13 Bites Volume I (13 Bites Anthology Series)

by Lynne Cantwell

  “Oh, boy,” I laughed, as I looked at the stains. “Seems the pirate had a bit of fun last night, hm?”

  “The change was astounding,” he said with a shake of his head. “I put that hat on, and I felt like a new man. I talked to everyone, I had a great time, and I met an amazing woman.”

  “All in one very special night,” I grinned and then waved my hand over the white shirt. “Don’t worry about the stains. I expect those, and have a special treatment for it.”

  He smiled with relief as I tucked the costume away.

  “You know, if you had let me buy that clown costume, I would have just sat in the corner and waited for it all to be over. Thanks.” He smiled at me.

  “You’re welcome,” I said with a wink. “But it wasn’t me, or the costume, it was you!”

  “I guess it was,” he said with quiet confidence. “I’m a little embarrassed to admit this, but I actually thought the costume might be magic, and that when I took it off, I would be afraid and shy again.”

  “And?”

  “Not nearly as much as I used to be,” he smiled broadly. “Thanks again,” he waved as he stepped out of the shop. He was nearly barreled over by two young lovers. I recognized them right away. They were the ones I had truly been waiting for.

  “Well, well, looks like Halloween went just fine,” I said as they walked up to the counter with bright smiles.

  “You would not believe it!” Mari said with a shake of her head. “My Sid proved last night that he is a real hero.”

  “Did he?” I arched an eyebrow. “How did he do that?”

  “Well, he took down a gorilla!” Mari announced and hugged him tightly around the waist.

  “Okay, it wasn’t a real gorilla,” he protested with a modest grimace. “It was a guy in a gorilla suit.”

  The thought of the gorilla made me wince. If that was my costume — and I suspected it was — perhaps it had worked far too well.

  “He was harassing a homeless man, just mercilessly torturing him,” Mari explained in one long breath. “If it wasn’t for Sid, he probably would have killed him.”

  “Now, wait a minute,” Sid said with a frown. “You’re the one that insisted we do something about it.”

  “True,” Mari nodded. “But insisting and doing are two different things.”

  “I’m glad things went so well,” I said as I accepted the costumes back from them. I noticed a slight tear in the Robin Hood costume.

  “Sorry about that,” Sid said with a half-shrug. “I know we’ll have to pay full price for it.”

  “Never,” I laughed. “Heroes don’t pay full price in my store.”

  He smiled a little at that, and I caught a gleam in his eye.

  “I never looked at myself that way before,” he admitted quietly as Mari was looking over costumes for next Halloween. “It’s kinda funny, but seeing the way that man in the gorilla suit was acting, the violence and cruelty — it made me realize something. In the past I could have called myself a criminal just like him. I got into my share of scrapes. I took advantage of others, I even stole things.” He looked down, blushing.

  “But when I saw it with my own eyes, and heard the horror in Mari’s voice, I knew that wasn’t me at all. It was never me.”

  “And she always knew it,” I said with a small smile as I glanced over at Mari.

  “Yes, she did,” he agreed. “Thank goodness I have her. Otherwise I might have ended up too far down the wrong road.”

  “You’re a lucky man.”

  “I sure am. But you knew it, too… that’s why you wouldn’t let me get those other costumes. Thanks for everything.”

  “It was my pleasure,” I said honestly. “But I didn’t do anything, really. The costumes only let you express who you really are.”

  He laughed. “Well, thanks for recognizing me, then.”

  I watched the happy couple leave the shop. I looked over the costumes hanging on the walls and the ones piling up in the cleaning boxes. I couldn’t help but wonder what new faces and new lives each one would be able to heal, change or improve in some way.

  Perhaps the man in the gorilla suit needed to be stopped. Perhaps his arrest would lead to some positive changes in his life, too. It wasn’t my place to judge, only to facilitate what was already happening. But I wished him well, regardless.

  Then I made a note to order a replacement gorilla costume from my friends in Asia.

  Shawn Inmon hails from Mossyrock, Washington — the setting for his first two full-length books, Feels Like the First Time and Both Sides Now. By day he works in real estate with a side of public speaking; prior to that, he has DJed, sold stuff that you definitely wanted, cooked your hamburgers, fished for crabs in the Aleutian Sea, bought for department stores, and done business consulting.

  He is married to his high school sweetheart, Dawn. He is a father of five, grandfather of five and best pal of two chocolate labs named Hershey and Sadie.

  BULL LICK LODGE

  Shawn Inmon

  Bull Lick Lodge

  Dave turned his van off the paved road. His tires crunched over gravel as he fished out his cell phone and dialed Beth.

  She answered after two rings. “Hey, baby…” Her voice carried the telltale echo that told him the connection wouldn’t last long.

  “Hi yourself, babies,” Dave said.

  “Aren’t you funny? The little one’s not talking. She’s got other things on her mind, like using my kidneys for a football.”

  “I’ve gotta be quick, baby. I’m on the way to the gig, but I can’t get a good signal out here, so I wanted to check in with you.”

  “Don’t worry, we’re fine. Just sitting here watching old movies, waiting for you to get back.”

  There was dead silence for a few seconds, then a distant pop.

  “Beth? Beth, are you there?” Nothing.

  “Damn it.” He tossed the phone down on the empty passenger seat and looked at the road ahead. It was lined by elm trees on both sides, the setting sun casting long dark shadows over the way in front of him.

  Dave rolled to a stop without bothering to pull over. He hadn’t seen another vehicle since he had turned off the main highway, almost eight miles back. He turned on the dome light and squinted a little at the printed directions he had brought, tracing his fingers down the directions. No way am I lost yet. Satisfied, he stepped on the gas, kicking up a lingering cloud of dust behind him. When he’d accepted this gig, he had known that it would be a hell of a drive, but Beth was eight months pregnant. Gigs were scarce, especially weekday gigs. So here he was, as his dad would have said, “in the middle of BFE.”

  After another mile, he passed the burned-out remains of a barn and turned left onto an even smaller dirt road that veered off to the left. Dave winced when he felt the branch of an overhanging branch produce a metallic shriek against the side of his van. That had cost money to get painted: Dave Kool’s Party Machine! You supply the people, we’ll supply the Party!!!

  His headlights cut through the descending darkness, illuminating nothing more interesting than the grass growing between the wheel ruts. He was down to 20 MPH, starting to think about giving up and looking for a place to turn around, when he saw a paved road ahead. The encroaching trees backed away from the road, leaving a straight, clear path ahead.

  After a hundred yards, the road turned to the right. Dave whistled softly and said “I’ll be goddamned.”

  Here, at what he would have sworn was the end of the earth—Dad would have said, “If it ain’t the end of the earth, you can damn well see it from there”—loomed an immense two-story lodge. Burning torches every fifteen feet or so along the length of the lodge combined with electric lights pointing upward, casting an otherworldly, golden glow onto the redwood-sized logs that made up the lodge’s exterior walls.

  The road ended in a circular drive large enough to park several dozen cars. Dave pulled up to the front of the lodge, marked by a sign: BULL LICK LODGE, ESTABLISHED 1949. Who builds s
uch an impressive place out here in BFE, then tacks on such a redneck name? They didn’t even bother to swipe one of the local Indian tribe’s words, or just name it ‘Chatauqua Lodge’ or something else equally weighty.

  The ten-foot-tall front door swung open, and a pretty, petite blonde emerged and walked toward him. As the torchlight fell on her face, Dave recognized her as Francesca Bastien, the woman who had originally contacted him. He had met her while DJing a wedding reception in the city. She had complimented him, taken his business card, and called later that week to schedule this job.

  “I’m so glad you found us,” she said, her voice cool and confident. At the reception, Dave had guessed she was in her early twenties, but their phone conversations had given him reason to revise that number upward. Now, shaking her hand and looking into her lineless face and intense green eyes, he decided he must have been right the first time.

  “I was never worried,” he lied. “You gave me great directions.”

  “If you’ll pull around the side, you’ll see there’s a door with a ramp that will make it easier to unload your equipment. I’ll go unlock it for you and show you where to set up.”

  “Thanks,” Dave said and climbed back into his van. Before he drove around back, he checked his cell one last time – still no signal, still no chance to call Beth back. He slipped the van into drive and pulled around the side of the lodge until he came to a concrete ramp leading up to a service entrance.

  Dave got out and opened the van’s back door. Even over the rough road, nothing had come loose. If fifteen years of being a mobile DJ had taught him anything, it was how to pack his gear. He pulled the hand truck out and loaded one of his speakers onto it, then hauled it up the ramp. As he reached the top, Francesca opened the door and slipped a prop wedge underneath it. “The dance floor is just ahead,” she said, leading Dave through a series of hallways that opened onto a grand ballroom floored with perfectly lacquered hardwood squares. Two converging spotlights lit up a stage set at the far left end.

  “You can set up on the stage,” Francesca said, pointing to the lighted area and laying a warm hand on Dave’s shoulder. She let it linger long enough to draw his eyes her direction. She met his ‘what’s going on?’ stare with an almost pleading look in her eyes, leaving her hand on his shoulder for one, two, three beats longer before moving it as if this unexpected intimacy had never occurred.

  Dave swallowed and said “Okay, thanks,” before wheeling his speaker away from her and toward the stage.

  “How long will it take for you to get set up?” Francesca asked his back.

  He kept moving. Distance was comfort. “Not long. Maybe forty minutes. I’ve done it a few thousand times.”

  “That’s fine,” she said. “My father would like to meet you before the festivities.”

  “What exactly are ‘the festivities’ anyway? You never told me.”

  “Didn’t I? Well, this is our annual banquet. My father is the Director of the Bull Lick Lodge, and I am the Event Planner and Coordinator. I fear he might be training me to take over for him some day.”

  Dave was about to ask about that ridiculous name, but thought better of it. “What kind of music should I be playing? I brought everything from jazz to classical to current stuff, but I have a hunch they don’t want to hear Beyoncé or Justin Timberlake.”

  She smiled slightly and said, “No, probably not. My father will cover that with you when he meets you. He likes everything to be very… precise.” Before he could reply, her heels were clicking in rhythm against the hardwood floors as she walked away.

  He finished hauling the speaker to the stage and lifted it up, placing it so that it would help fill the room to maximum effect, then headed back to the van for the other speaker.

  When he made the long round trip hauling his other speaker, he lifted it onto the stage as well. He saw a piece of folded paper sticking out from the edge of the first speaker. That hadn’t been there before.

  He rocked the speaker slightly, pulled the paper out and unfolded it.

  There were two words handwritten in block letters: “LEAVE. NOW.”

  The message sent prickly fingers up his spine. He whirled around to see who might be watching him, hoping to see someone laughing at their little joke. He was all alone.

  This is some ass’s idea of a joke. The hell with it. Dave went back to hauling equipment, though he kept his eyes open for any more messages. Good as his word, half an hour later Dave had his system set up and was ready for the sound check. He usually used Paradise City by Guns N’ Roses for testing the sound because he liked feeling the bass drum beat against his chest, but it didn’t feel appropriate here. He opted instead for the Overture from Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro. It didn’t have the thump of Paradise City, but when the full orchestra kicked in, he loved the way it sounded over his system.

  Dave clicked play on his laptop, hopped down off the stage and went to the middle of the immense ballroom to absorb the sound, listening for any adjustments he would need to make. He was completely lost in the music when he felt a hand grip his shoulder. He almost let out a gasp, but managed to contain it. He spun around and saw the man who belonged to the surprisingly strong hand.

  He wasn’t very tall—in fact, he had needed to reach up to grab Dave’s shoulder—but he was still a commanding presence. He had silvery-white hair combed back in a way that had been out of style for decades, but looked right on him. He had a ruddy complexion slightly at odds with his dark suit and refined air. His posture was as erect as an oak tree, but he gripped a silver-tipped cane firmly in his right hand.

  Dave started to speak, but realized that the music was so loud he wouldn’t be heard. “Excuse me,” he said in a voice pitched to carry, and ran up the stairs to his computer and stopped the music. Silence settled across the room. For some reason that he couldn’t pinpoint, Dave felt guilty, like he’d been caught playing his rock ‘n roll records too loud on his Dad’s stereo.

  The silver-haired gentleman walked forward and extended his hand. “I hope my sudden appearance didn’t startle you. I’m Francis Bastien, Francesca’s father.” His voice was mellow and quiet, but had an air of calm authority.

  “I’m Dave. Dave Kool.”

  “A fortuitous name for someone in the entertainment business. Was it a birthright or did you choose it later in life?”

  “No, no… it’s my real name. I’ve been Kool all my life.” Dave smiled a bit, but the man had no visible reaction.

  “I see. Well, let’s get down to business, shall we? Please, follow me.” He turned and glided toward a double side door without bothering to look to see if Dave was coming or not. Despite his slight stature and normal pace, Dave had to jog a little to catch up to him. They walked past a dining room with large round tables draped in white tablecloths, then turned down a hall that went past an industrial kitchen full of stainless steel countertops and commercial appliances. After what felt like a hike to Dave, they finally came to a door with a sign outside that read: FRANCIS BASTIEN, DIRECTOR, BULL LICK LODGE. Mr. Bastien retrieved a key from his pocket and slid it into the lock, turning it with a smooth, metallic click. He opened the door to a large office with an oversized window that looked out on a rolling green lawn lit by spotlights that merged into the surrounding deep forest. He stepped inside the office and pointed to a leather chair facing the desk and said, “Please, sit so we can talk.”

  Dave walked between the chair and the desk and sank down into the plushy cushion. Just as he opened his mouth to comment, he felt a stinging pain just behind his left ear.

  “Ouch! Goddamnit!” Dave slapped at his neck, but there was nothing there. He struggled to turn around and see what was behind him in the overstuffed chair.

  Mr. Bastien stepped around from behind and smiled at him. He held a still-dripping hypodermic needle. His smile held the warmth of an arctic sunrise.

  “What the hell…?”

  “There’s no need to excite yourself unduly, Mr. Kool. The faster
your heart beats, the quicker the sedative will work. Either way, you won’t be conscious for much longer.”

  Dave tried to get to his feet, but the strength had drained out of his legs. Using mostly his arms, he finally managed to hoist himself upright. Bastien gave a quick, powerful jab to his breastbone with the cane. Dave collapsed back into the chair, unable to summon enough energy to try again.

  As the room spun around him and his consciousness faded away, Dave had only one thought. He screamed “Beth!” but his voice echoed only in his head.

  Bastien sat down at his desk, picked up the phone and dialed a number written on the notepad in front of him. After a few seconds, he said “Hello, Mr. Kool? This is Francis Bastien from Bull Lick Lodge. You were scheduled to provide musical entertainment at our event today. Our agreement was that you were to be here no later than six o’clock. It is now half past seven, you are not here and I fear you are not coming. We paid you a deposit and will expect that to be returned to us since you seem to have cancelled your appearance with no notice. Good day.”

  He pressed an intercom button. A male voice answered, “Yes?”

  “This is Bastien. Our guest is subdued. Bring in the gurney.”

  ~~~

  When Dave’s senses began to return, his first thought was that the whole scene in the office had been some outrageous nightmare. He must still be safe at home, cuddling Beth and her baby-belly to him. A faint, relieved smile was starting to play against his lips when the cultured voice of Francis Bastien pulled him back to consciousness, reminding him that the nightmare was not only real, but still unfolding. He tried to move, but found that he was strapped quite securely in place, flat on his back.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Kool. I’m pleased you are with us again. As the guest of honor, we couldn’t start without you.”

  Dave forced his eyes open and looked straight into Bastien’s cruel green eyes. What the hell is happening? If I ask that, I’ll only sound stupid, and probably won’t get an answer. He kept his mouth shut and tried to focus.