B-Movie War

by Alan Spencer

  What was he so happy about?

  She looked up at the giant clock near the ceiling. Penny didn’t have long to complete the day’s work all by herself. During this past week, she unlocked the doors, prepped a dozen popcorn bags, set up hotdogs so they’d be warm, warmed up the pump nacho cheese and then sat on the stool with no back at the front ticket counter and waited for no one to come in. The obscure movies Jules had been showing had sent away any potential business, though when she mentioned the problem to Jules months ago, he said, “You do as I tell you to do. I pick the movies. You tear tickets. Leave everything else to me.”

  Jules had forwarded his calls to the phone in the ticket seller’s booth. She’d fielded angry bill collectors for weeks.

  Sitting down in the ticket taker’s booth, Penny caught a reflection of her face in the glass. It distracted her from her thoughts. She was thirty-eight. Her shoulder length auburn hair owned hints of gray. Penny looked much older, considering she had suffered a decade of managing a theatre with bare bones staff to keep the mom and pop movie house in business. She was sponged of energy. Depleted.

  Outside, approaching the building from the parking lot, was another reason why she was aging prematurely. The black limousine parked in the fire lane just outside the ticket booth. The driver rolled down his window and waved at Penny. It was Chad Polland, her current boyfriend. The overgrown ape wore a fancy chauffer’s hat and suit. Limo driver was his newest job in a stint of short-held jobs, though construction seemed to be his go-to paycheck when his back wasn’t “hurting” him too much. The man was forty-one, or as Chad himself put it, “Too old to do anything without hurting himself.” He was portly, the suit a half size too small for his body. Knowing Chad wouldn’t go away until they talked, Penny left the booth and met up with the limousine.

  Chad smacked on a piece of spearmint chewing gum. Dyed bleach-blonde locks of hair poked out from under his chauffeur’s hat. “Hey babe. I’m on my way to the airport, but I thought I’d stop by to get a bite.”

  “Who are you picking up? Somebody famous?”

  Chad froze. He did every time she asked anything specific about his job. Penny had seen their dwindling checking account. And when was the last time Chad had made any deposits into their account?

  “Don’t tell me you got fired again. We need the money.”

  “Yeah, no kidding. Your uncle’s bouncing checks like he’s playing basketball.”

  “Nice,” Penny said, feeling the anger burn in her chest. “How did you get fired this time?”

  “I didn’t get fired. I quit. I was late picking up a client. A fancy pants asshole with a silver spoon up his butt. I got turned around on the way to the pick up, you see. GPS turned me all around. It wasn’t my fault.”

  Penny wanted to reach in and squeeze the idiot’s neck. “You quit? Are you insane? We’re behind on rent. That asshole landlord’s about to give us the boot.”

  “Hey, baby, I’ll smooth it over. I know how to talk to people.”

  Chad said he knew how to talk to people every time there was a problem. Penny to this day still didn’t know what that meant. Why did she stay with this guy?

  Maybe it was because the bastard wouldn’t go away. Maybe it was because she’d loved him at one point. That day was as long gone as her financial solvency. Eight months of dating Chad had taught her he worked hard to impress a lady, then when he moved in with them, he stopped working altogether. Stopped trying.

  Penny was so tired and upset, she didn’t care anymore.

  Chad licked his lips and patted his belly. “Are you cooking any of those hot dogs I love? A hotdog would hit my sweet spot right about now.”

  She just wanted him out of her face for a moment. “You can have all the hot dogs you want. Go on inside.”

  Chad had to explain his fascination with the theatre’s hotdogs every time he made his special visits to the theatre. “It’s just that they’re so damn good. There’s something so tasty about those red hots. Best hot dogs I’ve had in my life. Better than at any ball game. Swear to fucking God.”

  “Eat them all if you want,” Penny sighed. “Nobody’s coming to the theatre. This is the last day before we close.” Shove one up your ass and see how it tastes, you non-breadwinning prick.

  Chad didn’t care one bit about how the theatre was closing today. No consolations from him, Penny thought. He only cared about his wieners.

  “Seriously?” Chad brightened. “All the hot dogs I can eat? Awesome.”

  Angry with the men in her life, with men period, Penny imagined driving in her crappy pick-up truck and speeding off to Mexico. The second the theatre closed, she was free to do as she wished. She wasn’t married to Chad, they were only dating, and the apartment was in his name. Penny could leave it all behind like it never happened.

  The fantasy lasted ten seconds.

  Chad had already parked his limo and snuck into the theatre for his fill of hot dogs.

  Penny followed Chad into the theatre. Chad worked behind the counter. He prepared three hotdogs slathered in the super yellow nacho cheese. He wolfed them down so fast a glob of cheese stuck to his chin. Today wasn’t the first day she had considered breaking up with the idiot. Penny had been so busy with the theatre, working fourteen to sixteen hours a day, that she didn’t have the energy to care anymore. She found the man repulsive. Mexico was sounding better by the minute.

  “Mmmmm,” Chad kept humming. He crammed another hot dog into his cheese coated maw. Mouth stuffed, he said, “Seriously, what brand are these? You can’t find them at the store. I’ve tried every brand and nothing comes close. Not even.”

  “They’re called Jumbo Juicies. You have to order them in bulk online.”

  “I know what I’m doing after work. I’ll have to borrow your credit card. I’ll keep ’em in the freezer. I need my hot dog fix after this piece of shit closes down. So where are you working next?”

  Ah, he’s worried about me. How sweet.

  God, when did I become so fucking bitter?

  Probably when I became so fucking tired.

  Penny wanted to cuss the guy out for his uselessness, but she didn’t want the drama. Not here. Not now. Plus, somebody had entered the theatre.

  A paying customer.

  Penny thought she was seeing a mirage.

  As the man walked up to the concessions booth, she noticed he was wearing a gray suit and great big red bow tie. He had a frock of solid white hair. The man could’ve been in his mid-sixties. One of those energetic old people, she thought, with his smiles and lust for life.

  “Excuse me, ma’am, I need to speak to you about the theatre.”

  Oh great, a bill collector. They’ve finally come to the property in person.

  She was in no mood. “Yeah, what do you want?”

  “My name’s Mr. Ratchet. I work for a theatre company. A Jules Baxter hired me for the final movie showing here tomorrow night. It’s called The Final Flesh.”

  “Huh.” She was stumped. “I haven’t even heard of it. Probably another piece of crap my uncle’s showing. He’s been showcasing nothing but horror movies lately.”

  Mr. Ratchet smiled big. “But this movie is special, young lady. You see, The Final Flesh has never been seen anywhere. I’m here to promote it. You ever hear of Blood-O-Vision? How about Shock Clock Terror Time? Have you guys ever installed a Sado-meter on the premises?”

  Chad, between bites of a hotdog, asked, “What’s the hell’s a Sado-meter?”

  Mr. Ratchet was more-than-happy to answer. “When something gory or sadistic occurs in a film, a big plastic thermometer with fake blood in it boils to the top. It’s a gimmick.”

  Penny sighed. Why didn’t he hire this dork years ago instead of waiting for the day we go out of business? Whatever. Tonight, I’m done. “Do whatever you want, mister, um, what was your name again?”

&
nbsp; “It’s Mr. Ratchet. Pleased to meet you, young lady. I’ll stay out of your way. My work’s ahead of me, so if you could please excuse me?”

  “Absolutely. Do what you want, sir. Soon, we’re closed down for good. It’s a bad time to show a movie never seen before.”

  Mr. Ratchet’s green eyes focused hard on her after she said that. “It’s the perfect time to show this movie. The end is the start of many things, in some cases.”

  Before Penny could ask him what the hell he meant, Mr. Ratchet skirted off toward Theatre 1 without another word. He lugged a tool box with him. Whatever he was doing, Jules had already ordered it. It was something that couldn’t be undone. Penny didn’t care. Mr. Ratchet could do whatever he wanted to this place.

  The place would be torn down in no time.

  Chapter Four

  Penny walked to her uncle’s office door shortly after talking to Mr. Ratchet. She knocked once, and said, “Since you won’t let me in, will you at least talk to me through the door? A man came here. His name’s Mr. Ratchet. Do you know anything about ordering his services?”

  She waited.

  No reply.

  No surprise there.

  “Jules, hello? We’re closing tonight. I know this is hard for you and all. I swear I only want to help you. Why won’t you talk to me about it? Please. Say something.”

  She was crying. Thinking about how she wouldn’t have a job. Chad would stay at home while she job hunted. The mooch. The prick. It was one thing for Chad to treat her like this, but Uncle Jules too? They were family. Family was different.

  Penny tried the door handle. Locked.

  “Open the door, please. I’m your niece. You can tell me anything. Stop shutting me out.” She wept harder. Penny would’ve been embarrassed if anybody was nearby to hear her. “Fine. Forget you. Why I stuck with you when everybody else left you to your downfall I don’t know. It’s like every other man in my life. They’re selfish assholes. I’m gone. Find yourself another idiot to work for you for free.”

  Hands turning into fists, she wanted to pummel through the door and shake some sense into her uncle. Penny gave it another thirty seconds. Her speech didn’t move her uncle.

  Penny stormed out of the theatre.

  Chad was too busy slathering nacho cheese on another hotdog to notice.

  Penny tasted liberation and sweet freedom. Her anger had subsided into relief. The theatre could go to hell. She first drove to the bank and closed out her personal account. Chad knew her password, though Chad didn’t know that she knew. He couldn’t siphon money out of her account anymore. The next step was to pack up her stuff and get out of their apartment. Penny’s guess, she had an hour or two tops before Chad returned home. He had to drive the limo back to work because he had officially quit. She would have part of an afternoon to accomplish her getaway. She could go to her sister’s in Michigan, or maybe visit her parents in Atlanta. Anything was better than living with the slob called her boyfriend.

  Correction, ex-boyfriend.

  Penny arrived at her apartment. She worked fast to get what she needed.

  If you’re going to make a clean break, you can’t leave anything to chance. Just take what you need and leave the rest. It’s only stuff.

  Penny stowed her clothes, still on the hangers, into the back seat. She used a suitcase to stuff underwear, panty hose, bras, her small collection of jewelry and shoes. Her toiletries she tossed into a plastic sack. She stole a bottle of vodka for the road. Why not, she thought. She had a lot of phone calls to make, arrangements to complete, but one thing she decided, she was checking into a hotel and taking a night off for herself.

  After picking up lunch from a local grocery store, Penny chose “The Rest Inn” to spend the night and just relax. Room 6 was all hers. No men. No job. She would eat her sandwich, munch on an entire bag of chips, drink from the bottle of vodka, and take the longest bath in the history of bathing.

  Chad ate behind the concessions counter, not having a clue to Penny’s plan. He was enjoying another hot dog fresh off the wheel. So far, Chad had downed nine hotdogs and three cokes and was putting a good dent in a tub of popcorn. He laughed, noticing there wasn’t a single soul in the theatre. This place was his to do with as he wished.

  He could tell by Penny’s face she would bitch him out about quitting his job, so he decided to take his sweet time coming home. Give her time to cool off, he thought, and she won’t be half as mad as she could be. The plan worked every time.

  The theatres were still running films. He thought about the posters on the outside of the building. He wouldn’t mind seeing Psycho with a Badge. It started in ten minutes. Chad decided to refill his tub of popcorn, load up a cardboard tray with hotdogs and the biggest Coke, and then he would enjoy some boobs and blood. Before he could load up the goods, an older guy in a cheap gray suit and red bow tie approached him. He was the guy who talked to Penny earlier, he recalled.

  “You work here, sir?”

  Chad swallowed a bite of hot dog. “Um, no…not really. My girlfriend works here.”

  “May I ask you a question?”

  Oh great. He’s going to bust me.

  “I’ll see if I can answer it.”

  “Are those hotdogs any good? And be honest.”

  “Oh.” Chad let out a laugh. “I thought you were going to bust me or something for stealing. Here, try one.”

  Chad prepped a dog. The guy named Mr. Ratchet accepted the hot dog without any condiments. He tasted it. His calm, professional face hardened. He spat out the bite into a napkin.

  “No, no, no. This is bargain basement crap.” Mr. Ratchet slammed the hotdog into the nearby silver trashcan. “They fed these pigs cardboard. Artificial this and that. It won’t feel good coming out your ass, be-lieve me. You want a real hotdog, you need to meet my chef. He’s whipping up some hot dogs for tonight’s showing of The Final Flesh.”

  Mr. Ratchet dug his hand into his suit pocket and produced an oversized cardboard ticket that said FREE PASS. “This is for you, sir. A free ticket for tonight’s show. All for a man who’s going to taste test our newest hot dogs. Would you mind following me to the back? I’d be much obliged by your kindness.”

  Chad shrugged his shoulders. Why not, he thought. He would miss a few minutes of Psycho with a Badge. He’d double up on refreshments and make it a double feature. Tit Trance sounded interesting. It would give him time to figure out how to sling the English at Penny and get himself back into her good graces.

  Mr. Ratchet talked up his game on the way to the back storage room. The front lobby was full of random workers putting up decorations and promotions. They were people he had never seen before.

  “Look here at this corner,” Mr. Ratchet said. “We’ve got The Sado-meter.” It was a plastic thermometer six feet tall and halfway filled with fake blood. “Every time something fiendishly evil occurs, the blood in the thermometer will rise and boil.”

  Ratchet pointed at a guillotine stand. “Here’s what we call the Slice-O-Win where a brave patron can stick their head in for ten seconds. If they’re up for the challenge, they win a free popcorn and large drink. It’s extreme. The Final Flesh is that scary. It’s no bull. I’ve got other gags for outside the building tonight, but I can’t ruin the surprise. So, kind sir, I will now have you taste test our finest quality hot dogs.”

  Chad went where Mr. Ratchet lead him. The back room was cleared out of old movie posters and concession stock to make room for a large station. A meaty chef with the smallest head and the biggest block of a body was audibly breathing hard as he used a giant cleaver to split a bloody slab of meat into squares. On a smaller table was a row of six hotdogs already cooked and ready to eat.

  Mr. Ratchet invited Chad to sit down on a steel chair. “When you try our hot dogs, really express your opinion. Don’t hold back.”

  Chad smiled. “Oh, I won’t.
”

  Mr. Ratchet put one hotdog on a bun, set it down on a paper plate, and handed it off to Chad. He took a bite and was instantly hooked. He couldn’t shove the red hot fast enough down his throat. Chomping with vigor, his hunger was insatiable. One down, his belly felt empty though he’d been eating hot dogs left and right. They were way better than the Jumbo Juicies the theatre sold. Through mouthfuls of fluffy bun and juicy hot dog, Chad sang hot dog kudos.

  Mr. Ratchet smiled big. “So you like our hot dogs?”

  Mouth full, Chad said, “Oh yeah. The best.”

  “How long you been eating hot dogs?”

  “All my life. Since I could chew food.”

  Mr. Ratchet muttered, “That’s wonderful. Voracious appetite indeed.”

  Chad belched. “What was that?”

  Biting down on half a hot dog and swallowing it whole without chewing, Chad finally noticed what was tucked in the very back corner of the room. It just appeared right before his eyes. One blink, not there, one blink later, there. Frozen human torsos swung from the ceiling, hanging on hooks. The three hundred pound plus chef was going to town with a cleaver on a messed up corpse strewn on the ground. The person, a woman, was naked from head to toe. Her corpse was as plump as Chad. The body was sliced to pieces until all that was left of her was a rough skeleton. He gawked at the severed foot shackled to the wall. Then Chad gasped as the chef dumped a big bucket of guts into the mouth of a meat grinder. The meat grinder spat out gouts of red. The machine sounded like a monster truck’s engine as the archaic metal device rattled and churned. This is where the Jumbo Juices were made.

  This was the source of the hot dogs he’d been eating.

  Mr. Ratchet said, “Our chef, The Meat Man, thinks you’re going to make the best hot dogs in town.”

  “Gaaaaack!” Chad gagged. It felt like an entire hot dog was lodged in his throat. Gasping for air, going weak, losing air, becoming dizzy, he collapsed against the wall. Before he could attempt anything to save himself, the cleaver swooshed past his head and decapitated him.