by Jason DeGray
Albuquerque, being a major crossroads, has a substantial population of crazies, degenerates, and wanderers. It is the last of the Wild West, a true melting pot of New Mexico natives, Native Americans, and coastal transplants from both ends. The result was a tumultuous blending of people and cultures that added spice to an already spicy city. Though not as large as some metropolises, Albuquerque had enough life and energy to rival them all.
Wolf wandered around the interstates and along the Rio Grande amidst the transient camps set up there. He was looking for refuge as much as understanding and these people, these true societal outcasts, offered that much. Each was scarred and damaged in their own way. Most of them didn’t pay Wolf any attention and those who did, did so only to welcome him into the folds of the lost.
With no job and an estranged wife, Victor found himself wandering among the indigent more frequently until he quit going back to the empty shell of pain and memories he called “home” altogether. In the end, it was the most therapeutic thing for him. He felt much better, healthier even. Life had normalized in a way.
After a couple of months mingling with the homeless, he’d made a few friends. One of those friends was a freckled red-haired man who called himself “Totter.” Wolf brought Totter scotch a few times and often sat at the man’s fire talking with him.
“How’s the nightmares?” asked the ginger man on one such occasion while pouring scotch into a chipped cup.
“Ain’t been having them as much.” Victor finished his drink and held it out for a refill. “Been getting so much sleep lately, I’m starting to feel normal.”
Totter chuckled. “No such thing for you anymore.”
“Normal as I can be, then, how ‘bout that?” Wolf put a cigarette in his mouth and offered his friend one. “Been thinking about Miri and our baby. I know I’m ugly as hell, but dammit, I don’t need a job to be happy. I still get my pension and it’s enough to live off of. I got everything I need and what am I doing? I’m moping around feeling sorry for myself. I’m such an asshole. From now on, I can’t let the past define me. I have to be my own man. Even if that man has changed.”
“They say admitting you’re an asshole is the first step to recovery.” Totter smiled and raised his glass to Wolf. “Well, since you’re well on the road to recovery and normalcy, you might be interested to know about any obstacles in your path.”
“What obstacles?”
“Word is, there’s someone been askin’ ‘bout you.”
Wolf’s first thought was of Barber, or more hopefully (and a lump grew in his throat just thinking about it) Miriam. “Who?”
“One ‘a us freebirds. Real creep-o callin’ himself ‘Grande Gulp’.”
“Grande Gulp? Never heard of him. Is he full of forty-four ounces of delicious soda?”
Totter sniggered. “That’s what I said. But he’s been spreadin’ the same word for a while now: Tell the scarred man his answers are at the Borderlands Motel.”
“How did he know where I was?”
Totter shrugged. “I suspect he’s been lookin’ for you. Prolly baited all his lines to see which’d bite.”
“Uh-huh. The whole thing sounds a bit contrived.”
“Most everything is out here. We contrive new identities, names, backgrounds. Out here, in the deserts of our society, who a person ‘was’ dies. And the person that is born again in their place is always contrived. A man becomes whoever he decides to be. So the real question is: now that you’re born again who will you decide to become, Victor Wolf?”
Wolf thought for a while, then finished his scotch and got up. “Alright. Borderlands Motel it is.”
“Be careful. Contrived or not, I heard things about this guy. And they weren’t pretty.”
“Neither am I,” said Wolf and flashed his wicked smile.
CHAPTER 7
The Borderlands Motel, right off of historic Route 66, was truly a den of iniquity. Prostitutes and pushers claimed it for their own decades ago. Whatever niceness or appeal it had to the common traveler was long gone and had been since Jack Kerouac drove that antiquated stretch of highway in its heyday. Despite this, the large neon sign still blazed defiantly next to the interstate, a beacon to weary travelers in remembrance of times past.
The front desk was manned by an extremely skinny young man with scabs covering his arms and face that Wolf recognized as “tweaker sores” (commonly seen on methamphetamine addicts from their obsessive picking at their skin). His skeletal frame rattled comically with uncontrollable twitches and jerks. He looked Wolf in the eye and then looked everywhere else before looking at him again.
“Whoa! Damn! What the hell happened to your face? No, never mind. Don’t tell me. I’d hate to see the other guy or end up like him, you know?”
“Yes, you would and yes, I do.”
“Yeah. Exactly. So, like, what do you need, Freddy Krueger? Lemme guess. You need a piece of ass, huh? I bet you haven’t been laid since…since…well, whatever happened, you know, happened. But yeah, I think I got a couple ‘a pieces that’d be down to bone you.” He licked his dry, cracked lips and his gaze darted in all directions before continuing. “All the lights will have to be off, though. That is, if you can still bone. You can bone, can’t you?”
“I don’t need a piece of ass. I’m looking for Grande Gulp.”
“Yeah, I’m thirsty too. Try the corner store. They’re on sale for ninety-nine cents right now. If you go, can you pick me up another pack of smokes?” He rattled an almost empty pack on the counter. “I’ll totally pay you when you get back.”
“Is that right?” Wolf said nonchalantly and grabbed the clerk’s pack of cigarettes off the counter. “These things’ll kill you,” he said as he lit one and put the pack in his pocket.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing, you fucking freak show? Those are mine! Give me back my smokes before I fuck you up and call the cops. In that order. I’m not joking.”
“Call the cops?” Wolf snorted. “You really think they’d come out here? And even if they did manage to get off their fat, lazy asses long enough to come out to this dope den, it’ll be too late for you. I doubt your painful death would even get a byline in the Journal. Just another dead drug dealing pimp. So please, call the cops. I’d be a goddamn hero.” Wolf blew smoke into the clerk’s face. “Now let me ask you again, where is Grande Gulp?”
The clerk reached under the counter and whipped up a 9 mm handgun, holding it crooked like a gangster in a movie. “You just made the biggest mistake of your life, scar face.”
Wolf didn’t flinch. He knocked the gun free and grabbed the emaciated tweaker by the throat in one motion. “My biggest mistakes have nothing to do with pissing off the wrong dope fiend. I can tell you’re going to take some softening up.” He slapped the clerk hard and slammed his head into the front desk. “Listen, asshole, just tell me what I want to know and I’ll be on my way. This is your last chance. I’m not fucking around.” He slapped the clerk again to emphasize his point. “You know as well as I do that some jackass calling himself ‘Grande Gulp’ is staying here. With a name like that, how could you not? Hell, you’ve probably sent the asshole a few hookers. Now, are you going to help me find him? Or am I going to crush your windpipe?” He applied slow pressure, leering wickedly in the clerk’s face the entire time. “It only gets harder from here.”
“Room 234,” the clerk managed to croak.
“See? Not hard at all.” Wolf let the man drop. “I’ll need to borrow your firearm. For safety reasons.” He snatched the gun off the floor and left the clerk quivering behind the counter.
Room 234 was the very last door on the row. Wolf knocked, but there was no answer. Wolf knocked again, louder. “Grande Gulp! It’s Victor Wolf! Open up you shady bastard! I want my fucking answers!”
The bolts slid back, the door opened a crack, and Grande Gulp peeked out. He was a filthy man. Unkempt hair and a mustache that made him look like a pedophile framed an ugly face scarred similarly, but not nea
rly as bad as Wolf’s. An eye patch covered his right eye. He smiled a display of broken, yellowed teeth. “Victor Wolf. I knew you’d survive.”
Despite his ungainly appearance, Wolf sensed a familiarity in the man. “Jonas? Jonas the Unrepentant?”
“The same.”
Wolf’s scars flushed crimson and he broke through the door, sending Jonas sprawling. He was on him in a flash, the gun buried painfully in his chin. “You son of a bitch! I lost everything because of you! I’m going to kill you!” He cocked the hammer, rage burning in his eyes and flooding his body with tremors.
“Don’t do that. That’s what he wants! You need me!”
“Need you? I need you like I need another scar, you murdering asshole! Pray, Jonas. Pray to whatever dark gods you worship to have mercy on your soul. Because I’m about to fuck your ass up.”
“No! Listen. You need me because he isn’t done. He won’t stop until you and everything you love are dead.” That got Wolf’s attention. He relaxed and let Jonas up, but kept the gun on him. “You know as well as I do that it wasn’t a bear that attacked us that night. That’s just a bullshit story they made up to put on the news.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. If it wasn’t a bear, what was it?”
“The Lord of Murder.”
“Yeah. The Lord of Murder. Like in my dreams. I knew it. What kind of name is that anyway?”
“Not a name. Names are tricky things, Wolf. You should never utter something’s true name unless you want to piss it off. ‘The Lord of Murder’ is a title. For a very powerful demon and a prince of Hell.”
Wolf shook his head, still unable to process what he was hearing as truth. “The Purple Gates group were kooks, but they didn’t sacrifice virgins or anything. Why would a harmless bunch of bookworms want to summon a demon? And why would they bring you in to do it? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Why else? I gave them what they wanted,” Jonas admitted.
“Which was?”
“Power.”
“And part of gaining this power was murdering thirteen innocent people?”
“We were trying to raise the Lord of Murder. How do you think you’d get his attention? Bringing him flowers and chocolates?”
“What kind of idiots raise an actual demon and then expect it not to tear everyone to shreds?”
“That wasn’t us. That was you. We had everything under control until you and your bumbling sidekick showed up and destroyed the getting.”
“Meaning?”
“With rituals like that where you are dealing with extremely powerful entities, distraction is fatal. Our collective will would’ve been enough to keep the Lord contained within the circle and allowed us to finish his raising. But when you yelled out and broke our concentration, disaster occurred.”
“And where were you during all this? Are you telling me you were powerless to stop it? You couldn’t control the demon you raised?”
“It was a demon. Have you ever tried forcing a demon to do anything? They don’t appreciate it. Be grateful I got to him as he was getting to you. If not for me…”
“I’d be a legend,” finished Wolf. “I’d be dead and decorated. Instead, I’m a freak. A wandering outcast. I really don’t see how you did me any favors.”
“You’d be dead, alright. And your soul claimed by the Lord of Murder before it could escape into the light. Believe me, this is the lesser of the pain.”
Wolf gingerly stroked the rough scars covering his face and grunted. “I don’t know about that. Why were you trying to find me? What is it you want? To gab about our pain like some fucked up support group?”
“In a word, yes. You and I share something, Victor. We are inevitably, eternally joined through our suffering. We are brothers now, you and I. We only have each other.”
“Bullshit, Eye Patch Eddie. I’m not your brother. And I sure as shit don’t share anything with you.”
“Don’t you?” Jonas ran his fingers over his eye patch absently, “The Lord of Murder leaves his mark. We are Ruined Men. Forever tainted. Cursed. Something more, but nothing less than human. We are unique, Victor Wolf. There are few like us.”
“Well then, God truly is merciful. Maybe we should be talking to Him.”
Jonas snorted in derision. “God is not going to help you. Not anymore. The Lord saw to that. And he hasn’t forgotten the indignity visited on him.”
“What indignity?”
“That of being summoned, released, and forced back into Hell. The plan was to give him a vessel, a body to use. He would’ve been the first avatar to walk the earth since Manson in the sixties. And he would’ve shown us so many things. Wonderful, terrible things. Instead, he went berserk. Admittedly, his attacking you gave me the distraction I needed. By the time he figured out what was going on, it was too late. He got in a few good swipes on me before I sent him back to the void, though.”
“More than a few,” Victor observed.
“But not as many as others,” Jonas snapped back. “He still wants you, just like he wants me. We escaped his wrath and humiliated him. Demons have long and unforgiving memories. Thousands of years of aimlessly floating in the void leaves them with plenty of time to stew on their feelings. He means to finish the job. One day he’ll find his way back into the world. Trust me. You aren’t safe. You need protection. I can help you. Let me show you what I know, and together we can defeat him once and for all.”
“You mean magic? Been there, done that. I don’t want to fuck with wizardry and demons. Save it for the Dungeons & Dragons crowd. I’m taking my life back. Me and Miri will start over, get it right this time.”
“Enough fairytales! This is serious. The Lord of Murder is already working. Even now you feel his influence. Everything you lived for is dead. Your relationships with family and friends. Dead. Your career. Dead. Your future. Dead. Your spirit. Dead. All murdered by a wrathful demon. And that demon is coming after you next.”
“You’re crazy, Jonas. You know that?”
“I wish. Unfortunately, I’m completely sane and telling God’s honest truth. You are in danger.”
Wolf thought for a moment, then spoke, “You saved my life, I guess, and for that, I won’t kill you. Right now, anyway. Instead, I’m going to go home. I’m going to drink a bottle of scotch and probably sleep for, oh I don’t know, three days or so. And then I’m going to put my life back together and forget I saw you.”
“That’s a bad idea. You aren’t safe. People are looking for you, don’t you understand that?”
Wolf’s fuse was nearly ready to blow. “I’ll tell you what I understand. I understand that I want no part of whatever it is you’ve mixed yourself up in. Take the magic. Take the demons. Take your crazy cultists. Roll them all together and shove them right up your ass. Oh, and if I ever see you again, I’ll kill you. No questions. No warnings. Just a bullet. Good luck and goodbye.”
“You have a part in it!” Jonas called after him. “Whether you like it or not!”
CHAPTER 8
After his meeting with Jonas, Wolf returned home for the first time in two months. Stagnant air gushed out as he opened the front door. The fact that it was already unlocked didn’t go unnoticed on him. He drew his commandeered 9 mm and entered stealthily. The flickering of firelight off the walls alerted him to someone’s presence in the living room. He crept to the threshold and sprang in, gun at the ready.
Three men sat on his couch. One, an elderly gentleman bald on top but trailing a white ponytail, sat in between two very large goons in suits who looked more like grotesque gorillas than men.
“Victor Wolf?” asked the old man.
“What’s this about? I paid my taxes,” Wolf said.
The old man chuckled mirthlessly. “Not all of them, I’m afraid.”
“Who are you?”
“Me? I’m Albert Caine. And these two identical fellows are Hugo and Creepy. We mean you no harm.”
“Great. Nice to meet you all. Now get the fuck out of my house.” Wolf
cocked the gun to show he wasn’t kidding.
Hugo and Creepy stood up in silent unison and drew weapons of their own.
“As you can see, we came prepared,” Caine said. “Now, if you would be so kind as to accompany my associates and me, we have someone that really wants to meet you.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you assholes. Take one step and you’ll find out how serious I am.”
“You are important to our cause, Mr. Wolf,” Caine said. “We can’t just let you leave.” Hugo and Creepy took not one, but two steps in Wolf’s direction.
“Alright then.” Wolf fired at Hugo and Creepy as he dove into the hallway. The bullets staggered the monstrous twins, but they didn’t fall. Bastards must have Kevlar, he thought and checked his clip. One bullet left. “Shit,” he swore and flattened himself against the wall. This shot had to count. Hugo came around the corner first and Wolf fired his last bullet between the goon’s eyes.
Hugo’s eyes rolled up and he collapsed into his brother. Creepy bellowed in despair and hit Wolf in the chest with both fists. The blow sent Wolf sailing through the hallway and into the kitchen where he crashed against the marble and chrome island.
“That ain’t right,” he groaned as he heaved himself to his feet.
Creepy’s heavy breathing preceded him down the hall. Wolf’s gun had been knocked out of his hand and he scrambled around, desperately flinging open kitchen drawers and cabinets as Creepy’s breath got closer.
Wolf pulled a meat cleaver from the knife drawer and hunkered down behind the cooking island in the center of the kitchen. Creepy stopped his lumbering, his fetid breath blowing above Wolf on the opposite side of the chrome island. Must be why they call the guy ‘Creepy’, Wolf mused grimly and prepared for a struggle.
“Don’t make this hard, Victor. Nobody wants to hurt you. We understand your pain. We know why you suffer. Now, please come along peacefully before anyone else gets hurt,” Caine called from the kitchen doorway. “Go flush him out,” he barked to his lackey.