Funk's the Chocolate Loving Vamp

by Jamie Ott

  Her eyes were so shifty that sometimes, Bruce didn’t think she could really see him. “B’e’kfest,” she managed to get out.

  “Okay,” he said.

  Over coffee and eggs, Bruce talked to her, telling her that everything was fine. He told her about the house he was staying in, and how Tatia was scared to death of spiders. How Jack was in trouble with the guitar.

  Despite the hearing aid, he was sure she didn’t hear anything he said. He kept talking, anyway, because he didn’t like the idea that hearing loss separated her, leaving her without an ability to connect with people. In other words, he didn’t want her to feel lonely.

  After breakfast, they watched television for several hours.

  When he finally got up to go, she beckoned him with her hands to follow her.

  They went to her room.

  She pointed to under her bed.

  He bent down and dragged out a heavy box.

  Then she led him to the kitchen where a few sets of keys were hung. She pointed to the ones she wanted.

  She beckoned him back to her room, where she motioned for him to open the box.

  He did as she asked, revealing a large mess of papers.

  Bruce pulled all the documents out, and carried them to the table.

  They stood over them a moment, as she motioned that he should go through the paperwork.

  “Listen, I can’t right now. I really gotta go. Tatia and Jack get worried when I stay away too long. By, Grandmom,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll pick up your meds, and I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

  Instead of returning directly to the manor, he tripped down the street, to the nastier side of town. Past the labor line again, he went out to the building that used to be Joey’s family cannery.

  At the back of the building was a small black door. He pulled the key out of his pocket. One was given to all the kids there, but if they lost it, they got beat by Joey’s ‘seconds,’ as he liked to call them. Then that person never got another key ever again.

  The one he pulled out of his pocket belonged to Mira, a friend of Jack’s.

  He walked down the long dark hall, into a work area that had been turned into a bar and dining area. Up above were many offices, all of which had been turned into living rooms.

  Up the stairs he went, until he made it to Mira’s, on the fourth floor.

  He knocked, softly, on the door.

  A second later, a cute dark haired girl opened up. “Hey,” she said, stepping back for him to enter.

  “Here, you go.” He handed her the key.

  “Thanks. I think you should go quickly. Joey’s got it in for you.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I don’t know. Did you do something? He said you’re not allowed in here.”

  “I didn’t do anything! I don’t know why he’d say that. Well, listen, I got something. I was gonna trade them with Joey, for cash, but maybe you can trade them for me, then. It’s to help Jack get his guitar back.”

  He pulled the pills from his pocket.

  “I can’t because he’ll know they’re from you; everybody knows you sell medication.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Open up,” came Joey’s voice. “It’s me. I know you got Bruce in there.”

  She opened the door, revealing a tall, skinny guy with a long dark pony tail.

  “I knew I saw you come in. What do you got there?”

  He stepped in and swiped the little baggy.

  “Those are mine!”

  “No, they’re mine. You still owe me for that $1,000. It’s been six weeks! Where’s my money?”

  “We’re getting it together. That’s what I was selling the pills for.”

  “Not anymore. Consider it interest. Who invited you in, anyway? You’re not welcome here until you get my money.”

  “No one; I just walked in.”

  Joey didn’t believe Bruce.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” he asked Mira. “If you ever let him or his buddies in again, you’re out of here. This is your last warning.”

  Then he looked at him and said, “Now, get out.”

  Bruce seethed all the way back to the old house. One day, he promised himself that he’d get Joey back for all the problems, and all the cruelty, he was responsible for.

  He climbed over the bars of the alley fence.

  Before he went inside, he turned his head back and made sure no one was watching.

  In the distance, he saw the window from the prior evening. It was open, but no one was there.

  Feeling wary, he continued inside and found Tatia and Jack in the den. Jack was cleaning and rummaging through things, and Tatia was messing with the door to the glass case. Like the other rooms, it was filthy from neglect.

  “Hey, guys,” said Bruce.

  “Hey,” said Jack. “We finished cleaning out the attic.”

  “Yeah, I noticed all the boxes in the living room.”

  “We’re gonna take them to the swap meet, on Saturday. I found a big old wheel barrel in the back. We can use it to haul all this stuff.”

  The sound of breaking glass made Bruce and Jack jump.

 

  Tatia lost her patience when the door wouldn’t open, so she’d put her fist through it.

  The ghost, who had been floating about the room, watching, wailed.

  Tatia didn’t pay attention until he somehow managed to send a book end, flying at her head.

  “Duck!” shouted Bruce.

  She hit the floor, looked up and said, “Quit it, Jerk! We need this stuff more than you do!”

  The ghost wailed again.

  “Shut up!” Tatia bellowed. “I’m gonna kill that ghost! You watch!”

  “You can’t kill a ghost,” Jack laughed.

  “I’ll find a way.”

  “Look at this,” said Bruce, who'd come up to the case.

  In a framed photo, a man with a goatee wearing a black leather hat and jacket, stood next to black man with a guitar on his back. The man with the hat had a special light in his dark eyes, and the black man smiled widely.

  She picked up the frame for a closer look.

  “That’s the ghost, when he was alive,” said Bruce.

  “Why is it so cold all the sudden?”

  She turned and shouted, “Aah!”

  CRASH!

  The ghost was right behind them, looking down at the photo.

  She bent over to pick up the broken picture frame.

  A faint sound echoed through the air.

  “Do you hear that?” asked Jack.

  “It’s music like my father played in the hospice. I think this one is called The Crossroads Blues.”

  Tatia pulled the photo out of the frame. On the back, ‘Langley and Jones, 1968’ was written.

  “His name’s Langley,” she said aloud.

  “What's wrong with him?” asked Bruce.

  They looked at the ghost whose eyes seemed unusually hazy.

  The music got louder, and the guitar harsher.

  “Maybe he was a musician when he was alive,” said Jack.

  The music got even louder.

  “Yes, I think you’re right,” said Tatia, who’d picked up a ribbon that lay on the top shelf of the case. “First place, state fair, 1975.”

  “I don't understand” said Bruce. "Where's the music coming from?"

  “It’s his memory that we’re hearing. Watch his eyes!”

  And, indeed, his eyes were focused on the photograph in Tatia's hand. He was deep in nostalgia.

  “You like blues, Langley? I know the Crossroads Blues. Personally, it’s not my thing, but, as soon as we get my father's guitar back, maybe we can play together.”

  The ghost wailed.

  "SHUT UP!" cried Tatia.

  Saturday at the Swap Meet

  Chapter 5

  The following Saturday, they chanced being seen. They pulled the large wheel barrel out of the shed. Into it, they put as
much of the clothes, toys, and books as they could; they even managed a couple cans of the army rations.

  Having decided to try and sell the jewelry themselves, Tatia put the small collection of rings and necklaces in her pocket.

  Langley put up one heck of a fight, as he steam whistled, train horned, and brake whined all about the rooms. He’d even taken to punching holes in the walls again.

  When that didn’t scare them, he flung the remaining chairs that were piled in the corner, across the room at them. Every time they walked into or past the living room, they had to duck.

  When a chair just barely missed Jack’s head, blasting chunks of wood all over him, he said, “Langley, please, I have to get my father’s guitar back.

  You see, I never knew my father, until he wrote me recently. I was so mad that I stole the guitar and ran off with it. I lied about my father giving it to me. The truth is, I skipped out on him while he was dying of cancer. That guitar meant a lot to him, and when I think about it, I really think he wanted me to have it. That’s why he went on and on about it, and his days as a musician. I used to think that I didn’t care about my father, but now I realize that I lost a part of myself when I lost him. I can’t lose the guitar, too. As long as I have it, it’s almost like he’s with me.”

  The ghost merely stared at him, black droolies tossing about in his mouth as usual, and then he floated away, silently.

  They wound their way through the streets, as fast as they could with the load they had. To get the best spots, they had to get there before everybody else.

  The swap meet opened at 9 am.

  For the first few hours, not much happened. People randomly wandered through the many stands, purchasing things here and there.

  By noon, a couple of serious looking ‘antiquers’, as they called them, showed considerable interest in their stand. From them, alone, they managed to get several hundred dollars for most of the toys, and a couple cans of the Bully Beef.

  Tatia did pretty well, too. She managed to sell off all the jewelry, bringing their income to nearly $650.

  Jack was in high spirits and thinking that maybe they’d earn back his guitar by the end of the day, when Joey’s Seconds happened by.

  “Hi, Jack,” they smirked.

  Rob was a fat kid, and ugly, too. Pock marks sprinkled all over the right side of his face, kind of reminded Jack of a comic book villain.

  His buddy, Nick was much easier to look at, but had a terrible lisp.

  “Nice stand,” Rob said and started smacking things to the ground.

  “Stop it, now,” shouted Bruce, “or I’ll have you thrown out.”

  “Whoa, I’m scared, haha.”

  Nick laughed, too.

  “Trying to earn back the money for your father’s crappy guitar?” he asked, folding his fat arms over his large breasts. “Well, don’t bother.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s decided to sell it,” Nick said with a strong raspberry.

  “No, he can’t. Tell him to give me a little more time.”

  “You got seven days to come up with the money. After that, it’s so along,” he grinned. “He’s already got several bids, too.”

  After that, Jack was really depressed.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get it back. We only need $350 to do it,” said Bruce.

  Langley hovered in front of the fireplace, drooling as usual, watching them talk.

  “How? Got any ideas? Because I’m all out.”

  Langley whined, and floated around the couch continuously.

  “We still got more cans of Bully Beef. Those ladies were crazy about them.”

  Langley stopped floating around the couch, lowered himself down, his feet disappearing into the carpet and brake whined directly in their faces.

  “I think he’s trying to tell us something,” said Tatia.

  Slowly, he turned his whole body to face Tatia.

  “Yes, he’s trying to communicate,” she added.

  They watched him float toward the hall.

  “Come on,” she said. “He wants us to follow him.”

  They got off the couch and followed him to the den. He settled near the glass case, looking at the top shelf.

  Tatia reached up and felt along the back of the shelf. She felt something cold and hairy.

  “Eww… I think I just stuck my hand into a spider web.”

  Carefully, she pulled the item out.

  “A beautiful gold locket?” said Tatia.

  The locket had little rubies and emeralds attached to the front.

  She clicked the little latch on its side.

  “There’s a picture of a baby. Is she yours?” Tatia asked.

  The look in his eyes told her yes.

  “It is pretty old. I don’t think we should sell something like this,” she said. “What if she’s still alive? It’d be just like with you and the guitar.”

  Waaah! Sang the ghost, as it bounced about them.

  “I think he wants us too,” said Bruce.

  “Thanks, Langley,” said Jack.

  ~~~

  The next day, Tatia and Jack took the locket to get it appraised while Bruce went to check on his grandmother, again.

  Bruce warned them about the person in the window, several rooftops over. So, this time, they looked out of the kitchen window to make sure they weren’t being watched before leaving. Then they went to Eddie’s Pawn Shop on the East side.

  Unlike most pawn brokers, Eddie was generally a good guy. He’d taken pity on them several times, when they were really down and out.

  Still, he could be quite as shady as the people he did business with, all day long. One never knew which pawn broker persona of the day he’d be: Nice Eddie or Conman Eddie.

  “Hey, Eddie,” said Jack, as they walked up to the jewelry counter.

  Several people lingered about the shop while Eddie’s security guard stood at the entrance with his arms crossed, looking tough.

  “Hey, kids,” he said with a gravelly voice. “What have you got for me today?”

  He pulled the locket from his pocket and set it on the counter.

  Eddie picked it up, and walked it behind the counter.

  A moment later, he said, “Well, I’ll give you $1,000 for it.”

  Something about the light in his blood shot eyes gave away a hidden excitement, making Jack suspicious.

  “We’ll take it!” shouted Tatia.

  “Hold on,” said Jack. “I think you’re messing with us.”

  “Why would I do that? I’ve helped you out so many times. You don’t trust me? I’m taking a chance just buying this from you. One, you’re under age and, two, how do I know you didn’t steal this?”

  “We’ll think about it,” said Jack.

  Eddie handed Jack the chain.

  Outside the shop, Tatia said, “What are you doing? That was exactly what we need to get your guitar back, and have lots of cash left over.”

  “Come on,” said Jack.

  Tatia followed him across the street, and a few blocks over.

  A few minutes later, they found themselves in the nicer part of the business district.

  They stopped in front of a tall white building with a Spanish tiled roof top. A large sign hung on the door, it said, ‘Crafteers Auction House.’

  “What are we doing here?”

  “My mother brought me here, once, when I was a kid. If I remember correctly, they authenticated some necklaces she’d inherited from her mother. I remember some old lady came in and sold them a painting, too.” He put the locket into her hand and said, “Here’s what we’re gonna say…”

  After they’d come up with a story, they walked up to the serious looking man who sat behind a desk in the Crafteers lobby.

  After claiming to be brother and sister, they told him a story about their grandmother leaving the locket to Tatia.

  “It looks to be Russian, late nineteenth century. The stones are definitely real, and the gold is fine. Any paper
work?” asked the jeweler. “We can’t buy anything, unless we know it’s not stolen.”

  “No. How do we prove that it’s hers?” Jack asked.

  “We can do it, but you’ll have to leave it here for a week or two. We’ll run a background check, and a police inquiry. When we’re sure it’s free and clear, we’ll call you.”

  The man began scribbling on a pad.

  Jack looked down at the locket, and clicked it open and looked inside it.

  “You know, we’re gonna think about it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. It’s a family heirloom. We need to be sure."

  “Jack!” said Tatia, outside.

  “I can’t do it. This locket meant something to Langley, and I bet it would mean something to his daughter, if she’s still alive.”

  Moving On

  Chapter 6

  When they got back to the house, Bruce was still gone. They showed Langley the locket. He wailed lightly.

  “We just couldn’t do it. It’d be different if you were dead. Although I guess you, technically, are, but something that means this much shouldn’t be sold for money.”

  Jack set it on the mantle above the fireplace.

  The ghost merely floated there a few moments, and then disappeared.

  They set about to rummaging through the house again.

  “We’ll take the rest of the Bully Beef, dishes, and leftover toys to the swap meet tomorrow,” said Jack.

  When Bruce didn’t come home that night, they didn’t think much of it, as he was prone to disappearing for a day or so. But when he didn’t turn up the next morning, they began to worry.