Faux Fangs 03: Homeward Blonde

After frantic phone calls, Brent Field stood before the policeman at the impound lot. He handed over all the money in his pocket except for one $20 bill. Keys in hand, he rushed to his truck and leaned down at the six-foot tool box on the side of his truck bed, listening. A low moan came from within. Two policemen stood nearby drinking coffee and laughing. With a worried look, Brent drove the truck back to a motel before checking on the Master.

Unlocking the tool box, Brent was relieved to see the Master blink his eyes. Rutherford moaned, sat up holding his head and said, "Brent, I'm hurting. Get some aspirins quickly." Brent returned with a glass of red liquid and two white pills. He swallowed the pills and declared, "I'm too old to be out drinking like this." His eyes opened wide with pleasure when he saw the blond hair dye and eye drops on night stand. "Okay, we can't let pain get in the way of vanity. Do my hair now."

Twenty minutes later after gentle lathering, shampooing, and rinsing the older man's thin gray hair, Rutherford stood there proudly admiring his golden blonde hair, albeit thin, and baby blue shirt. He moved closer to the mirror and asked, "Brent, does this bring out the baby blue in my eyes?" Brent shook his head yes as Rutherford put eyedrops in each eye and waited for Brent to spiffy up for the biker bar. Soon they were speeding off into the night. Rutherford felt like a new man.

The older man squinted his eyes until they adjusted to the dim light of the bar. Brent told him, "Master, we only have enough money left for one drink and then we'll have to go home."

"We'll make the best of it," Rutherford answered. His attention was drawn to a young woman waving frantically at them. "It's Amanda," he said with delight. "Looks like she's saving us a seat at her table." They made their way through the noisy crowd, and Amanda jumped up to hug the older man. Tonight, she wore a mini-skirt and high heels as she did the night before. Her friend wore blue lipstick to match her blue shirt, who smiled at Brent and pointed to the seat beside her. A waitress sauntered over and said, "What'll it be?" They ordered their usual to start out.

Amanda giggled and pointed to the dance floor. Rutherford stood up, bowed, and took her hand. He looked around to see if anyone was doing the Wooden Stake Boogie so popular last night. No one was. Instead, they danced the Hairy Hoochee Koochee to the music of "Little Red Riding Hood" and "Werewolves of London." He watched to learn the dance, leaned his shoulders forward and shimmied. Then the dancers tiptoed with hands up in the air as if they were on the prowl. As they completed the circle around the floor, they threw back their heads back and let out glorious howls. Rutherford was pleased to see Brent and Amanda's friend were both on the dance floor having a howling good time, too.

Rutherford collapsed in his seat and waited for his drink from the thermos, his bloody Mary. Brent held up his glass of dark blue liquid and took a long, slow drink. The waitress brought two more drinks for the girls. The drinks were strange looking to Rutherford and made his eyes water and his nose feel funny. "What's in those things?"

Amanda held up a chocolate martini, a light orange-ish drink with dark brown cocoa around the rim and a chocolate kiss sitting on the bottom of the glass. Rutherford held up his hands as if to block their view. "I'm allergic to chocolate."

Amanda's eyes were wide with amazement. "Allergic to chocolate? I never heard of such a thing." Tears formed in the older man's eyes as he stood up. "I'll go to the bathroom while you drink that and I'll be back."

Rutherford stood at the bathroom door, breathing deeply. His head was hurting again. He stepped out in time to see a young biker approach their table and give Amanda's friend a big kiss on her blue lips. Brent stood up, and the bouncer started walking their way. Amanda smiled as her blue-lipped friend grabbed the biker's collar and pushed him to the floor. She yelled, "If you ever do that again, I'll tear your lips off!"

The bouncer turned his attention elsewhere, and Brent sat down. Rutherford sat down and Amanda looked at him. "Four brothers."

Rutherford smiled and whispered to Brent, "I think she's a keeper." There was time for one more dance, exchanging phone numbers; and it was time to start home to West Virginia. Biker Week was over.

By night Rutherford rode in the front seat of the truck talking about good times at the beach. By day, he lay sleeping in his tool box coffin. They arrived home with $5 left of their gas money and lots of memories, vowing to return next year.

The next afternoon Brent sat in the living room resting while Rutherford lay sleeping in the coffin in the living room. His last comment before lying down was, "I still can't believe she's a chocoholic." The water cooler again gurgled with its red liquid. The phone rang. Brent answered and listened. "What?" he yelled into the phone. He listened to Jim from town.

"Listen quick, we're at the general store. Two men in black suits driving black cars was just here looking for Rutherford's house."

"What's going on, do you know?"

"We all knew they was government men. Old Zeke was in here loading fifty pounds of sugar and a bushel of corn in his pickup when he smelled 'em. He took off with three guys in trucks and went up the road to cut down some trees to block the road. I drew them a map telling them old Rutherford's place was at the end of the world and then you kept going, holding them off as long as I could."

"Are they coming now?"

"Yep, long way around. Don't know what they want with Rutherford but it made Zeke feel plenty squirrely."

Brent said, "Thanks for the heads up and help." Hanging up the phone, he sat down confused. Government men? Did they still have revenuers? They would probably be here in an hour, had to move fast. What in the world could they want with poor old Rutherford? Was he in trouble? More importantly, what would they make of a coffin in the living room and a cooler bubbling with real blood? He could move them to the basement but what if Rutherford couldn't be woke up to talk to them? What if Zeke didn't get the tree across the road in time and the two men in black got there early?

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.