Andrew Fox - Fat White Vampire Blues

Jules 3 picked himself painfully up from the turf. Near as he could tell, that last kick had broken two or three of his ribs; yet he refused to face death lying down. It was over. His plan was impossible now. But he’d done the best he could. He’d put his life on the line to protect Erato and Chop, to avenge Maureen and Doc Landrieu. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

Malice X picked up a discarded piece of stake from the ground. “Ready or not, loser, here I come…”

The last remaining bit of Jules tightened his feeble grip on his own chunk of wood. He struggled to avoid blacking out as his smiling nemesis approached. He felt his body sway as he fell into micro sleeps. He was hallucinating, dreaming. He had to be. Otherwise, the clouds of mist condensing above the glass panes of the greenhouse and seeping in beneath the garden’s doors made no sense at all One crash, then another, and suddenly it was raining glass. Jules saw, in the midst of the descending shards, a pair of large, wedge-shaped gray forms. The creatures landed on four powerful legs and immediately moved to cut Malice X off from Jules. The three clouds of mist that had drifted in beneath the doors were taking on a similar aspect, snarling menacingly as their low, muscular bodies congealed. Canines as big and nasty as the Hound of the Baskervilles-the same animals he’d encountered the night before outside the Trolley Stop! Jules blinked once, then twice, but the beasts didn’t fade away like some drunk’s pink elephants. They barked viciously at Malice X, lunging and snapping at his legs as they moved in a pack to surround him.

These weren’t just dogs, Jules realized. And despite their distinctive wolflike features, they weren’t wolves, either. They were something new, both familiar and unfamiliar-these five creatures were vampire wolf-dogs!

“You lousycheater!” Malice X screamed as he kicked at the wolf-dogs’ heads. “All bets are off! See how you like fightin‘ a dozen brothers at once, you fatfreak!”

Two of the wolf-dogs leapt for Malice X’s throat, their fangs flashing in the multicolored garden lights. But by the time their jaws slashed the space where his throat had been, Malice X was no longer himself. Jules heard the flapping of desperately beating wings as the black vampire beat a hasty tactical retreat. The wolf-dogs snapped furiously at empty air as they leapt after the fleeing bat, which flittered toward the broken glass dome high above.

Jules turned his attention to the crowd behind him. All eyes were locked on the bizarre spectacle in the center of the garden. Now was his chance He ran to Malice X’s coffin and snatched his safari jacket off the ground. He retrieved the tin of lighter fluid and the box of matches from the right-hip Velcro pocket. Jules opened the coffin. Inside, a three-inch- deep layer of gray proto-matter glistened and pulsated-nine-tenths of Malice X’s bodily mass. Limbless, voiceless, sightless. Helpless. As helpless as Maureen had been when Malice X plunged a stake through her heart.

Jules bit the cap off the tin of lighter fluid. He squirted the combustible liquid all over the proto-matter and the coffin’s velvet lining.

“Look! Over there!” Malice’s sister shouted. “What’s he doin‘ to Malik’s coffin?”

Jules struck his match against the side of the coffin. It lit on the first try. Remembering the inferno that consumed his home, he tossed it inside. The proto-matter ignited like a whiskey-soaked slab of Brennan’s Restaurant’s bread pudding.

The effect on the bat high overhead was immediate. It shrieked, and the unnaturally piercing cry shattered several more of the glass panels overhead. Its wings crumpled, crushed by an invisible fist. Then it plummeted toward the ground. Into the nails and jaws of five vengeful creatures eager for a taste of blood.

“Malik! Brother!”

Jules almost felt bad for her. Almost. Malice’s sister would’ve thrown herself into the feral pack, would’ve tried to pry the pieces of her brother’s blood-spattered body from the wolf-dogs’ teeth, had Cowboy Hat not wrapped her in a powerful restraining embrace.

“Malik!They’rekilling him! Preston, let mego! Damn you, they’rekilling him!”

The smoke from the burning coffin made Jules’s eyes water. It smelled greasy and evil, like rancid andouille sausage that had been left on the grill too long. Malice’s sister stopped twisting in Cowboy Hat’s grasp, and her curses collapsed into sobs. The wolf-dogs finished their bloody work and trotted over to Jules’s side. Several wagged their tails as they sniffed him. One licked his hand, leaving behind flecks of reddish foam.

Malice’s sister stopped sobbing as abruptly as she had started. She stared at Jules with a hatred that made his balls seek the safety of his belly overhang. “Hecheated. You heard my brother. Hebroke the rules. Kill him, Preston… kill him for me…” Her voice shifted from a whiny, almost childlike tone to shrill invective as she whirled to face the others. “All of you!What are you standing there for? Kill him! Kill him for me! ”

The wolf-dogs moved into a protective phalanx around their master. They growled at the dozen vampires standing at the edge of the garden. Jules stared into Cowboy Hat’s shadowed face. “You an animal lover, Preston?I am.”

The former chief lieutenant didn’t make a move in Jules’s direction. Neither did any of the others.

Still surrounded by his wary, protective pack, Jules pulled the stakes from the centers of the two pools of proto-matter pulsating weakly on the grass. Strength and mass flowed into him almost instantly, tributaries rejoining a river that had nearly run dry. In seconds he was his old self again, all 450 very welcome pounds.

Malice’s sister sank slowly to the ground. Looking in the blankness of her eyes, Jules could see that her spirit was broken. At least for now. But the face of the tall man in the buckskin jacket and ten-gallon hat was still hidden by shadow.

“So what’s it gonna be, Preston? I got no real beef with you. You gonna let me walk outta here, take over the Horse-X trade yourself, become the new big man? Or are you gonna play ‘avenging flunky’ and maybe end up like your ex-boss there?” He pointed to the lumpy red smear at the center of the garden.

All eyes turned to the man in the cowboy hat. He pushed its wide brim up with a flick of his forefinger and scratched his forehead. For the first time, Jules could see his eyes. They were tired. “You walk, fat man. Pick up your shit and get the hell outta here.” He pressed a large red button on a console next to the mansion’s back doors. Jules heard a distant rumbling echo from the far end of the vehicle tunnel, a rumbling that must’ve been the door to the outside opening. “But this ain’t over. Don’t expect things to just go back the way they was for you. This town ain’t friendly territory, and it’ll never be again. You’re goin‘ down. Maybe not tonight. But some night, when you least expect it…”

Jules gathered his soot-covered safari jacket, pants, and shoes from next to the smoldering coffin. “Just remember to bring some doggie treats when you come visitin‘,” he said, patting a wet nose. “They prefer bat wings to Milk-Bones.”

Surrounded by his canine saviors, he walked to the door of the garden and opened it. Then he left the underground lair he hadn’t expected to walk out of, his head held high, and no vampire dared block his way.

But despite experiencing a triumph bigger than he’d ever hoped for, Jules’s victory was made hollow by three little words:

This ain’t over.

“Top a the world, Ma! Top a the world!”

Jules’s shouts echoed off the brick walls of the Warehouse District behind the casino. Even as echoes, his shouts sounded forced and phony.