Neon Nights

by by: Anthony mayfield

The driver poked his head out of the window and asked, "Either of you know a Mr. Johnny Angel?" "I'm Johnny Angel." "I have this shipment of furniture for you from a Mr. J. E. Hovah. I'll need you to sign for it."

  He handed Johnny a clipboard with a receipt on it. "Just sign down at the bottom where it says Received By." Johnny scribbled his name and was giving the clipboard back to the driver when he noticed his name. "Hey, that's the first time I've ever written my name!" They looked at him in a questioning way. Realizing his error, he tried to recover; "on a mover's receipt. That's the first time I have ever written my name on a mover's receipt." "Yeah, right. So where do you want this stuff buddy?" In that house over there," he pointed to the house.

  The driver backed the truck into Johnny's driveway. "Say Mr. Angel, you mind putting your car in the garage so that we can get closer to the front door?" "Not at all." He trotted over to the car opened the door and got in. The key was already in the ignition. He paused for a moment looking at the instrument panel. He had ridden with people on more occasions than he could remember, without their knowing, of course. In fact, he was on the scene when the first car was built. But now, sitting at the wheel of a car was all together different. A small still voice from within said, "Relax. All things are possible. Just believe." He recognized the voice but somehow it sounded different. He was accustomed to hearing it while face to face with the speaker. But this time it came from within his head. He sat there in a state of mind that he had never experienced before, confusion. He tried to reason why

  the voice would tell him to believe. He's never had a problem with believing before. His thought processes were interrupted by a loud blaring horn. It was the truck driver. "Hey buddy, come on. We ain't got all day, ya know." In a whisper, Johnny prayed. "Lord, Help." Suddenly, by the spirit, it became clear how to operate the car. He started the engine, raised the garage door with the opener that was on the dashboard, put the car in drive, and eased into the garage. He was feeling quite proud of his accomplishment, another feeling he had not experienced. He was about to try and figure out what was going on when Nancy came up to the car door. "Johnny?" Before he could object, she had gotten into the car with him. "Mmmm, nice car." "Thank you." She was looking at him in a wanton sort of way. "Here we are, just the two of us." "Yeah, but there's no point in us sitting in the car, I guess you should get back home before your husband misses you." She looked at him disappointedly. "You're right." They got out of the car and were walking toward the door when the truck driver came around from the front of the truck.

  He was a large burly man with thick eyebrow hairs that stuck out rather than lie down. He had long sideburns that connected to his mustache; it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other began. "Listen Mac, do you wanna open the front door, or should we beak it down?" "Oh, I'm sorry. Sure, I'll open the door." The driver turned and stomped back to the truck muttering obscenities under his breath. "Well, Nancy, it's been a pleasure meeting you and I'd love to talk more, but as you can see, I have a task before me." "Sure, I understand, but don't think that you've had pleasure yet." She smiled, turned and sashayed out the door. "Father God, is that the one who cried out for help?" "Today, Buddy. Today!" The truck driver's bellow jolted him back to the present and he ran to open the front door.

  Chapter 3

  Olar had disappeared. No one had seen or heard from him since the big meeting, so no one knew exactly where in St. Louis to begin searching for Johnny Angel and his cronies. Nevertheless, BA-El and his henchmen had arrived and were ready to begin the search. It was dark and overcast all that day. The sun had barely risen above the horizon before a host of dark, ominous clouds filled the sky. Weather forecasters had been caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the clouds all of their predictions foretold a sunny and warm day.

  With everyone's attention focused on the odd weather, no one hardly noticed the tan Mercedes Benz that pulled up to the Ritz Hotel. A doorman nervously battled with the door as a gust of wind fiercely fought to keep him from opening it for the four shadowy figures that emerged from the Mercedes. Three of them were a little taller than average and the fourth was average height and walked with a limp. He walked up to the desk and asked the clerk for rooms for him and his associates. "Do you have reservations sir?" "No I don't." "Hmm, we do have two rooms available; however, at two hundred and fifty dollars a night, they're quite expensive." "We'll take them." "How many days would you like the rooms for?" "I think ten days should be sufficient." "Will that be cash, check, or charge? If you use a check or charge card, I'll need three pieces of identification and a . . ." "I'll pay with cash." He reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a long, slender wallet. "You do realize that the cost for the ten days is five thousand dollars?" He gave the clerk a stiff look. "Yes, I realize that." Slowly, he counted out five crisp thousand dollar bills. The clerk gawked at the wad of thousand dollar bills that filled the man's wallet. After spreading the money on the desk top like a winning card hand, the man slowly eased the wallet back into his pocket.

  Staring at the clerk, and drumming his fingers on the counter he asked, "Shouldn't I sign in and get a receipt for my money?" "Oh. Yes, sorry sir." He slid the registrar to him and got the keys to the rooms. Still staring at the clerk in a fixed, hypnotic fashion, he signed the registrar without ever looking down at it and shoved it back to the clerk. Feeling the penetrating stare, the clerk refused to look at the man. Looking at the registrar, he nervously said, "Mr. Thayer Diamond, welcome to the Ritz Hotel." At the mention of his name, every light in the hotel blinked, the tears on the chandeliers bumped into each other making a tinkling sound as an eerie, stale wind ran through the hotel. "Here are your keys sir. You are in rooms 2506 and 2507. Take the elevator down this hall up to the 25th floor and . . ." "I know precisely where the rooms are," Thayer answered. "I have been to many events, in one capacity or another, in this very hotel." He politely took the keys from the clerk's hand; as their hands touched, a chill ran through the clerk's entire nervous system. His veins felt

  like ice water was flowing through them. Every hair on his body stood up, his eyes widened, his mouth swung open, and his face epitomized pure terror. "Th-thank you. W-w-would you 1-like for s-someone to bring you your 1-luggage?" He spoke in short, broken sentences and sweat poured from his hands and face. "No. That won't be necessary."

  With that, Thayer and his associates turned and headed for the elevators. Once in the room, Thayer gave each of them earthly names that he felt worth of their character. The smaller of the three he named Vice due to his expertise of every diabolical, hindering habit known to man. Vice stood about five feet eleven inches tall and weighed close to one hundred and ninety pounds. He had long opaque fingernails which he kept perfectly clean. Directly centered beneath his bottom lip was a strip of hair, a half inch in width, that ran from his lip, over and under his chin, to the base of his neck. He wore a small, golden earring, which was shaped like a scull and crossbones, in his left ear. The next one was named Connley. He was a smooth talker who could con nearly anyone. He could fashion a lie so well that the truth became questionable. Standing about six feet eleven inches tall, he sported a full beard which he kept neatly trimmed. He wore wire rimmed glasses with lenses so clear that you couldn't tell if there were any. He spoke with a Latin accent and smoked a pipe that stayed filled with aromatic tobaccos from far away places. And the last of the trio, Thayer named Terron, who stood six feet three inches tall and weighed no less than two hundred thirty pounds. If there was any pain to inflict, or if anyone needed to be threatened with authority, Terron was the one to call. He derived pleasure from causing others mental or physical anguish, and just in case he came across some hapless individual, he kept on his person all kinds of heinous weapons which he used to deliver the most excruciating pain imaginable.

  Of the four, Thayer, of course, was the most handsome. He was the carbon copy, in word, deed, and appearance of an upper class socialite. He had a small pointed nose with smooth sk
in and paper thin lips which hid a perfect set of pearly white teeth. He was a meticulous dresser and every article of clothing that he wore, from his underwear to his necktie, matched. While in the company of anyone other than his cohorts, he spoke like a well educated dignitary.

  "Well, Thayer began, I suppose that we should get on with this wretched task of locating this Johnny Angel." "Why do you consider this a bad deal? I think it'll be fun," Vice commented. "Since it hasn't sunk deep enough into your thick sculls, I'll lay it out for you. While we're here in these obsolete, earth suits, we are limited to little more than the business at hand. We are bound by the same laws that govern mortals. Look around and tell me how many imps, demons, or even heavenly angels do you see." They began to look around the

  room with blank expressions on their faces. "The reason that you don't see any, even though you know that some might very well be here, is because while we're in these bodies we can't see in the spirit world unless the strongman opens it up to us. We can't lay physical hands on spiritual beings, neither can we talk to them face to face. All communications with associates or foes of the spirit world must and will, for the most part, come through our mind. Therefore, before we are detected and destroyed by the enemy, let us complete our mission. However, until we do. let's reek as much havoc for our side as possible. By the way, he smiled a long pleasant toothy smile, since we have to be here, let's have some earthly fun." They all started to laugh deep, guttural laughs. High above their heads, clinging to the ceiling like a giant spider, unheard, undetected, and long forgotten, was Olar, he was still wounded and still very vengeful. Having heard the entire conversation, he too was laughing, and in a loud bold voice he proclaimed, "Soon BA-El, when the time is right, I too shall have some fun and it will be at your expense."

  Thayer decided that they should go out to the local bar to check out the action. The bar was dimly lit and filled with smoke, music, and people. The instant they entered the joint, everything seemed to come to an abrupt stop, every head was raised and every eye was directed towards the newcomers. Tenon reached for a weapon that he had tucked away in his jacket pocket; if there was going to be trouble, he preferred to start it rather than being caught up in it. Thayer placed his hand on Terron's hand, preventing him from exposing his weapon. Within the next minute, the music could be heard again and people were dancing as before, a sure sign that the newcomers had been looked over, and approved, at least for the moment. They strode over to a vacant booth off to the side of the floor. There were several beer bottles and ash trays on the table. Smoke, from a poorly extinguished cigarette, which had been left in one of the ash trays, snaked upwards and wafted into the atmosphere.

  In the center of the table lay a five dollar bill that had been left as a tip by the previous revelers. Vice picked up the money and slid it into his pocket. Soon, a barmaid came over to their table. She had shoulder length frizzy hair, a face that wasn't too hard to look at, and a body that could cause whiplash. She had on a half shirt, which left her flat, smooth stomach exposed. From the movement going on under her shirt, it was obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her skirt was as long as a snap decision; she wore black stockings with narrow dark lines running up the back of them. She stood at their table in a seductive posi­tion with her legs opened shoulder length apart. "What are we drinking tonight gents?" "Give us each a beer," Thayer answered. She turned and sashayed in the direction of the bar; her firm, round hips moved rhythmically with each step causing a bevy of emotions to well up in every cognizant man there.

  "Wow. I'm going to spend some serious time with her tonight, whether she wants to or not," Terron said with a lustful smile. Thayer gave him a stern look, "No you aren't." "Say what?" "I said you are not going to be spending time with anyone tonight except those sitting at this table unless I say otherwise." "Yeah, well whose going to stop me? Not you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade. "You may have been hot stuff in hell, but here, we're all on equal footing." Thayer looked at him, then at the crowd. No one was paying any attention to them, they had become just another group of faces in the pack. Without warning, Thayer thrust his hand in between Terron's legs and began to squeeze his testicles. Terron dropped the knife on the table and let out a blood curdling scream that was drowned out by the loud beat of the soulful music. "Hurts doesn't it? You've administered pain to those in bodies, but you've never felt what the body feels when it's in pain; that is, until now."

  Terron's eyes were wide open, watery and reflective of the pain that he was experiencing. Vice and Connley were wincing as if they were experiencing the pain too. "Do I have your undivided attention?" Tenon shook his head in the affirmative. "Good. Now, I caution you, when I turn you lose, if you retaliate, I'll vanquish you back to hell quicker then you can flicker an eyelash. Do we understand each other?" Again, a vigorous head shake followed. Before letting Tenon go, he picked up the knife and eased it into his pants pocket. Slowly he released the vise like grip. Tenon fell back into his chair and exhaled a deep sigh of relief as his body went limp.

  "All of you listen up, I'll say this once and once only. Make no mistakes, I am in charge here and you will do as I command or suffer dire consequences. Is that understood?" He looked from one to the other. Vice, holding himself from pseudo pain, answered, "Yeah, I understand." He looked at Connley. "Hey man, you won't have any problems with me." On to Tenon. "Well Tenon, have I made myself clear?" "Loud and clear," he snapped. "Good, then we shouldn't have any trouble accomplishing our mission." At that moment, Olar, ever so gently, put his arm around Terron's shoulders and whispered into his ear. "He thinks he's hot stuff. Well he's gone a little to far this time; after all, he's in a body too. And so what if he sends you back to 'hell, it's not like you've never been there before, right?" "Yeah, that's right," Tenon thought, unaware that he was being manipulated.

  "Tenon." "Huh?" The sound of Thayer's voice startled him. "Are you listening to me?" "Yeah. Yeah, I'm all ears." "As I was saying, we can't allow the feelings and cravings of these mortal traps, called bodies, to get the best of us. Without doubt, we are going to desire certain things and women happen to be high on the list. We shall satisfy the lusts of our

  flesh, however, it shall be in due season and at my discretion. Right now, let's experience the effects of alcohol on the body. Vice, go see what's taking that barmaid so long."

  Vice went to the bar, milled around, and finally waited to attract the bartenders attention. Immediately to his left were three men. One was standing up and talking animatedly to the other two men. They were talking about doing something to some guy. A television was on above the bar, but there was no sound, only the picture. With all of the other noise going on, even if the sound were turned up, no one would be able to hear it. There was a man on the television smiling and waving to a large crowd that had, apparently, assembled to hear him speak. Erected behind the man was a large billboard which read, "Re-Elect Kenneth (Kenny) Matthews for mayor of Briarpatch". One of the men sitting noticed Matthews and nudged the guy standing to direct his attention to the screen. He stopped talking long enough to glance at the television, turning back to the man he said, "Yeah, I know we've got to hit him too, but we've got plenty of time for him. The election isn't for several weeks. For now, I want you to wipe out this Johnny Angel."

  Vice perked up and leaned on the bar towards the men to hear more. "This Angel character lives in Briarpatch on Cherry Blossom. Number 3 Cherry Blossom. I want him hit tonight, understand, tonight." "Calm down Cecil, we'll do it tonight. Why is this Johnny Angel so important anyway?" "He isn't, that's why I want him dead. Botch this one up and I guarantee you won't see the weekend." "Relax, we'll get it done." "You'd better. Call me soon as it's taken care of, you hear me?" "Yeah I hear you, everybody in the bar hears you." "Don't get cute with me; you can be next you know." With that he turned and walked out to a dented Mercedes parked in front of the door.

  Vice hurriedly walked back to the booth. "Thayer, I've got some good news." "Wh
ere are the drinks?" "You'll forget all about those drinks when I tell you what I just overheard." "Alright, Vice. What is the pressing news that you have for me?" "While I was at the bar, I overheard these three men talking about killing somebody." "So." "So, that somebody is Johnny Angel." Thayer sat up straight. "Our Johnny Angel?" "It's got to be him." "If it's him, why do they want to kill him?" Connley asked. "I don't know, I think that he did something to the guy named Cecil." "Did they say where he lives?" "Yeah, Number 3 Cherry Blossom. That's in some county called Briarpatch." Thayer smiled. "Very good, Vice. This is going to be easier than what I thought." "Yeah, but what about those other guys? They're supposed to kill Johnny Angel sometime tonight. Should we let them take him out?" "We didn't come all this way to allow mere mortals to do our job. Besides, I owe Johnny Angel something and I intend to personally repay him." "What about those other men?" "What about them? We'll just wait for them to leave, follow them, and turn them

  over to Tenon." Tenon smiled. The idea of being able to inflict pain on someone pleased him. The thought alone eased his tension. "See, I'm not so bad after all, huh, Terrons?" They all laughed.

  The barmaid finally arrived with their beers. They toasted to their mission, drank heartily, and laughed joyously while keeping an eye on the men at the bar. After the men at the bar spent a few hours of drinking, dancing, and flirting, they were ready to leave. Thayer sent Connley for the car. Just then the bar maid came back over to their booth. They were standing up, finishing their drinks and preparing to leave. "Aw, you're not leaving so soon are you?" "Yeah, we've got to run." "Can I get you something for the road?" Thayer ran his hand up her skirt, "We'll be back later for what we went next from you." She pulled his hand from beneath her dress, slapped him, and said, "Listen you, I don't know who or what you think I am, but I don't play that." In a cool, collected voice, he said, "I hope that you have learned how to play by the next time you see us; if not, it's going to be hard on you, baby." He shot her a sardonic smile and a penetrating stare.