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They liked his performance. The one called Boo-Kah-Lay-Nah and her Red Paint colleague approved. Jonathon did the deed. The Earth destroying plutocrat is dead. On that same night, thirty seven other 'Global Warmers' met He Who Made the World too. No one claimed credit... not openly. But surviving Earth-Warmers got the message. Within days there was a big Ice, Ice, Baby conference scheduled for some schloss near Basel, where the Bilderberg group once met. They had chilled vodka and gravlax and caviar and gourmet herrings (yes, there are gourmet herrings) as they discussed how to bring the chill back.. Then they raffled off faux fur coats (good ones) that looked like lynx and Arctic Fox and ermine (winter mink)... OK, it was a start. But steps were taken and fourteen ice shelves (eleven in Antarctica and three in Greenland) each grew an average of .4% and Bangladesh recovered two thousand hectares of much needed farmland. ... Seven or eight recalcitrant plutocrats 'disappeared' a bit later, just to keep 'em all on their toes.
But I jump ahead. Disembodied spirit narrators view time differently. I'm sorry. I do that. Please try to understand. Let me go back to a night soon after Jonathon 'sublimated' that man to death...
He sat there with the 'old' Lucid Wanderer... the Boo-Kah-Lay-Nah woman and her Red Paint companion from that obscure, Greenlandic fjord. Baylah (the Beyonce Knowles, three hundred year old, Tuareg princess vampire from Timbuctu) was there too. Her mortal boyfriend bustled around making sure everybody had enough cold vodka (night-folk love cold vodka)... plus he kept all the aroma candles lit. Vampires, in particular, have a thing for aroma candles. Jonathon's townhouse in Center City, Philadelphia often reeks from Yankee Candle 'Apple blossom.'
Boo-Kah-Lay-Nah said - We shape the world. We chisel off rough spots and imperfections. We lure humanity into the future and last night, Jonathon did his part..... The Red Paint man nodded. Then they just sat there in silence, meditating like Quakers. Baylah's rich, mortal boyfriend sat with them. But Boo-Kah-Lay-Nah shot him a look when he and his vampire girlfriend started makin' faces at each other and stickin' out their tongues, so he went out on the seaside terrace and ate a plate of cocktail franks. Turns out Lucid Wanderers and Red Paint types don't like 'em. ... Who knew? They say, during the early middle ages, some clans of witchy-folk cured all kinds of bacon... some made from you-don't-wanna-know-what, but to each her own... Boyfriend-guy don't care. He's watchin' the big play-off game on his smart phone too.
Few heartbeats later Baylah comes out. She breathes deep and goes - Night air smells so good, especially here at the shore. (she looks at the greasy plate) Did you eat all those cocktail weenies?.... He goes - No. Some fell on the ground.... But she knows he's a liar... Then she says - I'm going into Atlantic City with Jonathon.... Mortal boyfriend says - You want me to go?..... She says - You don't have too. We're gone under the Boardwalk..... He goes - Homeless stuff?..... She goes - Uh huh. And I don't want you getting sick. You got your inhaler?..... He goes - Yeah...... Baylah says - I could give you a drop or two of the blood, you know. Homeless folk take it. You want it?..... He just shakes his head. She worries about him. Mortals are so fragile. They break like glass. Worse than glass, like Christmas tree ornaments. But he's stubborn. Got his ways. Tomorrow she'll do something. So she kisses the top of his head and leaves.
The number of homeless people under the Boardwalk isn't huge. They got maybe three or four 'colonies.' Sometimes they move around. They know how to steal blankets and towels from the hotels. Each group has a few 'walkers.'..... People who look good. People who can get in to the big hotels. Most are women. They 'do stuff' for the guys who got keys to supply closets... mostly in winter, when it's cold. But summer can be rough too. It's dark down there... Got mold... Got dead cats... dead other stuff.
This town ain't unique. Every place got its 'nooks and crannies.' Ever see what New York got?... Or Vegas... Or Mohenjo-Doro?... Excuse me. That last one's before your time.
Jonathon likes ministering to poor folks. He can make do with being a vampire, but what he really wants to be is a saint... Yeah, like that's gonna happen.
They could sublimate into Atlantic City. It's only a few miles away. But Jonathon doesn't want to. Killing folks, without visions and all, does that to him. Baylah knows. she understands. Vampires aren't monsters... not in real life anyway. So she gets out the black Porsche and drives in....
She says- You want me to turn on the radio?... But Jonathon doesn't answer. He just looks out the window, as they roll down the 'cottage' lined avenue...
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