(Warning: Could be considered sexually explicit – possibly not for work consumption)
Bomber was amazed at the technology that the DJ’s had to deal with. There were two of them, Blast and Nara, both in usual goth regalia. Blast had a chain that led from his nose to his ear, and a thick leather collar that didn’t allow him to bend his head. He wore rags for a shirt. Nara had a loose cotton jerkin, unlike most of the girls he’d seen who had tight leather. “It gets hot up here,” she told him.
He climbed down as the patrons started filing in. He figured it would be best if he just hung out in the back, out of the way. He went to the front of the club and saw a line of goth kids standing in front of a table. One of the Bitten was seated there, a notebook opened in front of her.
“We’re trying fifteen minute intervals, but we can’t guarantee that it’ll take that long. It might be longer.”
“That’s okay,” said a young man who looked about sixteen.
Just to be sure, Bomber said, “Can I see your ID?”
The kid looked up and blinked. Bomber held his hand out. Bomber took the ID the kid handed him, and bent it. The laminate split.
“Twenty-one, my ass.” He handed it back to him. “Try somewhere else.” Then he looked at the girl. “Are you supposed to be carding them?”
“No, the guys outside are supposed to.”
He’d need to talk to Bear about that. “Well, what are you doing, then?”
“Setting up appointments.” She looked up at him and smiled sweetly.
Bomber almost asked “what for” and then he realized what it was for. He remembered Lorenco putting a comment on YouTube about his alleged video that showed him out there for all the world to see. The video was only about a minute and a half long, and covered in a haze which meant it was taken with a phone from someone nearby.
The camera was facing a girl’s back. She was doing something obvious on a man’s lap. There was no audio. Suddenly her head snapped back, and she was lifted off of his lap. The camera focused on what was on the man’s lap and followed as he jumped down from the couch and knelt on the floor beside her. Then he got up, and there he was, fully exposed. He suddenly seemed to realize it and pulled up his pants, which ended the video.
The video was titled “Big Ten Inch” and used the Aerosmith song’s chorus in a loop throughout. Last night, Lorenco, in his usual mood of ribbing Bomber, prepared a comment. He clarified the actual dimensions and gave details of the $5000 contest. Bomber didn’t think anyone would believe it.
Then he looked at the line. Full of not only goths, but also other club-goers and women and men who looked like porn stars with bleached hair and fake boob jobs, the line went out the door.
Satisfy the customer, he thought with a heavy sigh. And I’m going to punish Lorenco.
“Okay, look.” He leaned over to the book and saw that his first appointment was in twenty minutes. “They’ll have to come back another night, because I’m in charge here. I can’t be getting blow jobs in the back if shit happens out here, you know?”
“Oh, Anilia’s not around?”
“She tried the contest.”
“Is she okay?” She stared at him with wide eyes.
“She’ll be fine tomorrow.” He turned to the line. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
There were collective “aww”s throughout the line.
“Free beer on tap for an hour, though.”
There was a rush. Bomber turned said to the girl, “I’m not gonna deal with blow jobs all night, every night. I’ll stay here until midnight for that shit.”
“We could open early.”
“This ain’t a whorehouse an’ I’m not a goddamn freak show,” he snapped. In a way, it was a whorehouse, and these Bitten were his hookers. He realized what he said and just turned from her to go to the bar. He needed to inform them that there was free on-tap beer for an hour.
—————
The security cameras were pretty much situated on the bar, the entrance, and the back door. It didn’t focus on the dance floor or the nooks where he knew people had sex or what was close to it. It was also there for vampires to feed.
Bomber sat in the security office. After the free beer run, things got pretty quiet. It was only Tuesday, so the hard-core goths were the ones who showed up. Nara was the only one spinning, and there were four bartenders at the corners of the bar.
Then he watched as someone ran across the screen pointing at the northside bar. He/she looked like hell was after them, as they ran with outstretched arms and in a panic. Curious, Bomber got up and went down the short bit of hallway to the front.
There, the person – a young man with long hair tied back – was taking a few deep breaths. He wasn’t a Bitten, Bomber noticed right away. “You okay?”
“There’s a monster in there!”
“A monster?”
He nodded. “Under the DJ box.”
Some people came out of the bar. “Matt, you okay?”
“Didn’t you see it?”
“See what?”
“This thing – with teeth!” He pointed to the DJ box.
“Someone put some shit in your drink, man,” said another kid. “Better get you home.”
Bomber, however, was curious. He stepped into the bar. It wasn’t crowded, and nobody was really dancing, mostly talking in the booths or near the bar. He did a cursory walk around, and did notice a few make-out sessions. He stopped at the bar.
“The usual, boss?”
He turned around to look at the bartender in her usual uniform of a black tank top. She wore an assortment of buttons as accessories, everything from “Cute but psycho – it all evens out” to a picture of Harpo. “How do you know what my usual is?”
She grinned and pulled up an unmarked wine bottle, then got a corkscrew and pulled it out. She handed him the bottle. He took a sniff – blood and alcohol.
“No thanks,” he said, handing it back. “I’m good.”
Then he did see something move out of the shadows under the DJ box. A woman, a very stunning blond-haired woman in a miniskirt that was more a belt and a black lace bra came out. Bomber looked at the shadows and saw something reflective on the floor.
He got up and went there, and saw a Bitten passed out on the floor. Bomber bent and listened for a pulse. It was very slow. Not quite near death, but pretty damn close. He picked her up and placed her gently on the couch, hoping she’d recover.
Then he turned to see the woman coming on to another Bitten, getting him to follow her into the shadows again. Bomber got up, anger coursing through him at how this woman treated his herd. He walked up to her.
“You’re new here,” he said.
“I believe you are mistaken,” she said, her voice tinged with a French accent. “It is you who are new.” She looked him up and down. She reached out and put a nail on his chest. It didn’t feel like a fingernail – it felt like an actual pointy steel nail. She traced the nail down his chest, down the center of his chiseled abs, past his belt, to his crotch.
“My,” she said, and traced the outline through his jeans. Nothing happened.
She looked at him, her head tilted to one side. “I don’t arouse you?”
“Not my type. I need to talk to you.”
Again, she appraised him. “A big man like you is a homosexual?”
“No. I need to talk to you,” he said, more commanding.
“About?”
He looked at the boy. “Not here.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Is this about that poor young lady who passed out from some sort of drug? She must have been on it before I got to her.”
“I doubt that.”
“I see. What business do you have being here?” Now her voice had changed. It was angry, threatening.
“I own this place. I have certain rules.”
“You own the place?” She assessed him again. “You think you own the place. This place is mine.”
“Maybe Jacmes let you have free reign here but–”
“Jacmes was an idiot. This place was mine long before he and his Kine bitch showed up.” She looked up at him and grinned. “Maybe I should try the new vintage.” She opened her mouth. He saw more than fangs; he could see three rows of pointy sharp teeth that seemed to go all the way down her throat.
Bomber didn’t think twice, but grabbed her by something that might have been her hair and threw her into the bar. She bounced, shimmered, and changed.
Yes, it was a monster all right. People ran away screaming. She had a hunk of long ratty hair on the side of her head. She had no nose, that mouth full of exposed teeth. She wore a bra with one strap, and her other breast hung exposed and loose to her waist. Her skin was grey and heavily veined.
Bomber didn’t want to look any further. She got up, hissing. She ran at him, but he used his blood and easily got out of her way. He saw her hips were misshapen, and she wore nothing below. One leg was twisted almost sideways but she could still move.
“Keep still!” she yelled, the voice echoing in his mind. He blinked, stunned for a moment.
“Boss!” yelled the bartender he had spoken with earlier, and he snapped out of it. He turned, and she tossed something long and heavy to him. As he caught it, he registered what it was.
“A shotgun? What the fuck am I gonna do with this?”
The monster tackled him and punched him solidly in the stomach. He would have thrown up his guts if he had any. She pulled back for another hit in his face, but he dodged that, getting out from under her.
Then, holding the gun by its barrel, he swung it like a bat, using all his strength. It slammed into her head, so hard that her cheek caved in, her lower jaw went flying and the stock snapped off of the gun. She fell back against the bar, her eye falling out of its socket, but her arms were still moving, trying to straighten up.
He didn’t realize that when he used his strength his t-shirt tore off from the bulk he added. He switched his handle on the magazine, holding it like a javelin. Again, using all his strength, he thrust the barrel like a spear into her heart. It went through her, as well as part of the forestock, and it speared her into the wood of the bar.
She froze. Nothing moved, but he knew from experience that she wasn’t dead.
Bomber looked at the bartender, who hadn’t run like the rest of them and, in fact, didn’t seem surprised. “We’re closed for the night,” he said.
“Gotcha, boss.”
Bear and two bouncers came running and saw the results. “Shit, boss…” He stopped the bouncers, but they probably saw the body stuck in the bar.
“We’re closed, go tell them outside.”
Bear gave the order and they ran. It was only Bear and Bomber left. Bomber checked on the passed out girl so that he wouldn’t turn and suck the oozing blood from the body.
“Want me to take care o’ this, boss? We got machetes in the back just for this.”
Bomber held back a shudder. Hand held torches and machetes in the back room. Were there wooden stakes there, too?
“I’m going to call someone. They might want it to study.” He knew that he wanted it. “Go bring this girl to a hospital, okay? I’ll take care of things.”
“Want me to leave any of the boys?”
He kept avoiding looking at the body. It was ugly and disgusting, and he wanted its blood. “No, I’ll be all right.”
Bear took the girl, glanced back to make sure Bomber was okay. Bomber had turned from him with his phone in his hand, though he made motions like he was dialing a number. Bomber spoke into it, “Yeah, hi. I got something for you…” He waited until Bear was out of earshot.
He fell on the body and started feeding from the wound in its chest. I’ll call Lorenco when I’m finished.
Words: 2125
Inspiration: “What’s the worst that could happen?” And post-RP last night.
Music: Have a Drink On Me – AC/DC
Comments: Bounced a few ideas off Stature. Envisioned the shotgun scene as I was driving into work this morning. I have a feeling I made the Nosferatu too easy (she probably would have used something to make her invisible like Lorenco can). However, Bomber’s an elder, and this Nos would have been 10th gen at the very most. I started writing the backstory of the club in these comments, but it went on too long, so it’s getting its own entry.