Bottom Feeders

by John Shepphird

  Eddie recalled, “I remember seeing you on TMZ waiting for your bags at the airport.”

  “Yes, that was one of those times. I wasn’t really on a flight that day,” Tami confessed.

  “What do you mean?” asked Eddie.

  “Diane put me in a wonderful ensemble, very chic. She even found designer luggage to match, everything perfect. We got a limo and I waited at baggage claim, made it look like I was coming in from New York.”

  “It was all fake?”

  “It was real except I wasn’t arriving on a flight that day. I don’t know if you remember, but the questions those TMZ reporters asked me were absolutely ridiculous, and vulgar, but I guess that’s the point of that show, isn’t it?”

  Sheila asked, “Did Diane ever behave strangely?”

  “Not really, but she’s very opinionated,” Tami said. “Sure, we had creative differences, but she would eventually come around to seeing it my way.”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary?” Sheila inquired.

  “I caught her talking to herself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She was talking to someone, but there was nobody there. The funny thing is once she saw me she pretended to be on her cell phone and pulled out earbuds.”

  “Was she ever violent?” Sheila asked.

  “Heavens no.”

  As they proceeded down the hill, Tami increasingly slowed their progress. This bothered Sheila. “You have to keep up,” she urged.

  “I’m sorry, I’m trying,” Tami said. “It’s these shoes.”

  Sheila glanced down at the thin flip-flops on Tami’s feet. “Don’t you have anything better than that?”

  “Back in the cabin,” she said pointing up the hill.

  “What were you thinking?” Sheila said in frustration.

  “I have boots in my bag, and running shoes, Skechers.”

  “We’re not going back,” Sheila said.

  “It won’t take long, and I can—”

  “We’re not going back,” Sheila pressed. “Just keep up with us. And keep quiet.”

  Tami’s tone turned defiant. “I will not be spoken to like this.” Tami turned to Eddie and with a wave of her hand said, “Ed, please get a handle on your staff. I won’t stand for her insolence.”

  “Insolence?!” Sheila said. “Face it, Tami, this is all your fault. You had to have your own people to pamper you and make you feel good about yourself. Just so happens one of them is a crazy, murderous bitch.”

  “Preposterous,” Tami said.

  “How ridiculous is the size of your trailer,” Sheila continued, getting it off her chest, “and that you have three people at your beck and call, like it’s going to make a difference? All the time and effort that goes into that bullshit … Face it, Tami, you’re incredibly self-centered and couldn’t give a shit about anyone else.”

  “Ladies!” Eddie said, trying to make peace.

  “I’ll have you know,” Tami countered, “on my series, the network—”

  “This isn’t your fucking series!” Sheila snapped back. “Those days are long gone. This is a low-budget cable TV quickie piece of shit nobody’s going to see. The Majestic Channel? That’s a network for old geezers.”

  “Sheila,” Eddie said, trying to calm her down.

  A defiant Tami said, “I won’t stand here and—”

  “Production rents you your own cabin,” Shelia cut her off, “and meanwhile the camera department goes without prime lenses?”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” Tami said, back on her heels.

  “Face it. Your crazy-ass stylist is a killer,” Sheila said. “And now you’re slowing us down with your spa footwear.”

  “I had no idea that we—”

  “Sshh!” Eddie hushed. “Listen.”

  They all trained their ears. It sounded like a vehicle was approaching on the dirt road.

  “What is it?” Tami asked.

  “Sounds like a car,” said Eddie.

  Tami gave Sheila a dismissive sneer before she said, “Thank God. Get me out of here.” With that Tami began to navigate her way out of the trees.

  But Sheila sensed something was not right. From the way the headlights reflected off the trees, it appeared the car was approaching from above, not below. Before she could say anything, Tami had emerged from the trees. She ran out onto the middle of the dirt road.

  Sheila could see the jerky guy’s pickup round the bend.

  Tami, now in the truck’s headlights, waved her arms and screamed, “Help!”

  The truck slowed at the top of the hill as if assessing the situation. It turned on its high beams.

  “Please help us!” Tami shouted, arms waving, the sound of her bracelets jingling. She began striding up the road toward the truck.

  The engine revved.

  “Tami, no!” Eddie shouted. He ran for her.

  Sheila could see the expression on Tami’s face, utter confusion as to why the pickup was accelerating and coming right at her. Then the realization hit Tami. She dropped her arms and tried to scramble off the road. No luck. Her flip-flops on the loose dirt gained little traction.

  The truck hit hard.

  There was a loud thud and the impact sent Tami airborne. She was thrown out onto the road. The pickup rolled straight over her. Tami gave a blood-curdling scream.

  Sheila stood frozen as the vehicle lurched over Tami’s body. It slid to a stop, Tami squirming in the dirt behind the pickup.

  White reverse lights came on illuminating the cloud of dust in the truck’s wake. The pickup backed up and rolled over the screaming Tami again, rear tires spewing dirt and gravel.

  Eddie raised the shotgun and fired. It blew out the camper shell window. He pumped another round, ran up, and fired again.

  The white reverse lights cut off and the truck plowed over Tami yet again.

  Eddie’s next shotgun blast ripped off the side-view mirror. The truck was getting away. It went over the embankment and was gone.

  Sheila and Eddie both went for Tami.

  One of Tami’s arms was bent back over her head and her collarbone stuck out grotesquely, the white of the bone visible. Sheila could see tire tracks on Tami’s face. Blood seeped out of her ears. She quivered in violent convulsions. Sheila had seen seizures like this before, on her mother’s deathbed.

  “Tami, hold on,” Eddie said, clearly shaken.

  Her eyes did not acknowledge either of them. She was off in a distant place. Then Tami’s eyes found Sheila with a look of confusion before she muttered, “Don’t let me die.”

  Sheila felt incredibly guilty that she’d been berating Tami only moments ago. Why did she run out into the road? She could see from the changing color in Tami’s skin tone that death was knocking on the door.

  First she heard it, and then she saw the truck, now turned around, pull over the rise. It came to a stop facing them. The headlights lit both she and Eddie from a distance.

  “Shit,” Eddie said.

  “Run!” Sheila said and abandoned Tami. She went for the cover of the trees. She looked back but Eddie did not follow. Instead he stood in defiance, shotgun raised.

  “Come on!” Sheila screamed.

  Diane emerged from the truck with a lever-action rifle. Sheila remembered the jerky guy mentioning that he had a Winchester .30-30, like from the TV show The Rifleman, and asked if he could bring it to set. That gun must have been in his truck. Diane must have found it.

  Diane fired at them and Eddie returned fire with the shotgun.

  There was a deafening volley of gunfire back and forth before Eddie was out of ammunition, the shotgun spent.

  Sheila cold see Diane cock the lever-action rifle and advance.

  Eddie ran the other direction, across the road, opposite from Sheila and out o
f the beam of the headlights. Sheila could see him take cover in the trees.

  Diane went back to the cab and pulled out her bow. She slung it over her shoulder and placed on her head what appeared to be headgear of some kind. She adjusted a monocular device over one eye then raised the rifle again. But this time Diane pointed the gun at Sheila.

  The first shot sounded and splintered a branch over her head.

  Sheila turned and ran.

  She heard the shot and felt a sudden jolt, a sharp pain—as if the tip of a jagged, red-hot steel pipe was jabbed into her back.

  Sheila knew she’d been hit and went down hard.

  Chapter

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Eddie saw Diane, backlit by the truck’s headlights, wearing night-vision goggles, bow slung over her back. She carried the rifle, pointing it to fire again, and marched up the road before she veered into the trees.

  He knew she was going for Sheila.

  Eddie crossed the road, spent shotgun in hand, and could see a glimmer of light in the woods. With her back to him, Diane was standing over Sheila, rifle pointed.

  “That was Tami,” Sheila said to her.

  Diane replied, “Do you have any idea what a demanding bitch she was? I gave her great advice but did she listen to me? No. Pearls to swine.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Sheila said in a pained voice.

  “I protect those who can’t protect themselves.”

  “Who?”

  “The animals.”

  “What animals?”

  “That horse, dog, this fire!” Diane said.

  “But I didn’t—”

  “You movie people are so wrapped up in yourselves. It makes me sick.”

  Eddie drew closer. Diane’s back was to him. He held the shotgun from the barrel, like a baseball bat.

  Sheila said, “We saw the obituaries … your Olympic team.”

  “Oh, you saw that? They deserved it. All of them. They all blamed me and made my life a living hell. She told me to do it.”

  “Who?”

  “The deity’s voice,” Diane said.

  “What deity?”

  “The goddess Diana. She speaks to me,” she said with pride. “Only me.”

  Eddie swung the butt of the shotgun. The hollow crack of bone sounded. Diane’s headgear flew off and she collapsed in a heap.

  He grabbed the fallen Winchester. Eddie wondered if she was dead or just knocked out cold. He nudged her with his foot to make sure she wouldn’t get up. There was no response.

  “Shit,” Sheila said, relieved.

  He asked, “You all right?”

  “I’ve been hit,” Sheila said through clenched teeth, rolling on her side and trying to get up.

  “Don’t move.” He kneeled down to take a look. Although it was dark, Eddie could see the puncture wound below her shoulder blade. Blood seeped through the cloth of her fleece pullover. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said. “Can you stand?”

  “I don’t know,” she said in tears.

  “Put your arm around my shoulder. I’ll carry you.”

  She hooked her arm around his neck and Eddie picked her up in a bridal carry. She wasn’t too heavy. He could manage. Eddie could feel she was shivering and suspected she’d gone into shock.

  He marched Sheila out of the trees.

  The door of the pickup was still open, the cabin lights on. He set her down where she could steady herself against the body of the truck. Aided by the light in the cab, Eddie examined the wound. “It’s bleeding, but not too much,” he said, trying to sound positive. “One second.” There was a roll of paper towels on the floor of the truck. He blotted the wound the best he could. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, stifling tears.

  “You’re going to be all right,” he said trying to keep her from worrying. Stay positive. The white paper towels soaked up the blood that blossomed—a poor man’s gauze to congeal the wound. He looked for keys in the ignition but they weren’t there. “The keys, she must have them,” he said.

  “Here we go again,” she said, voice trembling.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Hurry.”

  He grabbed the Winchester and followed the path back to Diane. Eddie searched the trees but could not find her. The darkness didn’t help, and it all looked the same. He lost his place.

  Eddie doubled back and retraced his steps.

  Something gleaming in the dirt caught his eye. He approached to see the spent shotgun lying in the spot where he had dropped it.

  In the weeds was the impression of Diane’s fallen body.

  She was gone.

  Chapter

  THIRTY-SIX

  Sheila tried to control her breathing like she’d learned in yoga class but had little luck. She could feel the blood on the skin on her lower back cooling and she started shivering. Her teeth chattered.

  Eddie came back, out of breath, and said, “She’s not there.”

  “What? Where’d she go?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ve got the gun.”

  “She’s got the bow and night-vision goggles,” Sheila said then cowered back into the cab of the truck, an attempt to take cover. Diane could be anywhere.

  “But she’s also got one hell of a headache,” Eddie said as he rummaged through the cab. He pulled the visors down, checked the glove compartment, and dug under the seats.

  “Can’t we just coast this thing down?” Sheila asked.

  “I wish, but the steering wheel is locked. I’ll carry you down.”

  “I’m too heavy.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “Shit,” Sheila said through tears. “I’m going bleed to death, like Luther and Giovanni.”

  “No, you won’t,” he said. “Don’t think like that.” He slung the rifle over this shoulder and adjusted the strap. “Let’s go. Put your arm around my neck.”

  After wiping tears on her sleeve, she did as instructed. Just as he had before, Eddie picked her up in a bridal carry. “Anything hurt?” he asked.

  The wound hurt like hell but she said, “I’m okay.”

  “Tell me if it does.”

  For the first few steps she could feel him struggle under her weight. Then he found his balance and they moved down the hill. She wasn’t sure how far they’d make it but figured getting away from the pickup truck was probably a good idea. Diane had the keys. She’d come back.

  His body warmth suppressed her shivers. She wondered how far he could carry her. She knew the Gold Strike was still far away. The pace of his breathing increased. Sheila could smell him and thought about the night they’d spent together. She remembered how awkward he was and how uncomfortable he appeared to be the next morning, nervous and unsure about himself. But now here he was, in complete control, and saving her life.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re going to be all right,” he said.

  She hoped so.

  As they made their way down, his breathing grew more and more labored. After a while he set her down to rest his arms. Knees weak, she leaned against him for support. She could see the front of his shirt was stained with her blood.

  As he caught his breath, Eddie asked, “What was all that shit about voices in her head?”

  “I think she was referring to the goddess Diana from Roman mythology.”

  “Mythology?”

  “I remember it from a class I took in college,” she said. “Diana the Huntress was always depicted with a bow.”

  “Like Mother Nature?”

  “Sort of, but different. Diana is a stunning beauty, and really strong. It’s also Wonder Woman’s first name.

  “Diana?”

  “Yeah, and I think there’s a form of witchcraft named after her.”
/>   “Witchcraft?”

  “Dianic Wicca … something like that.”

  “Occult shit totally freaks me out. How do you know so much about this?”

  She could see this made him uncomfortable. “I don’t know. I just do.”

  Eddie said, “Witchcraft, Ouija boards, demonic clowns, all that crap freaks me out.”

  “It’s schizophrenia, not black magic,” she explained. “Voices in her head, and maybe hallucinations … they aren’t things schizophrenics can control without being on medication.”

  He tilted his head, gave her a smile, and said, “What makes you the expert?”

  Sheila explained, “I started out as a psych major then switched to art history.”

  “Oh? That explains it.”

  “But I had to drop out of college when Mom got sick.”

  “To take care of her?”

  “The expense of the assisted-living place was the end of my college education. That’s when I came to LA.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  “It is what it is.”

  Eddie glanced back over his shoulder before he said, “Let’s keep moving.” He picked her up again and they proceeded downhill. After a moment, trying to lighten the mood, he said, “I didn’t learn anything about schizophrenia in film school, but I’ve dated a few actresses that were totally schizo, that’s for damn sure. Got lots of experience there.”

  “Actresses?”

  “Waitresses really, but in LA … more often than not they’re an AMW.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The acronym for actress, model, whatever.”

  “Charming.”

  Eddie continued, “The trick is to convince the waitress to give me her phone number, but I’ve never had much luck in that department. Probably should have played the guitar or been a stockbroker with a closet full of Armanis.” He set her down again and continued with, “The depressing part isn’t the rejection, it’s the being lonely part.” Eddie caught his breath, gave her a smile and picked her up again.