The House is a Club

“Happy New Year!” The shout of jubilation echoed throughout the hallways and passages of the house. It was actually a club but no one seemed to care. Or maybe it was a house passed off as a club? Either way Fresno Linnel. He was tallish with light brown features and a curly ‘Fro. He was thirty-six. He wandered around, the crackle of fireworks bursting and flashing in front of his eyes in this masterpiece in architecture that drove his mind.

Linnel looked outside the window. Just out there was the luxurious pool with a few patrons swimming in the heated water, others looking like lizards laying on stones. He sipped his soda and bitters. Then, with speed, a drone hovered over the patio and dropped a box. Linnel opened the door to access the pool area. He looked at the box, knowing his training in IEDs, he was a bit hesitant to inspect it further.

He removed his phone from his jacket pocket and flashed on the light. He looked to see if the drone was still in view. He couldn’t find it visually or audibly. He returned to the box.

He read to whom it was addressed. The label showed his name and home street.

What the hell? He thought.

He then bent down and took the box inside. Fireworks continue to erupt on the landscape of the immaculate home.

Linnel used a small switchblade to cut through the cardboard. Inside the box was a phone. He retrieved the mobile device without hesitation this time. The phone illuminated. The light shone like a tiny lamp post. Two earbuds came with the phone.

A garbled voice instructed Linnell to visit different locations around the house/club. Linnell followed every step.

“Go upstairs,” the phone spoke into his earbuds. Upstairs was the VIP section. Two burly men stood with designer black suits and glasses.

“It’s okay,” the voice reassured. “Say the words ‘endless discoveries.’”

Linnell complied and the velvet rope separating the elevator from the downstairs lifted.

On the way up, Linnell looked at the sloping curves and austere shapes that made up the house/club. The fireworks still popped in the distance.

Once he stepped out of the elevator, the phone vibrated again. This time, it displayed a text message.

“TURN LEFT'' the phone vibrated. Music continued to boom throughout the place and laser lights added to the ambiance. Linnell had to have seen at least three players from the Delaware Dollars professional hockey team. More vibration. “TURN RIGHT AND SIT IN THE FIRST SEAT.” Linnell was nearing exhaustion, but still felt intrigued about this whole situation. He could only guess as to who or what was driving this curiosity.

Out of the corner of his eye, Linnell saw sparklers on what appeared to be bottles of champagne. Lovely ladies with soft features and bodacious bodies walked over to him and started cheering.

“Happy New Year, Mr. Linnell! Whoo!” The women clapped and set the drinks down and walked away. Upon further inspection, Linnell looked at the bottles. They were sparkling cider. His sobriety was intact and very few people knew about it. His mind began a usual suspects list of people who could have known this fact.

Now, the phone rang. He answered. “NOW, GET UP AND TIP THE BARTENDER,” Linnell had some funds but he couldn’t tip her for these vintage bottles of cider. They were damn near apple vinegar, they were so old. He didn’t touch them though. He did, however, respond to the call. He walked over to the bartender. She had honey brown eyes and skin the color of charcoal. High cheekbones completed the wondrous attributes.

The phone quickly opened and pulled up a wallet with $100 on the digital card. Linnell looked at the phone and flashed it in front of the reader. A green check mark illuminated.

“Thank you, Mr. Linnell,” Hillya Cavill replied. The phone again. “WALK PAST THE BAR AND OH, DON’T FORGET YOUR CIDER.”

Linnell scoffed. He received the command and acted accordingly nevertheless. He sat for a good five to ten minutes watching and listening to businessmen and women discuss plans for a new Diamente Bank location in Dover. Next, he looked at the phone. It was blank. No lit screen, no sound, just hunk of chips, glass, and metal. He used his own phone, now.

“Yes, I’d like an Ub—” Linnell started. He hung up the phone while he was just about to make a call.

“And you were about to leave the party without saying hi to your boy!” Orlando Cotton slightly figured dark brown said this as he hugged his college friend.

“Was it you this whole time?”

“You damn right. You were shook! You didn’t know which way to go or what to do until I gave you those messages.”

“I figured it had to be someone who knew I don’t drink.”

“Yes, man, you were the only person on campus who had ginger ale in those red cups.”

“So this is your place?”

“It is,” Cotton replied.

“And you know where I’m living?”

“Of course. As roommates you tend to pick up on those things.”

Linnell looked down and laughed. “TURN lEFT” “SIT DOWN.’ Did you study this in a movie?”

“No, you know I’m an engineer. I designed the drone myself.”

“Well it accomplished its goal. You found me.”

“Happy New Year, man,” Cotton said.

“Happy New Year.”