In the Last Episode, Bill Crider lit up the Rally…and it would never be the same again.
By sunset, the orange glow from the South was lighting up most of the sky, day for night. You could feel the heat in the wind, which was growing hotter by the hour. The odor of burning trees, homes, ozone, and the smoke made everyone who was left in town sputter and wear bandanas around their noses and mouths. Lafitte didn’t know why Steel God hadn’t rounded them up yet for the ride out. Didn’t suspect it was a macho thing--especially after the look on his face when he threw Rapper and Nellie into the Virtual Dive Bar basement to meet Crazy Larry. So whatever it was, Lafitte figured the man had a good reason. Coughing again and blinking ash from his eyes, Lafitte thought There’s better be, goddamn it. Lafitte had just been over to check the basement of the Dive Bar, but found the back door busted off its hinges, a blood trail hightailing it out in the empty fields beyond the BBQ Revelators’ smoker, which couldn’t compete with the inferno those fucking Texas psychos started in the cul de sac where God and his people had been keeping house. Then he heard grunts and squeals from a couple of buildings over, like someone was hurting a kitten. Lafitte picked up his pace and started over. It had better not be the Texans or any of HotGuac’s freaks, because they’d stomped all over Lafitte’s few remaining nerves, and at this point, he didn’t think ending the suffering of a couple of lost causes would put a dent in his already-compromised moral code. Hand on his Glock. Had to be sure before he pulled it. Glad he didn’t. He rounded the corner to find a Black Escalade with two hot chicks hogtied on top like they were prize bucks. The squealing was coming from a guy in the middle, bruised and bloody, who was being passed around by three kung-fu women in leather skirts, all dusty with windblown hair, taking turns whipping the snot out of this guy. “I said I was sorry! At least you didn’t have to walk!” The brunette slapped him upside his temple with a cell phone, which exploded on impact. The other two women let out a cheer. The man dropped to his knees and covered his head. Lafitte said, “Excuse me.” They all turned to him. He thought for a moment that they might jump him next, but one, the blonde in the cowboy hat, snapped her fingers. Oh shit. She recognized him. “This guy, yeah, remember? He’s the one Neil was talking about. Called him ‘the feet’ or something.” The guy on the ground said, “The…agony…of…Lafitte.” The other blonde kicked him in the teeth with a broken heel. “A pun, Jeff? You’re still up for puns?” Lafitte reconsidered grabbing the Glock again. These chicks seemed most likely ninja bounty hunters. “Maybe you’ve got me confused with--” “No, no, it’s you, I’m sure.” The brunette said, “You got a cell phone on you? Maybe get Neil over here.” Lafitte said, “I’m pretty sure he’s working the stick at his bar.” “His bar?” This from Broken Heel. She looked at him over the top of her glasses. “He’s been holding out on us.” “Hey Jeff! You knew about this?” Jeff lifted his head. “I think I need a doctor.” Cowboy Hat lifted her chin, tried to fingercomb her hair into place. “Okay, ladies. I say we hit this bar, make Neil give us free drinks, and then take the Caddy over to Minneapolis and charge a good hotel room to Jeff’s credit card. Karen--” she pointed at Broken Heel. “Get his wallet. Alison--” Nodded at the brunette. “Dump the dead weight off the Caddy.” They left Jeff in a heap, each kicking him one more time before asking Lafitte for directions to the bar. He thumbed over his shoulder, mumbled something. He’d thought at first maybe those two chicks on the roof had just been unconscious, but on closer inspection, once Alison had pushed them off onto the ground, he saw they’d been dead a while. Broken necks. He stepped over to Jeff, who was spitting blood and teeth into the dirt. He looked up at Lafitte, one eye purpled and swollen, nose way out of whack. He smiled wide. “Woo hoo! Rally, man! I’m here for the rally!” Guy had spirit, at least. “Where’s your bike?” He pointed an obviously broken finger at the heap of metal the women had obviously taken out their anger on--banana seat and handlebars the only things recognizable. Lafitte shook his head. “Man, what did you do?” “These two lovely ladies offered us a ride, and…and…it didn’t end well.” Wow. Lafitte felt his dick shrink a little. He offered Jeff a hand up. The guy could barely stand, so Lafitte supported him as they slowly walked out of the alley. “How about some crank and a very gentle whore? That should get you on your feet. I know this one chick, just flew in from Costa Rica--” “Actually…I wasn’t kidding about that doctor. I think something’s broken.” “Where?” “All over.” Lafitte shook his head. “How about some Vicodin instead?” Jeff laughed. Sounded like it hurt. “Cool. But…wait, why is the sky on fire?” “It’s the end of the Rally.” “Shit.” Jeff shook his head. Sounded like a bag of broken glass. “I wanted to hang out with bikers.” Lafitte felt bad for the guy, thought about taking him on down to the massage parlor. Maybe slip the mama san an extra hundred and explain the situation. Not everyone down there got raped by a tranny. You just had to know the secret password. But then again, why not just give the guy some pills and let him enjoy the show down at the Main Stage. He’d even steer a couple of those teacher friends of Fry’s new girl his way. “Buddy,” Lafitte said. “I’ve got just the thing.” * Ah, we only kid those we love, right? And these Offenders are my friends. I’ve had a great time these last few months posting over there on Fridays. Happy to keep it up. Jeff, one of the funniest guys I know, always able to figure out a new way to laugh at something (or Jim Born). Guy’s got himself a novel floating around that shows of the funny:
. Check it out. Demand the full thing! And go back to pick up Wicked Break and Killer Swell. Alison, waking big waves with
Karen, after allowing us to run alongside Annie Seymour as she cased down the Dead of the Day (check out Shot Girl, too!), has shifted focus to the not-quite-as-down-and-dirty-as-you-might-imagine world of tattooing in Las Vegas in The Missing Ink. What? Does that sound just…wrong somehow? Let me tell you--it’s a perfect match, actually. Don’t let her obsession with cable TV cooking reality shows throw you off.
Lori, definitely a bit schizo on the page, but that makes her work all the richer, like the sandpaper gritty Julie Collins Series (see Snow Blind), the erotic work under her (ahem) alter ego, Lorelei James, and more to come soon. Always a trip to hang out with Lori at the cons, as she tightropes the fine line between “All of these people are nuts” and “Let’s show them what it really means to be nuts.”
They welcomed me with open arms, and even invited Steve Perry to come sing as they did so.
So I’m proud to add my books to their illustrious list over at the site, with Hogdggin’ recently added to it. We’re so so so close to June 1st! HOGDOGGIN’ MONDAY! Don’t let down your guard. Don’t forget. Keep striving for the goal. Let’s see that book fly out of the warehouses and off the shelves in TWO DAYS! Thanks so much, folks.
Tomorrow…there’s only one way to go out. You’ll see.
On the Main Stage: Ted Nugent, “Habitual Offender”
I never thought I'd say this, but I think I want Quertermous back...
Posted by: Jeff Shelby | May 30, 2009 at 01:21 PM
Neil, this was one of the most deeply satisfying pieces I've read in a looong time... Seriously, hilarious stuff, both of you guys. And if you haven't read Jeff's Penthouse Forum letter... er, I mean, Jeff's Motorcycle Rally installment on Neil's website, you really have to. It's great.
Posted by: AlisonGaylin | May 30, 2009 at 08:49 PM
Nuh uh. No way. Best thing I ever did was get away from this...
Wait. Are you serious?
Posted by: Bryon Quertermous | May 30, 2009 at 08:49 PM
Totally cracked me up. Both installments.
And I'm not the only one obsessed with cable TV cooking shows, and I'm looking at you, Neil!
Posted by: Karen Olson | May 30, 2009 at 09:17 PM