by Jasmine Walt
"You're a fucking midget? No shit? A fucking midget? Rad, dude," David said, choking on a toke.
"I'm not a midget you asshole. I'm a little person. Get it right, fucker." As Christopher watched Dean take a hit, his eyes changed, glittering, and his incisors fell from his gums and immediately retracted.
"Wow, this is really good weed. I swear I just saw your teeth grow, dude. It's cool. No sweat, man. We're cool, right Dave?" Dean blew out a puff and handed the bong to Christopher again.
"Yeah, man, we're really cool. Can I get another hit, dude?" Dave asked Christopher.
"I'm thinking about trying the trip myself. I'm here to find out how you did it. So how 'bout you start explainin' it to me." Christopher got up, leaned over and stuck his face in the bong again.
"Sure man, no sweat. I got charts and everything. I can get them for you. It's cool."
"Yeah, it is. So get me the fucking charts because I'm getting hungry, dude." Christopher smiled.
Dorius paced the living room, his cell phone in his hands. "And you're sure Christopher was in the bungalow?"
"Yes, and Buster's scent is all over the place. I can also smell two mortals. They haven't been gone long," Peter, one of Dorius' Rogue Hunters, replied.
"What's the little shit doing in Key West? Any indication?"
"Looks like a party pad. The smell of cannabis permeates the air. I'd say a major high was had by all and then they decided to go out surfing."
"We'll be heading out to pick up the women soon. Find Christopher, and I expect to be informed of any changes. Did you dispatch the Rogue Hunters?"
"Yes, they're on the way to the bowling alley."
"Did you tell them not to come inside?" Dorius paced in front of the couch.
"They've been instructed to stand down and call you when they arrive."
"Good work. Now find Christopher."
"Can do boss."
Marcus, Warren and Camillio walked in the front door as Dorius ended the call.
"The car's packed and ready. Did they find Christopher?" Marcus asked, his left eyebrow reaching for his hairline as he studied the phone in Dorius' hand.
"They found where he went, but he was gone when they got there. It seems he had a pot party and then hit the beach. Peter's going to retrieve him."
"You gotta love him. He's everything you wanted him to be." Marcus laughed, strutted over to the couch, picked up the cooler of blood and headed back out to the waiting limousine, chuckling.
Dorius' chest vibrated with anger.
The convertible, a 1979 Volkswagen Beetle, white on white and in mint condition, pulled up to the sand dunes with the top down, radio blaring and Dean 'the Cuda' Swellter's Dewey Weber sticking out four feet over the backseat. Buster sat on one side of it, tongue hanging from his mouth, panting, and Dave, mouth open, snoring, slept on the other side.
"This is where you started, man?" Christopher kneeled in the passenger seat, watching the ocean waves hammer the sand at the edge of the beach in front of him.
"Yep, right there by that old shack." Dean pointed fifty yards down the shoreline to an old abandoned structure threatening to collapse with the next gust of wind. "The currents will take you were you want to go, dude. Come on, I'll get you all rigged up." Dean opened the door, walked around to the front of the Volkswagen and pulled open the trunk. He retrieved an inflatable raft, a cooler and three bulging trash bags.
Leaning over the raft, he pulled a plug. With a whoosh, it filled with air. He loaded the gear in, grabbed the rope attached to the bow and headed for the water, dragging it behind him.
Christopher jumped over the passenger door, Buster following, and pulled the surfboard from the back seat. Dave didn't budge. The two small, circular wounds on his neck were almost healed.
"Buster, you and I are going on a little adventure. Can you speak Spanish?"
"Woof."
"Me neither."
25
My mouth fell open as I took in the organized chaos in the bowling alley.
"Well, we certainly picked the right public place," Mom announced with a grin.
Long lines of humans, ranging in ages from twenty to eighty, were getting shoes, filling out forms, setting up alleys and shouting threats at each other as they made ready for the night's events. The crack of pins falling as teams warmed up filled in the background, and loud yells of encouragement followed.
A DJ was setting up a long table with electronics against the far wall. In several areas, tables were set up with employees assisting teams in preparation for the big game. Banners strung across the lanes on the walls and over the counters screamed phrases of thanks to the many supporters and sponsors who evidently made this night possible.
Someone had possession of a reverberating microphone and was directing teams in a number of ear-blaring commands followed by piercing protests from eight foot speakers mounted in all four corners of the room.
As we stood just inside the door, a middle aged woman approached us. She wore a bright purple T-shirt with 'Meet Me On The Alley' embroidered over her right breast. Under it she wore a circular plastic pin with 'Sally' printed under 'Operations Manager'. Her muddy brown hair stuck out in all angles, putting Phyllis Diller to shame.
She wore a pair of jeans hugging a waist-less stomach, stretching tightly down her lumpy body, embracing small ankles. Her feet covered in red, white and blue bowling shoes, had size nine printed on each side.
A clipboard hanging from her elastic waistband slapped against her hip as she approached. A big smile spread clear across the bottom half of her face, showing way too many silver fillings through bright purple lips.
"CAN THE OWNER OF A 1979, BABY BLUE, BUICK SKYLARK PLEASE ATTEND TO YOUR VEHICLE? YOU LEFT YOUR LIGHTS ON."
Sally's eyes scrunched, her shoulders went up, and she shot the bald man behind the desk a dirty look. She turned back to us with a painful smile. "You can register at one of the tables and pick up your shirts as soon as they're stenciled. What's the name of your team?" Sally held a pencil poised, awaiting our answer.
Mom jumped in front of me. "The Immortals."
"Good name. Hope you can live up to it." Sally handed Mom a sheet of paper off her clipboard and in a voice that could only have been attributed to large amounts of nicotine consumption, began to go over the rules with us. "I'll need the names of each of your team members. All competitors are required to wear a team shirt, which we provide as part of the hundred-dollar entry fee. I assume you're the manager?"
Mom nodded as we all watched. I figured she deserved the title and since none of the others protested, I curbed my tongue.
"I NEED SOMEONE FROM 'THE BALL BUSTERS', 'CALL-US-FORN-ICATORS', 'IVEY'S LEAGUE', 'THE TASMANIAN DEVILS', AND 'SEXY SADISTS SINGLES', FRONT AND CENTER IMMEDIATELY. YOUR SHIRTS ARE READY."
Sally flinched as she continued through clenched teeth. "You need at least four players, no more than eight. Four players from each team will match-up head-to-head in each game. If your team wins a game, you get one point."
The DJ, a short round man in his sixties, in competition with the bald man, yelled, "ALL RIGHT ALL YOU BOWLERS AND HIGH ROLLERS, IT'S TIME TO SUIT UP AND PUT OUT! I'M TOMMY-BOY SPREADING THE JOY. COME MAKE YOUR REQUESTS BECAUSE I ONLY SPIN THE BEST!" And with that, he cranked up the music. The first selection was the Macarena at an ear splitting volume.
Sally pulled out a bottle of extra strength ibuprofen, dumped three in her hand and popped them in her mouth, crunching as she went on, "In the event of a tie, each team will receive half a point. Substitute players may only replace active players between games. The team with the most total pins for the game will receive three additional points. If tied, each team gets one and a half points."
"I HAVE A PHONE CALL FOR PHONDA PETERS; PHONDA PETERS CAN YOU PLEASE COME TO THE FRONT DESK - THE BUICK'S LIGHTS ARE STILL ON, PEOPLE! SOMEONE GET OUT THERE BEFORE THE BATTERY GOES DEAD." The man at the microphone overrode the sound system as he spoke, cutting the music off in mid-ph
rase. The cracking sound of pins hitting the alleys rang out in abrupt shattering waves of calamity before the music started again.
Sally cracked her neck from side to side, her teeth clamped together as the music blasted from the speakers. "At the end of the tournament we will total points and the winning team will be awarded the prize. In the event of a tie, the teams will have a play-off until one team is victorious. Any questions?" Sally's head bobbed as her eyes fell on each of us.
"'LITTLE LULU'S WHO-WHO'S', 'BREAKIN' WINDY'S BLOW HARDS', 'SANDIES CANDIES', 'GATOR BAITERS', 'THE TERMINATORS', AND 'ACEE'S DEE-CEE'S: YOUR SHIRTS ARE WAITING FOR YOU AT THE FRONT DESK."
As "Mustang Sally" blared over the sound system, Tom yelled into his microphone, his voice competing with the music and a group of off tune bowlers screaming, "Ride, Sally Ride!", "IS EVERYONE READY TO PAR-TY? PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER, AND SHAKE THOSE HIPS, BECAUSE IT'S TIME TO THANK THE MAN WITH ALL THE TRICKS! LET'S HEAR IT FOR MIKEY, BOWLERS!"
The crowed agreed boisterously as bowling balls slammed into pins against the back of the alleys. I was ready to hit Sally's ibuprofen bottle.
We gave Sally our names, adding Dorius and Marcus to the list, with a description of who she would be looking for when they arrived. She promised she'd direct them as soon as they got here. We paid her for a chance at winning the ten big ones and headed for the registration tables. Sally headed for the bald man with the microphone.
Outside, Marcus got out of the Suburban, the other three immortals joining him as they headed for the bowling alley.
"Dorius, you and I will do all the talking," Marcus announced as he reached for the door. "I want as little attention drawn to us as possible. Just go with the flow and maybe we can get them out of there in a hurry."
"This is ridiculous. I think we should just drag their asses out and be… Holy shit!" Warren whipped his head around as the door opened and the obnoxious sounds of the rowdy crowd enveloped them to a background of Steppenwolf, singing 'Born To Be Wild'.
"Shit is exactly the word I was looking for," Dorius said as he walked through the door scanning the room. "Warren, Camillio, hang around by the front and back doors. If anyone asks you what you're doing, tell them you're observers. If one of the women tries to leave, stop them."
Warren and Camillio split up, heading for the front and back entrance.
"'LAWDY'S MAUDY MAMA'S', 'THE CALYPSO'S', 'CHILLER THRILLERS', 'THE IMMORTALS', 'HONKY TALK HERO'S', AND 'THE GAY BLADES', YOUR SHIRTS ARE AT THE FRONT DESK."
Dorius stepped forward into the mass of confusion, rubbing his temples, his eyes searching for the women. Marcus scanned the area, his smile falling on Sally as she approached.
"Are you guys looking for 'The Immortals'?"
Marcus burst out laughing. "That we are."
"Dorius and Marcus, right?"
Dorius ground his teeth. "Where the hell are they?"
"Lane thirteen. Let's get you over there before the games get started."
As if on cue, the bald man behind the front desk nipped the music and yelled, "ALL RIGHT BOWLERS, GET YOUR BALLS, SUIT UP AND PICK YOUR FIRST TEAM. ONLY FOUR PLAYERS ARE ALLOWED ON THE PLATFORM. THE SEATS DIRECTLY BEHIND THE LANES ARE RESERVED FOR THE REST OF YOUR TEAM. THE FIRST GAME BEGINS AT MIDNIGHT - THAT'S TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES, PEOPLE! AND WE WILL BEGIN ON TIME!"
As Joe Cocker blared from the speakers croaking, 'You can leave your hat on', Sally grabbed Dorius by the sleeve of Zaire's 'Born to be Bad' T-shirt and ushered him toward lane thirteen. Marcus exploded in laughter as Dorius turned back glaring at him, wincing each time pins cracked in protest.
Dorius was deposited onto the lane by a hurried Sally, and Zaire immediately glared at him. "Are those my jeans and T-shirt? Those better not be my friggin' pants!"
Sally turned and wiggled her eyebrows in Zaire's direction while sizing up Dorius' ass. Zaire snorted in disgust.
Sally ran off in another direction, waving her pen at an old bald man in a bright green team shirt with a German Shepherd on a leash following behind him. "Hold up! No pets in the lanes! That dog has to go outside, now!"
I turned to Paul with a nasty grin.
"Did you go through my dirty underwear too, you pervert?" Zaire asked, still hot for a fight.
"Not me… I'm not into dirty laundry sniffing." Dorius smiled at his brother. Marcus gave him a warning glance. Paul watched the two, intently.
Gibbie hovered in front of Zaire in a flutter of silver dust. "Don't start, black woman. We're letting the wolf handle this, remember?" Gibbie told her through cute little clenched teeth, his shrill voice adding to the calamity.
Zaire immediately shot a concerned look around the alley.
"They can't see me, little black woman," Gibbie squeaked.
Dorius bent and tugged at the ass of Zaire's jeans.
"I asked you if those are my F'n clothes, you blood sucking bastard." Zaire had her nose close enough for Dorius to take a bite out of it.
Bowling balls hit pins, music blared, and I still heard Dorius' growl as he used up another inch of space between his face and Zaire's. "You don't want to do this here, do you?"
Marcus cleared his throat.
Zaire didn't move a muscle. "You didn't answer my question, Fang-Face."
Mom huffed onto the lane carrying a handful of pink t-shirts. Resi stepped up behind Zaire, ready for an altercation.
Gibbie buzzed to Paul and back to Zaire, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Jeni and JoAnn were cooing as they picked through the t-shirts Mom held.
Just another fun filled night with my new immortal family, I thought, watching Marcus' eyes sparkle.
"LETS PUT THOSE HANDS TOGETHER, ALL YOU FANS, WITH A LITTLE FO-OD FOR THE SOUL, GRABBING THAT MO-OD FROM 'ELECTIRC LIGHT ORCHESTRA', NOTHING LIKE ROCK TO ROUND UP A FLOCK," Tom announced, as 'Strange Magic', filled the air.
"Stop standing there in a damn daze and put this frigging shirt on." Mom handed me a team t-shirt and turned away to hand out the rest of them.
"Oh, this is my favorite color, Mom," JoAnn told her, donning hers as pins crashed in time with the music.
Zaire was still in Dorius' face. He smugly smiled at her. "Yes, they are your clothes. But I left a pair of Rufskins black Truxton's hanging over your shower with my new Gordini silk crew. I think I got the bad end of the deal. Nice cologne, by the way. I love Ferrari Black."
"TWENTY MINUTES BOWLERS. LET'S GET THOSE LAST MINUTE PRACTICE BALLS - WE CUT YOU OFF IN TEN MINUTES."
Four very butch looking women, followed by four very lady-like men strutted onto the lane throwing bowling ball cases, shoes, jackets, and bags of food under the chairs by Dorius and Zaire. Gibbie wedged himself in between the two of them. "Both of you knock it off or I start with the itch dust."
A team two lanes over got everyone's attention with obnoxious war cries, as pins crashed and a bowler jumped in the air. "STRIKE! OH, HELL YES! WATCH AND LEARN, 'THE TERMINATORS' HAVE ARRIVED!"
Dorius flinched and Zaire turned her cheek to his lips. "Pop a mint, Casket-Breath," she said, eyeing up the opposing team settling into our alley.
They all stood proudly wearing black t-shirts sporting 'The Gay Blades' across their chests. They didn't look like gaiety was part of their persona, though. I watched them bang around doing an Alpha routine that had Paul frowning. I assumed gay referred to sexual preference, while blades referred to something that actually slices and dices.
Dorius pulled his face from Zaire's chin, turning to the other team. He smiled at the largest woman I'd ever seen in my life. She was at least six foot tall and weighed in at around two hundred and fifty pounds. She had a gold nose ring the size of a kumquat and spiky carrot red hair tipped in black. I didn't think they made jeans big enough or long enough to cover an ample body like hers, but she wore a black pair, snuggly covering her bulbous lower half. Her name, Nadine, was stretched across a pair of knockers that looked like two fifteen pound bowling balls.
Pins slammed against alleys, bowlers w
hooped and hollered, and the DJ hit the microphone. "FOR ALL YOU PLAYERS WITH A KICK, I THINK THIS IS A GOOD PICK, LET'S SWING AND SWAY WITH WAYLON AS HE CROONS FOR ALL OF YOU THAT ARE TRAILIN'. Waylon started wailing, 'You Don't Mess Around With Me'.
"Nadine, a pleasure to meet you. I'm Dorius, this is my brother Marcus and these women are…'The Immortals'. Dorius smiled, extending his right hand.
"Fuck you, asshole." Nadine sneered. "We play to win so get your scrawny butt in your painted-on jeans over where it belongs."
Zaire cackled.
The other three women vibrated with the anticipation of a fight. They stood in front of the chairs behind the lane with curt smiles on their faces. The men huddled beside them, all eyes on Dorius' ass.
Dorius sarcastically looked them over. "Well now, aren't you just a bundle of someone else's joy."
I turned away, trying to ignore them as I sized up Marcus again. The minute our eyes met, he grinned a cute lopsided smile.
It's a pleasure to meet you, Susan. I have waited a long time for this moment.
I shook my head, the noise in the room fading. Son of a bitch, he's pushing my mind. He's playing me.
For a brief second, his eyes jumped to my mouth, and then his grin turned to a smile as he pushed his thoughts into my head again. I'd love to play with your mind, or any part of your body, my love. Be patient, my sweet destiny.
Like a door slamming against a harsh breeze, I sharply shut my mind, the sound of locks clicking in my head. I glanced around to see what reaction the other girls had to his words. None of them seemed to know he was communicating with me. I frowned, turning back to his grinning face. I actually felt him moving around in my head. Goddamn it, I just closed my mind. How the hell are you rummaging around in there?
The phrase ménage a' trios' assaulted my senses as JoAnn joined Marcus in my head. Susan, can you stop looking like you're going to punch that man? Don't start a fight before we even get introduced. God, I have to pee.
