Krystal scrunches her lip and shakes her head, "no thanks, so they said that they're looking into it, but I think most of those idiots are just lazy," she says, "they literally sit in this restaurant, eat free food, and talk for hours. If Judd comes through the door, they get up like they're paying the bill. I swear that man should be mayor."
"Too bad the real Mayor's a total jackass," Jessica chirps, "they'll find her, though. Reagan was different, she was only into Curt. She didn't hang out and drink with us after work. When they broke up, she split. She didn't have any ties here. I think Curt has a type, but I don't think he, like, killed her or anything." Jessica pushes her plate to the side and focuses on her cup of coffee.
"I guess you're right. Want a box?" Krystal asks.
"Yeah, but not yet, hang out for a second. I never get to see you," Jessica pulls Krystal into the booth, "How's Austin doing?"
"He's good I guess. How should I know?" Krystal asks with a coy smile.
"Girl, there are way too many toothbrushes at the apartment for you not to be sleeping with someone on the regular. And for some reason, that boy is always there, eyeballing that big ass of yours."
Billy perks up from devouring his burrito, his devious brain nearly pumps sex smoke out of his ears.
"He's a nice guy," Krystal says, "we'll just leave it at that."
"You better put a stamp on him soon, or someone else will," Jessica leans in close to Krystal.
"Let 'em," Krystal says, "he's a free man."
"I have never met a woman with such commitment issues." Jessica pushes off of her friend and leans on the wall.
"I don't have commitment issues," Krystal's eyes connect with Jessica's, "he's a good guy, but if he's not happy I don't want him to feel obligated to be with me. If something else happens, let it happen."
* * * * *
Roc, a big, burly gangster watches Skaggs exit Billy's apartment from the hallway.
"Yo Skaggs whatcha doin' man?"
Skaggs doesn't make eye contact with the large African American. The fear stirs around in his belly, and, he forgets to shut Billy's apartment door.
Roc yells "Whatchu doin' nigga? Why you up in Billy's crib? I know he ain't there and he sure as fuck ain't give you a mu'fuckin' key.
Roc's bald head is the shape of a swollen bowling ball, brown, round, and solid as a rock.
"Billy's gonna fuck you up, bitch!" The two hundred and fifty pound man shouts.
Skaggs yanks the revolver from his waistband and spins around. Three of his new best friends soar out of the chamber.
Roc hits the deck, not a single bullet comes near him.
Skaggs dashes down the stairs and out the front door.
A couple of kids play basketball on the court. No net, just a rim and broken blacktop. They all stop and stare at the man with the gun...and the claw.
* * * * *
Krystal watches Billy the caveman gobble food across from her. Jessica could do so much better. Billy's cute, sure, and his body is magnificent, but his complete lack of social norms perplexes her. "Rob's been asking about you," she says to her beautiful blonde friend.
Jessica's sapphire eyes stare into Krystal's. "Oh yeah?" Jessica politely dabs her mouth with a napkin.
"Who the fuck's Rob?" Billy asks with his mouth full.
"He's just a cook that works with us," Jessica says casually, "he's Austin's little brother."
"How come I don't know him?" Billy leans back, "I know Austin."
"Well, that's because Austin played football with you," Jessica shrugs her shoulders, "you've met Rob before. He was at my grad party last year when you got drunk and my mom kicked you out," she smiles sarcastically.
"He's probably a pussy," Billy grunts.
Krystal scowls at Billy, "yeah, Billy, anyone that doesn't fight and sell drugs is a pussy." Krystal gives Jessica a hug. "I have to check on my other table. You gonna be home later?"
"Yeah, for a little bit," Jessica says in her soft, sweet voice.
"We never get to chill anymore." Krystal lets go of Jessica and stands up.
"You could always come over to my apartment." Billy wipes the food from his chin.
"That place is way too ghetto for me. Move out of the hood, Billy."
Krystal starts to walk away but turns her head to see that asshole watching her butt cheeks wiggle like a dog ready to pounce. "Come on man, your girlfriend's right there," Krystal says, "Jessica, you could do so much better." With that, she heads for the kitchen leaving her friend, the mathlete, the cheerleader, the girl with so much potential behind. She could be anything, go to college and get out of this one-horse town. That stupid, hot horny jerk is all that holds her back.
* * * * *
Skaggs makes it safely out of the Bayside projects and near the bank of Shit Creek. He follows the little river underneath a bridge and deeper into the woods.
The cliffs are larger and more difficult to climb, but the chances of some asshole catching him are slim.
He crawls into a cave where he and Leroy used to shoot heroin. When the rain gets heavy it floods, but generally, it's pretty dry. They have a stash there, well not heroin or drugs, but bottles of liquor, some snacks they stole from the manor and old Playboys.
He gets set up with a gun next to him just in case the police stumble his way.
Skaggs knows he can't make it in jail. He also knows this isn't going to end well. More importantly, he understands a man with a gun can make things wrong for someone else.
Everyone that beat him up is going to pay, especially the cop that seems to have the entire town underneath a fog of bullshit.
None of those things matter now, he needs to relax. The morning was rough and it's time to settle in with a nice shot of H.
The beautiful liquid boils on his spoon. Moments later, he forgets about his hand, the speed, and his mother. Even Judd takes a backseat as his entire body floats into euphoria.
Chapter XI
Dock of the Bay
As told by Jaybird
The Bay is like a deep cut in your arm.
The pain can be overwhelming, and you can't wait until it passes. Over time, it hurts a little less each day. The gash turns into a scar. You talk about it with your friends, tell pretty girls how you got it, make light of the fact it ever happened. Eventually it becomes a part of you.
Like a badge of honor.
My mom was crazy and my dad was lazy, sometimes that's how shit goes. But I came up. I went from having nothing. Section eight housing, food stamps, and welfare checks to being who I am today.
When I was in the sixth grade I was a straight chump, a sissy, a coward.
Then one day I wasn't.
David Hixon was the size of a refrigerator, an eighth grader that looked like he was thirty. This guy used to say my mom gave out hand jobs for five dollar rocks of crack. He'd steal shit off my lunch tray, chew it up, and spit it back out. A real asshole.
One day I had enough.
We were on the playground, lined up, waiting to go inside. I remember it was freezing. I had holes in my toboggan the size of quarters and my ears were so big they stuck out. He was standing behind me, and he flicked my right ear. I took it. He flicked my left one, and I acted like it didn't hurt. He flicked them both at the same time and they cracked like a windshield. The blood couldn't come out even though it wanted to. It remained in the warmth of my body.
You know how when it's really cold your eyes well up with tears? That happened.
I cried like a little bitch while we walked up three steps into the school. When we got inside, we had to walk down a really narrow hallway. People were bumping into each other. David kept pushing me, trying to trip me, then he pushed so hard I knocked over the girl in front of me.
She had such pretty red hair, her name was Jenny, a sweetheart that never did an unkind thing to anyone. When she fell down her nose busted open and blood splattered all over the tile.
I lost my shit.
I didn't care wha
t David did to me. Someone had to stick up for that little girl.
I punched him in the chest as hard as I could. I knew that one punch wouldn't faze him, so I just kept on going. This huge mother fucker started scooting back, but because there were so many people behind him, he couldn't.
I kept piling my fists into his gut. The sea of twelve year olds split, and we were at the steps. I punched him in the face so hard it knocked him down the stairs. Three little steps. Three little steps that I jumped in one leap and landed on that asshole's chest.
He threw up all over the place while two of his ribs broke under the strength of my feet.
David Hixon never fucked with me again. That's also the day I met Sheriff Judd.
After that I knew how to take care of myself in the Bay. My nose has been broken so many times I can't remember what it should look like. The doctors re-set it more than a chess board, but every time it got busted, I must've split open five, but I don't like to brag.
Bayside will always be my home. I landed here after my real dad got killed and my mom lost her shit. My step dad was a coke head. He taught me the game, how to cut the shit, how to cook it on the stove. He taught me how to shoot my first pistol. I thought I was a gangster.
He went to prison for trying to rob the Manor Carryout. I never saw him again. Then it was just me and my mom. I sold coke and weed.
I went to school during the day and hustled at night. I got good grades and got paid. I never mixed them. I didn't go to school high or bring blow to class.
I graduated from selling an eight-ball to an ounce of powder in no time. I lived with my mom, but at fourteen I ran two trap houses.
Now look at me. I grow the best pot in town, maybe even Ohio. I do it all underneath the radar. Instead of flashing diamonds I invested in property.
A nobody turned into a real estate guru. I wear a suit, but always have a pistol in my car.
I have twenty eight rental properties and sixteen houses for sale. I buy low and renovate. The trick is, buy from the guy you're selling to. Say you're cutting them a deal. Most of the time, I actually am.
I started with a half of a double a block away from the Bay. I had my two trap houses but my mom needed out of the ghetto. When I got more money I bought the other half. Then I bought a house, so on and so forth.
I knew construction workers that would do a day's work for a gram of coke, maybe an eight-ball. Some just couldn't get work after they caught a felony. Those were people that didn't roll over on me, good people that I needed to help out.
My point?
You can be worthless, you can be a pussy, you can be from nothing, but you can overcome.
Be a hero in your community, help others.
You should never look at someone else's plate and get pissed because they have more than you. The only time you should ever look at someone else's plate is if they don't have enough to eat.
Chapter XII
Awakening
1993
The sky opened up to let the sunrise peak around the cliffs. Purple and pink clouds swirled in the air, as the sun cast shadows between the trees.
And there was Clint, at the edge of shit creek underneath the infamous weeping willow tree.
Hunter kneeled next to his victim, mesmerized by the thought of killing a man then bringing him back to life. He bit a chunk out of his wrist and dripped blood into Clint's mouth. The nearly dead nerd suctioned on Hunter's open wrist like it was his first tit full of milk.
Somewhat like Judd died and was reborn after sinking his knife into Lester's side, Clint lost more and more of his cowardly nature with every suckle.
The faint smell of BBQ invoked the summer air. Except it wasn't BBQ. It was flesh searing on an open fire. The lover's sweat glands secreted on the embers and their blood boiled out onto the hot coals. Hunter's dinner from the previous evening.
"You're my creation now. I don't know what'll happen, you might spaz out and kill yourself," Hunter loomed over Clint, "you may lie here until the sun sets you on fire," Hunter pushed Clint's head off of his wrist, "I ain't too sure. I know the girl that bit me was powerful. She was past solar damage, and I didn't experience it for the first few months of being a... whatever we are. And I haven't experienced its much sense."
Clint's eyes rolled around in his skull as he trembled on the moist grass. His body popped and locked while the magical elixir coursed through him.
"I don't know much about it," Hunter said, "I didn't get to hang out with my beautiful creator as long as I would've wanted. I always manage to fuck up and run when it comes to women. Hell, at this very spot I told my neighbor Kelly I loved her, and then about a week later I split and never talked to her again." Hunter pushed himself off the ground, stood up and brushed off his pants.
"I don't even know your name. I gotta start being more selective. As a matter of fact, I usually would've set you on fire like your two friends. I felt something different when I fed on you. It's strange, but I saw your memories this time. I wonder if that's how it's gonna be from now on. I get to see and feel what you do. It was never like that when I fed on Tamara, but I think it was for her, because she created me." Hunter rubbed his wrist where Clint fed on him.
"She knew everything I was thinking, what I was feeling. That's why she was so perfect. She anticipated my happiness... and my anger." His remorse was too much for him to bear. He shifted the conversation back to Clint.
"Let's get you put away before anyone starts to fuss about that fire. It's almost out now, but I gotta get home and get to bed. It's been a long night. Suppose it has for the both of us, huh?"
Hunter picked Clint up, threw him over his shoulder, and carried him to shit creek away from the notorious Playboy Tunnel.
"The first time I did this, I wasn't thinkin'. It was mostly for revenge. I think I did better this time, at least a little bit." Hunter climbed down into the creek bed and back up a mountain. "I can already feel your memories coursing through me. I can understand you better than I've understood any human being. Like how you imagine living in a character's shoes from a first person novel.
"No secrets or lies, just pure emotions, and thoughts. I know that you're scared of spiders, and how bad you want to have sex for the first time. That's probably why you tasted different, you've never been with a girl."
They arrived at a cave and walked about a hundred feet into it. The smell of moisture accompanied the cool air.
"I really don't want to leave you Clint, but I gotta get home. You can't know me or you'll expose me. I'm not sure what happens next, but I wish you luck."
* * * * *
For three days Clint went through torturous internal struggle and external pain. He puked until his stomach lining and esophagus ripped to shreds. He couldn't stand or crawl, just cringe and shit himself. His throat burned from the bile. His muscles were tight as drums and continued to scrunch from tension and dehydration.
Then it was over.
The shit stopped splurging and the puke stopped flowing. His body miraculously healed itself. By the end of the third day, Clint was alive again. He felt stronger, focused, but most of all, hungry.
* * * * *
It was a slow night at the Watering Hole when Clint bellied up to the bar. The pretty bartender stopped flirting with a couple hard bodied bikers and stared at Clint.
"You know damn good and well I can't serve you any booze. You need to take your ass home before I call the cops." She laughed and flipped her hair as she turned back to the handsome men.
Clint's sinister urge boiled inside.0
"I was thinking something a bit stronger than a drink honey..."
Twenty-eight seconds later, he took his first bite.
Chapter XIII
The Residue of
discovery
The apartment floor creaks from the weight of the Kobe police force, a slew of officers trudge and step in the small section eight development. The sweet onion smell of sweat and the sour stench of death mix to form a pu
trid potpourri.
Sheriff Judd invades the scene, an old law dog quickly running out of tricks. Disappearances, break-ins, and now a murder, are raising too many questions in the community.
Katie is a hot topic on social network sites. Jessica and Krystal have taken it upon themselves to run a campaign for the missing waitress. Posts are up on Twitter, Facebook, Snapchat, you name it. Two sweet girls playing Scooby Doo have really gummed up the works for Judd.
The Kool Beans owner, Herbert, keeps coming down to the station, asking about a broken window. Judd took the money out of his own pocket to fit the bill. He told Herbert that he would help file the insurance claim and sent out a repairman, easy fix. However, the old hippie still wants justice. He wants to know why his premium didn't go up.
Yeah, it's been a rough week.
Bayside has always been famous for petty crime. Drugs, assault, domestic violence, theft, but never murder. Killing usually happens in less populated areas, where witnesses aren't popping up with stories. Bodies wind up in cabins, smokehouses, farms, places where things can be hidden, or at least altered to fit the needs of the public.
Kobe citizens want their news to be black in white. Small towns, even most big towns, don't consider a gray area when it comes to crime. People want proof, and quickly. After that, they want peace and quiet.
That's how it used to be, anyway.
Now everyone wants to play the hero. What they don't understand is sometimes a hero doesn't wear an 'S' on his chest and the right decision isn't always the best decision.
Detective Daniels, a thirty-year-old man with a clean shave and a prominent chin approaches Sheriff Judd. He's a thin guy with a bit of stubble on his face. Judd likes him, at least as much as he can like a square cop. His record is clean, no traffic tickets or citations, hell, he even helps old ladies across the street. Yeah, you could say Detective Daniels was alright in Judd's book.
"Hey, Sheriff."
"Mornin' Daniels. What's the word?" Judd takes a sip from his to-go cup of coffee.
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