Faux Fangs 02: To Dance Daytona

Moonlight bathed the beaches of Daytona with warmth and light. The thin man lay on a lounge chair, wiggling his toes in yellow flip flops. He stretched like a contented cat and laid his arms across his chest covered with a blue shirt splashed with large red and yellow flowers. Sunglasses protected his eyes, and he wore Moon Block #15 to avoid burning his tender, pale skin. He relished being alone on the quiet beach, listening to the waves gently splashing.

A motorcycle's loud engine broke the silence roaring down the beach and then braking near the chair and umbrella. A young voice yelled at the thin man, "Master, hop on and let's go for a ride. You'll love it." Brent Field's eyes were bright with excitement under the gentle moonlight. "Hurry, I'm not supposed to bring motorcycles on the beach."

Rutherford Zucks sat up and asked, "Can you handle that thing good enough yet? It looks heavy."

"Sure." Brent revved the engine and then held out an extra helmet and tennis shoes to the man.

Rutherford took the items. He put his flip flops into a pouch and then seated himself behind Brent on the motorcycle. "Okay, be careful, these are old bones, you know."

Brent headed for the highway with Rutherford holding on for dear life. Rutherford squinted as they met lights of oncoming traffic, too bright even with sunglasses to protect his sensitive eyes. The wind blew his shirt and warmed his skin. He soon relaxed and felt exhilarated by the speed and glorious sense of freedom and daring. "Faster, Brent. Faster," he yelled.

Letting out a whoop, Brent sped up as they flew through the night. He slowed down when they arrived at flashing lights of a biker bar and parked near a long line of motorcycles. Brent got out a quart thermos and put it inside his jacket pocket. The young man hesitated just a moment before entering. This moment had been anticipated for so long. Brent and Rutherford walked past bikers sitting at the bar to a table near the dance floor. Down several steps to the side were pool tables with smoke clouds hovering above the players. Rutherford took off his sunglasses and looked around, trying not to squint.

A waitress walked to the table holding an empty tray. "What'll it be, fellows?" Brent thought a moment. "Bring us a Blue Motorcycle and a Bloody Mary." She turned and walked towards the bar to the background of conversations, laughter, pool balls striking the table and lively song by Z. Z. Top. After their drinks arrived, Brent drank the Bloody Mary in gulps and laid the celery on the coaster. He then poured a thick red drink into the glass from the thermos and handed it to Rutherford, who took a sip and said, "Premium!"

Brent tasted his drink, put it down and said, "Good as its name." Rutherford noticed a young woman, probably 20 or so, looking their way. Her friend was busy applying purple lipstick that matched her shirt. Rutherford leaned over and whispered, "Don't look now but I think someone is going to ask you to dance."

Brent looked up in surprise. "Really?"

"What dances do they do now, Brent?"

Brent stared as the young lady stood up, her short skirt and really high heels emphasizing her shapely legs, and walked slowly to their table. She stopped and batted her eyelashes. "I'm Amanda. Want to dance?"

Brent opened his mouth to speak but shut it when he saw her staring at the older man instead. "You mean me?" Rutherford asked. She smiled. He stated, "It would be rude to refuse a lady." They stepped to the dance floor to Bob Seger's "Old Time Rock and Roll." He held her arm, and they moved around the room in a closed promenade step. He swung her out and dropped her hand. "Follow me," he told her. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms on his chest. She watched as he circled her, and she repeated his step. He opened his eyes and took his right hand to make three stabbing motions to her chest. She exclaimed in delight, and he smiled. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms. She made stabbing motions to his chest, and he grabbed his throat and moaned. His head dropped to his chest.

The dancers around them stopped to watch. He took her arm and guided her around the room, then repeating the stabbing motions. Applause followed them to the table. She sat down and asked, "What's the name of that dance anyway?"

"It's the Wooden Stake Boogie, all the rage of last year's Vampire Ball."

Amanda shrieked in laughter. "Wow, isn't he a scream?" Brent smiled.

Rutherford took the young girl's hand and said, "Look into my eyes."

She leaned over real close and said, "Oh, god, don't you hate it when your eyes look like crap?" Rutherford took a long drink and wiped the red stain from his lips. The music of Billy Joel started in the background. She touched Rutherford's hand and said, "Let's go again. That was a gas!"

Rutherford answered, "I hate to leave my young friend here alone. Would your friend dance with him?" She motioned to her purple-lipsticked friend. Soon the dance floor was filled with these four and other bikers all doing the new dance. Amanda kissed him on the cheek when the music ended and said she would be back after she fixed her lipstick. In a few moments, she sat down at the table beside Rutherford and stated, "What do you say, let's blow this joint!"

Her only answer was a loud snore as the older man dropped off to sleep. Brent stood up immediately and shook his shoulder, "Wait, I'll wake him up."

Amanda waved a hand with hot pink nail polish adorning her nails. "No, just tell him I'll be here tomorrow night. We've got to go."

Her friend licked her purple lips and asked Brent, "Will you be back tomorrow night?"

He nodded to her and watched as they left the bar. Brent signaled the waitress and ordered Bud Light, no glass. When it arrived, he took a big swig and sighed.

Just before dawn after tying the motorcycle in the truck and getting Rutherford settled for the day in his coffin, Brent contemplated a nap. He heard a voice, "Brent Field, something is wrong. I need help!"

"What is it, Master?"

"I can't be seen like this. Just look at my roots. You must run to the corner drug store for hair coloring for men and a pastel blue shirt that will bring out the highlights in my hair," he told a confused-looking Brent.

"And get me a mirror and tape it to the lid so I can see myself when I wake up," he instructed.

"But, Master, do you have a reflection?"

"Maybe, but it doesn't matter. And, hurry, I feel so ugly."

Brent asked, "By chance, did you dine on a blonde last night?"

"I think the thermos supply was from a champagne blonde with beautiful streaks," he answered, smoothing back his thin gray hair.

"Master, this is just a phase, a blonde moment. It will pass in a few days."

"Phase! I am blonde, hear me roar! You're a redhead, how could you possibly understand? Now, hurry before someone sees me like this," he said. "I think I'm going to cry."

"Master, just get a hold of yourself. I'll take care of everything."

Rutherford laid down once again, and Brent locked him in his tool-box coffin. The young man drove to the closest drug store and went in for his strange shopping list. He stood dazed before the hair coloring section, and a sales lady had to help him sort out all the highlighting kits and dyes. This store had no shirts so he dashed across the street to one of the Mart stores. He returned to the truck in record speed, but he stood in shock as the truck was no longer there. He looked down the street and saw it going around the corner, being towed. He slapped his head and declared, "Oh, no!"

Inside the tool box, Rutherford's head banged on the metal sides but he felt no pain, already asleep for the day. To find where the impound lot was, Brent went in store to make phone calls. His brow was worried. What if the Master's blood sugar dropped before Brent found him?

Finally, after finding a few moments of joy and happiness, is this how Rutherford Zucks will meet his end?

To be continued ...

To purchase a copy of Beverly's book, Gothic Bedtime Stories, contact her at P. O. Box 803, Alderson, WV, 24910 or by email: hbpoe(at)excite.com. The cost of the book is $15.00 -- mention the Piker Press for free shipping.