Andrew Fox - Fat White Vampire Blues

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.