by Jordan Krall
Tomato Joe looked sincerely confused. “What do you mean? When was this? When did this happen?”
“Two years ago.”
“You expect me to remember shit like that?” Tomato Joe started to get to his feet, holding his arm and gritting his teeth. “I think you broke my fucking arm.”
The baseball bat hit Tomato Joe in the neck. He screamed.
“How’s that?” Samson said. He swung it again, hitting the biker in the balls.
“Fuck!”
“The people you kidnap. The kids. Where do you bring them?”
“Fucking Christ!”
Another hit with the bat. Samson realized that post-war bikers were a stubborn bunch. Just like Bowsman, it was going to take more pain to make Tomato Joe talk.
“Where do you take them?”
“To hell, asshole.”
Samson threw himself onto Tomato Joe, kneeing him in the balls and holding the baseball bat against his throat. “I can’t make this last a long, long time. Now tell me where you bring the kids.”
“Different places, man. I don’t remember every single one. I don’t know what the hell I did with him. You want me to tell you he ended up in some nice family? Well I don’t know. Maybe he did. But he could have ended up with some chicken hawk freak or something. Who gives a fuck?” Tomato Joe laughed, blood spilling out of his mouth along with yellow foam. The drugs had taken a toll.
“You’re a fucking waste of life, you know that?”
Tomato Joe chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”
Samson put the gun to the man’s head and cocked it.
“Some of the kids, you know, they end up being bought by Silver.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, he buys the kids sometimes. I don’t remember which ones but some of them.”
“What does he do with them?”
Tomato Joe shook his head weakly. “The hell would I know? The guy’s a fucking maniac. But if he does have you son, you can sure as hell kiss him goodbye. You ain’t seeing him again. That’s for sure.”
“Shut up,” Samson said. He pulled the trigger.
III.
Even over the roar of his car’s engine, Samson could hear Drac’s scream. The guy was coming up fast, standing on his front seat like a gladiator on a chariot.
“Get down, kid,” he said to Paulo.
Samson grabbed the handle of the blowgun and looked into the rearview mirror, trying to aim the best he could. When he had the other driver in his sights, he pressed the trigger. Dozens of sharp needles shot out of the blowgun and struck Drac.
Unfortunately, most of them hit him in his head and were deflected by his glass skull. Drac fired several shots, shattering the back window of Samson’s car.
“Watch out!” Paulo screamed. He had been peeking out the window and was pointing towards a black rabbit the size of a cow that was sitting in the middle of the road. Samson swerved to miss it but hit the edge of a pothole, knocking his car to the side of the road.
Drac avoided the pothole but not the rabbit. His car crashed through the thing, spreading entrails across the road in a neon explosion of bloody confetti. He sat down in his seat and sped up past Samson who was trying to get his car onto the road.
Both cars were coming up to the entrance to Mr. Silver’s Atlantic City compound but Drac was ten feet ahead. Samson got back onto the road, glass still falling like snowflakes from the back of his car. He started to gain on Drac but he hit another pothole, causing him to lose a few precious feet.
Up ahead was a huge gate with a ribbon tied to each end.
The finish line.
IV.
Six Months Ago
Samson was sitting on the hood of his car, flipping through handful of Garbage Pail Kids cards he had found in, of all places, a trashcan. He thought they might be worth trading.
His car was parked at an abandoned rest stop off the Garden State Parkway right outside of Jersey City where many races were held. He had to do anything to keep his mind away from thinking about his son. The last few years had been spent trying to find clues to Jack’s whereabouts.
On that particular day, there was no one around. Samson was about to leave when he heard an engine in the distance. Down the road he saw a white car making its way to him. He grabbed his gun as it parked next to his car. A man in a white suit got out.
“Hello there,” the man said. “You Samson?”
“Who wants to know?”
“My name is Enzo. I represent Mr. Silver. You do know who Mr. Silver is, correct?”
“Yeah, I heard of him.”
“You’ve raced for him….whether you know it or not. He’s noticed you. Your win against Savage Fred was nothing short of amazing. Mr. Silver was really impressed.”
“That so?”
“Yessiree and now he’s interested in your participating in a race he’s organizing….”
Enzo explained the details to Samson who just sat there, nodding and grunting after every sentence.
Finally Samson said, “I’ll do it.”
Enzo clapped his hands once. “Fabulous!”
That night Samson had a dream he was being chased by thousands of snakes. Or were they vines? He couldn’t really tell. The dream ended with his being devoured in the midst of oceanic whirlpool while the sound of a car engine shook him to his core.
V.
Behind the finish line was the stadium seating filled to the brim with wild spectators screaming for their favorite racer. Some were wearing transparent plastic skull masks in honor of Drac. Others wore yellow shirts with the name SAMSON blazoned across the front in bold, black letters.
Samson had the gas pedal down to the floor. His hands gripped the wheel so hard he felt his knuckles burn. Paulo was still crouched down on the floor of the passenger side. Drac was ahead of them by five feet, his glass skull shining in the sun.
“Go, goddamnit, go,” Samson said, talking to his car. Paulo looked at him with visible hurt on his face. “I wasn’t talking to you, kid. Just the car.”
Then he shook his head as he watched Drac speed through the finish line, cutting the ribbon in half, a piece of it falling on Samson’s windshield as a reminder of his complete and utter failure.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Yowzah! Yowzah! Yowzah! We have a winner!
Can you believe it? Drac Dunwich, Mr. Glass Skull himself, has won the race! Poor old Samson, he’s the loser but let’s face it, he’s been a great entertainer, right? Well, maybe not as much as Mr. Dunwich but hey, we all can’t be show-stoppers!
Now let’s get ready for Mr. Silver. Yep, you heard me right. Mr. Silver is coming out to personally congratulate the winner. We’ll also find out the bonus prize for killing Lord Bing Bong. Is everybody excited? Hell yeah!
*
I.
Drac drove through the gate and went past the finish line onto a ramp that brought him onto the boardwalk. A large crescent-shaped stadium had been built on the boardwalk and the beach, giving Drac a view of the audience that had been watching the entire race. What shocked him was not the cacophony of cheers but the sight of people wearing masks that seemed based on him. Should he have been flattered? He wasn’t.
After driving up onto the boardwalk, he stopped at the stage that had been built over the beach. Standing on top of that stage was Enzo in his tacky white suit and behind him, a tall man with a ponytail. His grin cut his face in half, revealing bright yellow teeth.
Drac stepped out of the car to the ear-crushing din of the audience. He slammed the car door and looked over the stage to the ocean where the city of R’lyeh was waiting like an unwrapped present he was going to be forced to open. He could see there had been a green stone bridge built from the stage to R’lyeh, crossing the water like a witch’s finger directing him to his fate.
He turned around and saw Samson pull up. How was the guy going to accept defeat? Was he going to jump out and accuse Drac of cheating? Would he just get out and shoot him?
Drac star
ed through the windshield of Samson’s car and saw that he wasn’t making a move to get out. He just stared back at him.
The loudspeakers blared. “Congratulations, Drac! Yowzah!”
The crowd cheered and Drac looked up to see the large video screens that had been hung on the sides of several hotels. He looked at his face, his glass skull, his brain soaked in gasoline...
“Yowzah! Let me turn things over to the boss. Yes, Mr. Silver himself!”
Enzo handed the microphone to Silver who smiled even wider. He laughed and the chuckling reverberated down the boardwalk. It was so loud that Drac expected the hotels to tremble.
“Well, well, there’s my winner. There’s my Drac Dunwich. I should have known the driver wearing the Halloween costume would win the death race.”
Silver laughed. It made a hollow sound that chilled Drac’s spine.
The warlord went on. “Now, before we get to anything else, let’s talk about your bonus prize for killing Lord Bing Bong. You really took a thorn out of my side and I appreciate it. Oh, do I appreciate it. And because I do, I’m going to award you with something I know you’ll enjoy.” He made a gesture to someone behind Drac.
From behind him walked Mr. Silver’s enforcer, the man called COP, still just wearing a leather mask and codpiece, still possessing eyes that were cauldrons of milky hell. On his shoulders he carried a large cube of green flesh. He dropped it at Drac’s feet and said, “Food.”
The crowd laughed.
Silver whistled into the microphone. “Whew, yessir, Drac. You got yourself a nice-looking cube of Yugg meat. Cop there, he was half right. You could use it as food, of course, but there are so many other uses. Smoke it, snort it, do your laundry with it. I’ve heard you can bind books with it, too. So put that into your car and let me go on about your……prize.” Silver laughed while turning to Enzo who snickered into his palm. That was all Lord Bing Bong’s life was worth: a cube of Yugg meat and they found it hilarious.
Drac heard a car door slam. Samson had gotten out of his car and was walking next to him.
“Congratulations,” Samson said.
Drac nodded.
They both looked at the stage as Mr. Silver smirked. He said, “What I like about being an entertainer is that I have the freedom to….change things as I see fit. I call it the Berlusconi rule of power. I mean, you two men participated in the race of your lives and it entertained the crowd. For that, I thank you. But it’s not as simple as that.” He snapped his fingers and Cop walked to Samson’s car and opened the passenger door, pulling Paulo out by the neck.
“Hey, you get the hell away from him!” Samson said, running over. He was punched in the nose by Cop. He fell to the ground, blinded by tears and pain. But through those tears he watched Cop drag Paulo up to the stage where Mr. Silver grabbed the boy’s neck and held him in place.
Cop walked back to Samson, grabbed a handful of hair, and dragged him to the front of the stage where he stayed on his knees, looking up at Paulo, Mr. Silver, and Enzo.
Mr. Silver put the microphone to his mouth and blew into it, causing a wave of static to erupt from the speakers. Then he said, “Samson. You’re courageous and chivalrous. You saved this boy from an uncertain fate, right? Well, I never said you could have a partner in the race, now did I? I think some punishment is called for.”
“He wasn’t a partner,” Samson said.
“Oh, well, I guess…” Silver started but was interrupted by Enzo.
“Mr. Silver, sir, may I have a word with you?” he said. “In private?”
Silver nodded and dropped the mic to the ground. He threw Paulo to the ground and bent his head down so Enzo could whisper into his ear.
“There is something strange about the boy.”
“What do you mean?”
“I feel something,” Enzo said. “I feel something ancient under the surface of his skin. Something to do with power. Something to do with……that.” He pointed out to the sea, towards R’lyeh.
“You mean….”
“He is not a real child,” Enzo said. “He’s….”
Silver nodded in understanding and walked back to the end of the stage and picked up the microphone. He motioned for Enzo to grab hold of Paulo. Then he looked at Samson. “You’ve come to value this…..boy, right?”
Samson didn’t respond. Cop kicked him in the ribs and said, “Answer.”
Samson shook his head which brought on another kick and another. Finally he said, “Yes.”
Silver said, “He was such a fragile child in the need of rescue and you swooped in like a hero and did just that. Now look at him.” He moved Paulo around by the neck, to the right and then to the left. The boy didn’t struggle with the hand grabbing his neck. He looked catatonic.
“Well, Samson, this is sort of….ironic…considering your history.”
“What are you talking about?” Samson lifted himself to his feet.
“I’m talking about…..Jack.”
Samson’s heart sank. During the race, he had tried his best to bury his memories about his son. Having a young boy in the passenger seat actually helped him do that, as if the presence of Paulo had taken the place of the past. But now…..
“What the hell are you talking about?” he said, getting ready to jump up on stage and tear Silver apart.
“Samson, I’m talking about the son you failed to save. You see, I’m a businessman. That’s it. Not only do I deal in consumer goods but in information, knowledge. I know many things, Samson. Rarely does something happen in New Jersey that I don’t know about or approve.”
Silver dug his fingers into Paulo’s neck, tearing flesh. The crowd was silent except for a few random gasps.
Samson jumped forward but was held back by Cop. The smell of fish filled his nostrils as the brute gripped him like a vise. “What the fuck are you doing!” he yelled at Silver.
Silver tilted his head and smiled. “I’m opening a book.”
II.
When Silver started tearing out the kid’s flesh, Drac almost pissed his pants. He’d seen some fucked-up stuff before but nothing like this. It’s one thing if a racer ran over a kid during the race. That was a violent moment of adrenaline that could be understood if not excused. But to mutilate a young boy in front of a crowd of people? That was absurdly unnecessary.
He crossed his arms and watched as Silver continued to strip off the skin from the boy, tearing muscle until he was grabbing handfuls of something that didn’t look like it belonged in a human body.
With a sinister smile on his face, Mr. Silver was pulling out page after yellowed page of parchment out of Paulo’s mangled body for the boy had not been real, had not been a living child.
The kid had been a living, breathing accursed tome.
Samson let out a howl of anguish, watching Paulo being torn up, seeing his flesh thrown aside while paper was being pulled out of his shell-like body.
But Drac just stood and watched silently.
Silver tore a handful of pages out from under Paulo’s ribcage and the body, now emptied, dropped to the ground.
“Don’t you worry, Samson,” Silver said. “The kid was never real. Well, at least not as real as your son.”
III.
Two Weeks Ago
Simon Revair held the Abgrund Abschaum and smiled.
Finally, he had possessed it: the harbinger of the new age. He put the book to his nose and inhaled the scent of primordial knowledge, leathery flesh, and the skin cells of ancient fingers.
Simon put the book on the engine and got into the car to start it.
The revving of the engine warmed the tome. Simon went into the trunk and brought out his supplies: four buckets of clay and a bag of tools made of bone and metal. He walked over to the engine and stared down at the book, watching flakes of parchment flutter up into his face. He inhaled them.
Then he got to work.
It took him four hours but when he was done, he had transformed the Abgrund Abschaum into a walking heral
d of oblivion, a book in the form of a child.
“Wake up,” he said to the small form below him.
The child-thing stirred and sat up. It looked at Simon and said, “I’m awake.”
“That you are, my son. That you are.
IV.
Silver looked at Drac and winked. “Don’t worry. I didn’t forget about you.”
“What? What’s the point of all this?” Drac said.
“Straight to the point. I like that. Let me tell you. You two men are so special to me, to all of us.” Silver motioned to the crowd, giving them permission to cheer. “You are two top-notch entertainers and now you’ll have the chance to entertain us even more.”
Drac said, “The race is done. I’m done.”
“Oh, is it? No, I don’t think it is. See that bridge?” Silver pointed to the green bridge that had been constructed to stretch all the way to the city of R’lyeh. “You two will be racing over it.”
Samson grunted. “The hell I will.”
Drac concurred. “I already won.”
The audience erupted in hoots and howls. How dare the two racers deny Mr. Silver?
“Boys, you don’t seem to understand. You both are going over that bridge. There’s no discussion. Samson, I’m sure you’re wondering how I know about Jack and I’ll only say this. When you go over that bridge, you’ll be entering a whole new realm of truth, of reality. Granted, it may not be the reality you want to face but, well, it’s the reality that’s waiting for you.” Silver grinned. “Jack’s waiting for you.”
Samson’s heart dropped. He looked over at the city. It was a bulbous, gargantuan island that rose from the sea like a monstrous pimple. It pulsed and throbbed like an oceanic heart sending ominous sound waves into Samson’s ears. It was strange that it hadn’t appeared in his peripheral vision. It was as if it only existed if he viewed it with undivided attention. The chlorochrous city walls ended at impossible angles. He rubbed his eyes in fear that he was hallucinating. The walls were decorated with holocryptic symbols. Beyond the walls there were spiraling obelisks and monolithic slabs of cock-eyed rock that reached up to the clouds.
