Monday, May 11, 2015


The vampirino, known as Jonathon tells truths---

You know how in the movies the bad guy has all the weapons? Like in gangster movies... the racketeers are all crazy and the honest storekeepers are helpless, quivering weaklings?... Well, it ain't always like that. 

Let me tell you a few stories. This happened back in the nineteen thirties. Protection rackets were real big. Bootlegging was over and drugs were just beginning. Extortion was a known thing... a proven money maker. So this low-life guy... everybody called him 'CuffLinks,' sets himself up in a nice, little protection thing. He wasn't a senior member, but he had friends... cousins... uncles... you name it. Candy stores... They gave him candy stores. Most owners wrote numbers or had punch boards or some kind of gambling going on... Easy marks... Couldn't go to the cops, so they paid.

Only one guy wasn't a numbers writer.... completely legit... When gorillas came by he tried to explain... Showed them the malted machine... the newsstand... how he made grilled cheese sandwiches and hot dogs... sold Nekko Wafers, Hershey Buds.... boxes of dusting powder you took to the hospital for 'get well' presents... Figured they'd understand... But they broke his little girl's nose on the way home from school... Grabbed her... Smashed her... and ran away. Old Mrs Lipskey say who did it, but she wouldn't say nothing. Her granddaughter had a nose too.

Guy offers fifteen dollars a week. And he's not trying to pull anything. That was it. He couldn't afford no more. So they crushed his right eyeball with a hot, metal spoon. Guy closed up. Went back to being a bundle boy on Vine Street. Worked for a men's suit outfit. Made sure the cutters had a steady supply of goods.... big, heavy stacks of fabric....Not easy. You trip near one a them cutting machines and BOOM! There goes a hand... and this was before they knew how to sew 'em back.

I knew him. Factory owner was a 'familiar' of mine. Fixed me up with suits in return for little blood vials. Wife had the St. Vitus Dance. I'd come up in the winter time before closing, when it was already dark. Sometimes we'd talk... me and the guy who had his right eye smashed in... Got to know his story.... One night I say - You want revenge?.... He goes - Why? How much it gonna cost me?..... I go - Nothing.... He says - You'd do this for me?.... I nod. I say - I hate who you hate. Well, you want it?... He nods too.

Two nights later, 'Little Cuff Links,' the skinny, loudmouth, bastid, face slashin' son of 'Big Cuff Links' gets snatched comin' out of some front stoop-fabulous, glitzed up, whorey dive in Atlantic City...not a casino place, (they had plenty of secret, hidey-hole casinos even back then) but a scary little joint hiding in the shadows right in the middle of Big Cuff Link's fiefdom. Who's gonna smack back there, right? I float down from a moonless sky right behind him, clasp one hand over his mouth, grab him with the other and rise up into the void. Little cockroach starts kickin' and thrashin'. I flip him... toss him up into the air and grab his ankle. Seeing the precariousness of his new position all that thrashing nonsense stops. Now he just gasps and sobs. I don't know who he thinks I am. I don't even care.

Then I float out, maybe two hundred feet above the waves. Wind picks up. He cries. He questions me, but I don't respond. Soon we can't even see the shore. A vampire such as I can travel quickly and when we are perhaps one hundred and fifty miles from land I descend. At first I planned to drop him. But this way it will take longer. I lower him down into the chill, water and disappear. He's alone... out at sea... and far from salvation.

One month later I visit the father and do the same to him.

You know any bastards?... Leave a comment. I'll find out.

Meant to tell you a few stories... Maybe another time.


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