by Brian Hodge
She lifted his face and their mouths joined in a final lingering kiss. Something convulsed in her throat, causing it to bulge like a snake that has tried to swallow an animal that is too large. The substance, dark red, shiny, left her and entered the Navajo. His neck swelled. Receded.
Their kiss ended.
Juliana fell back. And every drop of Billy Two Hats' blood vacated his body.
It exploded from the scratches on his back, exiting through the car window in eight streams that stretched out more than thirty feet. Propelled by incredible pressure, the slightly less than eight pints of blood hit the plate-glass window of an abandoned laundromat across the street with the force of a fire hose, and cracked it. The sign above that promised to get your clothes snowy white was hit, rocking back and forth, slowly coming to rest. The sign had a picture of a little girl in her snowy white dress, except now the dress was spotted with red. The little girl was oblivious. Her smile never wavered. Then the blood began its steaming descent toward the street, looking, in its evenly spaced rows, as though something had clawed the glass itself, causing it to bleed.
Flexing his powerful hands, Billy T slowly touched his body, exploring it as though for the first time. He stared at his chest and concentrated for a moment. A rippling occurred just beneath the skin and something red began forming just beneath his left breast, finally emerging into the light. It was a small, feathered serpent. "A little something new, a little something old," he said, looking at himself in the car mirror.
Billy Two Hats raised himself up and stared at the unmoving body of the dancer. "Good-bye, Juliana," he said, "I'll never forget you." He leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. "I hate to leave you like this, but I've got to go." Pulling on his shirt, he gathered her into his arms. "It's a nothing little place, name of Carruthers, Texas. Something has happened there, something I need to look into. Maybe Billy boy, here, can help."
He sat Juliana down in front of the laundromat and knelt in front of her. A breeze ruffled her blond hair. The face of the dancer was calm in death, but whatever controlled Billy T saw a trace of sadness in the beautiful, composed features. "You won't ever get old or die now, Juliana," he said. "You'll always be beautiful." He arranged her so that she looked as though she had stopped here to rest and had somehow fallen asleep. "You're with us now. You'll always be with us." He stroked her face. "Always."
As Billy T drove away, he saw that the starving mongrel from the alley had returned and was licking the blood from the plate-glass window. Several of the larger dogs had joined the first dog. They were staring hungrily at the blond dancer, waiting for her to move.
When she didn't, one of the dogs darted forward, tore a chunk of flesh from her.
The rest soon joined in.
Billy T smiled. He sure hated to see a dog starve.
Chapter 5
Leon Francis Wilson, owner of Leon's Pool Emporium, sat upright in his bed, causing the springs to groan in protest. He blinked the room into focus. What he saw didn't please him. There were two guys standing at the foot of his bed, watching him as though it were the most natural thing in the world. He couldn't quite make out their faces in the shadows.
They seemed to be smiling.
One of the figures stepped forward. He was wearing a ratty leather jacket and holding a .38.
"Sonofabitch, I know you," Leon said. "You were in my place earlier tonight."
"I told you he was psychic," Earl Jacobs said to the other man in the shadows. "Let's see if he can guess why we're here."
"How the hell did you get in here?" Leon asked. "There's dead bolts on both doors, bars on the windows. I didn't hear nothing."
"I'd ask for my money back on those locks if I were you." Steven Adler peeled away from the wall and settled on the foot of the bed. "Sorry to come calling so late, Leon, but we need to talk to you about something."
"Look, I didn't mean nothing back there at the pool hall. I thought you was gonna start trouble. I can't afford to have no trouble. The cops told me one more time and I—"
"We understand, Leon, really we do." Steven patted him on the cheek, softly. "And we don't bear any hard feelings, do we, Earl?"
"Not a one. Not even after he threatened me with a gun." Earl smiled. "Not even after he called you a sick son of a bitch who gets his kicks out of scaring young girls. By the way, where is that tasty little daughter of yours?"
"She's staying with a friend. You leave her out of this," Leon said. "This is between us."
"You're absolutely right. We all make mistakes in judgment from time to time," Steven allowed in a quiet, friendly voice. "It's only… human. We've come to help you rectify a mistake you made last night."
"The money's over there on the dresser."
"No, no, Leon. You're not getting the picture here. We're not interested in your money. I want to know where my cue stick went." Steven leaned close and Leon got a glimpse of what Dorinda had seen in his eyes. "That stick means a great deal to me and I'd like to have it back."
"I don't have it," Leon said.
"Who does?"
"I don't know."
Steven rose from the bed, smoothed out the sheets where he had sat. "God, I'm so glad you're going to make this difficult." He traced the scar on the black man's face with his finger until Leon pulled away. "This is a very nice place you've got here. Earl and I were looking around a little earlier and we noticed you have a pool table in the basement. I'll bet it's the same one you taught Dorinda to play on. I'm right, aren't I?" He threw Leon his robe. "What do you say we go down there and play some pool? We can talk."
Leon calculated his chances of getting to the nightstand where he kept his .45. They didn't look too good. He shrugged on his robe and walked to the basement stairs ahead of the two intruders. The stairs creaked beneath his weight as he started descending into the pitch black. About halfway he leaped to the floor and scrambled sideways.
If they hit the light switch, he was screwed before he started. They didn't.
Moving quickly for someone of his bulk, Leon bolted to the fuse box, hit the breaker switch. Then he began feeling his way toward to the small refrigerator where he kept extra beer and snacks for his poker-playing buddies. Way in the back was a .32 stashed behind a jar of pig's feet. It should still be there.
Nobody ever ate pig's feet. If he could get his hands on that little baby, these two assholes would be talking out the other side of their asses. Nobody came into Leon Wilson's house and threatened him. Nobody.
He began edging away from the wall, trying to remember just exactly where the card table was. Didn't want to fall over it. And where were those two boys? What the hell were they doing?
The refrigerator kicked on and Leon nearly filled his size 42 boxers.
"Leon, come out, come out, wherever you are," Steven called from the foot of the stairs.
They were standing in a shaft of light that came from upstairs. They melted into the dark, the young guy in the lead. To get to the refrigerator, Leon had to cross the light.
Funny thing, Leon noticed, the steps hadn't creaked under their feet. Maybe he hadn't heard anything on account of his heart thumping so loudly. And maybe frogs didn't bump their asses when they hopped, neither. Something weird was going on here.
"I love hide-and-seek," Earl said.
Their footsteps were getting nearer and Leon had the distinct impression they could see him as plain as day, that they were just playing cat-and-mouse with him. That was crazy. No one could see in darkness like this.
And yet they were coming straight toward him.
Time was running out. It was now or never.
Leon had hoped for a few moments to check the pistol over. It had been in the refrigerator a long time. He didn't have a few moments. With a silent curse, he ripped the door open and shoved the jar containing the pig's feet to the side. Something was wrong with jar. He looked for the .32. Looked at the pig's feet again. Something was wrong. What? It wouldn't register. He slewed the contents of the refrigerato
r onto the floor. No gun. No goddamn gun.
He slammed the door shut and the room was once again dark. But only for a moment.
The light popped on, throwing the basement into blinding brightness. "Say, this is really nice," Earl said. "Steven and I always stay in motels on account of we do so much traveling. It ain't often we get to see the inside of a real house." He pulled Leon's .32 out of the waistband of his pants. "I didn't think this thing was ever gonna warm up. It damn near froze my balls off."
Leon grabbed the first thing he saw, a pool cue propped against the wall. He swung, caught Earl a good shot with the business end.
Earl whoofed, went down. But he didn't turn loose of the gun. He leveled it at Leon from the floor, holding it shakily before him like an inadequate bribe for an angry god.
Only Leon wasn't interested in him anymore.
The big black man dropped the shattered pool cue and looked past Earl, his eyes drawn to a flash of light on the floor. The jar holding the pig's feet was rolling slowly toward the wall, spilling its contents along the way like a dryer with the door open. Most of what was inside was already on the floor, but one of the shriveled pink nubs was darker than the rest and it had something shiny on it that caught the light. Leon wished he'd gotten the glasses he needed as he tried to bring the jar into focus. Someone had put rings on one of the pig's feet. Now, that was a real stupid thing to do. He would have laughed if he wasn't so scared.
Then he wanted to look away. Because he knew. He knew.
The concrete floor had a dip in it and the jar began rolling backward, coming ever closer to him. He could almost make out what was inside. It was gold, all right, but it wasn't rings. The jar bumped up against his feet, splashing them with coldness, then it began rolling back down the dip.
That was when Leon saw the golden lacquered nails peeking from the brine. "Dorinda," he whispered, and then he started toward Earl with his huge hands curled open. It was apparent he meant to strangle the smaller man, gun or no gun.
Earl began scrambling backward.
"Why?" Leon said.
Steven stepped up behind Leon and hit him in the back of the head with a gardening spade. The metal made a dull, flat, whacking sound. Caked dirt hit the wall.
Leon staggered, but didn't go down
Steven hit him again, harder this time.
Leon grunted, went to his hands and knees. Began crawling forward.
Steven hit him a third time. Blood and sweat shot from the black man's head, splattered Earl.
Steven raised the spade a fourth time, but Leon was through. His eyes showed white and he toppled over sideways, unconscious. The jar that had held his daughter's hand continued rocking back and forth for a while longer, finally coming to rest against his head. It looked as if the disembodied hand were trying to comfort him.
Steven put the spade down. He looked vaguely disappointed that he didn't have to use it again.
Earl hobbled to his feet and looked over at Steven. "Jesus Christ, did you see where he hit me? I can't believe it; he hit me in the ribs! The same ones that kid over in Corpus Christi kicked the other night"
"You still love playing hide-and-seek?" the younger man asked.
When Leon came to, he was tied to a chair and Steven was shooting pool. Earl was eating a pig's foot. "Is she dead? Is Dorinda dead?"
Steven nodded, shot. A ball fell.
"Why did you have to kill her?" The good side of his face was as dead as the scarred side.
"She wasn't a very good pool player," Steven answered, as though that explained everything. "I came to town for a game and I didn't get one. You see, I've got this problem with my temper. I guess I just got a little upset." He lined up another shot. "Besides, I wanted you to know I was serious about getting my cue stick back."
"What's so important about a cue stick that you'd kill a sixteen-year-old girl over?"
"I thought she was seventeen," Steven interrupted. Another ball dropped into a pocket.
"No," Leon answered, "she was only sixteen. She wanted to be an artist when she grew up." He looked at her hand on the floor and then at Earl, who looked away.
Steven stopped shooting and turned his attention to Leon. "You want to know why that cue stick is so important to me? It's because it has something inside it that I need, something that I can't live without. I've got a few spares put away, but not that many." He walked to the refrigerator and pulled out two beers, handed one to Earl. "We came here because I think you know who has my stick."
Earl hobbled slowly over to the wall and took down one of the pictures hanging there. The snapshot was of three guys in the Army, one was Leon, a much slimmer younger Leon, the second guy Earl had never seen before. The third face was familiar—from Leon's pool hall earlier tonight. "We need this guy's name and an address."
"You can go screw yourselves. I ain't telling you nothing."
Glancing at the snapshot, a slight smile tugged at Steven's face. "Earl, did you notice anything odd about this little group here?"
"Yeah, they all look like they put on a lot of weight since then?"
"No, no. There's a black guy, a white guy, and an Indian. What the shit is this, you guys poster boys for racial harmony?"
"We were friends a long time ago, that's all," Leon said. "The Indian's dead. I don't know where the white guy is. He just stops by maybe once or twice a year. He's a hustler, stays on the road a lot."
Steven finished his beer, crushed the can.
"If you go on and tell him where to find the guy with the stick," Earl said, his voice dropping to conspiratorial whisper, "I promise I'll get Steven to kill you straight out. A bullet in the head. No torturing you first. It's asking a lot, but it's the best I can do under the circumstances." He spread his hands. "I can't hold this offer open long so you'd better make up your mind fast."
Leon had the absurd feeling he was talking to a used-car salesman. "Something's been bothering me. You mind if I ask you a question?"
"Sure," Earl said. "What's on your mind?"
"I got the feeling you could see me in the dark and when you came down the steps… they didn't squeak. A cat can't walk down those steps without—"
"Can I let you in on a little secret, Leon?" Steven asked. The scarred head nodded.
"We're not exactly human."
Beer flew from Earl's mouth.
"Did I say something funny, old friend?" Steven asked. He sounded slightly annoyed.
"You killed the guy's daughter, cut off her hand and stuck it in a jar of pig's feet, and then you tell him that you're not exactly human. I think he's already figured that out." Earl tossed his gnawed pig's foot on the floor, turned to the bound man. "What my young friend meant to say is that we're not just a couple of psychos who run around killing people for the fun of it. Well, actually he is."
Steven smiled.
Earl was beginning to sound a little embarrassed. "What I'm trying to say is we're a little less than human… oh shit… show him the teeth, will you?"
"Why don't you do it?" Steven was laughing out loud now. Earl's face actually turned red.
"All right, I'm sorry, Earl. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I know how sensitive you are on that subject." Steven moved around into their captive's field of view, the smile still plastered on his pale face. "Watch this, Leon, you're going to love it." Suddenly from behind Steven Adler's very white teeth appeared a second set of teeth, much longer than the first, curved, and sharp as needles.
Warmness ran down Leon's legs.
"God, I hate it when they do that," Earl said, wrinkling his nose.
Steven closed his mouth, cutting off the grotesque smile. "Let's see, where were we? Oh yes, why I want my pool cue back. It's because it has something in it I need. Dirt, very special dirt. It comes from my—"
"Grave," Leon supplied. "You're a…." He couldn't bring himself to say the word.
"Vampire. The word is vampire," Steven finished.
"You can't be," Leon stammered. "You've got
a cross hanging from your ear and you're drinking beer."
"You're absolutely right, though I wouldn't call this light shit you drink—beer." Steven emptied the can on the floor and watched it flow toward the drain. "Look, I'm going to make this real simple for you. In the scheme of things there are many species of animal who don't care much for the light of day. They live, they hunt only by night. Why should humankind be exempt?"
"Do you have any children?" Leon asked dully, staring at his daughter's hand.
The question seemed to amuse Steven. "Earl here is my son, in a manner of speaking. But no, we are aberrations of nature and we can't reproduce in the human manner. Think of vampirism as a disease, one that's very hard to catch, but still just a disease."
Leon opened his mouth to say something.
Steven raised his hand, cutting him off. "You've had your turn at twenty questions. Now, it's my turn. I need that name and address we spoke of earlier."
"I can't give him up to you," Leon said. "He's my friend."
"Last chance."
Leon spat in the pale face.
Quick as a cat, Steven bared razor-sharp teeth and Leon felt a sting on his neck.
"Now look what you've made me do, Leon. Didn't I warn you about my temper?" The pale tongue slid over red-stained teeth, leaving them pristine white. "There's one very important thing that popular fiction doesn't mention about us. Do you feel it yet? It works very fast."
Something alien began stirring in Leon's blood, spreading numbness down his arms and legs. Much worse, though, were the horrifying images that began filling his mind. "What've you done to me?"
Pulling back, Steven said, "Tell us about this thief." He touched the face of John Warrick in the picture. "And maybe I'll answer you."
Warm stickiness slid down Leon's neck. Trickled out of sight. When the black lines came to rest against the inside of his white T-shirt, red stains blossomed one after another as if by magic, an impromptu Rorschach test.
"I keep looking for a bat," Earl commented as he leaned over to examine the stains. "Never seen one yet."
Their voices were fading and the images gathering in Leon's mind were getting stronger. Steven Adler and Earl Jacobs looked more and more like the kids who'd waylaid him on his paper route when he was ten.
