The damp wind blowing off Bayou St. John felt good against Jules’s skin. It was a proud wind, a strong wind. A wind for heroes.
He placed his footlocker on the long, low hood of his Lincoln, and then he unlatched it. The cloak and hood smelled a little musty as he lifted them out of the box and unfolded them. But the breeze quickly freshened them. He wrapped the cloak around his beefy shoulders and fastened the stiff, cracked leather clasps. Then he pulled the hood over his head, gently adjusting its frayed mouth- and eyeholes. The aged fabric was more snug than he remembered it being. It felt like a second skin. A new face. A reborn face.
The wind lifted his cloak behind him and made it snap smartly, like Old Glory whipping from the topmast of a speeding destroyer chasing after deadly U-boats in the Gulf. A light rain began falling from the gray sky. It beat against his chest like a second baptism, scouring the accumulated years away. He felt like a young vampire of sixty-five again-no,fifty. There was nothing he couldn’t do. All the Veronikas and Malice X’s of the world were merely obstacles, just cases to be solved. The Dark Fright had returned.
Jules pointed to the grassy banks of the bayou, now lined by luxury condominiums and the campus of the LSU Dental School. “I can still see it, Doodlebug. It’s like it’s still there.”
“The Higgins Boat Plant?”
“Yeah. The Higgins Boat Plant. Three-quarters of a mile long. Spitting out new landing craft into the bayou as fast as you could snap yer fingers. Eisenhower said the Higgins boats won the war. And we kept the plant safe, didn’t we? For three years, we kept it safe.”
“We sure did, partner.”
Jules took a step back to appraise Doodlebug’s new costume. It consisted of a sunburst yellow leotard, metallic purple tights, a matching purple domino mask, and shiny black vinyl go-go boots. The white calfskin gloves were a nice touch. “I’m almost embarrassed to admit it,” Jules said, “but this new outfit of yours looks a helluva lot better than the old one ever did. Thanks for remembering the old color scheme, though.”
“Sure thing.” Doodlebug smiled. “Youknow I’d never pass up a perfect opportunity to dress up.”
Jules took a last look along the bayou, imagining the long-gone landing craft factory he’d invested so many long nights protecting. Then he turned toward the car. “Let’s hit the road. We got us a stakeout ahead, and I don’t want my hood gettin‘ soggy.”
Doodlebug placed himself between Jules and the door. “Costume or no costume, I’m not at all comfortable with your confronting your X before we’ve finished your training. As your adviser, I’m duty-bound to tell you that.”
Jules gently but firmly pushed him aside and opened the door. “You done your duty, then. Look-I know where that bum’s gonna be tonight. This shit has gone on long enough. I don’t wanna stall no more. Besides, I got me an equalizer. Here. Lemme show you.”
He lifted a large box out of the backseat, set it on the Lincoln’s roof, and opened it. Then he removed a large black object that looked like a cross between a pistol-grip crossbow and a child’s Special Forces action toy.
“Tiny Idaho made this for me. After last night, I came up with the idea of it firin‘ pellets loaded with garlic powder, in addition to the wooden darts I originally wanted. What a whiz that guy is. He was able to add the extra features while we were hangin’ out by his work table talkin‘. See this little button here? It lets me switch between the two types of ammo.”
“Very clever.” Doodlebug took the weapon and examined it from all angles, then handed it back to Jules. “I don’t recall the Hooded Terror ever using a gun before.”
“Yeah?” Jules carefully put the gun back in the box, then put the box back in the car. “Well, that’s because the Hooded Terror was facin‘ dumb-ass fifth columnists his last time up at bat. That sorry buncha losers could hardly hit the side of the Higgins Boat Plant with a mortar shell from thirty yards. I figure Malice X and his bunch should be a little more battleworthy, them being vampires and all.”
“I expect you’re right,” Doodlebug said. He got into the car. The rain began to beat a little harder against the Lincoln’s windows, and the thin reeds by the bayou’s edge were splayed flat against the black water by sudden gusts of wind.
Jules drove down Esplanade to North Broad Avenue, a once thriving, middle-class commercial corridor now split evenly between rent-to-own rip-off joints and sagging, boarded-up storefronts. He fiddled with the radio tuner while steering around abandoned cars and rusty muffler husks, trying to get WWOZ to come in strongly. The Lincoln’s radio was acting up; the Wild Magnolias’ “Iko Iko” faded in and out of clouds of static.
“Fuckin‘ Ford Motor Company piece of shit…” Jules muttered to himself.
“You promised me earlier you were working out a plan,” Doodlebug said, tying back his long hair into a sensible braid. “I’d like to hear it. I assume youhave a plan, don’t you?”
“Well, sure. Sure I do. I went and got the gun, didn’t I?”
“So you plan to shoot him with the gun?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No,” Jules repeated. “Vampires don’t kill other vampires. Maybe I didn’t teach you that too good, but that’s one of them commandments I live by. The gun? I plan tothreaten him with the gun. After, y’know, we rough him up a little. To show him we mean business and he can’t railroad me no more. Then I’ll talk to him, man to man.”
“Uh-huh. Do you plan to have this little heart-to-heart before or after he sics his vampire goons on you and rams a stake through your chest?”
Jules snorted. “I’ve got that worked out, okay? He won’t be expectin‘ us. We can stake out his car, hide in the shadows. I figure he’ll have at most one or two bodyguards with him. And between your kung-fu tricks and my Tiny Idaho special, we should be able to knock them out easy. Then big, bad Malice X is all ours.”
Jules stopped for the light at the corner of South Broad and Tulane Avenue. The busy intersection was dominated by the gray stone hulk of the Criminal Court Building, a failed, boarded-up Goodfeller’s Fried Catfish Shack, and an immaculate, golden-arched McDonald’s.
“Y’know, that McDonald’s there,” Jules said as the light changed, “it appeared overnight. Like magic. I was passin‘ this corner for weeks while workmen leveled the old building on that corner and prepared the concrete slab. Then one night, they brought the restaurant in on the back of a flatbed. They plunked it down in the concrete, and by the next night it was open for business. Magic.”
Doodlebug glanced briefly at this miracle of modern commerce. “Maybe you’re expecting a little too much magic tonight? Let’s say that everything goes exactly as you described. We take care of his bodyguards and pull him into some dark, empty alleyway. What makes you think you can convince him to leave you alone-short of killing him?”
“Againwith the killing! You wanted to kill his sister, too, didn’t ya? Look, this Malice X, whatever else he may be, he’s a businessman. Sellin‘ drugs is abusiness, just like sellin’ toothpaste is. And if he’s a businessman, that means he can be bargained with. If I can show him that I can’t be pushed around, that screwin‘ with me is bad for his business, I can get him to cut a deal. Some kinda quota deal on black victims-maybe two a month for me, and the rest of the time I’ll get by on white tourists and blood you ship me from California. I got his black binder of customers, don’t I? I can always use that as a bargaining chip. Besides, we got somethin’ in common… we’veboth had to put up with Maureen’s shit. That should count for something.”
“I see. And what’s your fallback plan?”
“Fallback plan?”
“What are you going to do if your calculations of Malice X’s character are wrong?”
“I dunno-didn’t them Tibetan monks of yours teach you some superduper hypnotic whammy you can lay on him?”
“No.”
“Bummer.” Jules’s spirits sagged momentarily, but they quickly reinflated as he experienced a brainstorm. “Hey! Igot it! Here’s what we can do to really put the quakes in him. You tell him about all these nasty extra powers you got. Then you give him a demonstration. Wave your arms around like Mandrake the Magician, then stare at me real hard and mean. And whatI’ll do, see, is I’ll do like I did in Maureen’s basement and try to turn into two animals at once. I’ll change into some horrible two-headed mess, then collapse into a pool of goo. Then you’ll wave your arms around again, and I’ll reappear as me, moanin‘ like you just cut my balls off. After that, he’ll be thinkin’,Shit-if he’d do that to his buddy, just to prove a point, what’ll he do to me? He’ll be crappin‘ his pants big time!”
Jules waited for some sign of enthusiasm from his companion. But Doodlebug just stared out the window. “Huh-uh,” he said finally, shaking his head. “Interesting plan, very creative. But it won’t work.”
“Why the hell not? It’d sure scare the shit outtame!”
“That’s the problem. It would scare the shit out ofyou. Malice X isn’t another you. He doesn’t think like you. The two of youare brothers, in a way, just not identical twins. You’re more like Cain and Abel. The farmer and the hunter.”
“Now wait a minute-Malice X and me areboth hunters!”
“Technically, maybe. But you’ve always been content to gather whatever resources are conveniently at hand. That’s a big part of why you’re so reluctant to give up black victims-you’re accustomed to them, they’re abundant, and they’re convenient. Malice X, on the other hand, appears to be working very hard to change the city’s status quo, to remake his environment in his own image-”
“I’m no damn loafer, if that’s what you’re tryin‘ to say!”
“No, that’snot what I’m trying to say. Just let me finish. Cain and Abel both wanted to impress their Creator with their offerings and bask in His approval. Both you and Malice X, over the years, have tried to impress Maureen. According to what Maureen has told us,your offerings met with greater favor. In the Bible story, Abel’s inadvertent one-upmanship of his brother had fatal consequences. Your position is even worse than Abel’s was. Imagine if Adam weren’t around, and both Abel and Cain desperately, fervently wanted to marry their mother. Take that ancient stew of jealousy and hurt feelings, stir in some Oedipal yearnings, sprinkle in a generous pinch of racial animosity, and you have a perfect recipe for murder. Very bloody murder.”
Jules slowly circled halfway around the brick pile of the Broad Street Pumping Station, part of a massive drainage system designed to suck accumulated rainwater off the streets and flush it into Lake Pontchartrain. From the look of the clouds overhead, the system would have its work cut out for it tonight. He had to admit Doodlebug’s analogy made a certain amount of sense. “So me and Malice X, we’re Cain and Abel. What the hell do you want me to do about it?”
“There’s only one thing youcan do. Kill him before he kills you.”
Jules pulled over into a bottle-strewn empty lot that, until a few years earlier, had been the Bohn Ford Used Car Lot. He shoved the transmission into park. “Before we go another block, I wanna ask you something. For somebody who lived in a monastery and wears a dress, you come off as onehelluva bloodthirsty sonofabitch. What’s the deal, Doodlebug? Who’s the real you?”
Jules turned off the radio. The Lincoln’s roughly idling motor made the dashboard rattle as he waited for his friend to answer. Doodlebug sighed. “Do you remember what I told you about the monks’ initiation test for new vampires? The choice between the meditation staff and the blood?”
“Yeah. The ones who picked the blood ended up as puddles of red goop.”
“That’s right.” The rain began falling again. It hit the windshield in fat splatty droplets, bursting against the glass like watery kamikazes. “They barely tolerated me. The monks. They let me stay and learn because I was useful to them. My fangs and blood thirst gave them the potential for fresh initiates. They were never rude or unkind. But they let me know, in very subtle ways, that I was among the fallen. That in this life, debased by my surrender to the blood lust, I have no chance of redemption. They taught me to hope that, if I diligently study the paths of discipline, I might make the right choice during my next incarnation as a vampire.”
Nextincarnation? In all his long decades as a vampire, Jules had never once thought about what might come after. “Jeez… that sounds even more hard-assed than Catholicism.”
Doodlebug managed a grim smile. “Perhaps. So, my friend, maybe you see why I don’t share your view that ending a vampire’s existence is wrong. With the exception of that small group of monks on their mountaintop, all of us vampires are tainted by having drunk the blood of our fellow creatures. All of us are fallen. By ending a vampire’s endless life of blood drinking, I may free a fallen soul for a second chance to achieve true and pure immortality.”
“Whoa whoawhoa!” Jules whacked his steering wheel in frustration.Again Doodlebug was twisting the rules of vampirism into crazy knots! “Just before, you was tellin‘ me I have to kill Malice X before he kills me, right? And now you’re sayin’ it would be agood thing if I got killed? Ain’t that a contradiction of terms?”
Doodlebug smiled. “You’re swifter on the uptake than I sometimes give you credit for. But don’t worry-this isn’t some plot on my part to get you killed. I want you to have the best shot possible at doing ‘the vampire thing’ right on your next go-around, and we haven’t finished your training.” He patted Jules’s shoulder reassuringly. “Besides, there’s no telling what sort of person you might be reborn as… and I have to admit to a certain fondness for the imperfect-but-charming vampire you are now.”
Jules’s head stopped swimming. As convoluted as his friend’s reasoning was, it made a bit more sense to him now. “Well… okay, then.” He shifted the transmission lever back into drive. “But one more thing-we’re at least gonnatry my original plan, right? Before we do anything more drastic?”
“Your problem demands your solution. I only advise. You’re the boss, Jules.”
He didn’t detect any sarcasm or ambiguity in his partner’s voice. Jules pulled out of the empty lot and turned onto Washington Avenue, heading for Central City and Club Hit ‘N’ Run.
He passed a large white-columned building that he remembered as the Broadmoor Cinema. Now it was the Rhodes Funeral Home. Jules glanced at the long black Cadillac hearses lined up in front, and a frightening thought occurred to him.
Doodlebug had said he didn’t want Jules to die, not yet. But would his friend, ashamed of his own fallenness, thirsting for a second chance, welcome hisown death in the coming battle?
Jules performed a slow drive-by past Club Hit ‘N’ Run. He circled the block, searching for some sign that their quarry was inside. The club occupied both halves of a shotgun double house on Melpomene Street, half a block off Oretha Castle Haley Boulevard. As he scanned the trash-strewn streets for Malice X’s Cadillac limousine, Jules’s mind wandered to the days when Oretha Castle Haley Boulevard had been called Dryades Street. Back then, before World War II, it had been home to numerous Jewish businesses. Jules recalled the bearded men, wearing their funny little black skullcaps, who had run the bakeries, shoe stores, and tailor shops, all open on Sunday but closed on Saturday. By the early 1970s, when the street was renamed for a local civil rights activist, the bearded men in their skullcaps were long gone. Now the area was an economic fringe zone, an incubator for gangsters and petty criminals, avoided by tourists and middle-class locals like a radioactive crater. Jules had actually done a good business there over the past couple decades; most Central City residents didn’t own cars, at least not reliable ones, and he was one of the few cabdrivers willing to respond to calls from the neighborhood.
The sight of a familiar long, black, custom-built Seville jarred Jules back to the present. “There she blows,” he said, pointing to an alleyway off Melpomene Street, across the street from the club, four storefronts closer to the river. The brightly polished limousine had been backed into the alleyway, mostly out of sight of the street. A pair of orange barricades had been placed at the mouth of the alley, presumably to prevent any other cars from parking in front of the limousine and blocking it in.
“It’s a good setup for us,” Jules said. “He’s gotta go back in that alleyway sometime tonight to get his car. I didn’t see any rear exit; the back of the alley is blocked by that gardening supplies warehouse on Baronne. Once he’s in there, we can trap him and any bodyguards real easy.”
“Maybe it’stoo good a setup,” Doodlebug replied. “Didn’t you see that guard lounging by the side of the car? The car’s windows are tinted-there could be half a dozen more guards waiting inside.”
“Then we’ll just have to take care of them, won’t we? Remember ‘The Case of the Skull-Faced Nazis’? How many crummy guards did we have to polish offthat time? Compared to that, this’ll be a cakewalk.”
“Whatever you say, Jules.” Doodlebug didn’t sound convinced.
Jules turned the corner onto Baronne. “Hey-while we’re in uniform, it’s ‘Hooded Terror,’ ‘Terror,’ or ‘H.T.’ ”
“Oh, yes… it’svital that we protect our secret identities. How could I forget?”
A pair of large, grayish brown German shepherds chased each other across the street, forcing Jules to slam on the Lincoln’s brakes. “Shit! Fuckin‘ dogs got a death wish! Damn mutts ain’t got no collars, neither.” Muttering to himself about the dearth of dogcatchers in New Orleans, he parked along the curb while he still had a few shreds of asbestos left on his brake drums.
“Well, H.T., how do you propose getting that guard out of the way?”
“Simplicity itself, my dear D.B.,” Jules said, regaining his composure as he cut the motor. “Once you take off that mask, you can pass for a civilian real easily, considerin‘ the kooky way women dress nowadays. So here’s what you’ll do, see? All you gotta do is waltz up to that guard like some ditzy, airhead tourist who’s lost her way; boy, Iwish we had a Hurricane glass! Anyway, you distract the guard-show a little leg, and bounce those little titties of yours around. Use your imagination; I don’t wanna think about it much. Get him to turn away from the mouth of the alleyway. Then I’ll come in with a plank or a pipe and whack him over the head.”
Doodlebug rolled his eyes. “You’ve been readingway too many pulp mystery stories, Jules-” “ ‘H.T.’ ”
“Whatever! What stereotypical thinking! Do you really thinkevery man drops a hundred IQ points whenever he sees a woman sashaying his way? What if he doesn’t like white women? What if he’s a happily married deacon in his church? For that matter, what if he’s gay?”
Huh.Creepy, but maybe Doodlebug had a point there. “So you don’t like that plan?”
“No-I definitely do not.”
“Well, okay, don’t get your panties in a bunch. Here’s another plan. If he’s human and he’s eaten anything at all in the last twelve hours, I can get him runnin‘ outta that alley like a rat with its tail on fire. Thenyou can whack him over the head.”
“How do you plan to manage that?”
Jules grinned beneath his hood. “Hey, you ain’t theonly one who’s developed new powers since that last time we met.”
“If this would only work on a human, what do you think the chances are that he’s a vampire?”
“I dunno-why wouldn’t Malice X have human flunkies, as well as vampires?”
“Good point. He could only afford to create a small number of vampire followers; he needs to supply them all with blood, and if he makes too many of them, there’s no way he could remain inconspicuous for long. Maybe only his top lieutenants are vampires. Keeping an eye on his limo is a fairly low-level chore. Still, if the guardis a vampire, what then?”
Jules grabbed his unwieldy black dart gun from the backseat. “Then there’sthis.”
Doodlebug raised an eyebrow. “So you’ll kill him with a dart through the heart?”
“Who said anything about killin‘? I’llwound him. And then you can whack him over the head.”
There was no shortage of scrap lumber lying in the derelict lots along this stretch of Baronne Avenue. Doodlebug quickly selected a solid, hefty plank for himself. They turned the corner onto Melpomene Street and instinctively ducked within the shadows. Darkness covered the street and broken sidewalks like a muddy, threadbare blanket. Jules and Doodlebug wrapped themselves in this blanket as they approached the alleyway that held Malice X’s black limousine.
Jules flattened himself against the brick wall adjoining the entrance to the alley. Why was he hesitating? Was he nervous about going into action as the Hooded Terror again? Afraid he couldn’t live up to the heroic tradition he’d established for that identity? Going into action was like jumping off a high dive, he told himself; the worst part was taking that first step, but then gravity took over. He peeled himself off the wall and lurched into the alleyway, his hooded bulk blocking nearly two-thirds of its width.
“Hey, Jeeves, how about a spin in that car a yours?”
The guard gaped at the tremendous apparition in front of him. “Who orwhat the fuck are you supposed to be?”
Jules steeled himself for a full-strength application of his Diarrhea Stare. Luckily, the guard was looking him right in the eyes. “You can call me the Hooded Terror,” he said, forcing himself to recall his last few solid meals and their terrible aftermaths. “The ‘Hooded’ part is a no-brainer. The ‘Terror’ part will become obvious real soon.”
The guard reached for his holstered gun, but then he clutched his stomach and doubled over. “Oh Mama-!” Horrifying rumbles and squealings emitted from the man’s gut as he stumbled past Jules toward the street. Jules barely had time to turn around before a resoundingthunk! announced that Doodlebug had performed his half of the operation.
Together they dragged the unconscious man to the back of the alley. Jules sucked in his belly as best he could but still scraped his love handles against the rough brick wall and the polished flanks of the car. It was a tight squeeze, but he made it.
Doodlebug placed his nose close to the tinted windows and stared inside the car. “I can’t see anyone. If no one came piling out while we were shanghaьng that guard, I don’t suppose we have any hiders in there.”
“Then let’s go find us a good stakeout spot.”
They crouched behind an abandoned Mercury Grand Marquis sitting on Melpomene two houses down from the alleyway, situated so that Malice X wouldn’t walk past it on his way back to his limousine. The massive Mercury made an excellent vantage point; all four wheels and tires had been removed, so the vehicle sat flush on the ground, and weeds had begun colonizing the rusting shell. With the way weeds grow in New Orleans, Jules figured, in a few more years it wouldn’t be recognizable as a car at all. It would be a big green lump.
The two large stray dogs that Jules had nearly run down trotted over to their hiding place. They sniffed Doodlebug’s legs and wagged their tails. “Geddoutta here!” Jules whispered fiercely, shooing them away with a piece of loose weatherstripping from the car. “We ain’t got nothing for you to eat! Keep buggin‘ me and I swear I won’ttouch the brakes next time.Scat! ” The dogs scampered off in the direction of the club.
They watched the club for the next half hour. The left side of the building, labeledHIT, was larger and better maintained, benefiting from a fresh coat of paint and deeply tinted, double-paned windows. The right side, wearing a sign that readRUN, was hardly more than a take-out liquor shack, marred by a sagging porch, dangerously leaning steps, and flaking paint. The only discernible activity came from the few customers who entered theRUN portion and exited a few minutes later carrying quarts of beer. Snatches of rap and RB music escaped into the hot night each time they opened the leaflet-plastered door. No one entered or left theHIT side, at least not by the front door. The windows, tinted like those on the limousine, revealed nothing. The only sound to escape that side of the building was the steady hum of a powerful air-conditioning condenser.
“Not much action here,” Jules said, more to break the silence than anything else.
“No,” Doodlebug replied. “If Malice X conducts his drug and business transactions in that building, we can safely assume he’s doing it in the nicer side. It’s likely his customers have a less conspicuous entrance than the front door. Maybe a rear entrance that connects with one of those abandoned houses on the other side of the block.”
“But no matter which door he uses, he’s gotta come back this way, to get his car.”
“Unless he contacts his driver by cell phone, and his driver pulls the car around to the back entrance.”
“Yeah. But tonight his driver’s takin‘ an unscheduled nap. So he’s gotta come. Sometime before sunrise, he’s gotta come.”
After another twenty minutes, Jules’s adrenaline rush had completely subsided. It was replaced by the kind of dull torpor he remembered from thousands of nights of waiting for customers in his cab. The broken sidewalk was beginning to make his rear end and lower back ache, despite the thin cushioning provided by his wadded-up cloak. He kept having to shoo scurrying palmetto bugs away from the two of them, although Doodlebug didn’t seem bothered by the big cockroaches. To top things off, their observation post didn’t exactly smell wintergreen fresh. The pungent, chemical odor of dripping motor oil mingled with the scents of human and dog piss and week-old garbage, a combination Jules doubted even a roach could love.
Jules tapped his friend on the shoulder. “Hey, D.B., don’t you wish we were out by the bayou again, stakin‘ out the Higgins Boat Plant? Boy, were those nights sweet. Nothing around but us and the moon and the trees and the water. Everything smelled clean, like the ocean. Shit, I even miss them ol’ Nazis.”
Doodlebug smiled, but his eyes were serious. “Watch yourself, Jules. Too much nostalgia can be like a cancer. It’ll eat you up from the inside.”
Jules waved off the remark. “Oh, c’mon… tell me you don’t miss plenty of stuff about the old days. What’s so bad about nostalgia? What’s wrong with wantin‘ the same things I’ve always wanted, with missin’ the way things used to be?”
Doodlebug ran his forefinger along the leaves of a vine that had twisted itself luxuriously around the Mercury’s rear axle. “Nothing’s wrong with wanting the same things you’ve always wanted. We’re all entitled to want whatever it is we do. But you need to be flexible enough to seek those same old goals in new ways. The world around us is constantly changing. Sometimes evenwe change. Take a deep look at yourself. Maybe the Jules of today actually wants different things than the Jules of fifty years ago did.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Jules mumbled. A flying roach landed on the toe of his boot. He flicked it off, giving it a nice spiral trajectory. It splatted against the broken shell of the Mercury’s side-view mirror.
Doodlebug reached over and yanked the corner of his hood; Jules’s eyeholes ended up over his nose. “So, Man of Mystery, are you going to tell me anything more about what happened to you last night? Maureen and I were privy to an ugly phone conversation. And you came home pretty torn up. But the only thing I could get out of you was that you’d learned where Malice X would be tonight.”
Jules couldn’t decide whether to share with Doodlebug what he’d learned-about the vast governmental apparatus that sought to crush him by any underhanded, sneaky, disreputable means available. The thought of it made his blood boil-his own government, the very government he’d fought to protect back in World War II! He squeezed the Mercury’s front wheel rim until the rusted sheet metal crumpled in his fist. Should he tell Doodlebug? A distraction like that could only hurt right now. One threat at a time. Besides, if he went into the whole story, he’d probably end up having to tell the sexy parts, too. And he definitely didn’t want to rehash allthat.
“Not now, kid. Maybe when you’re older. Us old bulls, we gotta keepsome secrets.”
His friend let the matter drop. Jules was about to lose himself again in memories of his golden war years when the door of theRUN club burst open. Jules leapt from Memory Lane back to Melpomene Street-every muscle in his massive frame tensed as he waited to see who would exit the building.
Two pear-shaped, middle-aged women stepped out onto the rickety porch, beers in hand. They lingered to talk a few seconds longer with someone still inside the bar, then laughed and walked down the uneven steps to the sidewalk. Jules’s stomach growled. He found himself licking his lips; in happier times, these ladies could’ve meant an evening’s amusement, followed by a good, hearty meal.
Both were wearing T-shirts with a photo of a woman’s face on them. As they walked down the opposite sidewalk in his direction, Jules was able to get a better look at their shirts. Beneath the photo of the woman’s face were the words: HAVE YOU SEEN ME? Jules’s blood ran cold as he remembered the posters he’d seen taped to shop windows in the French Quarter. He was almost afraid to look at the silk-screened image of the woman’s face, but he forced himself to. Sure enough… it was Bessie. Bessie’s plump brown face was plastered on a pair of massive chests bobbling toward him up the sidewalk. A ghost in the shape of a steel bear trap, she had clamped hold of his leg and wouldn’t let him go.
“Sonofabitch… I can’t believe it… she was a nobody, a nothing,why — ”
“Jules, what are you talking about?”
Just then, the door on theHIT side of the club swung open for the first time since they’d arrived on Melpomene Street. A broad-shouldered, tall black man exited. He was made even taller by six-inch platform shoes and a wide-brimmed hat crowned with massive white feathers. Jules recognized him immediately. It was Malice X. And he was alone.
“Forget about it,” Jules said breathlessly. “That’shim. It’s showtime.”
“That’s him? Where are his bodyguards? This doesn’t feel right-”
Jules clamped a paw over Doodlebug’s mouth. “Shaddup, kid. I’ll never get another chance like this. Just follow my lead.”
They watched as the black vampire crossed the street without bothering to check for oncoming traffic. Confident bastard, Jules thought.Boy, am I lookin‘ forward to wipin’ that cocky smirk off his face. He pulled himself into a crouch, ready to spring toward the alley’s entrance. His heart raced. His knees were shaking-whether from excitement, fear, or the strain of holding up his 450 pounds, he couldn’t tell.
He picked up his gun from the sidewalk. Malice X walked into the alleyway. It was now or never-in seconds, the black vampire would discover his unconscious sentry and race back out onto the street. About twenty yards of broken sidewalk separated Jules’s hiding place from the alley’s mouth. As a young man, he could’ve run that distance in little more than five seconds. Now? Who knew?
He pushed off from the car and launched himself into a run. Holding the unwieldy gun in his right hand threw his stride off. The soles of his boots sounded like small bomb bursts as they slapped the sidewalk. He felt his cloak billow out behind him like a battle flag.
Jules reached the entrance to the alleyway. He nearly panicked-he couldn’t see Malice X anywhere.
But then he spotted his rival behind the limousine, hunched over the man Doodlebug had knocked unconscious.
Breathing hard, Jules spread his legs wide and aimed the gun at Malice X with both hands, a pose he remembered Harry Callahan striking in theDirty Harry movies. “Freeze, dickhead!” he shouted with the most aggressive growl he could muster. “We got you covered!”
Malice X stood. “Who’sthis?” He took two steps forward, halting next to the Cadillac’s rear tire. “Lemme see… Orson Welles is dead an‘ buried, so I guess it must be my ol’ buddy Jules Duchon. Who’re you two dressed up as? Fat Man and Robin?”
Jules fingered the gun menacingly. “An‘ who areyou supposed to be-Chuckles the Pimp?”
Malice X clutched his heart. “Youwound me! Actually, Wednesday night is Classic Blaxploitation Night in my household; last week, I dressed as Truck Turner. Helps keep those Hump-Nights lively, seein‘ as I plan on being around for an eternity of them.”
“Maybe you won’t be around for as many as you think,” Jules said. “Unless you agree to play ball with me, that pimp suit’ll be the blaxploitation outfit they bury you in.”
“You think?” The black vampire walked steadily up the narrow corridor between the car and the wall. His eyes flashed darkly. “That wasn’t very nice, what you did to my sister.”
Jules kept the gun pointed at his rival’s chest. “We coulda done a lot worse. But we didn’t. ‘Cause we’re reasonable men. But not so reasonable that I won’t fire half a dozen mini stakes through what passes for your heart if you keep comin’ at me.”
“Oh, you won’t,” Malice X said. But he stopped nonetheless. “Y’know why not? ‘Cause if youwere gonna do it, you woulda done it already. You wannatalk, is what you want. You wanna say your piece, get all them heavy frustrations off your fat chest. Then you wanna hear what I got to say back. You know the rules of the game as well as I do-the nasty ol’ villainalways gets to spill his nasty ol‘ plans before the hero does him in. Break the rules, an’ you’ll never work in this town again.”
Jules’s face went hard as weathered marble. “You don’t think I’ll use this gun?”
Malice X scowled. “Fuckno, man.”
Jules angled the gun’s nose up five degrees and pulled the trigger. The mechanized crossbow-type mechanism fired its wooden dart at a velocity of five hundred feet per second. The projectile struck Malice X in the concavity just below his left collarbone. On its journey into his grayish flesh, it broke the links of a gaudy gold chain. The vampire’s medallion clattered to the cobblestone alley.
“Oww.”Malice X looked down at the dart protruding from his shoulder, a disbelieving look on his face. He clutched the tail of the dart and yanked it loose, offering no more than a brief grimace, although blood ran freely down his partly bare chest, staining his white silk shirt. He crushed the dart to splinters in his fist. Then he leaned down to the cobblestones and scooped up his medallion, dropping it into a pocket beneath one of his jacket’s winglike lapels.
“Huh. You actually managed tosurprise me. Didn’t think you could do that. Tell you what. Since you managed to exceed my expectations, you get to say your piece.”
Jules didn’t relax his aim. “That’s mighty cocky, fer a guy who’s got a gun pointed at his heart.”
“Hey-either you can waste my patience on stale macho banter, or you can say your piece. Your choice, fat man.”
Jules took a deep breath. Although his heart still beat double time, he felt calm. Amazingly calm. “Okay. This shit between you and me, it ends here. Tonight. Look, I can understand you bein‘ pissed off at me and all. I know how Maureen can be. I know how that woman can get under your skin, believe me. But you’ve had your pound a flesh. You burned down my house. You destroyed a century’s worth of good stuff. You made my life hell for a month. Enough is enough already.”
Jules gathered his thoughts. He’d start the bargaining a little high; it was always smart to ask for more than you really wanted. “Now me, I’m a reasonable man. I got you in my crosshairs. I could kill you right now. But I’m not gonna. I’m not gonna, ‘cause we’re gonna make us a deal. Bottom line: There’s no way in hell I’m leavin’ New Orleans. I was born here back when William McKinley was president. This town’s in my blood. That’s Number One. Two: A vampire in this town can’t expect to make any kinda decent livin‘ preying on white victims only. The wayI see things, vampires is vampires and victims is victims, no matter what color they are. A fair share is a fair share, period. And that’s all I want-my fair share. Here’s my deal. I can make do with, oh, let’s say one black victim every two weeks. Twenty-six a year. No, tell you what, we’ll make that twenty-fivea year, ’cause I’ll skip one black victim in honor of Black History Month.”
Malice X looked at Jules with the same disbelief as when he’d stared down at the dart protruding from his body. Only this time, the disbelieving look dissolved into laughter so hard he doubled over and clutched his knees. “Man,that’s thefunniest fuckin‘ shit I heard all month!” He wiped his eyes with a monogrammed silk handkerchief snatched from his pocket. “I’m tempted to keep you around just for yucks. You want a deal?Here’s the deal. I play around with you ’til it ain’t no fun anymore. Then I kill you. Deal?”
Jules didn’t see any reason for laughter. “I’m still the one holding the gun, asshole. Maybe after your return trip from Fantasy Island you’ll be willin‘ to talk turkey-” He was distracted by cold, wet noses burrowing beneath his pant legs. He glanced down to see two pairs of gray canine eyes staring into his. “ Again?Fuckin’ mutts been doggin‘ me all night long! Shoo! Geddoutta here!” Keeping the gun pointed at his adversary, Jules kicked furiously at the two large dogs, whose muzzles and tails flashed within the folds of his black cloak. “Doodlebug! How about makin’ yourself useful here?”
“Uh, Jules, I don’t think these animals aredogs — ”
Malice X’s sharp, high-pitched laughter echoed through the alleyway again. “And you thinkI’m the one on a trip to Fantasy Island? I knew you’d be comin‘ after me here. Didn’t take no big detective work; I knew it from what you stole from my sister’s house. It was just a matter of waitin’ for you to show. And since you read my business binders, you know I’m the source for a new, improved type of street drug, a derivative of heroin I call Horse-X, patent pending. What youdon’t know is what it is that makes my Horse-X so special. Oh, sure, it’s three times as potent as run-of-the-mill heroin; that’s what makes it attractive to the user. What makes it attractive tome, apart from the fact that it buys me things like this fine-ass Cadillac car here, is a veryinteresting property of my blood when it’s combined with an opiate. See, anybody who snorts or shoots up the stuff becomesexquisitely sensitive to my hypnotic powers. I don’t even hafta be lookin‘ at ’em, Jules-if they’re within a quarter mile of me, all I hafta do isthink real hard about what I want ‘em to do, and I play the suckers like dime-store kazoos.”
The black vampire smiled. “Now, how many users and abusers of Horse-X do you figure are hangin‘ within a quarter mile of this herelovely alleyway?”
“Kill him, Jules,” Doodlebug said, his voice hard as tempered steel. “Kill him while you still can.”
Jules’s thoughts were as scattered as the blobs of color in a Jackson Pollock painting. It had been so perfect. He’d been doing it allhis way. But now everything was spinning out of control again “Jules!”
“What-?”
“Ohshit, just give it here-”
Doodlebug grabbed the gun from Jules’s hands. With a fluid and intuitive motion, he fired a pair of wooden shafts directly at Malice X’s heart.
“Too slow, little mama!” The darts struck and pierced Malice X’s velvet jacket, but the wily vampire had already transformed his upper torso to mist. The projectiles clattered harmlessly against the far wall.
Other sounds jolted Jules from his stasis. From somewhere above him, hurried footsteps scuffled, dislodging roof tiles that exploded to dust on the cobblestones below. Heavy fabric unfurled, disturbing the stagnant air in the alleyway. Jules looked up. The storm clouds and faint stars were partially blocked by the tight mesh of a heavy-gauge net, no doubt put there by some of Malice’s faceless minions. This batproof barrier covered the entire top of the alleyway.
But not the entrance. Malice X stood at the back of the alley. They could make a break for it Jules swiveled away from his nemesis. Behind him, Doodlebug had already trained Tiny Idaho’s gun on a new set of targets. The dogs-no,wolves — were shimmering like oil slicks on water, their forms elongating, growing more muscular and less hirsute. Their faces foreshortened, taking on features that Jules knew all too well-the feral leers of the vampires who had hunted him through the streets of the Quarter.
That wasn’t the worst of it. Far from it. Jules’s balls shriveled when he heard the staccato impacts coming from the street, like the approach of a rapidly moving hailstorm. But it wasn’t hail. It was the sound of dozens of footfalls. Dozens of mind-controlled zombies converging on the alleyway.
The Hooded Terror closed his eyes and wished he were back at the bayou again.