Black Neon

by Tony O'Neill

  *

  Rachel stood in front of the television cameras, the studio lights blinding her. She could see indistinct silhouettes in front of her, holding clipboards, and watching her eagerly. Before anybody spoke, Rachel knew instinctively what was going down. The cameras were pointed at her because she was the star of her own television show. Imagine! A show all about the life of Rachel. She could hear far-away applause. At first when the voice spoke to her, the voice of the Director, it seemed to echo as if it were coming from some cavernous place inside of her skull. As he walked toward her the words came into sharp focus. He was congratulating her on a job well done.

  “I’m so happy,” Rachel beamed. It was true. She felt like an Oscar winner. As if she were about to burst into tears of pure joy.

  The director was standing in front of her. He placed his hands on her shoulders. Although she was right next to him, his face still looked strangely out of focus. As if she were seeing it from far away, without her glasses. “You’re doing be great, baby,” the Director said, “We all love you. The camera loves you.”

  The Director waved his arm around the bright, vast studio.

  “These people are all here for you. They’re all here to see Rachel. This is your big moment.”

  She leaned in and embraced him. He radiated warmth, a special kind of warmth, a feeling she hadn’t known since she was six years old, falling asleep in front of the television curled up on Nay Nay’s lap like a kitten. The smell of her Jean Nate and her menthol cigarettes. Her asthmatic old beagle Mickie, curled up asleep at Nay Nay’s feet. She felt the sudden lurch of nostalgia, of almost unbearable longing.

  “Are you God?” Rachel asked.

  Instead of answering, the Director merely said, “Look who’s here…”

  Looking around, squinting because of the lights still beaming in her eyes, Rachel could see familiar faces amidst the blinding white that surrounded her. Nay Nay was there. Her parents too. Other faces, faces she hadn’t seen or thought about in a long, long time. Calvin Dodson, the leader of a gang of kids at school who had once tortured her, called her a faggot, beat her up regularly. Here Calvin was, in fact here they all were, unchanged by the intervening years, except now they smiled at her, applauding her eagerly. Everybody was cheering her, approving of her. She felt like a prom queen. She was the star, and now every rotten motherfucker on this earth was here to tell her how gorgeous she was, how amazing she was. This whole shitty fucking world was here to kiss her goddamned ass. That’s when Rachel knew for sure that she was in Heaven.

  Rachel had truly no idea that joy of this magnitude even existed. She wanted to go over to them, to thank them all for being here for her crowning moment, but the Director stopped her. For the first time she looked in his eyes, and his features shifted into sharp focus. He was familiar, handsome in a chiseled, All-American kind of a way. Dark, neat hair and movie star eyes. He had a mean mouth though, a smile that suggested cruelty. Rachel recognized him immediately as the star of the very first porno movie she had ever seen, an Eighties straight-to-video number set in prison called Powertool.

  “Jeff Stryker?” she breathed, “You’re God?”

  The Director merely smiled that ambiguous smile and his face shifted out of focus again. His grip on her shoulders became firmer.

  “But… but I want to see them…my family… my fans…”

  The Director shook his head.

  “Not yet,” he said, “It isn’t your time… not yet.”

  Rachel started to protest but her voice was carried away, as if by a strong wind. The lights became brighter, brighter, until there was nothing but dazzling white all around her. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. She could see nothing, but she could hear someone far away yelling, “Sir! Put that damn cigarette out! If you two have been freebasing in here you could blow this whole room sky high!”

  Rachel blinked again. An unfamiliar face was peering down at her. He was shining a torch in her eyes.

  “Pupils are dilating. She seems responsive.”

  She tried to move, but quickly realized that she was strapped down to a gurney.

  Another face peered at her. A familiar face this time. Jeffrey, with an unlit cigarette in his mouth. “Baby? You see me?”

  Panic gripped her. She started to thrash against the restraints. Jeffrey shushed her and told her to relax. “It’s okay…. Calm down, baby… I had to call the ambulance. It’s gonna be okay…”

  As they carried her out of the room and Rachel became more and more aware of where she was, she started screaming. A ragged, pitiful sound rose up from deep inside her guts. As Jeffrey followed them timidly out to the ambulance, he heard her scream: “Jeffrey! You motherfucker! Why did you wake me up? Why did you wake me UP???”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Genesis led Xavier Romero, a twenty-two year old construction worker from Peru, back to her room at East West Hotel in Koreatown. The East West was a by-the-hour dump on 8th Street, whose 40-dollar-per-night rooms were furnished with rickety lawn furniture and lumpy beds that had seen their fair share of action over the years. The kid was a little unsteady on his feet, weaving like a battered prizefighter as he followed behind. He stank of stale booze, and had picked up another bottle at the liquor store next door to the hotel. Genesis watched hungrily as he’d pulled out a wad of crumpled twenty-dollar bills, clumsily dumping them on the counter for a bottle of Old Crow Reserve. The old Korean, noting his condition, had tried to short-change him. Mindful that Xavier shouldn’t give away all of his cash before she’d gotten him to the room, Genesis intervened and tucked the correct change into the pockets of Xavier’s Dickies.

  Genesis had originally found him staggering out of some murky Korean dive bar, drunkenly trying to light a cigarette, work clothes splattered with paint and pockets fat with crumpled notes. She asked him for a light, her tight, short dress showing off her body in all the right places. Xavier did not go in for small talk. After he lit her cigarette he looked her up and down and asked, “What does a hundred get me?” in clumsy English.

  Genesis smiled, her eyes widening in faux surprise. “Anything you want, hun. Why don’t you come with me, I got a room over here…”

  Once they’d gotten inside the shabby hotel he’d looked a little unnerved by his surroundings: the old Bangladeshi man who sat picking his nose behind the reinforced glass at the reception desk, the threadbare carpeting, the “NO GUESTS NO EXCEPTIONS!” sign, and the smell of stale cigarettes and damp. She rushed him through the lobby before he got cold feet. Now Genesis was sliding the key into room 409 and shoving Xavier – who was babbling drunkenly about his wife and three kids back in Lima – into the room. She clicked on the light, and pointed him toward the bed.

  “I’m gonna go freshen up honey,” she said, “Why don’t you get comfortable?”

  Xavier staggered toward the disheveled twin bed. Genesis closed the bathroom door behind her. She pulled back the shower curtain quietly. Lupita was standing in the bathtub with the Heckler and Koch in her hand. Noticing the weapon Genesis frowned. Lupita put the gun to her lips in a shushing motion.

  You found someone? Lupita mouthed.

  Genesis nodded. He’s on the bed. What’s with the gun?

  It’s a robbery, Genesis. I don’t want him to get stupid with me.

  It’s not loaded though?

  Lupita shrugged. What use is an unloaded gun? Is this guy okay?

  Harmless. Drunk. He’s got money, too. Just got paid.

  Good. C’mon.

  In the other room Xavier was on the bed, his pants pulled around his ankles, grimly trying to massage his bourbon-numbed pecker into some semblance of life. He took another hit from the bottle. He didn’t want a repeat of what happened with the black whore he’d picked up two weekends ago. She’d demanded full payment even though he couldn’t get hard. Lousy black bitch he fumed, still working his cock, I should
have kicked her ass. He’d paid her because she started screaming for her pimp. Besides, he imagined the disgrace he would have caused his family if he had been arrested for beating a prostitute. He thought about what his wife Fermina would say if she could see him now in this scummy room waiting for a white whore to fuck him. Xavier Romero lay back, still thinking absently about his wife, still kneading his prick furiously when the door to the bathroom opened.

  He found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

  A different girl, not the white whore that had brought him here, was yelling at him in Spanish.

  “Don’t move motherfucker, don’t move!”

  Xavier froze. “What’s the problem?”

  “This is a fucking stick up. Stop touching that little dick of your, or I’ll blow it clean off!”

  Xavier raised his hands, and felt his penis go flaccid in an instant. “Don’ shoot,” he said, in English.

  Genesis crept out of the bathroom behind Lupita. An apologetic smile on her lips. Xavier spat, “Fucking... white… BITCH!”

  Lupita pressed the gun against Xavier’s face. “That white bitch is the love of my fucking life. One more word out of you, asshole, and I’ll kill you right now.”

  Xavier decided to keep his goddamned mouth shut.

  “Sorry man,” Genesis said, shrugging. “It’s a dog eat dog world out there. We’re just surviving, you know?”

  Xavier scowled, but said nothing. He turned his head away, unwilling to look at the gun that pointed at his face a moment longer. A pained expression came over him. Almost feeling a sorry for the poor bastard Genesis crept forward and said, “You know… maybe you should stop picking up whores, you know? When you’re drunk, at least. Or maybe you could go to a cathouse or something? There’s tons of ’em in Hollywood if you ask around. Doing shit like this, picking up girls from the street, you’re kinda leaving yourself wide open…”

  Xavier shrugged, sulkily. Lupita cocked the gun and rolled her eyes at Genesis. “What are you, his fucking life coach?”

  “I’m just sayin’. He’s got a wife and three kids back in… uh, where are you from?”

  “Peru,” Xavier said.

  “Right. A family back in Pay-Roo that he’s supposed to be supporting, and now he’s getting ripped off because he doesn’t use his head. I’m just tryin’ to help.”

  “Well don’t, okay? Let’s just get this shit over with. Toss the wallet over, cocksucker. No tricks.”

  Reluctantly, Xavier did as he was told. He carefully reached into the pockets of his Dickies and pulled out a fake leather wallet. As he pulled it out some loose notes came vomiting out on the bed. “Get that for me, will you, Genesis hun?”

  Genesis approached the bed cautiously and scooped the money toward her. She rifled through the wallet expertly. “Here.” She tossed his phony-looking state ID back to him.

  “What are you doing?” Lupita asked.

  “We don’t need his ID.”

  “So?”

  “We’re already taking his bread! No point in ruining his night completely…”

  Genesis started counting the money.

  “So you got a family, huh?” Lupita growled.

  “Yes.”

  “Bet they’re counting on that money each month, huh?”

  Xavier nodded moodily.

  “But you think it’s okay to blow your money on pussy, huh?”

  Xavier said nothing.

  “You wanted to fuck her, huh?” Lupita carried on, her voice rising in indignation. “You wanted to fuck my girlfriend? I’ll bet she have given you something you couldn’t get at home, huh? You fucking piece of shit. You wanted to fuck my girlfriend?”

  “Shit, Lupe, calm down!” Genesis put her hand on Lupita’s shoulder. She was trembling. “It’s cool. We made out good, three hundred. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Not yet. I got something I gotta do first. Reach into my bag over there. There should be a package, wrapped in plain brown paper. Right on top. You got it?”

  “Yeah. I found it.”

  The package was about a foot long, heavy and round. Genesis unwrapped it. Inside was a red, votive candle. It bore an image of the strange, skeletal saint whose grinning visage had been plastered all over Mama Z’s place.

  “Oh what the fuck is this, Lupe?”

  “Just light it, okay?” Then, focusing on Xavier again, “Strip.”

  Xavier looked confused.

  “Quitar la ropa!”

  Xavier began undressing. Genesis pulled Lupita aside. While Xavier dropped his shorts Genesis whispered, “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Look Genesis, I gotta be straight with you. There was something I wasn’t telling you back at Mama Z’s place. The thing is… we gotta kill this guy.”

  “What?”

  “It’s the only way to lift the curse. We’re gonna be dodging bad luck the rest of our lives unless we get this death sentence of Paco’s from over our heads. That’s the ritual I was talking about. The prayer that Mama Z gave me… it has to be conducted in the presence of someone who died. Who just died. You have to do it before the spirit leaves the body. They carry the petition up with them… from my lips to the spirit’s ears.”

  There was a frozen moment in the room as Genesis tried to process this information. Then her face contorted in fury.

  “You fucking liar! You were planning this all along? I fucking KNEW something was up. Why couldn’t you be straight with me?”

  “Because I knew you’d be upset.”

  “UPSET?” Genesis was yelling now, “You made me a promise, Lupe! You swore…”

  “Enough! Calm down!”

  Genesis burst into tears. Lupita kept the gun on Xavier, but glanced over to Genesis. “Shit,” Lupita hissed, “this isn’t the time for a fucking lover’s quarrel, okay? We can talk about this later!”

  “Later? You mean AFTER you KILL him?”

  Genesis said it loud enough this time for Xavier to hear.

  Lupita cocked the gun at Xavier. Genesis turned away and started sobbing bitterly behind her. At the mention of killing him, a now naked Xavier had leapt to his feet and put both of his hands in the air.

  “Please don’t kill me, lady!” he begged in Spanish, “I have a family. You have my money! Please don’t kill me.”

  Lupita’s finger tightened around the trigger… but something made her hesitate. Something buried in his chest hair that caught her eye, glittering in the hotel room’s dim light. She frowned, and peered at him closely. Motioning to his chest with the gun, she asked, “What the fuck is that?”

  Xavier looked down at the gold pendent around his neck. It was an image of Death, framed in gold.

  “This?” he said softly, holding up the pendent so she could see, “Santa Muerte.”

  Lupita immediately loosened her trigger finger and dropped the gun a little. She shook her head, a sick smile on her lips. “Jesus fucking Christ. You gotta be kidding me! Siddown, asshole!”

  “Please don’t kill me…”

  “Sit down and shut the fuck up, okay? I gotta think. Genesis, get over here.”

  Genesis stopped sobbing a little, and sniffed. “What do you want?”

  “Grab our stuff. We’re getting out of here.”

  Genesis wiped her snotty face with the back of her hand. “Right now?”

  “Yeah. Right now.”

  Lupita walked over to the bed, and brutally smashed Xavier across the back of the skull with the butt of the gun. His brain smashed violently against the inside of his cranium. Coupled with the effect of the booze, the blow put him out cold. He fell back onto the bed. She cracked him on the skull one more time to make sure that he wouldn’t get up for a while.

  “Thank you,” Genesis said, as she gathered up their stuff. “Thank you for not killing him. That means a lot t
o me.”

  Lupita shrugged, silently fuming. She had just about enough of Genesis’s fucking nagging. She didn’t mention that she couldn’t kill him after seeing that he was under the protection of Santa Muerte. If she did that she’d have simply been swapping one kind of bad luck for another.

  Taking Lupita’s silence as a prompt to carry on Genesis softened her voice and said, “I mean it sweetie. That’s a great first step. You’ve got to stop. It’s becoming a real… problem for you.”

  “This is not a problem,” Lupita said through gritted teeth, “We gotta perform this ritual, otherwise bad luck is gonna follow us for the rest of our fuckin days.”

  “But there’s always an excuse! Can’t you see that? You had to kill this one in self-defense. You gotta kill this one to cure our bad luck. This is all just… it’s too convenient. You’re just making excuses! You got to quit killing people, Lupe. You’ve got to do it cold turkey.”

  “We gotta perform the ritual, and we gotta do it soon.”

  Genesis sighed, exasperated. “I don’t believe that we do, Lupe. What kind of a religion can condone cold blooded murder?”

  Lupita laughed sourly and asked, “And you say you grew up in this country?”

  Lupita tucked the gun away, and stomped around the room looking for any trace of evidence that they might have left behind. “Look, what if I promise to find someone… someone who’s a real asshole. Someone with no fuckin’ wife and kids back home. Like a – a child molester, or something?”

  Genesis shook her head. “I got a better idea. Just don’t kill anybody. It’s that easy.”

  “It’s not that easy. Fuck, you don’t understand, baby. It’s not that easy…”

  “It can be,” Genesis said. She came over to Lupita and wrapped her arms around her. Lupita froze but Genesis pulled her closer, nestling her face between her breasts. “Just let me help you,” she said running a comforting hand through her lover’s hair, “You’ve got a problem, Lupe, honest-to-god you do. We need to fix it right now… if we can’t work this out then how can we have a future? I’m asking one thing from you. No more killing. Can’t you make me that promise?”