Blood & Tacos #3

by Rob Kroese

  Instead, Studs just used it as further motivation to get a move on … before the great white got there.

  When Studs reached the Feuchter Traum, his lungs were already aching. Studs grabbed the narrow hatch opening, planted his feet against the side, and pulled with all his strength. Forty years of rust fractured under Studs’ steel will. The hatch opened.

  Once inside the boat, a pulsing sensation started up behind Studs’ eyes. It was a sensation he’d felt only once before, when he’d been possessed by the power of Dr. Tutu’s voodoo bag in Haiti. (Dig the magic in Studs Winslow and the Voodoo Orgy of Dr. Tutu.)

  There was something evil nearby, and Studs could feel it. He let it guide him to the Amulet of Qaxteqackotittlq.

  Passing through the cabin, Studs saw a weak green light emanating from under the door of the captain’s quarters. As he swam closer, the throbbing grew stronger. The Amulet of Qaxteqackotittlq was behind that door.

  Studs opened the door. The room was bathed in weak green light emanating from an ornate wooden box. A box held in the clutches of a Nazi skeleton.

  As Studs pried the box from the dead Nazi bastard’s hands, he noticed something … strange about the skull, particularly the mouth. But he had no time to think on the curiosities of German dentistry; he had to not drown himself. And get back to the boat before Helga Fuchs turned Cookie into fish food.

  When he swam out of the cursed German Schnellboot, Studs immediately saw that the ocean around The Goateed Mollusk IV was a bloodier hue of crimson.

  For a moment, he feared that he was too late, that the madwoman had tossed his Cookie to the sharks before he had a chance to return with the Amulet of Qaxteqackotittlq.

  Then he saw the chunks—the remains of four or five blue sharks, two good-sized bull sharks, and a lemon shark littering the water. The great white had decided to take out the competition before meal time.

  For reasons he couldn’t figure out, it relieved Studs to not see any pieces of his old chum the tiger shark.

  What worried Studs was that he couldn’t see the great white.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t have the time to find him. Studs pumped his legs and worked his way to the surface before the black spots that were forming in his vision grew any larger. Studs needed oxygen, and he needed it now.

  Twenty yards to the surface.

  The spots grew darker.

  Ten.

  With an explosion of size and movement, the great white came at Studs from underneath The Goateed Mollusk IV. Studs broke the surface of the water and took in huge lungfuls of sweet, sweet air.

  The giant dorsal fin of the great white erupted out of the water ten feet from the gasping Studs.

  “My knife!” Studs yelled.

  Lily took the bowie from her bikini and tossed the blade to Studs. He caught it and turned to face the leviathan.

  The shark skimmed the surface, inches from Studs’ chest. For the second time that day, Studs locked eyes with another of the world’s deadliest predators. This one was used to being King of the Sea, however. And Studs was too tired and weak to give an effective warrior’s glare.

  The shark’s eyes said, You’re lucky I just ate, Bub. But I’ll be hungry again reeeeal soon.

  So, with a bellyful of his fellow sharks, the great white swam a respectable distance from the boats. Didn’t leave, but kept its distance.

  Waiting.

  Studs didn’t want to wait until the monster got its appetite back. He tossed the carved box onto the deck of the boat, climbed the ladder, and collapsed into an exhausted heap.

  With a hunger in her eyes that wasn’t too different from the shark’s, Helga Fuchs picked up the wooden box and opened it. Her eyes lit with the flames of pure Nazi bitch evil. “Mein Gott. It’s true. The Amulet of Qaxteqackotittlq!” The other women gathered behind her, their faces masked with a lust that, under different circumstances, Studs would have been more than willing and able to sate.

  “I did my part,” gasped Studs. “Reel in Cookie.”

  “Do it,” said Helga, her eyes never leaving the amulet.

  Lily went to the controls and dropped Cookie onto the deck next to Studs.

  “What have you done, Studs?” she asked. “Don’t you know what that amulet can do?”

  “Guess I’ll find out soon enough,” he said. Behind his back, Studs handed Cookie his bowie. In all the excitement, they’d forgotten to take it from him. Cookie’s cocoa forearms flexed, only the barest motion giving away the sawing at her bonds.

  “It has the power to raise the dead, Studs.”

  “Bring him out,” said Helga.

  The Aryan twins re-emerged from under Stud’s canopy, each struggling with one end of a coffin adorned with swastikas.

  “That ain’t who I think it is, is it?” asked Studs as he pulled his jeans back on over his trunks. He pulled out his smokes and lit one. Putting the pack back into the pocket, he tapped the skull’s ruby eye on the belt buckle twice. The belt buckle beeped quietly.

  “Prepare yourselves, Studs Winslow and Cookie Cutter—prepare yourselves for the return of Adolph Hitler himself!”

  With that, the Aryan twins opened the lid of the coffin, revealing the desiccated bones within. Studs looked at the withered skull, tiny mustache intact.

  “Honey, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Cookie.

  “Of course you wouldn’t.” Helga withdrew the amulet from the box, a magnificent golden medallion on a thick leather thong that wouldn’t have looked out of place adorning the chest of a true disco stallion.

  Tenderly, Helga lifted the head of her Fuehrer and placed the Amulet of Qaxteqackotittlq around his neck.

  Immediately, the green glow enveloped the bones of Adolph Hitler.

  “Studs?” Cookie whispered.

  Pink flesh grew on the bones, oozing around itself, rebuilding.

  “Yeah?” whispered back Studs.

  Spots of white skin began spreading, stretching over the flesh.

  “That amulet raises the dead.”

  Hitler’s fingertips convulsed, celebrating the new life coursing through them.

  “I can see that, Cookie.”

  Hitler’s mustache twitched, became fuller.

  “Yeah, but these dumb Nazi bitches don’t have a doctorate in mystical artifacts.”

  “What’s your point, Cookie?”

  Hitler’s eyes sprang open. Undistilled fury and hatred under the lids. And something else …

  “The Amulet of Qaxteqackotittlq brings back the dead …”

  Studs recognized what else was in that evil bastard’s eyes, realized what was wrong with the mouth of the Nazi on the sunken ship. Fangs! Hitler’s mouth was filled with fangs.

  “… but as a Mayan Vampire.”

  Mayan Vampire Hitler leapt from the coffin with an ear-piercing screech, howling, “Mi hambre debe ser saciado!”

  In a flash, the Nazi bitches of the Fifth Reich’s expressions turned from lust to horror as Mayan Vampire Hitler tore the throat from the nearest Aryan twin, then the breast off the other. Mayan Vampire Hitler feasted on the bloody milk that poured from her chest. Her breast fell to the deck like a nippled jellyfish.

  “Mein Fuehrer! What has happened to you? Stop!” screamed Helga, her gun drawn onto Mayan Vampire Hitler. She fired twice.

  Mayan Vampire Hitler laughed at the smoking holes in his chest.

  Lily panicked, firing the fallen twin’s submachine gun wildly. Her bullets shredded the sails on The Goateed Mollusk IV, slammed into the engines.

  Studs hit the deck.

  Cookie saw her opportunity. Executing a perfect judo flip over the hail of bullets, Cookie kicked the gun out of Lily’s hands.

  “Didn’t know I was also captain of the Harvard Kung-Fu Squad, didja bitch?”

  Then with a spin kick that would have made the Atomic Samurai Women of Nagasaki proud (read the classic adventure in Studs Winslow and the Atomic Samurai Women of Nagasaki), Cookie cracked Lily right across her high ch
eekbones with a foot that was missing two toes.

  Lily flipped in the air twice before plummeting into the ocean.

  Cookie stood, hands on her cocked hips. “I told you I’d get you, ofay.”

  The great white was on Lily before she could respond to Cookie’s funky sass. Mayan Vampire Hitler laughed and advanced on the weeping Helga Fuchs. He stopped laughing when his arms started to smoke. “¿Qué me está pasando?”

  “Hey, Hitler!” said Studs.

  Mayan Vampire Hitler turned to Studs. His eyes went wide with fear and rage as his skin began to blister. “Espárragos Winslow? ¿Qué estás haciendo aquí?”

  “Next time one of your crazy-ass Nazi bitches wants to bring you back from the dead, make sure they don’t make you a Mayan Vampire.”

  Small flames erupted from under the blistering skin of Mayan Vampire Hitler.

  “And make double sure they don’t do it on the deck of a boat underneath the Caribbean sun.”

  With a scream of unimaginable agony, flames engulfed Mayan Vampire Hitler ..

  Helga Fuchs made a run for it, trying to get across the gangplank to her own boat and escape.

  Mayan Vampire Hitler gave chase, covered in flames. “Puta alemana estupido!”

  As he leapt on her, Helga fired her remaining bullets into the chest of her immolated Fuehrer. She screamed as his fiery fangs tore into her flesh. The two of them fell under the canopy in a flaming embrace of death.

  “Daaaamn,” said Cookie. “That is one overcooked Nazi Mayan Vampire Hitler jive turkey.”

  Studs took his bowie back from Cookie and reached down to cut loose the gangplank connecting the boats, when a charred hand slapped onto the railing of the Nazi bitches’ boat and flipped the gangplank into the ocean from their side.

  Laughing hoarsely, Mayan Vampire Nazi Bitch of the Fifth Reich Helga Fuchs stood under the boat canopy, safe from the deadly sunlight. “Ahhhahahahaha! You may have won this day, Señor Winslow, but I will return and you will face my Mayan Vampire Nazi wrath!”

  As the boats slowly drifted apart, Studs sighed sadly and shook his head. “What do you think, Cookie? You ready to go shopping for The Goateed Mollusk V?”

  “You didn’t,” said Cookie.

  “I activated the failsafe, just in case.” Studs tapped his enormous belt buckle.

  “Do it,” said Cookie, and dove overboard, swimming for the shore.

  “What are you talking about, Señor Winslow?” Mayan Vampire Nazi Bitch of the Fifth Reich Helga Fuchs had stopped laughing, a concerned look drawn over her Mayan Vampire Nazi Bitch of the Fifth Reich face.

  “Bye-bye, Helga,” Studs said as he hit the ruby button on his belt buck two more times and dove over the side of the boat.

  The Goateed Mollusk IV exploded as the TNT in the hold detonated. The last thing Studs saw before hitting the water was the explosion engulfing and vaporizing the Nazi boat and Mayan Vampire Nazi Bitch of the Fifth Reich Helga Fuchs along with it.

  Studs smiled as he swam towards shore. His smile didn’t last long.

  The giant dorsal fin cut the water ahead of him, heading straight toward Cookie, her wounded foot leading a delicious trail right to her delicious body.

  “Swim, Cookie!” shouted Studs. “Swim!”

  Cookie turned back to see the monster shark bearing down on her. She doubled her effort, but it wasn’t enough to outpace the shark.

  “Nnnnooooooo!” screamed Studs as the great white swallowed Cookie whole and turned towards the greater ocean.

  Studs swam for all he was worth after the great white. On another day, without the physical demands made of his body that the day had already taken, he might have caught the beast.

  But not today.

  Despite his effort, the great white lengthened the distance between them. The despair in Studs’ chest grew over his lost Cookie.

  The great dorsal fin slipped under the surface.

  Studs treaded water, unwilling to give up, unwilling to face defeat even in the face of the hopelessness before him.

  The great white didn’t surface.

  But another fin did.

  The tiger shark was back and circling Studs.

  Studs pulled his knife, ready to take revenge on all of sharkkind for his lost Cookie.

  The shark swam by Studs. It slowed down to look him in the eye.

  This time, their communication was different.

  It wasn’t the predatorial dance of time immemorial.

  No.

  The tiger shark’s eyes said: The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

  Studs nodded and grabbed onto his newfound ally’s dorsal fin. In a bolt, the tiger shark was off, carrying Studs with him.

  Under the surface, Studs could see the great white two hundred yards ahead, but they were gaining. The tiger shark was faster and didn’t have a bellyful of Cookie slowing him down.

  One hundred yards.

  Fifty.

  Twenty.

  Then they were right beside the grey-skinned giant. Studs pushed himself off the tiger shark and plunged his bowie knife deep into the belly of the great white. The shark jerked and writhed as Studs drew his knife down the length of the monster’s body. Entrails poured into the water, pieces of other sharks. Pieces of Lily.

  Then a honey brown arm reached from inside, grasping for Studs. Studs grabbed Cookie’s arm and wrenched her free from the belly of the beast. The two of them kicked to the surface and swam for shore as quickly as they could. The sea was red with the great white’s blood as smaller sharks enacted their revenge for the giant shark’s tyranny. The feeding frenzy was magnificent and terrifying.

  Studs gave one last look back at the tiger shark. He gave his aquatic friend a final salute and headed for shore.

  When Studs and Cookie reached the beach, a small group had gathered on the shore. Dirty Jack was one of the onlookers. He waded out and helped the exhausted Studs and Cookie onto the beach. They fell onto the soft white sand, spent.

  “What the hell happened?” Dirty Jack asked.

  “Mayan Nazi Vampires.” Cookie said.

  Dirty Jack shrugged and looked out at the fiery wrecks of the two boats. “Oh well. Who wants Rum Runners?”

  Studs and Cookie each weakly raised a hand.

  THE END

  Todd Robinson is the creator and Chief Editor of the award-winning ‘zine THUGLIT.COM. His writing has appeared in Plots With Guns, Needle Magazine, Shotgun Honey, Strange, Weird, and Wonderful, Out of the Gutter, Pulp Pusher, Grift, Demolition Magazine, CrimeFactory and Danger City. He has been nominated for a Derringer Award, short-listed for Best American Mystery Stories, selected for Writers Digest’s Year’s Best Writing 2003 and won the inaugural Bullet Award in June 2011.

  The first collection of his short stories, Dirty Words, is now available as an E-book and his debut novel The Hard Bounce will be released in January 2013 from Tyrus Books.

  INTERVIEW with JOHNNY and TIME OUT SYDNEY

  By Michael Wayne

  In July, Johnny did an interview for Time Out Sydney all about Blood & Tacos. Due to space, they could only print an edited version of the interview. For your reading pleasure, here is the unedited interview conducted by Michael Wayne (check out his blog at http://wayninginterests.wordpress.com).

  Johnny, what was it about the modern age that was screaming for a return to the gung-ho pulp action heroes of old?

  I seriously doubt that the modern age was screaming for Blood & Tacos, but they are now. No matter how civilized we pretend to be, the universal appeal of sex and violence has never diminished. Blood & Tacos gives the people what they want, except we’re slapping sideburns and bushy mustaches on it.

  There’s something freeing about stories set in the 1970s and 1980s. Stories that consciously forgo any political correctness and let loose the dogs of war.

  What can readers expect from a typical issue?

  If you’ve read the Executioner, the Destroyer, or the Death Merchant, you’ll know right away what we�
��re all about. Entertaining stories that deliver fast-paced thrills and big action. Manly men doing manly things.

  Every three months, Blood & Tacos delivers five original “re-discovered” stories from the 1970s and 1980s. Men’s fiction “discovered” by today’s hottest crime writers. The stories run the gamut from “one man’s war against the mob” to “survival in a post-apocalyptic wasteland.” Two-fisted tales with heroes named the Silencer, the Albino Wino, Bastard Mercenary, and Tiger Team Bravo.

  Was it hard to convince other crime writers to get on board? What kind of talent do you have on board?

  Surprisingly, most writers jumped at the chance to be a part of the Blood & Tacos family. I’m getting submissions from all over the world.

  Remember, a lot of established, best-selling authors started their careers writing for the men’s adventure paperbacks of this era. Nelson DeMille (Ryker), Joe Lansdale (Stone: MIA Hunter), Marc Olden (Black Samurai), and Lee Goldberg (.357: Vigilante), just to name a few.

  While I’m proud to have veteran writers like Gary Phillips and Ray Banks participating, the opportunity to publish an author for the first time (in the case of Christopher Blair’s story, “Battleground USSA: Texasgrad”) is even more rewarding. I’m also really excited to announce that the new issue will have a story by Stephen Mertz, a writer who actually wrote men’s adventure novels, including Executioner and Stone: MIA Hunter books.

  You’ve been very careful not to denigrate the source material, although there’s plenty of room for humor. How do you find a balance between hard-boiled ball-tearers and the more satirical stories?

  “Hard-boiled ball-tearers?” Maybe I should get you to write a story. I’m definitely using that in the publicity from now on.

  The original stories from the era were so over the top, bordering on or completely sliding into self-parody, that it would be difficult to do anything more outrageous than what was written in, say, the Penetrator series. That gives our writers a lot of latitude. They can play it straight. They can go broad. I leave that choice up to them.

  We’ve always described the aesthetic of the stories as “ridiculously awesome.” When an albino henchmen attacks a mustachioed hero with a spear gun. That kind of thing. That’s what we’re going for. It’s about big, harmless fun.