Night Fishing

The bar was slick and wet. The neon glow from the signs on the otherwise sparse concrete wall reflected into it, trying to look like it wasn’t trying too hard. Staring downward into his glowing phone, the bartender only looked up when the clink of an empty glass or bottle tapped the counter.

There were probably only ten people in the bar, but I had dressed the part, ripped jeans and a black band t-shirt. The Cure warbled over the speakers. A neon koi fish blinked slowly across the wall. It was trendy but didn’t take itself too seriously. Plus, the patrons were sparse, making my two goals a little easier. I was happy that Cass had agreed to meet me here.

To my left, a trendy couple. Him, a producer type, black jeans and boots, salt-and-pepper hair cut short on the sides and swept backward responsibly while leaving the possibility to escape into an artistic fever-do. Her, younger, in throwback blonde faux fur, dark brushed eye makeup making her look haunted and hungry, despite the appetizers in front of them and four empty cocktail glasses. The man caught me staring and put his back between us.

To my right, my date and cover. Long-legged like I wasn’t, much too cool for me, but spirited enough to spend her evening in search of a lighthearted daze with an out-of-work programmer. Her turquoise nails traced circles around the rim of her glass. Thick-lined, classic tattoos stood out against her light skin but matched the back-alley Seoul bar vibe glowing and sliding around us.

Cass threw back the rest of her drink, then cocked her head like she was analyzing the sensation of it on the way down.

“Another?” she asked, smiling.

I looked at the empty glass in front of me.

“Sure, I may get something different. What do you want?”

“I’m gonna stick with soju. You can’t get a hangover from soju.”

“I’m pretty sure you can get a hangover from anything if you try hard enough.”

“Doesn’t look like you’re trying at all,” she said in half-jest.

She was right. I wasn’t making a very good first impression. There were other things on my mind.

“Sorry, distracted,” I said.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.”

I laughed.

“Sorry, Cass.” I put my hand on the back of her chair as a gesture of affection. “Hey, what do you think their deal is?” I motioned to the couple to our left. She peeked over and gave them a once-over.

“Hmmm… he’s something creative but lucrative. Like a photographer, architect, or something. She… hm. New here. Couple years. From someplace boring but rich, like Connecticut or Virginia.”

“Virginia’s rich?”

“The DC part is. Anyway, I recognize that look. I wore it better than her, though.”

“Seems like you could wear a burlap sack and look better than anyone here.” I wasn’t lying.

“That makes up for your last comment, but only just. Also, not a bad idea. Brown is in.”

I winked with more confidence than I felt. Picking up my glass and tapping it on the bar brought the bartender out of his digital daze. A little dickish, but I wanted to impress her with the speed of my access to service, even if this was going to be a one-off date.

“What’s up?” he asked, without coming over.

“Another soju for the lady, please, and can I see a drink menu?”

The bartender, young and skinny, with thick plugs in his ears and an ironic muffler repair shirt on, made a face that indicated he’d never heard anything so ridiculous in his entire eight-month service industry career. He turned around to start pouring the drink.

“Making all sorts of friends tonight,” said Cass.

I sighed and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from my pocket with a scribble on it.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you so far.”

The whole room flickered a little. Just buffering, I hoped.

“Oh yeah?” she said, suddenly intrigued. “Are you a Russian spy?” Cass put on an accent and held her hands out like I was arresting her. “Ples, Capitalist dog, be gentle, I haf not been trained in your advance interrogation techniques.”

I smiled. “Not far off, actually.”

“Oo, do go on.”

The bartender came back with the soju and looked at me impatiently.

I said, “Y’all are designed with all the usual sass, eh? Let me get a glass of merlot.”

The trendy producer-type let out a laugh at my expense, other patrons in the place looked over (that I could have sworn were out of earshot), and the bartender looked like I’d said something filthy about his mother.

“What?” said the bartender.

“What?” said Cass.

“Merlot, I said. Wine? You have it here, don’t you?”

“The owner makes a black currant mead in-house. You sure you don’t want to try that?”

“I’m sure he does, but no. A healthy pour of merlot, when you get the chance.”

“We don’t have the glasses to let it breathe.”

“Then I’ll take it asphyxiated.” I stole a glance at the paper in my hand. “One merlot, any glass, with an ice cube.”

“You’re a weird one,” said Cass. “Who orders wine at a--”

But her thought was cut short when the bartender’s look glassed over and he slid robotically to retrieve a dusty bottle from the shelf.

I ignored him, turning to Cass and putting a hand on her leg. “I’m having an awesome time. Really. There’s something I gotta do for a client, though.”

The bartender slid back robotically, poured the wine into a standard rocks glass, and dropped an ice cube in. I placed the glass in front of me, and the water on the bar dried up immediately. A glowing red display bloomed in front of me around the glass like a paper rose dropped into tea.

I pulled out a data stick and stuck it in a newly-appeared port, my other hand dancing across the interface.

The other patrons, besides the trendy couple, reverted to a T-pose with their arms straight out wherever they were, faces going blank. The music stopped playing over the speakers.

“What the shit is this?” said the producer-type.

“Holy shit, dude. I didn’t take you for a corporate espionage type,” said Cass.

“I’d log off now if you don’t want to be an accomplice,” I said without looking up to the man next to me as I started the download.

“Wait, I want to see this,” said his date, her painted eyebrows arched.

“Hell no,” said the trendy guy and he clicked a couple buttons on his wrist and they both started to blink out, but fizzled and stayed. “What the hell?”

I looked over. “Hm. I guess you can’t.” I clicked a few buttons on the bar display and several dozen bottles of top-shelf popped into existence in front of the couple. “Eight minutes until we all jump or get fried. Go nuts.”

The producer-type shrugged and poured them a couple glasses of something brown and expensive.

“Cheers,” he said, raising the glass.

“What happens in eight minutes?” asked Cass.

“The holobar company finds out this isn’t a connection issue and they take down the server.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning our bodies are arrested and we’re stuck here for a long time, or worse.”

I expected Cass to be angry. I would be. But she looked pensive. She picked up the crumpled paper I’d left on the bar, and read it. Merlot. Any glass. One ice.

Turquoise nails flashed into my vision before I could react, and Cass had the glass of wine in her hand. The display flickered off and the bar was normal again. “The Same Deep Water as You” started to play again on the speakers.

“Jesus, what are you doing?” I asked.

“70%. Or we’re all screwed,” said Cass without a hint of nonsense in her eyes.

The woman to our left dropped her glass on the bar. “Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod.”

Portions of the bar began to pixelate in large chunks, then go dark. It was encroaching fast.

“Hey, what is this? I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” said the bartender program in a too-normal voice for the situation.

I held my hands out to Cass, not making any sudden moves. “Okay. Okay, easy, just hold on a second.”

“Not sure if you have a second, dude,” said Cass. The wine had spilled a little and was running down her arm.

I looked over at the guy in black jeans. “70% isn’t bad,” he said with a shrug.

“Okay. You’re right. 70%. That’s fair. Just put the glass back. I’ll link your account.”

“Try anything and next time I’ll smash it.”

I nodded, pulling my hands back and letting her replace the glass. The bartender went blank again and the display rebooted. The download was almost finished, but the rest of the bar had almost gone completely offline. All that was left was a twenty-foot cube around us.

I exhaled, and the woman beside us let out a little whimper.

“Number?” I said, and Cass rattled her account off from memory. “Okay, there. The coin will be deposited as soon as they get the data.

She leaned back on the stool, looking pleased with herself and sipping the soju. “Aright, dude, now do your thing so we can get out of here.”

I quickly finished up the work and pulled out the data stick.

“You guys should be good to log out now,” I said to the couple.

“Hold on,” said Cass, leaning over. “We have a bet… what do you do for work, man?”

The trendy guy finished off his glass and put a reassuring hand on the lady’s back. “Gallery owner. On Edgewood. You should check it out sometime.”

“Gallery owner,” said Cass, like it should have been obvious the whole time.

He gave a two-fingered wave and they blinked out.

“We should go,” I said, motioning over my shoulder to the quickly disintegrating bar.

“No need to settle up?” Cass smiled.

“No, I guess not,” I laughed, pulling up the menu to disconnect. “One question--”

“Sure.”

“Why 70%? You could’ve taken it all.”

The neon koi swam in slow motion on the wall before it was swallowed up by darkness. Cass grabbed the glass of merlot, plucked out the ice cube, finished half of it, and handed it to me.

“Because I’m coming with you next time.”

I laughed. The fact that we might get out at all was a win. “A second date? Lucky me.”

“You know what they say. Give a woman a fish, she eats for a day. Teach a woman to fish… well, a girl’s gotta eat.”

I held up the half-full glass. “I’ll drink to that.”