Level Zero by Dan McDowell (books that read to you TXT) 📕

Men talk about their… trade. Women talk about their… relationships. That’s what Creeper Joe says, anyhow. Let’s park this conversation, and we’ll pick it up when we are in a safer, less public spot. We might as well be under a microscope while we’re eatin’ in here. Assume nothin’. Instead, just recognize that you’re in Joe’s wheelhouse, and you must follow his rules, and play his games, his way. Did you notice anything else that’s different other than our delicate and gristly cuisine?”

Todd shrugged. “No children?”

“That’s right. None.”

Harv turned from another table and chimed in, “Don’t even think about procreating with the women here. Anyone that’s tried ends up self-volunteered to castration.”

Todd’s face turned pale. “Thanks for the tip. I hope you didn’t have to learn that the hard way.”

Harv smiled and said, “That’s between me and God…”

Todd laughed. “Fair enough… anything else?

“I’ve said enough…” Harv said. “We’ll talk again at the appropriate time.”

After Todd bit into the coarse and undercooked meat, he had a strange and unexpected feeling of both relief and community hit him.

I don’t know if it’s laughing gas they pipe through the vents around here or if it’s something else, but I don’t enjoy feeling this way. I know my positive feelings about this place are irrational. It must be some kind of Stockholm Syndrome…

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

DETECTIVE TERRY HERBERT was unwilling to wait any longer. He explored the basement of Creepy Nights for a while, unable to find a path into the area he and Penske had seen on the video feed. He went outside and explored the back of the property. Walking around for several minutes, he found an access panel near the storage building.

Need to jimmy it loose.

He opened up the building and found a crowbar.

I’m surprised it was unlocked. There we go. This is perfect.

After lifting the top of the panel cover, he shined his light in the hole.

Now or never, old man.

He descended into the mysterious area just beneath, stepping several feet down the rebar ladder. Looking upon the hatch that separated him from the space below, he noted a large “0”. It had a keyed padlock on it.

We’ve got a lock pick in the Crown Vic, but I can’t go back over there now. Where’s my backup?

Without warning, a commotion came from beneath it.

I’ve got to get the heck out of Dodge.

No one arose from the tunnel hatch. After several minutes, Herbert cascaded back into the mysterious area. This time, the lower level access panel was open.

Alright. Who’s in there waiting for me?

He drew his .38 special, pulling the access door further back to enter the area. He peered below. The drop to the ground was about thirteen feet.

Just drop to the floor. Your back can heal. Workman’s comp otherwise.

No one else was in the immediate vicinity.

All for the badge. All for the badge. This is what it’s all about.

He walked toward the south end of the tunnel until arriving at the first notable area. He spotted a white sign that read SPRING OF LIFE.

Why do I feel like I should drink from this? I can’t help myself.

A whiny voice called from the shadows, “Excuse me. Don’t do that. This is an exclusive club here… Heh-heh.”

“What’s that?” Herbert asked. “Exclusive club? What is this place? Some kind of sewer?” He studied the secluded waterfall and spring area. A figure shoved a brass syringe into his own arm, showing an ecstatic satisfaction. An excess of blood trickled down the side of it onto the floor.

“What the heck are you doing?” Herbert asked.

“What I have to. You wouldn’t understand.”

“You bums can’t figure out how to make it up top, so you end up here doing the same thing you do everywhere else. Bottom feeding off all the rest?”

“Something like that. Rather than classify me by my looks, why don’t you call me by name. I’m Joe.”

The spring glows. I’ve got to…

Herbert bent down toward the spring, cupping his hands together.

“You don’t understand what you’re doing,” Joe said. “You aren’t welcome here.”

“Aren’t welcome? I don’t get it. How am I any less welcome than you are? Are there others?”

“Why should you get it?” Joe asked. “I wouldn’t expect you to. You’re better off knowing less and getting out of here before it’s too late. Don’t let yourself fall for it. I see you making the self-serving assumption you can enjoy the spring like the rest of us bums… as you call us.”

Herbert scoffed and motioned toward his gun. “Go ahead and blabber away like all the other ‘street philosophers’ I’ve met in my life. Relevant one minute and irrelevant the next. I could make you go away down here and no one would know the difference. What good are you doing for our town?” Herbert washed his hands and face in the spring, drinking from it as it wet his parched lips.

Creeper Joe shrugged. “Good question. You don’t deserve the answer, though. When the spring dries up because of your unclean hands and your haughty eyes, don’t you come crying to me.”

“Okay, then. This conversation is over,” Herbert declared. He pulled out his finger and motioned toward his head like a gun, mimicking suicide.

“That’s no way to look at how precious your life is. Now get on out of here before I change my mind.” Creeper Joe proceeded to the waterfall, pressing in on the third skull to the left, and a passageway opened. The spring began to dry up. He turned and faced Herbert as its decaying state became more evident. “Take my word for it. Go down this tunnel and never turn back. You know what happened to Lot’s wife…? Don’t turn around. It’s not worth it. You’ve had your sweet… taste of it already. It might benefit you if you can keep it to yourself.”

Herbert rolled his eyes and turned around. “Fine. Maybe we’ll meet in the next life… street philosopher.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Creeper Joe said. “Your heart’s too impure. I don’t think it’ll matter, though. Not for long… Heh-heh.”

Herbert exited.