The Lame-Assed Doppelganger

by Gary Jonas

  “You’ll feel calm after I knock your ass out,” I said.

  “Don’t make me bite my lip,” Sabrina said.

  I know that sounds like an odd thing to say, but she meant she’d draw up magic to keep us at bay if necessary. My family comes from a long line of blood magicians, so blood is required to perform magic. There are other kinds of wizards, of course, but who gives a shit? They’re all assholes.

  “Shall we have an adult conversation?” the Fancy Nancy version of me said.

  “In front of all these people?” I asked, gesturing to the diners at other tables.

  “He doesn’t mean sex talk,” Sabrina said. “He means talking like grown-ups.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “I understand why people were so surprised when I arrived,” he said. “They were accustomed to his lowest common denominator discourse.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t tell me you’re playing in my band.”

  “I’m a talented musician.”

  “Means he doesn’t cheat and use the magic pick,” Sabrina said.

  “But it probably also means he pussified the set list by substituting Dan Fogelberg songs for Metallica.”

  “We do some softer, more thoughtful songs now,” she said.

  “My reputation is destroyed.”

  “You’re not the real me,” he said.

  “Other way around, pal.”

  “You were created because I was working on a special brand of magic. It’s ready for road tests now, and that means it’s time for you to go.”

  “Or he can stay and stand in for you when you need him to,” Sabrina said.

  “I’m not going to return him to base atoms here,” he said.

  “He was actually showing some signs of growth,” Sabrina said. “Not much, but he did manage to defeat a Greek god.”

  “Which god was that again?” my doppelgänger asked.

  “Apollo.”

  “A nice god. Not saying much.”

  “He wasn’t being nice at the time,” I said.

  He gave me a wave of contempt. “You’re a pale shadow of what I am.”

  “But he might prove useful,” Sabrina said.

  “You’re defending him?”

  “Not exactly,” Sabrina said. “But the Ringo Twins were in town last week. What if they come back?”

  “The Ringo Twins?” I asked. “Please tell me one of them is named Snookeroo and the other is named Boogaloo.”

  She looked a question at me.

  “Ringo Starr,” I said.

  “Who?”

  I closed my eyes.

  “From the Beatles,” my twin said. “He thinks he’s being amusing.”

  I shrugged. “With this crowd, ‘It Don’t Come Easy.’ I have to constantly ‘Wrack My Brain,’ and then I remind myself she doesn’t even have a ‘Photograph’ so ‘Oh My My’ I know that ‘Only You (And You Alone)’ can understand why I have to sing ‘The No No Song.’”

  “You left out ‘Only Sixteen,’” the doppelgänger said.

  “True, but most folks only know the Johnny Burnette version. Besides, I wasn’t trying to go through all his hits. I just wanted to give her ‘A Dose of Rock ’n’ Roll.’”

  “Mission accomplished,” he said.

  “Why’d you leave out ‘My Sweet Lord?’?” Sabrina asked.

  “Because Ringo didn’t sing that. George did.”

  “I’m not that big a fan of the Beatles.”

  “Big surprise,” I said.

  “They’re before my time.”

  “But you like Beethoven.”

  “That’s classical.”

  “Drop the ‘al’ and you’ve got classic. As in classic rock. As in the Beatles, the Stones, the Who.”

  “Whatever.”

  “So a little before your time is bad, but a lot before your time is good?”

  “I like the real Brett better,” Sabrina said, pointing to my twin.

  “I’m the real Brett.”

  “In your dreams,” she said.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll bite on the other subject. Who are the Ringo Twins?”

  “Magical assassins,” Sabrina said.

  “Like those Sekutar warriors the clowns at that one company created?”

  “No. They’re wizards who specialize in assassinating other wizards.”

  “Goes against the Council.”

  “Not if they focus on wizards who haven’t signed the covenant.”

  “Wizards like me?”

  She nodded.

  “So Tweedledum here hasn’t signed it either?” I nodded to my twin.

  “Can’t sign until I take the test.”

  “Why not take it then?”

  “Because I’m expected to attain a higher level at the initiation to impress the Matriarch. Father tells me that passing is not enough. I need to master a new system of magic to vault ahead of Joey.”

  Joey. Not the guy Concrete Blonde sang about. Joey was my oldest brother. I gave my dad grief about him, but I had no clue what he’d really done. He’d somehow managed to put a black mark on the family name when I was a kid, and ever since then, my father was an even bigger asshole.

  “Why?”

  “Because, you moron, our father is dying, and if I don’t take the top position, Joey will inherit his power.”

  “Dad is dying?”

  “Why do you think he’s pushing for action now?”

  “Because he’s a dick.”

  “Guess again, sand surrogate.”

  “How long does he have?”

  “Best guess? Six months.”

  “Some kind of magic ailment?”

  “Brain cancer. Inoperable, and healers can’t absorb or remove it.”

  That explained a lot. And yes, wizards get cancer, too. Most can be cured by healers, but only if detected early enough.

  “Oh,” I said.

  “I’m not quite ready for the big test,” he said. “Joey must be aware of my preparations or he wouldn’t be sending assassins after me.”

  “I think we can use half-assed Brett as bait for them,” Sabrina said.

  “Ex-squeeze me?”

  “You know, let them take their shots at you while the real Brett perfects his remaining spells.”

  “How many times do I have to say that I’m the real Brett?” I asked.

  “Saying it doesn’t make it true,” Sabrina said. “Look at the evidence. You suck at magic. You mostly lay around smoking weed. You have no goals. No dreams. No aspirations. You were created from sand to make it seem like you were nothing, and you’ve served that purpose well enough. Maybe better than expected. Now it’s time for you to go, but maybe you can do one more thing.”

  “Take one for the team?”

  “Exactly. Let the Ringo Twins come after you instead of him. You’re going to die anyway. Might as well make it mean something.”

  “Mean what? That I’m stupid enough to let magical assassins slay me?”

  “Your sacrifice could buy Brett the time he needs to not only pass the test, but create an all-new magic system that will put him in place as the sole heir to the Masters power and estate.”

  “What about Mom?” I asked.

  “She’ll get a country cottage in the south of France just like she’s always wanted,” the other Brett said.

  “And Tanya?” I asked. She was my older sister.

  “She’ll keep her allowance and her position on the Council, of course. She doesn’t want the additional power. She still blames herself for helping Joey, and she likes serving the Matriarch.”

  I didn’t want to admit it, but I had no clue who the Matriarch was. Someone on the Council, obviously. I was about to ask, but the waiter came with our meals. He removed the appetizer tray, which I hadn’t even sampled, passed out the entrees with grand gestures and a variety of adjectives designed to impress us about the food, then slipped away again.

  As it turned out, the adjectives were appropriate because the meal was truly del
icious, delectable, divine, and other words that didn’t even start with a D.

  As we ate, clone boy kept pointing at me with his little snail fork. “I’ll make sure your final days here are filled with beautiful women, fine dining, and anything else your little heart desires.”

  “I’ve always wanted to try ayahuasca,” I said.

  “I’ll book you a trip to the best shaman in South America should the opportunity arise.”

  “Meaning if the Ringo Twins don’t kill me first.”

  He shrugged. “Better you than me.”

  “I was about to say the same thing,” I said.

  “So we agree.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Better you than me.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  After dinner, the fake me wanted to have a word in private. We walked Sabrina to her car because it was the “proper thing to do” even though it was right across the damn street sitting in a pool of light, and at the risk of going all Mr. T, I pity the fool who dared to mess with her.

  “What now?” I asked as we stood alone on the sidewalk.

  He motioned for me to follow. The sound of traffic and the occasional riff of music escaping from a bar down the street as people went in or out, settled around us as we headed toward his car.

  “I’m parked right over here,” he said, keeping a hand on my lower back like I was his date.

  “Good for you,” I said, stepping to the side to get his paws off me. “We need boundaries, man.”

  “What we need is to reach an accord here, Brett.”

  “No problem. You move to New Orleans, hang with dear old Dad, kick Joey in the nuts or whatever you need to do, and leave me alone.”

  “Even though you left Fiji, you’re merely delaying the inevitable. The magic that brought you forth is fading, and you’ll crumble to sand soon.”

  “Not buying it. Who’s to say you won’t crumble?”

  He smiled. “Look at me.”

  He was impeccably dressed, loaded with confidence, and as he spread his arms, I knew why people liked him more than me. He was everything you’d want in a man of the world, and I could sense the magic in his veins. I also noted that he had a Tarot card tattooed on his right forearm just like me.

  I pointed to it. “What gives? That deck was tattooed into my arm, not yours.”

  He shrugged. “Father insisted that I get the same tattoo.”

  “Mine’s better.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Trust me. Mine was done with the blood magic already worked in.”

  “So was mine.”

  “Bullshit. All the blood was used on my tattoo. Nothing left you, Daddy-O.”

  “I paid the blood price myself.”

  “Right. We can have a little challenge then. Ask the cards who should be Galveston Brett.”

  “Doesn’t work that way, brother.”

  “I’m not your brother.”

  “To the people of the world you are. Do you really want to explain that you’re a golem or a doppelgänger?”

  “You mean that you’re the fake dude.”

  “A fact is true whether you believe it or not, Brett. Soon you’ll be particles of sand on the beach, and perhaps a child will shape part of you into a castle until the tide comes in and washes you out to sea.”

  He stopped next to a bright yellow Lamborghini.

  “This is yours?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Of course. What are you driving?”

  “The old man’s Ford from the airport.”

  “How sensible.”

  I grinned. “Especially if some girl wants to talk dirty to me.”

  He stared at me, confused.

  I sang part of the Poison song to clue him in, and he shook his head.

  “Listen, we need to set a few rules and work out how things will play for the remainder of your short existence.”

  “Here we go again.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Whitesnake?”

  “No. That would be ‘Here I Go Again.’”

  That earned me another head shake. “Where are you staying?”

  “I got a hotel room over on Seawall.”

  “Do you need money?”

  “Always,” I said.

  He pulled a money clip from his pocket, peeled off a thousand bucks and slapped it into my hand. “This should get you through the next few days.”

  I took the money because if someone puts a thousand bucks in your palm, you should close your hand. He didn’t need to know that I had my own income. “You can get me more tomorrow?”

  “If necessary, of course. But I need you to earn the money.”

  “Why? It’s my money.”

  He gave me a patient smile. “Father had you on an allowance. Somehow, you managed to live on it. I have my own accounts. Plural. In addition, I have a black MasterCard.”

  “So Dad gave you my money. What a prick.”

  “You’ve been working on magic. I can sense a minor strain of blood magic trickling through your system. It’s not much, but maybe it will be enough. I have some business to attend to, but I also have a few public appearances with the band. I’d like you to pretend to be me for some of the concerts.”

  “You’re not worried that I’ll turn to a pile of sand on the stage?”

  “I’ll reinforce your body until I take the test. After that, I’ll remove the spell and you’ll be lost in the sands of time.”

  “Or you will.”

  He laughed. “I like your spunk. There’s a CD signing party tomorrow at the Music Box over on Seawall. Be there at one, and please wear something nice.”

  “You have a CD out?”

  “Of course.” He waved his hand and a CD popped into it. He handed the case to me. Brett Masters and the Sound Blasters.

  “Sabrina doesn’t sing lead anymore?”

  “We do some duets. Mostly she’s background now. My singing is pitch perfect and my range far better than hers even without magical assistance. You might want to listen to the CD as people are bound to ask questions.”

  He slid into the sports car.

  I stood there holding the CD like a moron. He shot me a thumbs-up, closed the door, and pulled away from the curb. I watched the taillights flare as he turned left and disappeared into the night.

  He believed he was the real me.

  I stared at the CD. What if he was right?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It’s weird to hear yourself singing songs you’ve never even heard before. For the first time, the recorded sound of my voice didn’t make me cringe. Even when I recorded “Napping My Life Away,” my voice grated on my nerves the first few times I heard it.

  To my surprise, the CD was loaded with good, solid rock music. It didn’t have the heavier guitar I’d have used, but it didn’t suck. “Run Away from the Night” was my favorite track, but “Chili Girl” had the best hook for radio. The ballad, “Dream Your Way to Me” was heartfelt and kinda sappy. “Count Your Blessings” was a good song about breaking up. The rest sounded like a cross between James Taylor and Bread, but add some more guitar work and speed them up a bit and they could be easily improved. These were songs I could have written if I hadn’t been so lazy.

  Wait a minute.

  Maybe that was the wrong way to look at it because it reinforced the idea that he might be the real me, and I was the cheap imitation knock-off sent here to sleep the days away. Had my father really pulled the old sleight-of-hand routine on the Magic Council to give the other me time to perfect a stronger magic?

  I wouldn’t put it past him.

  But where did that leave me?

  How could I even doubt my own reality?

  Well, I was real. There was no question about that. But real or not, I wasn’t on the level of the other Brett Masters. That son of a bitch looked better than me, carried himself with more confidence, had more money, sang better, didn’t need a magic pick to play guitar, and likely worked stronger magic. I hadn’t verified that, of course, but the rest was clearly tr
ue. And people liked him better.

  I’d been humming a few bars and faking it for as long as I could remember. Listening to the music on the CD made me wish I’d applied myself more. Maybe I could have done something like that myself.

  I drank half a bottle of Jameson and went to sleep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The CD signing party started at one. I arrived at the Music Box thirty minutes late, which I thought was pretty damn good under the circumstances.

  Nobody yelled at me when I entered the store. Sabrina rushed over. “Are you all right? I was worried. We were just about to call you.”

  I blinked a few times. Teddy and Chuck were signing CDs at a table toward the back of the shop. There were maybe forty people in line.

  “I’m rockin’ and rollin’ as always,” I said.

  She gave a sharp intake of breath then looked me up and down. “I should have known from the tan and the clothes. Why did he send you?”

  The jig was up. “Am I that obvious?”

  “You’re late, so yes.”

  “Like being late is a crime? In some places, it’s rude to show up on time.”

  She sighed and motioned for me to follow her. We took our seats at the table, and a few of the young women in line whispered to one another and giggled. Sabrina pointed to a doorway ten feet from us leading to the back room. “Restroom is back there.”

  “Got it.”

  I gave a nod to Chuck and Teddy and they gave me relieved smiles in return. Evidently, they’d been worried about me too. Michael wasn’t at the signing. Vampire, daylight, not a good fit.

  I picked up a Sharpie and started signing CDs. Most people simply stood there staring at us while we signed, but a few said things like, “I love your songs,” or “here’s my number,” as they slid a slip of paper across the table with the CD.

  If the girls were hot, I pocketed the names and numbers. If they fell below sevens, I just thanked them and dropped their numbers in a trash can behind us after they left.

  It was nice to see so many CDs selling when people could probably just download the songs from a pirate site online for free if they didn’t mind getting a virus or two.

  The signing was kinda fun for a while, but then I got writer’s cramp and wanted to stop.

  “How long do we have to do this?” I asked.