by Drew Stepek
“No, he doesn’t want to meet at his place because he doesn’t want anyone coming in or out. He is probably going to have to sneak out.”
“Then where are you meeting him? On the set of his movie, I imagine.” He nodded his head.
“Don’t be stupid.” I grabbed my shirt and pulled it out so he could read High as Fuck written across the front. “If this guy is laying low, the last thing he wants is someone who is so obviously a drug dealer that he advertises it hanging around with him. I don’t know where he wants to meet. Linnwood just said that he wanted to meet with me. I’m not sure but I think that Linn is making it seem that I am the middle man in their dispute.”
He grabbed on to my knees. “Are you mad? That does not concern you?”
“Should it?”
“Look, asshole,” I said as I grabbed a pack of Dunhills out of the center console of the Perry Boys’ latest rental car, a BMW. “It kind of seems like you’re setting me up again.”
Linnwood looked in the rearview mirror, downshifted and then gunned it in front of a bus. “What now?” He chomped on gum.
I pulled my seatbelt around my body and secured it into the latch. I wasn’t going to fall so easily for him playing my friend again. “You fucking heard me.”
He squished my thigh with his hand and slowed down. “Actually, I really didn’t hear you. What was that?” The bus’s headlights pounded the passenger mirror, blinding me.
“I said it seems like you’re setting me up again.”
“Ha!” He used the steering wheel to turn up the volume on the stereo. “I thought we went through that. I knew nothing about Cobra’s plan. Besides, you’re the one who stole the heroin, stupid.”
“I’m not even talking about that.” I lit the cigarette and rolled down the window. Dunhills were gross but they were a zillion times better than Eldritch’s cherry turds. At least they were pre-bloodied—obviously bloodied by the chump who owned the car we were driving around town in. “You’re setting me up right now.”
“Look, RJ. I didn’t set you up in L.A. Sure, I was glad to see that you got fucked over, but I was just as much a pawn in the game as you were.” He pushed the volume button on the wheel again and turned the volume up another decibel. “Check this out.” He closed his eyes and then cut back in front of the bus that was now trying to pass him on the left. Avoiding my question, he twitched around to whatever horrible psy-trance song he was playing. “Can you feel that bass all over your body?”
“Why are you playing stupid?” Instead of blowing smoke out the window, I blew it in his face. “Eldritch and I both know why you’re introducing me to this guy. I don’t need him to kill me. I really need his help.” I continued to conceal the Paulina situation from him.
He swerved back into the right lane, cutting off another car that laid on its horn. “Just enjoy the song.”
“Quit driving like a dick and answer my question. Are you setting me up?”
“That depends on what you mean by setting up.” He rolled down his window and waved the bus to pass him on the left.
“Fuck you. You know what I mean.” I looked out the passenger window to see the school bus—which I noticed had a big metal six attached to the grill—starting to pick up speed to pass us.
“Watch this.” He continued to wave it past. I couldn’t see inside because it was so much higher than our car and the driver had his brights on. When the front bumper reached the middle of our car, Linnwood hit the gas again and passed it. He cut it off so tightly this time that the bus wobbled and almost drove across the center lane into oncoming traffic. “Classic,” he said.
I dug my fingers into the sides of my seat. “It’s not classic, you jackass. What if there are a bunch of kids in there?”
“Oh Lord. Give me a break. Like you care.” Linnwood started swerving back and forth between lanes to the beat of his dreadful song. “You should open a school for kids. You seem to care so much about humans.”
“I do care.” I eased my clamp on the seat. “Do we really want to draw a bunch of attention to ourselves right now?”
He grabbed a forty out of the backseat and twisted the cap. “Hey, can you light me a cigarette?”
I took a cig out of the Dunhill pack and jumpstarted it with mine. “Here,” I said as I handed it to him. “So, back to our conversation. Why are you trying to set me up?”
“Look, RJ…” He took a huge pull off the bottle. I could see that it was half full of blood. “I’m not really setting you up. I need you to smooth things over for me. That way, you and I can be in business together in Austin. Close your eyes and think about it. Coke and heroin are big business in this town. It would be like the Crips and the Bloods going into business with each other.”
“What a load of shit. That sounds like a set up.” I flicked my cigarette out the window and used my hand to block the bus headlights in my side mirror. “Why don’t you just go talk to this dude yourself? I have other things I need to talk to him about.”
He pulled into the right lane, this time using a turn signal. “Are you trying to cut me out?”
“Cut you out of what? I don’t even like this shitty town. I’m not interested in setting up shop in Austin. This is the drug war you started.”
“You were there, too. You killed two of those bitches, RJ.”
“Oh my God. Would you stop trying to justify this?” I grabbed the pack of Dunhills again and pointed back to myself with my thumb. “I’m right here next to you. What if this Rodderick guy tries to send you a message by cutting off my hands or something?”
“Why don’t you have another cigarette, you mooch.”
“I will.” I lit the cigarette. “Is this guy even like us? All that I know is that he’s a dumb actor in movies about vampires and he has a heroin problem.”
“I don’t know if he’s a real vampire.” He took a drink. “I’ve only met him three times at South by Southwest parties.”
I remembered the gangs that I had come face to face with since being in Austin. “Couldn’t you just tell?”
“Tell how?” he asked. “Do we smell different than humans to you?”
I let my hand down from blocking the headlights and took a drag. “It’s pretty easy to tell who we are.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. If I run into someone who is really fucking stupid who is trying to kill me.” I tugged on his tennis sweater. “And they are wearing some equally fucking ridiculous costume.” I pointed at him. “That’s a vampire.”
He slowed down. “I take offense to that.”
“Why? You’re obviously trying to get me killed by sending me in to ‘smooth over’ your bullshit. This isn’t L.A. anymore. If I didn’t need to talk to this guy, I’d just kill you right now.”
“Big talk, Reynolds.” He laughed. “You’ve had your chance at the title several times.”
“What title?” I put my hand back up to block the bus’s high beams that were now flashing between high and low.
“You know what title.” He turned up the shitty music again, trying to drown me out.
“Oh yeah,” I joked. “The World Championship of Cunts. You certainly have that crown.”
“Do you want me to just leave you out here?” He reached into the backseat and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “Find your own way.”
The bus caught up and hovered at a safe distance behind us.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a flyer. This is where Rodderick wants to meet you. Just say the word and I’ll let you get there yourself.”
As I opened it up I glanced into the sideview mirror. “Why don’t you just let the bus pass us?”
“Because I’m a cunt,” he responded.
“He suggested this?” I looked at the flyer. It was for some South by Southwest Bluegrass showcase featuring a band called Clyde Craft and the Whiskey Brothers. “Are you kidding me? Fucking bluegrass?”
“I suggested it, asshole.” He took another pull off the fo
rty. “I didn’t want you to walk into a bad situation. I wanted you two to meet with a bunch of other people around. You know, in the interest of coming together on neutral ground. He isn’t going to chop off your hands in front of his adoring fans. He has a new movie coming out in a month. It’s the final film in the Nightshayde series. I guess you can throw away your little theories that I’m trying to set you up.”
Remembering that Rodderick had just OD’d, I said, “I thought he couldn’t even be seen in public.”
“I guess he thinks that this meeting is pretty important, dumbass. Don’t fuck it up. Remember the stairs? This is our chance, man. We can be the on top of the money clip and the phone.”
“I don’t even remember where the money clip and phone were.”
“You junkie, RJ.”
The bus let out three friendly honks.
Coming to the end of patience, I made the mistake of asking, “Why couldn’t you have found a punk rock show?”
“Punk rock? Are you being serious?” He twirled his fingers to the trance song he was blasting. “No one listens to punk rock anymore.”
“You’re still setting me up to take a hit for you. All this ‘We’re All in the Same Gang’ bullshit isn’t fooling me for a second.”
“I’m trying to do you a solid here.” He waved the bus around again. “All that junk in your body is making you paranoid.”
“Excuse me, fuckshit.” I helped him out by also waving the bus past by pointing left with my thumb out the window. “Coke is the paranoia drug. Heroin is the guilt drug.”
ThAnks foR reMembEring mE.
“Go around!” he screamed out the window.
The bus picked up speed. The moon glimmered off the metal Olde English six on the grill.
“Why is this bus still keeping pace with you?” I dug into the seat again. “Something isn’t right.”
“What do you mean?” He looked into his driver’s side mirror. “Watch this.” He took a last gulp out of the forty bottle. “Cheers,” he said, lifting the bottle. Then, without warning, he lobbed the bottle out the window. Almost instantly, the glass smashed into the front window of the bus.
“Fuck off,” he screamed as he gave them the finger. The bus swerved again and turned sideways. Another car swerved into the guardrail behind us trying to avoid the bus.
“Gun it, bitch. Get us out of here.” I turned around to see a bunch of dark figures get off the bus. “I don’t think that was a bus full of students.”
He stomped on the accelerator. “Paranoid junky.”
Linnwood spun a U-turn and slowed up to the club. “You’re welcome.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out some money.
“For what?” I unbuckled my seatbelt. “Almost getting me killed before Rodderick has his chance?”
He tossed the money into my lap. “Yeah, the bus full of little kids is going to kill us.”
“For the hundredth time, those weren’t kids. It was a gang.”
“You loser. Get out.” He pointed to the marque in front of the club. It read SXSW BLUEGRASS SHOWCASE. “You asked me to get you some face time with Rodderick and I did that. If you don’t want to put in a good word for me, then fine.”
I pulled the latch on the door. “There it is. That’s exactly what I’m talking about. This is all about you and your fight with RTL. You know what your problem is, Linn?”
“What now?”
“You just can’t do a favor for someone without wanting to get them to do all your dirty shit for you.” I started to step out of the car.
“You’re one to talk. Who cares about those fucking human kids on that bus?”
“Fuck off!” I slammed the door shut. “They weren’t kids.”
He bit into his Dunhill. “What is it with you and little girls, anyway?”
I rested my hands on the open window frame and bent over. “What does that mean?” How could he know about Paulina?
“I think you know.” He spat the cigarette at me and hit gas.
I lifted my arms, avoiding getting the frame slamming into the sides of my hands.
“What does that mean?” I yelled as he sped away. I walked into the middle of street, hoping that he’d turn around and try to run me down, but he took a right a block after the club.
Something continued to not feel right about my meeting with Rodderick, and Linnwood’s comment about little girls only heightened my unease.
I walked to the entrance of The Settler’s Inn and was met by a plump bearded guy in a coonskin cap and a leather vest who was sitting on a stool. The rickety old seat growled as he made the slightest movements. It looked like it was going to give at any second.
He put up his hand to signify that he wanted to see my ID. “Y’all havin’ a little fight with your boyfriend tonight, slim?”
I patted my jeans and came up empty. “I forgot my license.”
“Must be because you’re ‘High as Fuck’.” He pointed to my shirt. “No drugs in the club.”
“I don’t have any on me.”
“Turn around,” he said as he waved his finger in a circle. Then, he cleared his throat. Guessing by the intensity and length of the hack and the wheeze that followed it, he was in a race with the stool to see which would die first. “What’s that in your back pocket?”
“It’s the flyer for this show.” I pulled out the yellow piece of paper and showed him.
He refused to fully stand up from the stool, even though it was barely supporting only the top of his ass. “You got drugs wrapped in there, son?”
I stepped toward him and handed it to him. “Here.” God forbid he reached out and took it from me. He did bend in slightly, pulling the cowboy shirt he had on under his vest tight to his body. The shirt ruffled around his mid-section, revealing bits and pieces of his hairy gut and stretch marks.
He read the flyer, then handed it back to me. He tried to better adjust his rear on the stool. “I can’t let you in without your ID.” He took his curly hair out of its pony tail and ran his fingers through it. Then he rewrapped the elastic around it. “Them’s the rules, boy.”
“Look,” I finally said, pointing to my face. “Do I look like I’m under twenty-one?”
He stuck his neck out and squinted.
“Well?” I asked.
He didn’t say anything. He just looked at my face.
I pointed to the flyer. “It says, ‘twenty dollars’.”
He unfolded his arms and grabbed the flyer and then looked at me again. “Sure does.”
“How about I give you forty,” I held up two twenties. “And we call it a night, huh, buddy?”
He stared at the money and then looked at his watch. “Yeah, I can’t wait to get off tonight.”
Without thinking, I decided to play friendly with this hick. “I heard that.”
He closed his eyes and began swaying his head.
I kicked the toe of my boot into a crack in the cement and dug out a cigarette butt. All of a sudden I heard a banjo from inside the club.
“Sounds like Clyde is getting started.” He opened a bag of chew between his legs. “He’s gonna play at my BBQ, you know.”
“I’d really like to go check him out.”
“Can you ask him if he’ll play at my BBQ?” he asked.
“I thought you said he already was.”
He ignored me. Instead, he opened up his vest, revealing two, poorly rolled joints in the front pocket of his shirt. “You wanna get high?”
I put both my hands in my front pockets. “I thought that no drugs were allowed in the club.”
“No drugs are allowed in the club.” He pulled out one of the joints that was bent from being cramped into a miniature pocket that was dwarfed by my new friend’s boobs.
“How about sixty bucks? Will sixty bucks get me into the club?”
He laughed. Then, he hacked. He sneezed. He got so excited that he dropped the warped joint. His boot stopped taping as he tried to catch it. Although, it rested on the top of the boot for
a second, he made a slight movement that caused it to roll right off. We both looked under the stool at the doob on the ground. Using his forearm, he mopped up some of the drool caused by his frenzy. I looked back at the joint. I heard him cough again and then spit back on the wall. That was followed by a slow gasp that sounded like a zeppelin being deflated. There wasn’t a chance that he was going to try and pick up the joint.
“Do you… ummmm… want me to get that?”
He nodded his head up and down, causing creases in his short neck, around his ears.
I got on my hands and knees and reached under the stool, plucking the sad little joint off the ground. “Here it is,” I said. I brushed off a little bit of dirt and then straightened it out with my fingers. “Good as new.” I handed it back to him.
He might have let out a sign of relief or maybe he was still deflating. He took the joint, reopened his vest and put it back into his front pocket. “Maybe I should wait until I get off work.”
I smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Can I go in now?”
“Sure, buddy.” He clicked the hand tally counter attached to his wrist by and elastic wrist coil. “Free of charge.”
I walked to the door and turned to shoot him a salute. “I’ll ask Clyde if he’ll play your BBQ.”
“He doesn’t like you gays,” he responded.
I plugged my ears with my fingers and looked around the inside of The Settler’s Inn. The banjo picking and fiddle screeching felt like someone was throwing bricks at my skull. Bass-heavy tunes—like Linnwood’s music—were calming to my over-sensitive vampire ears and body compared to this.
“Go around back, gramps,” a green and blue haired chick covered in tattoos instructed.
I took my finger out of my right ear. “What?”
She pressed a stamp on my hand. “The band is out back, old man. Two-for-one Lynchburg Lemonades.”
“Old man?” I flicked ear wax at her.
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you fossil.” She used a mirror app on her phone to pick a piece of lettuce out of her front teeth. “Get your fingers out of your ears and enjoy the tunes.”
“Hardcore.” I pointed at her hair.