y’know, somehow the temptation of Davey Kramer just doesn't have that ring to it.”  He passed the file back to William and sighed mournfully, this time sending a passing patron running in flames towards the rest room.
    “Well,” William closed the case and looked at his friend, “better get on with it then, shall we?”  Grewel nodded his approval, and the two of them slowly walked towards the large wooden door leading to the outside.  Grewel began reaching for the door, but William grabbed his hand.
    “Almost forgot,” he muttered.  “We'd better put on the game faces.”
    “Yeah,” Grewel growled, “I almost forgot.  Thanks old pal!”
    “No problem,” William said.  He reached behind and fluffed his wings.  Then, William took off his hat, revealing a brilliant and beautiful halo.  Not to be outdone, Grewel screwed his face, straining his body until his scales and eyes glowed a most disturbing shade of blood red.
    “Ooh, you're scary today,” William said sarcastically, pulling open the door.  “You first.”
    “Nah,” Grewel replied, staring into the white misty void filled with brilliant light.  He held his hand towards the light.  “After you, ole buddy.”  William stepped into the fog, and Grewel followed, the door to the Dark Penguin Tavern slowly closing shut behind them.

Copyright 1999, Jeff Williams