Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

THE KINGDOM :: 295
There was more light inside than out, so it was easy to see.
Dylan had been inside the club a couple of times to watch
Mikael and his various bands play, but he had never seen it
so sparsely populated.
The air was smoky, which was odd since Berkeley had
been a smoke-free city for some time now. Dylan reminded
himself that this version of 924 Gilman existed more in the
Other World than in conventional reality, and maybe smoking
was still allowed, there. He dismissed the thought as a
distraction and began a systematic surveillance of the place.
The walls were black, adorned with concert posters and
silver graffiti. A different band seemed to be playing now,
and their energy could only be described as soporific. They
seemed to be going through the motions, the beat slow and
their performance dissociated, more akin to Pink Floyd than
Black Flag.
Nobody seemed to mind, however. Several people stood
around, swaying slightly, staring at their shoes or sitting
cross-legged on the floor. “Not a high-energy crowd, here,
Jaggy.” Dylan pursed his lips with worry and kept looking.
No sign of Mikael. Just then he heard a crash behind them,
and with a concerned glance at Jaguar, they both sprang
toward the back door.
Dylan pushed it open recklessly, and it hit the wall as it
sprung open. On the sidewalk, Dylan stood still and listened.
He heard a scuffle to his right behind the building and, waving
Jaguar to him, he ran toward the rear of the building.
A large parking lot sprawled out behind the club and the
cane shop, surrounded by a high chain-link fence, topped by
razor wire. And there, on the other side of the fence, a skinny
scarecrow of a man with big, mussy black hair was getting
the shit beat out of him.
“Mikael!” Dylan shouted, but Mikael didn’t look up. One
of the thugs, a large man with a shaved head, stood behind