by Drew Stepek
“They would have killed me if I hadn’t gotten away.”
He mocked shooting himself in the head with his finger. “Maybe they should have. No one was told that you were coming to Austin. We knew that the Perrys were here. We know that most of the L.A. gangs come out here for South by Southwest. You, on the other hand, have never been here. I only know of you because I know The Habit.”
There she was. Always showing up in my life when I needed her least. I put my hands on the edge of the table and began breaking off the wood.
“Calm down.” He laughed again. “I worked with that wasted piece of shit when I guest starred on her show. She shows up every once and a while looking for work.”
I continued to break off pieces of wood.
“I was a teenager. After she got all fucked up on heroin, the bitch tried to burn down the set of the first Nightshayde movie when I didn’t get her a reading for the part of Amethyst Rose. Then, she tried to go to the tabloids with a story that I was a real vampire.”
I let go of the table. Chunks of wood dropped onto my feet and splinters bent into my palms.
“I told her that if she left me alone that I wouldn’t go to the cops.”
I found my voice. “Why didn’t you just kill her?”
“I don’t know. I liked to fuck her. You know, feel superior to her. When I was on her show, she bossed everyone around and treated people like they were beneath her. On the day when I had a line on the show, she took the director aside and told him that I looked like a Guido. She made them shave my head.”
“She killed Cobra.”
“Good,” he said. “I guess she finally did something right.”
“Look, motherfucker.” I leaned in, trying to remain cool. “He was my friend.”
“Really? King Cobra was your friend?” He lifted his fingers and ordered two more beers. “That asshole didn’t have any friends. He’d come down here with his gang, try and boss us around and act like he owned the city. One time, he went into one of my clubs and killed two of my friends for not sucking his dick. Then, when we tried to get his wasted ass out, the Snakes shot the place up. He always called me ‘Dracula’s little sister’.”
I bit my lip and nodded my head as if I understood. Truth be told, the nickname was pretty good. Classic Cobra.
His passionate rant continued. “He never, ever showed me the respect that I deserved even though his empire was turning to shit and mine was turning to gold. Austin is the real deal. I only go to Hollywood to collect checks. Fucking bitch city.”
I was homing in on a common theme with Rodderick. He thrived on respect and money. That’s all he cared about.
He kicked his beer up sideways and poured a little into his mouth. Then, he swished it around in his mouth for a bit before swallowing. “Why are we really here?”
I was unsure about Rodderick. Everything he said made sense, but I needed to be sure that he was going to take care of Pinball. I also wanted to be sure that he wasn’t going to turn Eldritch and I over to The Cloth or the Minutemen. “L.A. is over,” I said, picking a splinter out of the middle of my right hand. “I want to work for you. I want in to Austin.”
“Why do you think I want anything to do with you? What can you give me that I can’t get from Linnwood Perry or the Skulls or the Minutemen? You’re out of your element, RJ. Go back to Los Angeles and start something new. People listen to you. You ran your own gang. Go start a new one with the rest of the leftover Cali street trash.”
“There’s nothing left in Los Angeles except The Cloth.”
The waitress delivered our second round of beers.
“This should cover it?” He handed her a hundred dollar bill and a gram of what appeared to be the cleanest, purest horse that I had ever seen. My face followed the bag from his hand to her pocket. I might have been drooling. My skin veins itched.
JAcKpOT!
She stroked his chin. “Thanks, Stephan.”
“Bottoms up,” he said and started chugging his second beer.
I followed his lead, not knowing if he was going to take me up on my offer or not. When we finished, we both slammed our bottles on the picnic table.
He looked deep into my eyes, trying to see deception. “It’s amazing,” he said.
I opened my eyes wide and shook my head. “What’s amazing?”
“That heroin.” He pointed to the waitress, who immediately headed to the back room. “It’s the best heroin in the world. Nothing synthetic about it. I am reluctant to even call it junk.”
ThE beSt hEroin in thE woRld.
“Okay.”
“You wanna get high, RJ?”
My body felt relaxed all of a sudden as if I finally close to scratching the itch. “I’m kind of living on the street, Stephan,” I said as the taste of cotton candy filled my mouth. I wanted to get high so badly.
“We can go to my house.” He got up and waved me to follow him. “And, please, call me Steph.”
I stood in shock in front of Rodderick’s beaten up, nineteen-forties Chevy truck. I heard the Back to the Future music in my head. I desperately wanted to pump my fist and sigh like Marty did when he saw his new pickup in the garage at the end of the film. Rather than make I dick out of myself, though, I just asked, “This is yours?”
He jumped into the driver’s seat. “Pretty dope, huh? I found it at a scrap yard and I’ve been trying to rebuild it for years now.”
The huge wheel wells bulged out behind the withered grill that was missing the old school Chevrolet logo above it. Even though I guessed that it was originally a turquoise color because it had matching wheels, it had more rusted-through holes than fresh paint. Some of the holes were plugged with Bondo, while some remained naturally deteriorated, exposing some of the classic mechanics of its vintage construction. If I were to ever steal enough money to buy a car, I think that truck would be my dream. Like I told Paulina back at the hotel, I never had any toys. I had a pretty rad record collection once but I found them all in a dumpster. What I didn’t find there, I stole.
After several turns of the key, the engine started. It puttered and clicked and made pinging noises like a World War II prop plane preparing for battle. The left headlight clicked on and off like there were loose wires inside. There was no way that this truck was street legal, but that was one of the perks of being a star.
I slapped the hood. “Are you gonna put a blower on this thing?” It was a trick question.
“Do I look like I’m into rockabilly?” he scoffed. “If ever get this fucker in shape, I’m not going to trick it out.”
I nodded. Good answer.
“Besides, I have a strict policy against pompadours and chain wallets,” he added as he closed his door.
Even better answer.
I walked around to the back and looked in the bed. It was filled with some wood planks and saw dust. It looked like Rodderick was trying to build a teak liner for it. I was glad that he wasn’t going to ghetto it out with flames and a bright metallic paint job. I was also relieved that it wasn’t filled with vampires. The last thing that I wanted to happen was some fucking asshole popping up the second we started driving to strangle me.
He opened the passenger door form the inside because it was missing a door handle. “Come on, man. Get in.”
The old hinges creaked as I fully opened it up. If I was shocked that this dude had such great taste from the outside of the truck, I nearly fell into a coma when I saw the interior. I pressed on the vinyl turquois and white-striped bench that matched the wheels. “Fuck, dude.”
“As you can see, I’ve spent a little more time on the interior than the exterior.” He patted the seat.
I put my foot inside the truck then hesitated. “I don’t want to mess it up.”
He slapped the seat again. “Just get in.”
Carefully, I slipped into the truck. The dashboard and insides of the door had all been replaced, undented, recovered, and repainted to the truck’s original glory. The round speedometers
polished chrome vents made it seem like we were sitting in the belly of a refinished, vintage appliance. Calling it a sweet toy was an understatement.
He grabbed tightly on to the humongous steering wheel and cranked the stick into reverse. “Close the door, RJ. That heroin isn’t getting in our bodies any quicker with you jerking off all over my ride.”
“Sorry. I’ve just never been in something this old and cool before.”
He stomped on the gas pedal and we were off. “I’m sure you want to hear something better than that bluegrass shit,” he said as he flicked open a pack of Marlboros.
“Pre-bloodied?” I asked.
“Of course.”
I grabbed one as pushed in the cigarette lighter on the console. “That thing works?” I asked.
“Totally works.” He grabbed a smoke from the pack. It wasn’t easy to find.”
“I’m sure.”
After about a minute, the lighter popped out. I snatched it up and lit his cigarette, then mine.
He took a drag and then blew smoke out of the side of his mouth. “What about music?”
I looked at the original radio in the dash. “Are there any good stations in Austin?”
“Not really.” He fiddled with a touchscreen in the center of the steering wheel. I blew smoke out of the crack in my window and raised my eyebrow.
“Oh, come on, man.” He laughed. “It’s the original steering wheel. It just has some renovations.” He took his eyes off the road. “You like country and western, right?”
I laughed as well. “Fuck you. I don’t listen to that garbage.”
“Let me guess.” He scrolled through the bands. “Let’s take it back to the old school.”
“Salvation” by Rancid came on. Rodderick seemed pretty cool; granted, he was younger than me. I smiled and acted like I was into it by tapping my hand on my thigh.
“Diamond rings,” he sang along as he strummed some power chords on the top of the steering wheel. Because I knew the song, I mouthed the words along with him. At the end of the day, he was being a very courteous host, even though I didn’t mind Rancid but hardly thought that they qualified as “old school.” Besides, his choice of driving music was significantly better than Cody’s bluegrass or Linnwood’s trance. That said something about him. He was listening to Rancid because he liked them, not because he wanted approval from his sheep back at The Settler’s Inn.
I looked out at the road in front of us. The damaged headlight on his side of the truck went completely out. He twisted both of them on and off a few times, using the trigger next to his left knee.
“Oh well,” he finally decided. “I’ll have to look at that tomorrow.”
“Aren’t you worried about getting pulled over?”
He laughed. “Who do you think I am, RJ? The cops don’t care what I do.”
I sighed. “Let’s not get carried away here.”
“Think about it. I don’t mean to boast but I do a lot for this community. I brought the filming of the Nightshayde movies here from Vancouver. I renovated a bunch of buildings and turned them into new clubs and businesses. I helped build a cancer research and prevention institute.”
Half-kiddingly, I added to his list. “You sell drugs, employ gang members and you’re a walking corpse.”
He hit the turn signal and used both hands to complete a left turn. “As long as the money is going towards good, can’t I justify it?”
He made a valid point.
“Let me ask you a question,” he said.
“Shoot.”
“Do you care if the losers you sell drugs to die or not?” He took his cigarette out of his mouth. “Do you care if the pimps or criminals that you use to get high are off the streets? And before you answer that, I know that’s how it’s done in L.A.”
“How is it done here any differently?” I tried to justify my massive body count. “We are what we are. Bottom and top of the food chain.”
“My point is that I give back to humanity after I take from it.” He stalled. “And believe me, I take what I want.”
Rodderick was turning out to be more and more like me, but I still wasn’t satisfied with his story. “I bet you had parents and a great childhood, as well.”
“Fuck you, asshole.” He snatched his beanie out of his back pocket and put it on. “My parents were self-made. They gave me things because they didn’t have anything.”
“Then how did you make it this far? You know, as a vampire?”
“I’m not a fucking vampire. I only play one in the movies.” He turned the music back up.
Rodderick was hiding something. Unless Austin truly was a lawless city of weirdoes, it didn’t make sense that the police just let him come and go as he pleased. “Did you convince the cops that you could turn them into vampires?”
His face started to turn red. “You can’t turn people into vampires!”
I clinched my fists. “No shit. I just want to know how you get away with all this.” I turned the conversation back on him, trying not to reveal my hand. “Don’t act noble. If I’m going to work for you, I need to know how the game works in Austin.”
“Let it go, RJ. I didn’t meet with you so I could confess all my sins and tell you my life story. You don’t need to know anything about me.”
“Here, I’ll help you out.” I sat up. “My name is RJ Reynolds. I’m a walking abortion sucked out of a prostitute who was addicted to heroin. I named myself off a pack of cigarettes that another thing like me gave me in the alley that I was dumped in after I was brought to life by a combination of heroin and illegal steroids. These steroids gave me super strength and hearing. I can’t go in the light. I need drugs and blood to live. Until a few weeks ago, I figured I was a vampire. I lived on the streets of Los Angeles my whole life. I ate rats for blood and stole to feed my habit since I was able to walk. I never had a family other than the other outsiders I was in a L.A. gang called the Knucklers. Well, I ran that gang. I think that they’re all dead now. They were all killed by the same group of anti-abortionist, churchgoing assholes who brought them to life.”
He flicked the turn signal on again as if he hadn’t heard a word I said. “Well, I can tell you that you’re about to have the best heroin you’ve ever had in your life. I also have a big surprise for you.”
“Oh, I love surprises. I don’t think I’ve had enough since I’ve been in your town.” I tried not to sound pissed that he ignored my life story. “So, you make the shit yourself?”
“You could say that. The cancer institute acts as a front for my lab. I make everything that hits the streets out here.”
I ashed my cigarette. “So, you don’t actually care about humanity and cancer and all that shit you were bragging about earlier?”
“I wasn’t bragging,” he mumbled. “I was telling you how I game the system. I’ve helped plenty of needy children through the disease. When you taste this junk, you’ll understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That I can help other people and then help myself. I’m an addict, too. So, please don’t hand me your sob story. To be frank, I don’t care about your struggles in life before today. I just want to make your life better starting tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“I told you that I had a surprise for you,” he said as he pulled up to a fortress-like gate that covered in shrubs.
I looked around the compound. He was far more loaded than I could ever have imagined. “I thought that reporters were surrounding your place.”
“Most of them left this morning.” He rolled down his window and punched some numbers onto a keypad. “Besides, this is the secret entrance to the compound. My PR team pointed them in a different direction.” He looked at me and smiled. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t want to come off as a braggart.”
I returned the smile and sized him up. He didn’t look a whole lot tougher than me, but he sure was in better shape and better looking than me.
It had been a long time since I had heard “Sa
lvation”. To be honest, it was a pretty cool song and if my memory served correctly, Rancid’s guitarist was from the UK Subs and had something to do with Agnostic Front. So, maybe there was an element of old school punk in their music. I kicked my feet back and enjoyed the end of the song as we pulled around to the back of the compound.
Rodderick threw the keys to the pickup on the counter as we entered his house through the back. “Do you want a beer or some whiskey?” he asked as he crossed me by the center island in the middle of the massive kitchen and then headed to the stainless steel, four-doored refrigerator.
I pulled out a barstool at the island and took a seat. “Can I have both? It hasn’t been a great week.”
“Sure.” He laughed. “I know how you feel. Last summer, when we were shooting the final Nightshayde film, it was like twenty-hour shoot days, every day. Speaking of which.” He touched the screen on his phone. Two gigantic TVs turned on, across the kitchen from each other. He pointed at one in my eye line. “Check it out.”
I looked forward toward the screen and saw a car driving up a hill in the rain. I think it was like the Pacific Northwest or something gross like that. The film cut to a shot of a young gothy-type girl looking out the window of a rainy pick-up truck. The screen went black and Rodderick’s name faded in, followed by the title, Nightshayde.
“I’ve got these monitors in every room of the house,” he bragged. “Watching my films helps better my craft.”
Ironic, I thought: a vampire who loved looking at himself.
He touched his phone screen again and turned up the volume. It boomed throughout the entire house.
“It never rained like this in New Mexico and I certainly didn’t pack the right outfits for Portland. My momma always told me that I wore the wrong thing. She would constantly ask things like, ‘Why are you wearing shorts, Amethyst? It’s snowing,’ or ‘Why are you wearing a flannel shirt, Amethyst? We’re at the beach.’ That was my mom. She’s not with me any longer. She’s with God. That’s why I had to go live with my dad.”
“Hamster Fist.” I laughed, remembering Paulina.
Rodderick remained fixated on the screen. “What did you say? It’s Amethyst, you moron. Amethyst Rose. She’s my lover in the films.”