Chapter 6

Marcus sat perched on a barstool, a lone figure in a dimly lit, smoke-filled establishment known as the Iron Emporium. The interior of the place was a hodgepodge of gears and gadgets, copper and brass, and steam that hissed and whispered like secrets in the night. The bar's patrons, a motley crew of characters, whispered their own tales, hidden beneath bowler hats, and behind upturned collars, as they huddled in the corners of this steam-powered, Victorian New York-inspired city.

With a slow, deliberate gaze, Marcus surveyed the room. To his left, a group of shadowy figures engaged in a high-stakes poker game, their expressions masked by the flickering lamplight. To his right, a cluster of well-dressed men and women sipped absinthe at elegantly adorned tables, their laughter blending with the soft jazz notes that oozed from a gramophone in the corner.

The bar's proprietor, a burly man with a mechanical arm, sauntered over to Marcus. Artin was his name, a man who had seen too much in this city but had managed to keep his spirits high."Hey, Marcus, long time no see. I heard you retired, good for you."

Raising his hand in a wave "Good to see you, Artin. So how's the fishing these days?

With a wry grin he said,"They don't bite as well as they used to. So will this be on the rocks?"

Without waiting for a response he began pouring a drink, the rich aroma of aged whiskey filling the air. The glass was handled with care, a rare commodity in a place where respect was earned.

Marcus's fingers gently caressed the glass, "You know me too well. The second one can be steamy." He began tracing the condensation that formed on its smooth surface. As he took a sip, the amber liquid slid down his throat, warming him from the inside out. His retirement had brought him a sense of peace, a chance to leave the treacherous life of a private investigator behind. But old habits die hard.

Artin carefully sets a second glass on top of a hot plate, where some whiskey would remain warm and inviting, its golden hues shimmering in the ambient glow of the bar. The steam from the glass coiled and danced, creating a mesmerizing, otherworldly display.

Marcus reaches up to remove the hair from his eyes. "Is Trais still doing walk-in trims? I'm afraid my hair is rather unkempt after a few months in the hospital."

Holding in a laugh. "Trais has retired after the last raid was close to his shop. But Jewel over on 22nd Street can clean you right up." Artin left Marcus to his drink,"Enjoy. If you need another round, you know where to find me." The steam rose from the glass like ethereal tendrils reaching for the ceiling. The atmosphere was alive with muted conversations, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses and laughter.

With a tip of the warm glass and a smile on his face "Thank you. I hope to see you again." Sipping his whiskey with his left hand, the burn of the alcohol momentarily distracts him from the curious gaze of a fellow patron. A woman known as Berger, her flamboyant attire and elaborate hairstyle making her stand out even in this eclectic crowd, had noticed his return.

Amid the clatter of poker chips and the soft jazz notes wafting from the gramophone, Berger's flamboyant presence couldn't be ignored. Her striking attire, a collection of cloth and lace, and a feathered hat that defied gravity, set her apart from the crowd. "Berger hasn't seen you around for a while." Her eyes sparkled with curiosity, and scarlet lips curled into a sly smile.

Marcus, with a certain roguish charm, set his glass down with a deliberate grace, his fingers lingering on the crystal surface."Berger, you're as lovely as ever. Are those new boots?" He turned his gaze toward Berger, his steely eyes locking onto hers.

Berger's boots, adorned with intricate gears and made of a muddled brass, stood as a testament to her impeccable taste in fashion. She leaned in "Berger wants to know what happened to your pretty face? Berger liked your face before."

Marcus's hand rose to his face,"Workplace injury, sadly. But I'm retired now, so it won't happen again." fingers tracing the jagged scar that ran through his beard.

The warm embrace of Berger enveloped Marcus as she bear-hugged him, their connection sealed by a shared history and a nostalgia that lingered in the air. "It is okay, not as pretty anymore, Marcus. Berger will get you your new boots right away."

Marcus managed a chuckle,"Thank you, Berger... Can you put me down?" his breath was partially taken away by the exuberant gesture.

With Berger's strength, he was gently set down on his feet. He steadied himself and took a moment to regain his composure."Tell Hilda I said good luck with the baby on the way." The Iron Emporium was full of peculiar characters, but none as endearing as Berger, who was always one step ahead when it came to showing her affection. As they parted ways, Marcus slid a coin with a skull etched upon it under his empty glass. Marcus stepped away from the bar, a sense of resolve in his eyes.

However, he was not alone in this city of shadows. A group of men, shadows among shadows, followed him out of the bar. Their steps fell in sync with Marcus's, and their intentions remained hidden.

As Marcus navigated the busy streets of the sprawling metropolis, the men pursued him in kind. The hustle and bustle of the city was his cloak, but it also acted as their shield, their anonymity preserved amidst the throngs of people.

Finally, Marcus entered an old barber shop, its sign creaking gently in the wind. The brass fittings and polished wood interior exuded a sense of charm, a stark contrast to the gritty metal exterior of the city.

Across the street, from behind the glass of a pawnshop, a pair of eyes watched intently as Marcus took a seat in the barber's chair, a hint of menace tainted the air. "See, I told you it was him."

Marcus settled into the vintage barber's chair, its leather upholstery worn by countless patrons seeking more than just a haircut. The shop was a time capsule, a haven of nostalgia amidst the ever-turning gears of the steam-infused city.

Marcus: "You must be Jewel; Artin said you were the best around."

Jewel, the skilled barber, approached him with a twinkle in his eye, a man who had seen it all in the world of scissors and razors.

"Well, his eyes ain't what they used to be; but thankfully for the Misses, his hair ain't what it was either." With a certain mischievous charm, Jewel leaned in, his eyes scanning Marcus's head from behind, his fingers lightly grazing the unkempt hair."What happened to you? Stuck your head in a blender?"

Marcus chuckled softly, a hint of wryness in his voice. "Something like that, but with more fire. Anything you can do?"

Jewel placed his hands on his hips, confidence oozing from every pore."Doll, I can fix anything; as long as you're in my chair, you're all mine." As Jewel reached for a straight razor, the light glinted off its polished steel, a glimmer of danger in his skilled hands."So, what's up with the long look? What's in your head?" He sharpened the razor meticulously, the metallic scrape filling the room, a symphony of anticipation.

Marcus, his eyes gazing at his own reflection in the vintage mirror, felt the weight of his unspoken burdens. "I have to go on a trip soon."

As Jewel meticulously shaved Marcus's face, the blade gliding smoothly, "Where are you going?"The shop was filled with the gentle beat of the steam-powered ceiling fan, creating a soothing ambience in contrast to the bustling city outside.

Marcus's voice was calm."I am going after a woman." as he kept his eyes closed, savoring the moment of relaxation. 

Jewel continued his precise work, his nimble fingers moving the straight razor across Marcus' neck with finesse."Women can be very cutthroat, making you chase after her like this."

Marcus couldn't help but smile,"She is rather special." a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

Jewel paused, his eyes meeting Marcus's in the mirror's reflection."Well, she better be." Jewel deftly trimmed Marcus's hair, each snip a step closer to the transformation. The scent of sandalwood infused shaving soap hung in the air, a masculine fragrance that felt like a distant memory.

"I just have no idea what to say to her when I see her." Marcus observed his reflection in the mirror, his freshly groomed appearance a testament to Jewel's masterful skills. The shop's rustic interior, with its warm charm, seemed to hold timeless secrets. Marcus smoothly slipped into his well-worn jacket, starting with his right arm. Jewel's craftsmanship had not only transformed his appearance but also the way he felt. "You must be a magician."

Jewel, who had slouched down in the barber's chair, cigarette in hand, offered a wry smile. "I'm just that good. Now get out of here. You've got a lady waiting for you to catch up."

With a nod of gratitude, Marcus made his way toward the exit, the soft jazz notes from a nearby gramophone accompanying his departure.

But Jewel's voice halted him as he reached for the door. "Don't forget your briefcase."

Marcus turned to see a sleek, leather briefcase resting on the floor behind the barber's chair. "Oh, thank you." He moved back to retrieve it, a sense of urgency creeping into his consciousness. 

Jewel's voice carried the weight of wisdom as he concluded their encounter..

"Just never forget.

A man

Well dressed, well versed

Looks into the future

Never looks back to see himself

Alone."