Squid Pulp Blues

by Jordan Krall

  “Well, yeah, it’s true. Um, Sterling Hayden was a big fan. John Hodiak, Edgar Ulmer, uh, Richard Widmark, too, I think. Barbara Stanwyck of course, that’s pretty well-known. But she actually was a bigger fan of the Fauntleroy spin-off comic strip called Little Bing Bong. But that comic strip only lasted like a year and a half or something like that. There was rumor that she actually suggested to Howard Hughes of RKO Pictures that they do an adaptation of it but being the finicky guy he was, Hughes passed on it.”

  There was a murmur in the crowd as if that last bit of information was a particularly juicy bit of gossip. A man in a suit raised his hand said, “Are there any plans to put any of the Thompson longheads in the story?”

  “Uh, I really wasn’t planning on it but if it comes to that, maybe. If I did, I’d make sure that I wasn’t doing it in an exploitative way or like any way that’d be insensitive to the veterans, I mean, you know, the longheads.”

  The man said, “What about Byron McPhee? You know he came from Thompson, right?”

  Simon said, “Yeah, I heard that. That’s part of the reason why I agreed to come here and I can see that it’s the reason why there’re so many fans here in town. I think that’s pretty cool.”

  A different man shouted, “I know where McPhee used to live. It’s where the movie theatre is now. They tore down his house to build it back in 1955.”

  “Wow, I didn’t know that. Thanks,” Simon said, wondering if his house would ever be torn down to build a multiplex. If so, would anyone ever wonder where Simon Palmer’s house stood?

  He took a few more questions and then Peter said that they would be continuing the signing for another half hour.

  Simon started to sign a copy of issue number 34. It was one of his favorites; Fauntleroy and his sidekick Mushy Nebuchadnezzer find out that they’re infected with a rare strain of syphilis and have to travel back in time in order to make a deal with Aleister Crowley for the cure. He finished signing it and looked up to see someone come through the door to the comic shop. Someone he recognized. Someone handsome and freakishly tall.

  It was the guy who had given him the black envelope.

  Simon said, “Oh, shit.”

  * * *

  Liam got tired of waiting so he went back into the video store to get Henry. He walked into the XXX section and said, “Hank, what the hell’s taking so long?”

  Henry Price looked up from the box he was looking at. “I can’t help it, can’t decide on which one to get.”

  “So get them both and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “If I get two, then I might as well get three and that’ll mean trying to make even more decisions. Plus, I only have cash for one anyway unless you wanna lend me some.”

  Liam said, “How come you don’t have any money? Didn’t we just get paid like two days ago? What the fuck you spending your money on?”

  “You know what I’m spending it on; I’m working on a project. Anything extra gets used for paying bills and for porn,” Henry said, putting the box down and picking up Water Power.

  “Holy shit, I can’t believe they have this.” He held up the cover so his friend could take a look at it.

  Liam said, “So? What is it?”

  “It’s this really fucked up movie about a guy who goes around forcing women to have enemas and shit like that. It’s not even really a porno.”

  “So what the fuck is it doing here?”

  “No, I mean, there’s hardcore shit in there, cumshots and all that but there’s an actual plot, it feels like you’re watching a real movie, I mean, sort of like a perverted version of Taxi Driver but instead of a gun and a Mohawk, there’re enemas.”

  Liam shook his head. “And you watched this movie?”

  “Yeah I saw it a couple of years ago. But this must be a bootleg. They didn’t release this in America yet.”

  “So rent it and let’s go.”

  Henry put it down. “Why? I already saw it.” He perused the movies again and picked one up. “Okay, fine, I’m getting this one.”

  Liam looked at the cover. “MILF and Cookies Number 23. I heard that one’s like Taxi Driver, too.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Liam.”

  “You shut the fuck up,” Liam said, grinning and walking out of the XXX section. Henry didn’t know it but his friend was going to go back later on and rent Water Power.

  Just for curiosity’s sake. Yeah.

  Chapter Seven

  Harry wondered why the hell the comic shop was so crowded. He could barely walk in the door.

  The geeks really come out and play, don’t they?

  There was no one behind the counter when he looked but then saw a fat guy come around and ask him, “Can I help you with something, buddy?” The guy was smiling widely, all yellow teeth out in the open and it made Harry look away.

  Harry said, “Always this crowded?”

  “No, we’re having a comic book signing. The artist and writer of The Adventures of Fauntleroy LeRoux is here.”

  “Never heard of it. What is that, some kind of super hero?”

  The fat guy laughed as if the question was absurd. “Um, no, it’s much more than that. It’s a mature-readers comic which means it’s for adults. It has great stories, really great writing.”

  Ah, so I guess this is what Mike was talking about when he said adult comics. I guess I showed up at the right time.

  Harry said, “Can I get a copy?”

  “Yeah, just wait in line and there’re a bunch of different issues up on the tables along with the trade paperback that just came out that reprints issues number one through fifteen of the new series.”

  Harry nodded and got in line behind a short girl with pink hair and a t-shirt that said she loved “Little Bing Bong”.

  Who the fuck is Little Bing Bong?

  He tried looking ahead at the table to see what the guy signing autographs looked like but couldn’t see anything because there were a bunch of those damn comic geeks in the way, babbling and asking questions.

  Let the poor guy sign the autographs. Let the guy breathe, why don’t you? I hate geeks like that. Fucking weak ass motherfuckers who probably still live at home with their moms. Never been in a fight, never did anything worthwhile but jerk off to comic books. Losers.

  As Harry thought about it, he realized the irony and smirked. Though he was quick to judge the people around him, he knew that they were harmless enough and he probably was being too hard on them. After all, he was waiting in the same line.

  * * *

  After seeing the tall guy walk into the comic shop, Simon signed the autographs in a nervous daze. How did the guy find him? Worse yet, what would the guy do to him now that he knows Simon was the wrong guy.

  He smiled and nodded to the people in line, answering only the easiest questions, the ones that required a one or two word answer. When it was over, he knew he’d feel bad about it. He’d feel like he’d cheated the people who’d come and bought his comics but he couldn’t help it. He was probably in deep shit. In fact, he was sure of it.

  Minutes passed and he lost sight of the tall guy in the crowd.

  Shit, maybe he didn’t even see me. Maybe it was a coincidence and he already left. God, please let that be it.

  He signed another copy of the trade paperback and handed it back to the ten-year-old boy. Then he motioned to Scott to come over and then said to him, “Hey, is it alright if I go into the back and take a break?”

  Scott said, “Yeah, sure.”

  Simon practically ran to the room behind him and sat down. He looked around at the posters on the wall. Among the huge pictures of Spiderman, Batman, and Ms. Tree, there were vintage one-sheet movie posters that practically filled in every other empty space on the wall. Barbara Stanwyck in Lady of Burlesque, Jean Harlow in Hell’s Angels, Jane Russell in The Fuzzy Pink Nightgown. He looked closely at them and decided that they were originals. Simon was envious.

  Scott poked his head in the doorway. “Hey Simon, don’t wanna
be a pest but we gotta lot of people out here. You mind coming back out now?”

  “Sure.”

  When Simon went back out, the tall guy was standing there, first in line. He wasn’t there before but now he was there, smiling and holding a copy of the trade paperback.

  The tall guy said, “Hey asshole.”

  Simon fought the urge to run back in the room but instead grabbed the magic marker and sat down at the table. The guy dropped the book in front of Simon and bent over.

  He said, “You took something of mine, you know. You had every chance to tell me you ain’t the guy but you didn’t do that. So how about you give it back to me.”

  Taking the book and signing it absent-mindedly, Simon said, “I don’t have it on me, okay? I’m sorry I took it, I didn’t know what the hell else to do, know what I’m saying? I was just confused. I’ll get it back to you. I promise.”

  “Fuck your promises, asshole. We’re getting up right now and getting it wherever it is.”

  A voice from behind said, “Hey buddy, hurry up, will ya?”

  The tall guy turned around and shot a dirty look at the people behind him. Peter came up to see what the problem was. Simon saw him put a hand on the tall guy’s shoulder and thought that was a bad idea.

  Peter said, “Hey there, we gotta lot of people behind you so now that you got your book signed, you mind moving aside?”

  Simon watched in amazement as the tall guy actually listened to Peter and moved aside, leaving his signed book. He walked out of the comic shop and Simon felt relieved.

  “What the hell was his problem, dude?” Peter said.

  “I don’t know.”

  * * *

  When Harry got close enough he saw the guy who was signing the comics. Sonovabitch. That’s the motherfucker I gave the envelope to. Now why the hell is a fucking meth addict signing comic books. Unless…

  Harry had given the envelope to the wrong asshole.

  “Shit.”

  And the fucking guy took it, too. I asked him straight out “Are you him?” and he lied right to my face. That asshole is dead.

  He saw the guy get up from his seat and go into the room behind him. Harry got out of line and went to the front of it. Harry thought the guy at the front of the line was dressed like a psychiatrist: wrinkled khakis, eyeglasses, and a boring sweater.

  Harry said, “Excuse me, buddy. My wife’s in the car and I really want to get a book signed. You mind if I hop in front of you?” He handed the guy a twenty-dollar bill. At first the psychiatrist-guy seemed like he was going to refuse but when he looked up into the intensity of Harry’s eyes, the choice was made.

  The psychiatrist said, “No problem, man, go ahead.”

  “Thanks,” Harry said. Then he waited for the guy to come back.

  When he finally did, Harry relished the look on his face. It was priceless.

  I love that look. The “Oh fuck, I’m in deep shit” look.

  Harry said, “Hey asshole,” and proceeded to ask for his property back. He had to admit, though, that he was only half serious in his tough-guy attitude. He especially enjoyed the “Fuck your promises” bit. That was great. Straight out of a movie.

  The guy wouldn’t budge and that pissed him off even more than him having taken it in the first place. Harry always believed that if confronted with a mistake, one should at least have the balls to admit to it and try to correct the problem.

  Goddamn, the guy was spineless. I hate guys like this. Always a coward no matter what.

  Finally, the fat guy who worked at the shop came up to Harry so he decided to avoid any trouble in front of the crowd and just leave. He’d figure something out later. As he walked out, he read the flyer that announced the comic book signing.

  Simon Palmer, huh? Well, Palmer, you are in deep shit indeed.

  He could just imagine the fear that was going through that asshole’s mind. He probably had expected Harry to go ballistic right there in the store. Then the cops would’ve come and taken him away. That coward could sit back and be satisfied that he did the right thing even though it was the pussy thing to do, the weakling’s way out.

  As he walked out the door, Harry started to think of various ways to go about screwing with Palmer. Then someone came up from the side and tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Heyo, buddy boy, thought that was you.”

  Harry said, “Oh, hi Dave, what’s up?” It already turned out to be a pretty shitty day as it was but running into Dave Carteret made it even worse. The dickhead never shut up.

  “So hey, listen. I hear you’re not really digging Terry’s vibe, the Kabbalah situation and all that jazz. What’s going on with that, man? You can talk to me.”

  Yeah, I’m sure I can talk to you. And then you’ll talk to every goddamn person you know.

  Harry started walking to his car, hoping that Dave would take the hint. He didn’t. He followed Harry and kept talking.

  “Seriously, Harry, give it a chance. I mean, when we’re talking about God, it’s not the typical shit, you know, that bullshit they teach you in church. You don’t have to be a Jew to get the benefits of Kabbalah. I mean, it’s something universal. Really helps out with the business, too, puts things into perspective.”

  He just wouldn’t shut up.

  Harry grunted in response and opened his car door. As Dave went on about the Tree of Life and the ten divine powers, Harry rummaged through the backseat.

  He came up in one motion, sending a six-inch blade into Dave’s neck. He got in close, bringing his body close to Dave’s.

  Harry said, “Take it easy, Dave. Don’t fight it and you’ll do fine, easy, easy. Don’t breathe too fast. Relax.”

  Dave’s neck bled profusely and his body trembled, his teeth shivering. He grabbed onto Harry’s jacket but let go after a few seconds, realizing he didn’t have enough strength to do anything anyway.

  Harry hadn’t planned it. He knew what he did was partly as a result of the bad day he was having and partly because he wanted Dave to shut the fuck up. The fact that the dickhead wouldn’t stop pressuring him about the Kabbalah probably factored into it, too.

  Goddamn guy’s worse than the Jehovah’s Witnesses.

  “Sorry, Dave,” he said, easing the body into the backseat of his car. Now there was the problem of what to do with the body. If it was just any old fucker, Harry had a whole myriad of people he could ask for help from but since this was Dave Carteret, a guy closely associated with Terry Silver, it wouldn’t be so easy. Harry would have a lot of explaining to do.

  Harry sat in his car with Dave’s body next to him. He thought about his limited options. Then he thought about that Palmer guy and how he could perhaps solve two problems at once.

  He got out of the car and looked around the parking lot. It was a small enough lot and he thought he could probably figure out which car was Simon’s. He thought that the guy was probably not from New Jersey so if there was an out-of-state license plate, it might just be him. He searched around and looked at both the plates and the bumper stickers to see if there was any indication which was Palmer’s car.

  After five minutes of looking, he got lucky. There was a Pennsylvania license plate and in the backseat, Harry saw a cardboard box full of comics.

  That’s probably him. If it ain’t, who gives a fuck? Another poor sucker will have to deal with Dave, then.

  Harry went back to his car, started it, and parked it close to the one from Pennsylvania. He got his tools out from under the front seat. Though he hadn’t had to do it for a while, he was adept at picking any lock. He brought his gear to the other car and within thirty seconds, got the driver’s side door opened and then popped the trunk.

  He quickly and successfully brought Dave’s body out of his car and into the trunk of the other one. It was a good fit. The driver of the other vehicle didn’t seem to have a need for keeping any extra supplies in his trunk.

  Guy should bring something along, shit. Extra oil, antifreeze, jumper cables, so
mething. Christ, typical pussy who can’t do shit for himself.

  After closing the trunk, he went back to his car and drove to his original parking spot. He just had to wait and see the guy come out and get into his car, unknowingly driving away with a stiff in the trunk. Whether or not it was that Palmer asshole, Harry didn’t care. Just to see some innocent fuck cart away the evidence was pure entertainment.

  While he waited, Harry saw someone walk behind his car. He looked in the mirrors but when he couldn’t see anything, he turned around. Standing in the rearview blind spot was a longhead.

  Harry said, “What the fuck is that guy doing?” If it was anyone else, he would’ve been out of the car and in the guy’s face, asking why the hell he was standing there staring. But the longheads had always grossed him out. He wasn’t totally insensitive to their predicament. Harry had a friend who had come back from the war with no legs and no right arm. Those things happen and it always tragic. But in Harry’s opinion, the longheads were creepy as hell and ever since the massacre at Laruso’s restaurant, he had been more than a little fearful at what those freaks could do.

  Shit, the guy looks like he just lifted weights or something.

  The longhead’s face was deep red, his neck muscles pulsating and his arms flexing. His elongated head was bald except for a tiny sprout of blond hair at the top. He tapped Harry’s car with his knuckles.

  Harry said, “Seriously, of all the goddamn things I had to deal with today, really, I gotta deal with this, too?” He opened the door and but didn’t stand up; the longhead was short and Harry didn’t want to intimidate him by his height. Instead he just leaned out and said, “Hey buddy, can I help you with something?”

  The longhead smiled and stepped closer. His hand reached into his camouflaged jacket and brought out a straight razor. Harry’s eyes widened and he shut the door and started the car. There was no way he was getting into a fight with a longhead. Even if you win, you lose. You’ll have fifty of them coming to your house to avenge their fallen comrade.