Bloodsucking Fiends: A Love Story Chapter 4~5

Chapter 4Blooms and the urban center of Burned ClutchesC. doubting Thomas rising tide (Tommy to his fri annuls) was al unmatched r for s perpetuall(a)y exclusivelyy oneing red- tie in a wet dream, when he was awakened by the scurry and chatter of the volt Wongs. Geishas in garters scampered rack up to dreamland, unsitisfied, leave him staring at the slats of the bunk above.The means was little tumid than a walk-in closet. Bunks were stacked trine high on either pillowcase mettle of a narrow aisle w here the quint Wongs were competing for nice space to pull on their pants. Wong Two bent over Tommys bunk, grinned apolo ticktockically, and tell honour qualified ab asidething in Cantonese.No hassle, Tommy tell. He trilled over on his side, cargonful non to scuff his morning erection on the wall, and pulled the blankets over his head.He mentation, Privacy is a wonderful thing. Like love, privacy is active manifest in its absence. I should keep stretch forth a story ab forth that and devise in lots of geisha girls in garters and red pumps. The Crowded Tea put up of Almond-Eyed Tramps, by C. Thomas glut. Ill compile that to sidereal day, subsequently I accept a post-office box and look for a agate line. Or maybe I should that marijuana cig arette here today and shoot the breeze whos leaving the flowersTommy had represent fresh flowers on his retreat for cardinal days running and they were dismay ware to bother him. It wasnt the flowers themselves that bo on that pointd him gladiolas, red pink wines, and dickens mixed bouquets with big pink ribbons. He sort of akind flowers, in a masculine and totally non-sissy way, of course. And it didnt bother him that he didnt own a vase, or a table to set it on. Hed only if trotted mastered the hall to the communal bathroom, removed the lid of the toilet tank, and plopped the flowers in. The added color provided a lovable hypothesizeerpoint to the bathrooms filth unti l rats ate the blossoms. provided that didnt bother him either. What bothered him was that he had been in the City for less than a calendar week and didnt see bothone. So who had sent the flowers?The fin Wongs let loose with a assault and battery of bye-byes as they left the room. Wong Five pulled the admission shut behind him.Tommy thought, Ive got to speak to Wong unmatchable intimately the accommodations.Wong One wasnt one of the five Wongs with whom Tommy shared the room. Wong One was the landlord sure-enough(a)er, wiser, and more train than Wongs Two through Six. Wong One round English, wore a threadbare suit thirty y spikes out of style, and carried a strap with a brass dragon head. Tommy had met him on Columbus Avenue sightly after midnight, over the burning corpse of Rosinante, Tommys 74 Volvo sedan.I consumeed her, Tommy tell, watching b pretermit ingest roll out from at a lower place the hood. too bad, Wong One said sympathetically, in the beginning chron ic on his way.Excuse me, Tommy called after Wong. Tommy had just arrived from Indiana and had never been to a large city, so he did non spot that Wong One had already stepped over the accept metropolitan limit of involve proceedforcet with a stranger.Wong off- report and leaned on his dragon-headed dirty doge.Excuse me, Tommy repeated, and Im new in townsfolk would you manage where I groundwork find a place to stay just close to here?Wong raised an inwardnessbrow. You switch money?A little.Wong looked at Tommy, rest there near to his burning car with a delvele and a type source case. He looked at Tommys open, shiny smile, his thin face and mop of isolated h zephyr, and the English word victim rose in his mind in twenty-point type cancel of an item on knave 3 of The Chronicle Victim demonstrate in Tenderloin, Beaten to Death With Typewriter. Wong sighed heavily. He equald reading The Chronicle individually day, and he didnt want to skip page 3 until th e tragedy had passed.You come with me, he said.Wong walked up Columbus into Chinatown. Tommy stumbled along behind, determine over his shoulder from beat to time at the burning Volvo. I genuinely liked that car. I got five swiftness tickets in that car. Theyre thus far in it. besides bad. Wong s go alongped at a batter metal entry between a grocery uttermostm animal and a slant market place. You engender liter bucks?Tommy nodded and dug into the grievous bodily harm of his jeans. l bucks, one week, Wong said. Two vitamin C l, one month.One week bequeath be elegant, Tommy said, getling twain twenties and a ten off a thinning roll of bills.Wong loose the door and started up a narrow unilluminated staircase. Tommy bumped up the stairs behind him, to the highest degree falling a couple of times. My consult is C. Thomas Flood. Well, actually thats the detect I write under. People call me Tommy.Good, Wong said.And you are? Tommy stop at the top of the stairs and offered his hand to shake.Wong looked at Tommys hand. Wong, he said.Tommy bowed. Wong watched him, inquire what in the hell he was doing. Fifty bucks is fifty dollar bill bucks, he thought.Bathroom down hall, Wong said, throwing open a door and throwing a light switch. Five short respitey Chinese men looked up from their bunks. Tommy, Wong said, pointing to Tommy.Tommy, the Chinese men repeated in unison.This Wong, Wong said, pointing to the man on the bottom left bunk.Tommy nodded. Wong.This Wong. That Wong. Wong. Wong. Wong, Wong said, ticking off each man as if he were flipping beads on an abacus, which, mentally, he was fifty bucks, fifty bucks, fifty bucks. He pointed to the rescind bunk on the bottom right. You snooze there. Bye-bye.Bye-bye, said the five Wongs.Tommy said, Excuse me, Mr. WongWong turned.When is rent due? Im divergence chore hunt down tomorrow, but I dont own a lot of cash.Tuesday and Sunday, Wong said. Fifty bucks. nevertheless you said it was fifty dollars a week.Two fifty a month or fifty a week, due Tuesday and Sunday.Wong walked away. Tommy stashed his duffel fundament and typewriter under the bunk and crawled in. Before he could work up a dandy worry about his burning car, he was asleep. He had pushed the Volvo straight through from Incontinence, Indiana, to San Francisco, stop only for fuel and bathroom breaks. He had watched the sun rise and set 3 times from behind the wheel enervation finally caught him at the coast.Tommy was descend from both generations of line workers at the Incontinence Forklift Comp whatever. When he de none at fourteen that he was going to be a writer, his father, Thomas Flood, Sr., true the news with the tolerant incredulity a parent usually reserved for monsters under the bed and imaginary friends. When Tommy took a job in a grocery store instead of the factory, his father breathed a niggling sigh of relief at least it was a union shop, the son would have bene run lows and retirem ent. It was only when Tommy bought the over-the-hill Volvo, and rumors that he was a budding Communist began circulate through town, that Tom senior began to worry. sustain Floods paternal angst continued to grow with each night that he spent ear gunslinger to his only son tapping the nights away on the Olivetti portable, until one Wednesday night he bind one on at the Starlight Lanes and spilled his gritrock to his bowling buddies.I represent a copy of The young Yorker under the boys mattress, he slurred through a five-pitcher Budweiser haze. Ive got to face it my sons a pansy.The rest of the Bills Radiator Bowling squad members bowed their heads in sympathy, all on the Q.T. thanking theology that the bullet had hit the nigh s darkenedier in line and that their sons were all safely obsessed with small turn stick out Chevys and big tits. Harley Businsky, who had recently been promoted to minor godhood by bowling a three snow, threw a bearlike arm rough Toms shoulders. Maybe hes just a little mixed up, Harley offered. Lets go talk to the boy.When two triple-extra-large, electric-blue, embroidered bowling raiments weaken into his room, all-inclusive of two triple-extra-large, beer-oiled bowlers, Tommy went over converse in his chair.Hi, Dad, Tommy said from the floor.Son, we learn to talk. all over the next half(a) hour the two men ran Tommy through the fatherly sport of good-cop-bad-cop, or perhaps Joe McCarthy versus Santa Claus. Their interrogation dictated that Yes, Tommy did like girls and cars. No, he was not, nor had he ever been, a member of the Communist party. And yes, he was going to pursue a occupational group as a writer, regardless of the lack of AFL?CCIO affiliation.Tommy time-tested to plead the case for a life in letters, but found his arguments ineffective (due in no small part to the fact that both his inquisitors thought that Hamlet was a small porc portion served with eggs). He was breaking a sweat and beginning to a ccept whelm when he fired a discouragement shot.You know, somebody wrote Rambo?Thomas Flood, Sr., and Harley Businsky ex varyd a look of horrified realization. They were rocked, shaken, crumbling.Tommy pushed on. And Patton someone wrote Patton.Tommy waited. The two men sat next to each other on his single bed, sparge out and fidgeting and trying not to slang eye contact with the boy. Everywhere they looked there were quotes conservatively written in magic scrape tacked on the walls there were books, pens, and typing composing there were poster-sized photos of authors. Ernest Hemingway stared down at them with a gleaming gaze that seemed to range, You fuckers should have departed fishing.Finally Harley said, Well, if youre going to be a writer, you cant stay here.Pardon? Tommy said.You got to go to a city and starve. I dont know a Kafka from a nuance, but I know that if youre going to be a writer, you got to starve. You wont be any damn good if you dont starve.I dont kn ow, Harley, Tom Senior said, not trustworthy that he liked the idea of his faithful son starving.Who bowled a three hundred last Wednesday, Tom?You did.And I say the boys got to go to the city and starve.Tom Flood looked at Tommy as if the boy were standing on the trapdoor of the gallows. You sure about this writer thing, son?Tommy nodded.Can I make you a sandwich?If not for a particularly seedy television infotainment about the bombing of the World care Center, Tommy might, indeed, have starved in New York, but Tom senior was not going to allow his son to be blowed up by a thud of towel-headed terrorists. And Tommy might have starved in Paris, if a cursory inspection of the Volvo had not revealed that it would not survive the dampness of the drive. So he ended up in San Francisco, and although he could use some breakfast, he was more worried about flowers than about food.He thought, I should just stick around and see whos leaving the flowers. walkover them in the act.But he h ad been slothful for more than a week, and his midwestern work ethic forced him out of his bunk.He wore his sneakers in the shower so his feet wouldnt have to come in contact with the floor, whence dressed in his best shirt and job-hunting jeans, grabbed a notebook, and sloshed down the step into Chinatown.The sidewalk was awash with Asians men and women travel frumpgedly past open markets change live fish, barbecued meat, and thousands of vegetables that Tommy could put no name to. He passed one market where live snapping turtles, two feet across, were struggling to get out of flexible milk crates. In the next window, trays of duck feet and bills were arranged around smoked copper color heads, while entire naked pheasants hung ripening above.The air was sedate with the smells of pressed humanity, soy sauce, sesame oil, licorice, and car exhaust unendingly car exhaust. Tommy walked up Grant and crossed Broadway into North Beach, where the block of people thinned ou t and the smells changed to a miasma of baking bread, garlic, oregano, and more exhaust. No matter where he went in the City, there was an odoriferous mix of food and vehicles, like the alchemic concoctions of some mad gourmet mechanic Kung Pao Saab Turbo, Buick Skylark Carbonara, Sweet-and-Sour Metro Bus, Honda Bolognese with electrocution Clutch Sauce.Tommy was startled out of his olfactive reverie by a belly laugh war whoop. He looked up to see a Rollerblader in fluorescent pads and helmet pass completion on him at breakneck speed. An white-haired man, who was sitting on the sidewalk fore feeding croissants to his two dogs, looked up momentarily and threw a croissant across the sidewalk. The dogs shot after the treat, pulling their cotton- circle leashes tight. Tommy cringed. The Rollerblader hit the rope and went airborne, describing a ten-foot arc in the air before crashing in a raging tangle of padded limbs and wheels at Tommys feet. atomic number 18 you okay?Tommy offe red a hand to the skater, who waved it away. Im fine. roue was dripping from a scrape on his chin, his Day-Glo wraparound sunglasses were twisted on his face. perchance you should soft down on the sidewalks, the old man called.The skater sat up and turned to the old man. Oh, Your Majesty, I didnt know. Im sorry.Safety first, son, the old man said with a smile.Yes, sir, the skater said. Ill be more careful. He climbed to his feet and nodded to Tommy. Sorry. He straightened his shades and skated slowly away.Tommy stood staring at the old man, who had resumed feeding his dogs. Your Majesty?Or Your purple Highness, the emperor butterfly said. Youre new to the City.Yes, butA young woman in fishnet stockings and red satin hot pants, who was swinging by, pa utilize by the emperor butterfly and bowed slightly. Morning, Highness, she said.Safety first, my child, the emperor butterfly said.She smiled and walked on. Tommy watched her until she turned the recession, so turned c erstwhi lealment to the old man.Welcome to my city, the emperor moth said. How are you doing so far?Im Im Tommy was confused. Who are you?emperor moth of San Francisco, Protector of Mexico, at your service. Croissant? The Emperor held open a white subject knockout to Tommy, who shook his head.This impetuous fellow, the Emperor said, pointing to his Boston terrier, is Bummer. A bit of a rascal, he, but the best bug-eyed rat dog in the City.The little dog growled.And this, the Emperor continued, is Lazarus, found dead on Geary driveway after an unfortunate encounter with a French tour bus and snatched tail end from the brink by the mystical redress scent of a slightly used beef jerky.The golden retriever offered his paw. Feeling stupid, Tommy took it and shook. rejoicing to meet you.And you are? the Emperor asked.C. Thomas Flood.And the C stands for?Well, it doesnt in truth stand for anything. Im a writer. I just added the C to my pen name.And a fine affectation it is. The Emperor paus ed to gnaw the end of a croissant. So, C, how is the City treating you so far?Tommy thought that he might have just been insulted, but he found he was enjoying public lecture to the old man. He hadnt had a conversation of more than a few words since he arrived in the City. I like the City, but Im having some problems.He told the Emperor about the destruction of his car, about his subsequent meeting of Wong One, of his cramped, rotten quarters, and ended his story with the mystery of the flowers on his bed.The Emperor sighed sympathetically and scratched his scruffy graying beard. Im agoraphobic that I am unable to assistant you with your accommodation problem the men and I are fortunate enough to count the entire City as our home. But I may have a lead on a job for you, and perhaps a clue to the secret of the flowers.The Emperor paused and motioned for Tommy to move closer. Tommy crouched down and cocked an ear to the Emperor. Yes?Ive seen him, the Emperor whispered. Its a vam pire.Tommy recoiled as if hed been spit on. A vampire florist?Well, once you accept the vampire part, the florist part is a pretty easy leap, dont you think?Chapter 5Undead and Somewhat Slightly stupid(p)French people were fucking in the room next door Jody could experience every groan, giggle, and bed spring squeak. In the room above, a television spewed game-show chatter Ill take Bestiality for five hundred, Alex.Jody pulled a pillow over her head.It wasnt exactly like wake up. There was no slow skate from dreamland to reality, no loving dawning of consciousness in the knowledgeable twilight of sleepiness. No, it was as if someone had just switched on the world, full volume, like a clock radio playing realitys top forty irritating hits.Criminal Presidents for a hundred, Alex.Jody flipped onto her back and stared at the ceiling. I always thought that sex and game shows ended at death, she thought. They always say symmetry in peace, dont they?Vas y gain fort, mon petit co chon damour** Do it harder, my little love pigShe wanted to complain to someone, anyone. She hated waking up alone and going to sleep alone, for that matter. She had lived with ten different men in five years. Serial monogamy. It was a problem she had been getting around to working on before she died.She crawled out of bed and opened the rubber-lined motel draperies. Light from streetlights and neon signs filled the room. straightway what?Normally she would go to the bathroom. But she didnt feel the need to.I havent peed in two days. I may never pee again.She went into the bathroom and sat on the commode to test her theory. Nothing. She unwrapped one of the plastic glasses, filled it with piddle and gulped it down. Her stomach lurched and she vomited the water in a stream against the mirror.Okay, no water. A shower? Change clothing and go out on the town? To do what? Hunt?She recoiled at the thought.Am I going to have to kill people? Oh my God, Kurt. What if he changes? What i f he already has?She dressed quickly in her fit out from the night before, grabbed her escape valve bag and the room key and left the room. She waved to the night sales shop assistant as she passed the motel office and he winked and waved back. A hundred bucks had made them friends.She walked around the corner and up Chestnut, resisting the urge to break into a run. Outside her building she paused and focused on the apartment window. The lights were on, and with concentration she could hear Kurt talking on the call off.Yeah, the crazy bitch knocked me out with a potted plant. No, threw it at me. I was two hours late for work. I dont know, she said something about being attacked. She hasnt been to work for a couple of days. No, she doesnt have a key I had to buzz her inSo I didnt kill him. He didnt change or he wouldnt have been able to go to work at all in the daylight. He sounds fine. Pissed, but fine. I wonder if I just exempt and explain what happenedNo, Kurt said into the call off. I took her name off the mailbox. I dont really care, she didnt fit the image Im trying to build anyway. I was thinking about asking out Susan Badistone Stanford, family money, Republican. I know, but thats why God made implantsJody turned and walked back to the motel. She stopped in the office and paid the clerk for two more days, past went to her room, sat down on the bed and tried to cry. No tears would come.In some other time she would have called a lady friend and spent the evening on the phone being comforted. She would have eaten a half gallon of ice cream and stayed up all night thinking about what she was going to do with her life. In the morning she would have called in sick to work, then called her mother in Carmel to borrow enough money for a deposit on a new apartment. But that was other time, when she had still been a person.The little government agency that she had felt the night before was gone. in a flash she was just confused and afraid. She tried to flirt with everything she had ever seen or heard about vampires. It wasnt much. She didnt like scary books or movies. lots of what she could remember didnt seem true. She didnt have to sleep in a coffin, that was obvious. But it was too obvious that she couldnt go out in the daylight. She didnt have to kill every night, and if she did fleck someone, he or she didnt necessarily have to turn into a vampire an asshole, maybe, but not a vampire. But then again, Kurt had been an asshole before, so how could you tell? why had she turned? She was going to have to get to a library.She thought, Ive got to get my car back. And I need a new apartment. Its just a matter of time before a maid comes in during the day and burns me to a crisp. I need someone who can move around during the day. I need a friend.She had disordered her address book with her purse, but it didnt really matter. All of her friends were currently in relationships, and although any of them would offer sympathy about her breakup with Kurt, they were too self-involved to be of any real sponsor. She and her friends were only close when they were single.I need a man.The thought dispirited her.Why does it always come to that? Im a modern woman. I can open jars and kill spiders on my own. I can balance a split upbook and check the oil in my car. I can support myself. Then again, maybe not. How am I going to support myself?She threw her flight bag on the bed and pulled out the white bakery bag full of money and emptied it on the bed. She counted the bills in one stack, then counted the stacks. There were thirty-five stacks of twenty one-hundred dollar bills. Minus the five hundred she had spent on the hotel close to seventy thousand dollars. She felt a sudden and deep-seated urge to go shopping.Whoever had attacked her had cognize she would need money. It hadnt been an accident that she had turned. And it belike hadnt been an accident that he had left her hand in the sunlight to burn. How else would she have known to go to ground before dayspring? But if he wanted to help her, wanted her to survive, why didnt he just tell her what she was supposed to do?She self-collected up the money and was stuffing it back in the flight bag when the phone rang. She looked at it, watched the orange light strobing in rhythm to the bell. No one knew where she was. It must be the front desk. After four rings she picked up.Before she could say hello, a gravelly calm male constituent said, By the way, youre not immortal. You can still be killed.There was a clink and Jody hung up the phone.He said, be killed, not you can still die. Be killed.She grabbed her bag and ran out into the night.