The Fugitive Blues

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book wouldn’t be possible if it weren’t for the many unanswered questions posed by Sandi, who, after finishing Ridder of Vermin, needed to know more. Her enthusiasm and excitement for James and Kevin got me to thinking; and so came this story. I thank her for asking those questions and I hope I answer them to her satisfaction.

Also, thanks to Lisa and Donna, my daughter’s sixth grade teachers, who have proven to be some of my most loyal fans. Thanks, ladies, and may James and Kevin keep you entertained in between grading papers!

Thanks again to Robin for lending her ear and her support. So much therapy, so little time!

To Sandy, an enthusiast from the beginning. I appreciate all you have done to spread the word. Happy retirement! I will miss you.

For all the readers who have stuck with me through four different adventures; here’s hoping you enjoy the fifth! Thanks for the continued encouragement.

My sister Sue has been a non-stop supporter since always. I thank you again for all you do. You are the best!

As always, thanks to my husband, Carlos, and my daughter, Josie, who stand by me and put up with the many hours of book time. You are everything to me, and I love you both very much.

And because this book revolves around two guys and their love for music…

Iron Maiden is still going strong! We just saw them in concert! Thanks for all those songs that have inspired me to write about a guy who’s a serious fan!

Finally, thanks to all the musicians out there, classical to metal, who keep the music alive. You make the world a better place. Rock on; blues on…

CHAPTER ONE

This one’s so skinny. Careful ’cause he’ll bruise easily.

Obnoxious laughing followed.

I ain’t gonna be careful. Lookit how weird he is. He’ll like it rough.

One of the large men held his head firmly under a muscular arm while another pulled down his pants, the cold hands grasping his pale, bony hips firmly.

When he tried yelling, nothing came out. Caught inside the grip of the massive forearm, he could feel his air cutting off. The sweat began running down the sides of his face, soaking into his long sideburns. His head began to pound as the blood flow backed up in his veins. Maybe he’d just pass out before he could feel anything.

Holy shit—the guy behind him was getting closer—

He shut his eyes. Oh God, please…just let me die now—

James jerked in the seat, punching out at the air in front of him.

Kevin looked over from the driver’s side. The prison dream again?

Collapsing his head against the neck rest, James just closed his eyes again, suddenly feeling so tired and worn-out. "The prison nightmare. Not dream."

Returning his gaze to the open highway ahead of him, Kevin tried to lighten the mood. Don’t worry, James. They’re not gonna get us.

James kept his eyes closed, feeling a headache coming on. How do you know?

You’re so negative, man. We gotta work on that pessimism of yours.

Breathing in deeply, James managed to open an eye towards his side window. All he saw was a vivid blue sky, with an occasional puffy cloud hanging around. And no smog anywhere. He widened his gaze with the vastness of the land under the never-ending sky: flat, green pastures, miles and miles of them, with random cattle dotting the landscape. Damn. When had all the mountains disappeared?

Where are we? James finally asked.

Texas.

Still??

Kevin nodded. It’s a big, damn state, James.

It’s more than big. Haven’t we been driving through it for days?

It just feels like days. It’s only been hours. Kevin yawned. Lots and lots of hours.

James watched his friend’s actions and began feeling guilty. Kevin had been doing most of the driving ever since they’d left Riverside, California. He looked down at his watch. They’d been in the car almost a full day. Surely he was exhausted by now.

You want me to drive again?

Kevin looked over. Nah. I’m okay. You need to rest your arm anyway. Did the bandage I wrapped around it help?

It stopped bleeding. James raised his arm and touched it. It doesn’t hurt as bad.

Luckily the bullet just nicked you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if we’d had to stop at a hospital or something.

We would’ve been caught. Right after they plied the bullet outta my arm, the cops would be there to arrest me and beat me and—

"You’ve been watching too much TV. They don’t beat you. Kevin developed a sour look, his own run-in with the cops fresh in his mind. They just rough you up."

"No, they roughed you up. Me, they would’ve beaten."

His friend considered his words and finally agreed. Yeah, maybe. You did kill four fucking people after all.

Sitting back against the seat, James paused to look out the window again. Where are we going, anyway?

As far as possible.

I wish we could fly somewhere outta here.

Where? We can’t leave the country. Y’know all the crap about passports. Now you need one to go anywhere.

James glared. Damn terrorists. If they hadn’t fucked with us, we could still go down into Mexico, free and clear.

Yeah. I like Mexico. The women are fine there.

Is that all you think about?

Kevin developed a strange expression. How long have you known me, James? In the sixteen years we’ve been friends, what else do I think about? Then he turned his head towards the back seat and smiled when he saw James’s bass guitar. Well, besides music.

Managing to grin, James pushed the seat back and stretched out his long legs as far as he could. He looked around the sports car. These Acuras are nice but they sure as hell aren’t comfortable.

Any car is uncomfortable after— Kevin stopped to check the time on the dashboard clock. Twenty-one hours in it. He looked at his friend. Besides, my baby is built for style and speed. It’s not a damn mini-van.

James watched Kevin closely, noting his glance in the rear view mirror and the fixing of his wavy, dirty blonde hair. He cocked an eyebrow at himself and raised his head to catch his smile, looking for anything in his teeth which might detract from their whiteness. Obviously satisfied with the handsome image he saw, Kevin fixed his focus back on the never-ending road.

Rolling his eyes with his friend’s constant primping, James brought his large, dirty, bare feet up to the dashboard, trying to get comfortable.

Kevin turned suddenly. Get those stinking things off my dash. My car isn’t a fucking bed, y’know.

Jesus, man, I’m tired, all right?

"What do you think I am? I’m the one who got us outta California all the way into Texas— He stopped, noticing a passing mileage sign. Thirty-two miles outside of San Antonio."

James turned his head just as the sign went by at eighty miles an hour. San Antonio? I’ve heard of that place. You wanna stop and get something to eat there?

I wanna find a bed and sleep my nuts off, Kevin muttered.

But we can’t! If we take the time to stop, we might get caught! You never know how close the cops are! What if we didn’t lose them? What if they’ve alerted the other states’ cops and everybody’s looking for us—

"Calm down, man! We haven’t had a cop on our tails since Palm Springs. We lost the cops there and we outran the helicopter! Kevin reached over to pat his dashboard hard. I told you this bitch was kick-ass!"

Trying to calm his rapidly-beating heart, James put his hand on his throbbing forehead. I need some fucking aspirin. As he opened the glove compartment, looking for the small bottle of medicine, he saw Kevin staring at the blood stain which ran down James’s wounded arm.

Maybe we better clean that up when we stop, Kevin said. We don’t want it getting infected. That’s all you need is to get gangrene or some gross shit like that and then you can’t play the bass anymore.

Or the violin, James noted, shoving the aspirin back deep into his throat and forcing himself to salivate to swallow them. When he brought his wounded arm up to his shoulder, manipulating his hand as if he were cradling his violin, he winced with the pain. Damn cops, he sneered, remembering when he’d run down the hillside of his getaway retreat, Mt. Rubidoux, trying to escape the police and the dogs and the helicopter. That’s when they’d shot at him…

He shook suddenly remembering his close call, and Kevin looked over, putting his hand on his buddy’s arm. It’s okay, man. It’s over, all right?

It’s not over, Kev, James moaned. It won’t ever be over. I’ll be on the run all my life. I’ll never be able to get away from what I’ve done.

Becoming frustrated with the whining, Kevin narrowed his eyes. "Look, man, you should’ve thought of that shit before you went and became The Pied Piper, taking out bullies like you did. Oh yeah, sure, it felt good at the time, stabbing those deserving bastards, but haven’t you ever heard of paying the Piper? He laughed suddenly. That’s funny. You were the Piper, making people pay, and yet you’re the one who’s paying for being the Piper!"

James’s olive-green eyes tore into his friend.

Kevin stopped. Oh, there’s that fuck you look again. I can see our endearing moments when I provided your get-away vehicle twenty-one hours ago didn’t last long.

On the contrary, James spoke up, looking ahead at the flat interstate. They lasted all the way ’till El Paso.

Kevin remained tight-lipped. But a few moments later, he broke down and burst out laughing.

When they stepped in the small café on the outskirts of San Antonio, Kevin excused himself, not surprisingly to get cleaned up in the restroom before they ate. James, on the other hand, wandered off to a small, corner table and plopped down on the cherry red plastic of the booth’s benches. He looked down and ran his hand over the smoothness of the glittery plastic. He smiled. So they still made that old-timey diner stuff. Cool.

What’s ya want to drink? A feminine voice broke into his thoughts.

James looked up to find a young, blonde waitress staring down at him expectantly, her order tablet in hand.

I’ll take a beer—

She looked perturbed. We don’t got beer, here. If ya want beer, ya gotta go to the bar down the street. They got beer.

Sprite, James said.

We got Dr. Pepper and Coke and A&W Root Beer. We don’t got Sprite.

How come all you carry is dark beverages?

When he saw the look on her face, he stopped.

Water, he said finally.

She glared slightly and walked off quickly.

Putting his head between his hands, James rubbed his temples in a circular fashion, hoping soon that damn headache would subside. What if they’d nicked him in the head with the bullet? Or maybe it ricocheted off his arm and lodged itself somewhere in the side of his head? What if he was having a blood clot at that very moment and was minutes from death? What did it feel like? Did it start with a pounding headache?

Making himself almost sick with the images brewing inside his preoccupied mind, James finally looked up when he heard the glass put down firmly on the table.

What’s ya want to order?

I don’t know. I have to look at the menu. Which I don’t have.

She reached down and beyond him, nearly brushing her breasts against his forearms resting on the table. Despite the near contact, she seemed oblivious, only grabbing the small, laminated menu from between the bottles of ketchup and mustard and handing it to him. She stood back up and looked impatient.

I gotta wait for my friend. He has to order, too.

With a huff, she turned and walked to the kitchen.

James watched her with narrowed eyes. Jesus. What happened to Southern hospitality? Or did Texas qualify as Southern? Maybe that was the problem.

As he took his eyes from her, he glanced around the somewhat empty diner. There was an old couple off in the other corner, a middle-aged man sitting alone at the counter nursing a cup of coffee, and a younger woman at the table closest to James. She kept staring at him.

James tried to follow her eyes and realized she was studying his tattooed forearms. Only she didn’t look too happy with the colorful designs he’d chosen, and when he tried to smile at her, she suddenly pulled her eyes away and developed a look of disgust. Okay. So she didn’t dig tattoos.

What’re we getting? Kevin sat down at the table smelling of soap and clean.

James crinkled his nose. What’d you do in there? Take a fucking bath?

I told you I wanted to clean up a little. Shit, we’ve been in the car for over twenty-one hours. I don’t like to smell as ripe as you.

Yeah, yeah. I don’t smell that bad.

Uh, yeah, you do.

James pushed the menu at him. When she comes back, tell her I want the grilled cheese. And if they don’t have it, which they probably won’t, tell her I’ll take the cheeseburger. And then if they’re outta that, tell her I’ll take a side of fries with cheese drizzled on top. Just get me anything with cheese.

Kevin watched him strangely. Why so many choices?

They don’t have clear beverages. So there’s no doubt in my mind they won’t have the food I want either.

There goes that negative thinking again.

James rose from the booth. "Just you deal with her. She hates me."

Where’re you going?

You told me I stink.

Oh yeah, Kevin agreed, pointing to the corner of the café.

When James slowly walked past the young woman at the table, she moved only her eyes to acknowledge him. He limped slightly from when he had twisted his ankle running down Mt. Rubidoux’s hills away from the cops. James grimaced when he put weight on that foot, but he still managed to ignore her clinging eyes. Pulling up his dragging jeans, James almost ran into the waitress as she came out from behind the counter. Just to further anger her, he said, I still don’t know why you only carry dark beverages.

She looked pissed as she walked over to Kevin. Mission accomplished.

James pushed open the door to the small bathroom. There was just one sink and a dirty toilet. As James stood over the toilet he turned up his nose, hoping their kitchen wasn’t as bad as the bathroom. When he zipped his jeans back up, he noted just how loose they were hanging on him and realized he hadn’t been eating much in the last few days. Well, why should he? He had committed the ultimate sin four different times, got really ill after each one, and with his last escape from the cops, he had barely been able to keep anything down. At the first stop for food Kevin had made outside of Phoenix, James was still so upset that he had thrown up everything including the beer he had chugged down with the tacos. He made a face looking down his emaciated frame, his stomach so sunken in that his crotch protruded more. Well, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

As he made his way over to the mirror to splash some water on his face and hair, he almost jumped when he saw the image stare back. He had dark circles under his eyes, his skin was becoming sallow, and his Adam’s apple was getting so noticeable on his thin neck that people would soon categorize him a damn nerd. No. He couldn’t let that happen. Throwing more water at his face, he rubbed at his eyes and tried to do the Kevin Nichols’ cocked-eye-thing: the one where he looked inquisitive and sexy at the same time. But James gave up with the reflection that stared back. Nah. He just looked possessed. James could hardly be called sexy next to his best friend. Kevin had always been the one most girls noticed. For some reason, they went for that longish, dirty blonde wave of hair he swore was natural, his tanned, tall physique, and the dark blue eyes which were only outdone by the guy’s mouth of perfect teeth. James took a second to smile at the mirror. He stopped and frowned instead. Funny how many girls didn’t respond to James’s thrashed, light brown hair fading even lighter from the intense Riverside sun, his sometimes haunted, green eyes, and his numerous tattoos splayed all over his pale arms.

That’s when he saw the blood which had dripped down from under the cloth bandage Kevin had purchased at a drug store on their way out of California. Unwrapping it carefully, James bit his lip when he saw the condition of his wound. It was looking on the rancid side. He threw some cold water up onto it, the tenderness of the surrounding skin making him grit his teeth in pain. Shit. He didn’t want to ever have an actual bullet in him. He couldn’t even handle the damn nicking.

Dabbing at the wound carefully with a paper towel, he tried to dry it off and re-wrap the gauze, but he was getting grossed out looking at the bloodied skin. Wrapping as quickly as he could, he fastened it up and rolled down his black tee shirt sleeve. He took a moment to check out the shirt on his chest. His own tee shirt was somewhere up on Mt. Rubidoux wedged between the rocks where he had hid out. It was sacrificed there when he had to make a quick getaway down the hillside. It wasn’t until Kevin had stopped for the gauze bandage that he had seen the shirts and grabbed one for his bare-chested, shot-up friend.

Now, as James examined the hokey 60’s design, he frowned, knowing his cool Iron Maiden tour shirt was lost forever up in the dank crevices of one of Riverside’s hill tops. He made a face. Well, at least the new one was black.

When he walked out of the bathroom, he made it a point to ignore the bitchy waitress and, once again, the snobby woman at the table. Instead, he made a bee-line for Kevin, walking as quickly as his foot would allow, and he slid into the booth silently.

I don’t smell any soap, Kevin noted.

James stared. What are you, the soap Nazi?

Before Kevin could comment, the waitress brought their food, setting it down in front of Kevin first, then James, to whom she barely acknowledged.

That was it. Hey, lady, what the fuck did I ever do to you?

James, Kevin warned. Now’s not the time.

’Scuse me? she asked rudely.

Why are you treating me like a piece of shit because I walked in here for some food and questioned your beverages?

James…

I don’t know what yer talkin’ about, she countered.

"Is this how you treat non-Texans?"

James…

I didn’t do nothin’ wrong, sir.

Oh, now it’s sir? It wasn’t like that before. What, is it because of the way I look or because I don’t talk with a drawl like you?

Kevin finally gave up and put his hand on his forehead. Jesus, even on the run from the cops for his vigilante justice, James McRiley still had to stand up for the little guy. Even when the little guy was him.

Would you like me better if I spoke like you? James continued. Or would you like me better if I didn’t have nasty, little drawings all over my arms? He made sure to emphasize those arms in the direction of the rude female at the next table.

Sir, there ain’t a problem, but if you’d like me to call out the owner—

No! Kevin spoke up. No, no, miss, we’re fine, I can assure you. He glared at his heated friend. Right, James? We don’t need to make a scene, right? That’s the last thing we need to do right now, don’t you think?

Kevin’s eye antics reminded James of just why he was driving through Texas on a soon-to-be-twenty-two-hour journey. So he decided to calm himself.

No, you don’t need to call anybody. We’re fine, he answered begrudgingly.

Kevin looked up too, winking flirtatiously at the young girl until she finally produced a smile.

Okay, she said softly. Enjoy y’all’s meal.

When James mumbled some profanity with her fakeness, Kevin reached across the table to slap his arm.

Ouch! James said. That’s my shot arm!

Shh! Kevin hissed. Are you trying to tell all of Southern Texas what you did to get here?

Inhaling deeply, James looked down at his grilled cheese sandwich, knowing his friend was right. Ignoring the throbbing of his arm, he put down his other hand and grabbed the sandwich, shoving it into his famished mouth. When he reached for a fry, he pulled it up to find orangey, cheesy goodness attaching itself to the piece of potato. He smiled all of a sudden.

Kevin looked up from his food. Yes. You got your cheese. I’m glad that’s all it takes to soothe the savage beast. Kevin rolled his eyes and grinned, cutting into his grilled chicken breast. As he chewed, he looked across a few feet to find the young woman at the next table eyeing him with interest. He cocked an eyebrow in return.

A few hours later, Kevin found himself drifting off a couple of times behind the wheel. When he swerved, James woke up.

What happened? Are the cops behind us?

Kevin shook his head, slapping at his face. Nah. I just gotta stop soon, that’s all. I gotta sleep.

James pushed himself up in the seat, noticing the sun edging downward, its rays reflecting off what looked like storm clouds up ahead. I can probably drive for a few hours.

No, Kevin said, reaching for his cup of ice to chomp. Your arm looks like it’s swelling, and your foot’s in no condition to shift. He glared. We found that out the last time you tried driving. You almost stripped my gears.

But if I use it more, it’ll probably work itself out. And I don’t need the arm much.

Just to steer. Kevin’s normally bright eyes turned slightly cold. You forget you gotta shift with the right arm and hold the wheel with the left.

James could hear the sarcasm loud and clear. I know how to drive a stick, Kevin. Remember, my old Celica was a manual.

Yeah, but you didn’t have an infected arm and a hurt foot. He shook his head emphatically. No way you’re driving my car until you’re completely healed.

You’re never gonna let me forget about New Mexico, are you?

We almost got arrested by the tribal police when you veered off the interstate onto their land! Man, we don’t need the Indian cops after us! We already got problems with the California cops!

I was fine until I had to slow for that animal or lost alien outta Roswell or whatever the hell it was in the road last night! That’s when I had to shift, and my foot cramped up. He stared at his friend with sorrowful eyes. I won’t let it happen again. Lemme drive.

No, Kevin said. This is my baby, all right? She’s better than any girl and I don’t want you fucking her up.

Whatever. James jammed his back into the leather upholstery and tried to fold his arms in front of him in a fit of anger. Suddenly, a stabbing pain shot down his arm. He grabbed hold of his bicep, pressing his lips together to keep the yell inside.

Kevin looked over at him. That’s it! As soon as we get closer to the next town, we’re finding a motel.

No! James shouted. No, we can’t!

James! I gotta sleep. A real sleep. If we stop on the side of the road again, we might attract a passing squad car. We’ll be safer in a motel!

But—

Besides, you gotta put ice on that arm. It’s getting bigger and bigger. We need to clean it out good and fix it up better than the half-assed job I did back at the drug store. He yawned all of a sudden and reached for the ice again. It looks like we’re nearing New Orleans. We can stop somewhere there.

But that place is huge!

All the better. With so many people, we won’t attract any attention. He frowned. Not like your anti-Texas sentiment you pulled back there at the eat-n-shit.

Grabbing his stomach, James nodded. It must’ve been the cheese.

I had fucking chicken and I’m paying for it. What the hell can you do to a breast of chicken for God’s sake?

Maybe it wasn’t chicken. James’s eyes opened widely. Maybe it was opossum or some kinda road kill—

You’re so bad, James! Just ’cause they’re Southern doesn’t mean they don’t eat normal food! You forget I’m from West Virginia, remember? Stop categorizing us, all right?

You might as well be a native Californian, Kevin! You’ve been gone from the hillbillies sixteen years now—

Stop calling them hillbillies! They’re just the same as you!

James tried not to smile. He loved messing with Kevin about his Southern roots. Whatever you say. But I bet that waitress slipped in something toxic on us.

Why me? She liked me. She just didn’t like you.

You think because you flirted with her she liked you?

Yeah. Why not?

Because you’re an outsider, Kev. You’re not one of her people. She can smell an outsider a mile away. They all can.

Finally, Kevin rolled his eyes and looked away, back to the road, checking out mileage signs. He needed to get himself into a bed and James out of the seat of paranoia soon or he’d commit his own murder.

The French Quarter? James stepped out of the car slowly, looking all around at the ornate buildings lit up in the evening darkness by the old-timey lamp posts. Wow; it was like wrought iron everywhere. Never had he seen so much ornamental metal in one place. When he looked up at the balconies which graced the majority of the two and three-story buildings, he saw huge, forest-green ferns hanging everywhere, coming to life in the dampness of the evening. He wiped the sweat from his face and neck as he stood next to the Acura just staring, car headlights blinding him as traffic moved slowly along the busy and intimate, old street.

Why not stay in the coolest part of New Orleans? We’ll only be here once. We might as well make the most of it. Kevin closed his car door and happily walked towards the historical hotel across the street.

James followed him as best as he could, still limping. As he stepped between cars up onto the sidewalk, he noticed tons of people walking along and talking. He reached over to grab his friend’s arm.

This place is jammin’, he said, the smells of food suddenly hitting his nose.

Yeah. That’s why we gotta stay here one night. Just to say we did.

James’s eyes widened when he poked his head into one of the dark, nearby bars and saw all the crazy, laughing people and the drinks flowing wildly. Oh man…he could really use some liquor right now. That would surely make the hurt go away.

He soon caught up with Kevin inside the old hotel. Already he was talking to an ancient guy at the front counter.

Two for tonight, please, Kevin said.

The man looked down into his ledger and moved his head in acknowledgment. Yes, we have one room available. That’ll be one hundred and fifty dollars.

James watched as Kevin’s mouth suddenly opened. James tried hard to keep his own closed. He grabbed his friend and pulled him away.

This is higher than Vegas! James said.

I know. Shit, I didn’t know it was that much.

How much we got?

I’ll use my credit card.

They can trace credit cards! We gotta use cash. James reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Here, take some.

Are you sure?

He nodded, looking around the huge entry of the hotel, noticing the mahogany vintage furniture, the many chandeliers and numerous oriental rugs. Damn, it looked so old-time freakish. He smiled. He already felt like some kind of vampire…

James watched as Kevin pulled the bills out of the wallet and then looked back at James as if to say thanks for keeping me from looking like the cheap bastard I am.

Any luggage, sir? The old, balding man came out from behind the tall counter dressed in a burgundy vest, black bow tie and grey slacks. James wondered if he wasn’t a freak in his spare time out of his monkey suit.

Nah. We’re good, Kevin answered, stuffing the key in his pocket. Just up those stairs? He pointed to a large, wooden staircase which looped around a couple of times.

Yes, sir. Room Two.

James followed his friend slowly up the stairs. Man, no elevators; check it out!

I’m telling you. Kevin looked all around the dark, paneled walls as they climbed up.

And we’re in Room Two. Not like Room One Thousand and Two or some shit like in Vegas.

That must be why they’re so pricey. They must only have a few rooms.

When they stopped at the door, Kevin thrust the old key inside and turned the round, brass handle. They both stopped short when they entered the room.

Holy shit, James said, limping over to the beds. Look! It’s like a real painting over the bed! Not that printed stuff!

Too cool, Kevin noted, closing the door carefully behind him. He paused to look in the large, gold-framed mirror hanging over the tall dresser and ran his fingers through his wavy hair, brushing the falling, curly bangs from his forehead. Damn, he said. Twenty-four hours in a car and I still look fine.

Oh yeah, you’re gorgeous, James agreed, coming up behind his friend and frowning when he saw his own undernourished and unhealthy image. Me, on the other hand…I look like the fucking undead.

Hey, you’re in the right town. Maybe if you play your cards right you’ll find some wench hot for that pale, thin, creature-of-the-night look.

I’m not here for women, James said, trying to run his fingers through his thick, straight hair and finding them unable to get through to the other side. Screw it. He turned around to hobble to the bathroom and stepped in, whistling. Wow! It’s clean and everything! And it smells good. Not like those bathrooms in the truck stops.

Kevin threw off his shirt and fell onto the bed. When James returned from the bathroom, his friend was already snoring.

Grinning, James moved over to the other bed and sat down. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, counting what little money he had left. Luckily, they’d hit the ATM before they left California. But now, there was no way he wanted anyone to track where they’d ended up. Even now, he jumped every time he heard a siren coming from outside.

He closed his wallet back up and shoved it in his pocket. Maybe they could make some money on the run. But doing what? He took a moment to glance over at Kevin sleeping so soundly on the bed, and he noticed the asshole already had a hard-on happening. That was it! He could whore Kevin out. And he’d be the pimp. Yeah, that’d work.

James turned to look at the digital clock by the bed, the only modern-looking item in the whole room except for the TV, and saw it was almost nine o’clock. Okay. He’d go in the bathroom, clean up the arm, let it get some air, sleep for a couple of hours and then check out the local bars for his medicating needs.

As he slowly stood to walk back to the bathroom, he heard rumbling from outside. He moved towards the window and threw open the heavy, tapestry curtains. Seeing the gray clouds glow against the pitch black sky and illuminate with lightning in the distance, he smiled. Now the impending, foreboding weather totally complemented the whole sinister scene.

But wait—the sound of jazz broke into his thoughts. No. That’s not right. Jazz is never the background in his made-up movies. His soundtrack is always hard, driving rock. Well, in particularly strange circumstances, he’ll use classical. That can be evil, too. But jazz? Jazz isn’t evil.

He made a face and pulled away from the window. Maybe the thunder would soon drown out the overly relaxing musical background. He shot another look at Kevin. Either that or the snoring.

CHAPTER TWO

Hands were clasped around his neck; he could feel the hold tighten, and he struggled to pull the fingers off him. Finally, he broke free, clutching the rigid, angry hands and looking at them. Pink fingernail polish! Then he screamed out when he saw the bloody body of Rebecca leaning over him, her opened mid-section still fresh where he had accidentally stabbed her with the knife. Instantly, he lost control of her hands and felt them going for his neck again. He began gasping for air. All the while, she stared at him hatefully with those blue eyes, and her large, bare breasts swung around, reddened with her blood. He tried in desperation to speak with what little air he could get. It wasn’t on purpose! You fell on the knife! But he could feel her winning, despite his attempts to pull off her vengeful, powerful, zombie hands from his body. You tried to kill me! Her voice was coarse and hard. So what if you chickened out! It’s still your fault, you sick, sadistic, serial killer!

It was an accident! James shouted, bolting up in the bed and shaking with fear in the black of the room.

Kevin stirred next to him and looked over with the intrusion. What? he asked tiredly, rubbing his crotch.

Nothing, James muttered, swinging his long legs over the bed and noticing it was almost midnight. Shit. I slept too long. I wanted to drink.

Throwing his arms backwards in a restful stretch, Kevin smiled. Man, I feel great! You see? I just needed a few hours. C’mon. The night’s still young. Let’s go party.

Are you sure? You really need to sleep, man.

I did. I’m ready for some action. He got up to walk to the bathroom. How’s your arm?

James turned on the lamp and stuck his bicep under the light. What do you think?

Kevin made a face. What does gangrene look like?

How the fuck do I know?

Well, it sounds super gross. And your arm doesn’t look fizzy or blackened or puss-filled or anything like I would expect gangrene to look. Kevin took a moment to put his hand to his mouth as if making a diagnosis. I think it’s fine. He walked off to the bathroom. Wrap it up and let’s go!

Kevin downed the beer in his hand and motioned for another. Smiling, he slapped James on his healthy arm. This is the fucking life, eh? Booze, fine-looking women, good food—

I’ll say, James said, shoving what was left of the French pastry in his mouth.

Are you gonna eat some real food, soon? Kevin asked. Between those doughnut things and the alcohol, you’ll be on a massive sugar high.

I can’t eat those shrimp things you did.

Crawfish? Why not? Don’t knock it ’till you try it. We’re here in historical New Orleans. We need to sample the local cuisine. He glanced around the bustling café, noticing all the old street signs and local memorabilia which adorned the wooden walls.

"I am. I’m sampling