by Wallen, Jack
Billy plucked out a sensual riff and shrugged.
From the audience, Toque offered up a hearty round of applause. “I have to say, dear friends, that song is like a swift kick in the balls. By that, I mean, it will immediately get you to your feet and dancing about like a madman on fire. Bravo.”
Todd stepped down from the stage and cleared his throat for attention. “If you guys don’t mind, I’d like to show you the video Tom and I did for the show. However…in order to do it up right, we have to play the song that goes along with it. If you’ll humor me, when I say go, everyone turn upstage and dig into ‘Deep Black Underground’.”
Collective nods from the band brought a “Whoop” from Todd, who then raced to his laptop, tapped a few keys, and rushed back to the stage. Behind them, light danced and flicked across a white sheet pulled taut across the wall.
“Go!” Todd shouted.
The band tore into the song as the video came to life. The short film ran in perfect synchrony with the music…as if each second of celluloid was intentionally matched to rhythm and tone. Max was the only one unlucky enough not to be able to take in the sight. He did, however, stare on at the genuine smiles emanating from his new bandmates.
“Oh, fuck, that must be brilliant!” Angst shouted.
Kitty tossed him a devil horn and ripped into the final refrain. When the song ended, the music was replaced by a joyous noise of laughter and praise.
Billy was the first to offer up high-fives to Todd and Tom. “You clowns made some serious magic.”
Toque stepped up to the lip of the stage. “I think I have exactly what you need to make that absolutely perfect.” Without another word, Toque bent over and opened a hidden door on the front edge of the elevated platform stage. From it, he pulled a nylon bag roughly five feet in length. Before anyone could question him, Toque removed the contents from the bag. He turned and, with a wink, said, “It’s a sixteen-foot projection screen. I had it custom made to fit behind that stage for movie nights.”
Tom carefully set his bass down and leaped from the stage. “Fuck yeah, Toque. Let me give you a hand with that.”
“Look out, Toque,” Kitty teased. “If it doesn’t have four strings and an hourglass figure, Mr. Tom is all thumbs.”
Tom tossed a “bird” and a wink Kitty’s way.
Together, the two men assembled the frame, snapped the screen material in place, and maneuvered the piece behind the stage and clipped it to a pair of hooks embedded in the plaster.
Todd ran back to the computer and fired up the video a second time. The video came to life on the new screen with a clarity it had lacked on the sheet.
“Sweetness,” shouted Todd. “Toque, you’re a fucking genius.”
“I wish, Todd. Actually, I’m just prepared…for about anything, mind you.”
The front door to the Last Casket swung open. Two men appeared…covered in the muck and oil of death. One of the men nodded, and Toque made his way to the entrance. Without a word, Toque slipped into the sun-bright afternoon, leaving the band to wonder. Before anyone could question Toque’s actions, Max van Angst kicked out a funk-fueled rhythm the likes of which Kitty In A Casket had never heard. Tom danced his bass back to standing and added a slap-track basement to the groove. Billy stroked his Les Paul with love and wailed a mid-range riff worthy of Prince in his funkier days. Todd added a layer of necessary thickness, and Kitty began cat-scatting in and out of the chordal structure.
The song continued on, a distraction from whatever silent shenanigans had taken Toque from the picture. Accompanying the song was the soundtrack of joy.
eight | kick ass
The line outside the Last Casket wrapped around the building. Inside, the bar was filled to capacity. No one entered until someone exited. On the street, the mood was light. Everyone was ready to forget the shit-storm blowing up the dress of fate.
Tonight was all about flipping the universe the finger and enjoying the ride.
A paunchy drunk stumbled from the door, turned his ankle, and tumbled, face first, into the dirt. The crowd pointed and laughed. The drunk remained on the ground, showing no signs of leaving and barely that of life.
Taking his place inside was a tall, slender African American woman who was as much Foxy Brown as Angela Bassett. She oozed sensuality and grace. The second she entered, any glance that could be stolen from the onstage antics of Kitty and her crew were immediately turned to the woman in the red silk dress with natural hair that rose in a glorious halo around her head.
Toque wove his way through the thick crowd and greeted the new addition to Casket. “I am the proprietor of the Last Casket. My name is Toque.” Toque snatched up the stranger’s hand and gave it the sweetest kiss. “And who might I have the pleasure of meeting?”
The woman offered a heart-melting and libido-hardening smile. “The name is Charity. I was just passing through and I heard such a glorious noise…I just had to check it out. Mmm mmm mmm, you got it going here, my friend.”
“May I get you a drink, my dear?”
Charity wagged a finger at Toque. “Don’t touch the stuff. It’s the apocalypse; you’ve got to always be at your best.”
Toque offered a slight bow to the woman. “Indeed.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Toque, I cannot deny my body the glory of dancing to this bad-ass sound.” Charity threaded her way into the heart of the crowd until she stood near the stage. Toque took a moment to enjoy her exquisite beauty before returning to the bar.
Charity got a groove on that sent the nearby audience into a hormone-induced fit of pique. The only participant unfazed by her moves was a lone stranger. The man stood, stiff and unmoving, by the stage left stack of loudspeakers. On his head, he wore a stained and tattered trucker cap with the Kitty In A Casket logo embroidered on the face. He was tall and lanky, spindly legs ending in greasy work boots. The fading black dye of his jeans did its best to hide stains of unknown origin. His eyes were glued on Kitty—no matter where she danced, his gaze followed.
The stranger spoke not a word and budged not an inch through the entire set. Nearby, Charity ground her hips against the luckiest airspace to ever grace the planet. Every male—and many of the females—within reach of the sensual woman took notice. Everyone but the stranger.
The last song of the night faded into kick-ass history, and the band strutted off the stage. The audience went wild, shouting, clapping, stomping. No matter how loud they cried, there was no encore to be had.
Toque rushed to the bar and switched the sound system over to his own personal soundtrack. A rather generic EDM song raved out of the speakers. Few took notice of the tune.
Backstage, the band lay silent, each in various stages of collapse. Kitty was draped over a wing-back chair, sweat dripping from her neck and hair. Billy leaned against a wall, stretching the fingers of his left hand. Tom and Todd were seated at a table, discussing necessary tweaks to the videos. Max sat with his arms over his head, begging for ice to soothe his burning muscles.
“Shit.” Billy broke the spell. “That was unbelievable.”
“Probably the best set we’ve ever played,” Kitty squealed through exhausted pipes.
Max took in his recovering bandmates. “So…did I pass the test?”
“Fuck yeah, Angst Boy,” Billy answered with gusto. “You lay a crazy beat, my friend.”
Without speaking a word, Kitty offered two thumbs up and a gleaming smile.
Todd pulled himself away from Tom and nodded to Max. “Dude, you fucking nailed it. The bridge of ‘Midnight Thrill Ride’ was killer. I’ve never heard it so tight.”
Tom glanced at Max and nodded toward Todd. “What douche said.”
Todd shook his head at Tom. “Mooner, you’re like society on a Federation starship.”
Tom looked curiously at Todd and said, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
The rest of the band answered in unison. “No class.”
Out in the bar, Toque was busyin
g himself with cleanup. The last few stragglers were slowly filing toward the door, thanking Toque for the perfect distraction.
“All too happy to oblige,” Toque replied with pride.
A quiet hush overtook the Casket. Toque poured himself a shot of whiskey and kicked it back in a single, quick gulp. When he opened his eyes, the stranger stood before him.
“Sorry, sir, the bar is closed for the night. Last call was thirty minutes ago. Gotta send ya packin’ so I can ready this place for another go ‘round and get some shut-eye.”
The stranger glared at Toque, his eyes refusing to blink or budge.
Toque repeated his declaration, this time with a bit more volume and force. The stranger stood, back rigid and eyes glued.
“Listen, friend,” Toque started. “I have to ask you kindly to exit the building. It’s time to close up shop.”
The stranger slammed a white-knuckled fist onto the bar.
Toque cautiously reached under the bar to feel for his bat. “Now, there’ll be none of that. I’ll ask you nicely one last time. If I have to repeat myself again, I’ll be doing it with a bit of help…if ya know what I mean.”
The stranger’s other fist crashed down on the counter. “You don’t tell me what to do, motherfucker!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. Wormy veins throbbed under the flesh of his neck, and a hurricane of spittle shot from his raging mouth. Before Toque could retrieve his trusty Louisville Slugger, the stranger connected with a right hook to the jaw. The punch landed Toque on the floor, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth. The stranger hopped onto the bar and stared down at the prone man. “Where’s the band?” the stranger shouted.
Toque remained silent. His eyes scanned the area to see his foot mere inches from the bat. All he had to do was flip the bat down, grab the hickory stick, and swing it hard and fast into the skull of the madman.
Before Toque had a chance to enact his plan, the stranger hopped down from the bar and dropped a dirty work boot down on his chest. Every molecule of air was forced from his lungs, the hiss and huff punctuated by the distinct pop and crack of ribs.
“Where’s the goddamn band, barkeep?” the stranger growled.
Toque took in a shallow breath and coughed out, “Go fuck yourself.”
“Hey!” The shout came from the other side of the bar. The stranger spun on his heels to see a snarling Billy cock a fist.
Billy’s punch connected with the stranger’s nose, sending a fountain of blood spraying the floor at his feet. He grabbed the stranger by the collar and bounced him over the bar.
“Last call, motherfucker!” Billy shouted. “Time for you to get your ass on home before I have to play a rousing game of Clown Punch with your face. You dig?”
With a heave, Billy tossed the stranger to the dusty dirt outside the Casket’s entrance. Before he had a chance to prepare himself, the stranger was up and waving a jewel-handled switchblade knife at Billy.
Billy laughed. “Well, that’s a special knife, princess. Did it come with matching gold lamé pants and a vinyl thong panty?”
The stranger didn’t bother to attack. Instead, he very slowly and cautiously backed away from Billy and Toque. “Don’t look away, bastards. You never know what might come up missing.” He continued his backward migration until he reached a rust-bucket Chevy, the color of Bondo, dried blood, and feces. He twisted his way into the driver’s seat, brought the angry engine to life, and squealed out of the parking lot.
Billy turned to Toque. “You okay?”
Toque offered a half-hearted nod.
“Why am I not buying that steaming plate of shit you’re serving?”
Toque chuckled and, as he did, grabbed his ribs with a wince. Billy wrapped an arm around Toque’s waist and took the brunt of his weight as they slowly made their way back into the Casket.
“What the hell just happened?” Kitty asked, her voice sharp and demanding.
“Some drunk assbag causing trouble,” Billy said. “Toque and I handled it.”
Kitty rushed to Toque’s side. “Looks like Toque’s face handled most of it. You okay?”
Toque groaned in response. Kitty turned to Tom. “Find something for his pain.”
“Like what?” Tom asked.
“Oh, I don’t know, like a frying pan or a tampon,” Kitty hissed. “What do you usually do for pain, Tom?”
“Okay, okay. You don’t have to go all psycho on me.” Tom vanished from the scene to locate pain relief.
“Have you seen the guy before, Toque?” Kitty asked.
Toque answered with a bit of rasp in his voice. “Never. Oddly enough, though, he was insistent on seeing you guys. And he had on a Kitty In A Casket trucker cap.”
Kitty and Billy exchanged glances. “When did we last sell those at the merch table?” Kitty asked.
“I don’t think we have. He could have made it himself,” Billy answered.
“So we’re dealing with a fucking creeper?” Todd Flash asked.
Toque nodded. “I would imagine he’ll be back.”
Tom returned to the scene, waving two bottles, one in each hand—pills and booze. “Gotcha covered, Toque my man.”
Kitty snatched the alcohol from Tom. “Since when was it okay to mix whiskey and pain killers?”
Tom shook his head as if to rid his ears of water. “Duh, since always.”
Kitty drew in near to Tom. “It’s amazing you’ve made it this far, Tom.”
“I know, right?” Tom replied.
Kitty turned to Toque and handed over the bottle of pills. She then snatched a glass from behind the bar and filled it with water. Toque eagerly accepted the drink and downed three pills at once. He closed his eyes and sighed against the pain.
Billy gave Toque a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Tomorrow, we’re going out and search for that bastard. When we find him, he’ll pay for what he did to you.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. the Bat,” Toque said weakly.
“Like hell it isn’t. No one fucks with our Toque and gets away with it,” Billy responded.
“Hell no, they don’t,” added Todd Flash. “We’ll find the prick and deal with him in our own special way.”
Toque shook his head. “No, no, no. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but it’s not how we do such things.”
Kitty kissed Toque on the forehead. “We get it, Toque, you’re Canadian. Lucky for you, we’re not. Don’t worry, though; we won’t break the man. Bend him? Maybe. Break him? Probably not.”
“Come on, Kitty,” Billy whined. “You’re taking all the fun out of it. Besides, the shitbag hurt our Toque.”
Kitty pursed her lips. The bar went silent as thought danced behind her eyes. “You’re right, Billy. Maybe the son of a bitch needs breaking.”
Devil horns flew high into the air.
“That’s my girl!” Billy shouted.
Toque shook his head and fell into a fit of coughing. With each explosion of air, he grabbed his side and shuddered in pain. Kitty pulled him into a hug and spoke softly. “Let’s get you to bed.”
With the care of a practiced nurse, Kitty navigated Toque to his bedroom and helped him under the covers. She kissed Toque on the forehead and left his room in silence.
Back in the bar, Kitty stared down Billy and the gang. “Seriously?” Kitty asked.
“Seriously what?” Billy questioned.
“You’re going to go all alpha male while our fearless leader is practically writhing in pain?”
Todd Flash was quick to respond. “Oh, come on, Kitty. Toque’s a tough old bird. He’s probably broken every bone in his body at least a couple of times.”
“That’s not the point, Todd. I don’t care if Toque’s a veritable Evel Knievel, we can’t start a war on his behalf. None of us know anything about this stranger. For instance, why in the hell was he demanding to see us?” Kitty’s voice was growing anxious. “Maybe he has nefarious doings in mind for when he lays hands on our pristine and virgin flesh!”
T
he band broke out in gales of laughter.
“Okay, maybe not virgin,” Kitty amended, and then broke into a gaping yawn. “What time is it?”
A wave of yawns spread quickly around the group.
“Time to get ill?” Todd replied.
“No sleep ‘til, Toddy F.,” Billy answered, and slapped Todd across the cheek.
One by one, the band crawled into their makeshift beds to drift away from the nightmare landscape of the apocalypse.
nine | thrill ride
The front entrance to the Casket creaked open, sending a beam of brilliant sunlight on a desperate search for vampiric flesh. Instead, it only managed to find the squinting eyes of Kitty and Billy.
“What the fuck?” Billy hissed.
“Rise and shine, Bat,” Todd said, and followed up with a guffaw. “Get the irony there? If you were a real bat…”
Billy chucked his pillow at Todd. The fluffy projectile went wide right. “I get it, Todd. You’re abso-fucking-lutely hi-goddamn-larious. Now, if you don’t mind, it’s sleep-thirty.”
Todd tossed the pillow back at Billy, nailing him square in the head. “Actually, my friend, the correct time is vengeance o’clock. Now get your ass out of bed. We’ve got a stranger to track down.”
At the mention of the stranger, Billy sat up straight and punched his fist in the air. He then mumbled, “I cannot vengeance until I coffee.”
“Fair enough,” Todd answered.
Billy fumbled and stumbled with his jeans, waking the remaining bandmates up in the process.
“Is it show time yet?” Kitty asked. She ran her fingers through a sleep-induced rat’s nest of hair. “I need my brush. No, I need caffeine. Someone feed me caffeine, please. I’ll open my face up and you pour it in. Okay. Thank you.”
“What time is it…really?” Tom asked. “And if you say anything remotely related to a.m., I will throat punch you so hard your testicles will pop out of your eye sockets. Wait…that doesn’t make any sense. Who has coffee?”
Max van Angst joined the living with a cat-in-heat screech. “I could kill each of you with my inner rage…without lifting so much as a pinky. Please, do us all a favor and shut your big fat flapping mouths.” Before Max could retreat to his pillow, he glanced about the room. “Did all of that really come out of my mouth? If so…I didn’t mean any of it. It’s just…” Max forced his eyes open. “Oh, hell, who am I kidding? I meant every last word. I sleep now.” Without another word, Max fell back onto his pillow.
