I guess I'm more greedy than I thought I was.
Taking Kinsely on such a half-assed deal purely for material benefit was something I'd never truly done before. Sure there were shallow perks here and there, but I'd never sacrificed part of my soul so readily to get the big pay off I was overdue for.
But that's how things move in this small, beach community.
I guess I found solace in the fact that it took me nearly ten years to take the man up on such an offer and for a simple story on vampires. However, I was already making my first mistake as I moved through the endless crowds of beach-goers and slow-paced tourists, stopping to take a picture at every goddamn oddity that crossed their path. The sun was out and the heat was heavy, drowning the air in dampness, B.O., gasoline and dried vomit left over from the rides. No wonder the true locals of this place don't come out after nightfall.
But every good journalist knows that there's a deadline to each story, and I had a knack for using that time… unwisely.
Unsuccessful leads, hookers, video arcades and more hookers. I can't help when distraction crosses my path!
For the possibility of a raise, however, it was time to get serious. The creeps may not show themselves until dark, but there were a few parties already in action with several punks that looked as though they still lived in their parents basement, smoking pot and listening to Duran Duran on a regular basis.
It was time for the interviews.
I'll say this much about my age: I'm not as young as I use to be. Sixties be damned, I watched the fall of the American Dream: apple pie and cute plaid skirts and in the dust it created the love generation for which I was still in my juvenile years. I will never admit to how long my hair was, but long enough to hold a braid and several strings of beads should give you an idea. Thankfully, by the time I'd started discovering God in the ashes of my joints, the Seventies rolled around and introduced an entirely different realm of music, drugs and speculation.
Disco was only the start of the trends that had swiftly flourished in a pop/rock culture that was spiraling deeper into the abyss.
And now, at 1980, big hair and big style is in. And the parties just keep getting better and better.
I suppose I fit the stereotypical, undercover investigating journalist; a tacky, button down shirt with no real scheme to the blue pattern that scrawled along the sleeves, brown shorts, sandals and sunglass that say "Hey! I might be a nice guy or I might be an ax murderer! Just wait and see!"
I guess it's the hair that throws people off more than anything else. It's a clue as to both determining my age and throwing it off for another five years. Men in their thirties usually don't have shoulder-length, brown hair that still bares the signature beads and bandana wrapped around my forehead. I guess I really am stuck in the past… or I just get weirded out by barbers.
Either way, it throws the kids for a loop when I approach them across the scorching white sands along the beach. Friend, foe or someone who should be dumped in the surf. It takes them longer than a second to figure it out.
I approached the first group of beach-goers, the kind that like to hassle the tourists as they lay out like basting hams beneath the heat of the sun. I guess I'm older than I thought… the saying on the punk's shirt read "My Beach, My Wave."
My Wave?
I immediately wanted to point that it was improper use of grammar, but he and his five friends didn't look as though they'd made it past junior high.
Note: Never mistake "Fearless" for "Stupidity."
I approached the group as casually as I could muster, even going so far as to reach down and pick up a beer from their cooler, making them wait until I'd opened it and took a long draft before I spoke. My actions confused them enough to build a sense of trust---at least three of them were underage.
"So, who here believes in vampires?"
My words confused them even more. Or maybe it was the proper way I phrased things.
The kid closest to me, the one with the half-assed Mohawk that was already beginning to grow out along the sides, gave me a wiry stare. "The fuck you gettin' at?"
I took another drink before answering. "Vampires. You know, bloodsuckers? I'm a reporter and looking for information on them. Know any?"
My casual approach seemed to pay off in safety measures, but I had hit the wrong crowd. A few of the punks glanced between one another, sending confused glances while the girls stood by in their bikini's ignoring me entirely. After a few moments of hesitant silence before the leader of these rats finally shook his head.
"No man, no vampires around here."
I nodded, thankfully I at least had gotten a beer out of this useless conversation. Tossing the empty can back to the kid, I smiled. "Thanks anyway."
I didn't look around to see their reactions and kept moving along the shore. There were other groups, some of the same general trash while others were tourists or locals picking up trash that didn't speak good English.
After a good hour or two, I was beginning to loose hope. Fucking Kinsely and his fucking vampires. I was going to loose out on a raise just because the old man had a hard-on for these bloodsucking bastards and I couldn't find a single lead.
At least, not until I reached a group of high school students, playing volleyball and lying upon the sand on enormous towels. Gathering all the last rays of summer before they were forced back into their desks at school. It was hard to imagine how young they were, especially as the bikini's were getting smaller and smaller each year.
I smiled towards a pair of girls that sat watching presumably their boyfriends out in the ocean, splashing water and raising all kinds of hell with the Surf Nazi's. Staring at me through their purple-tinted shades, they giggled and smiled back.
I was in the clear.
"Sorry to bother you ladies," I said, approaching the side of their towel, closest to the blonde. "But I was curious if you would happen to know anything on the vampires here in Santa Carla."
My question seemed to throw them off-guard. The blonde's smile faded slightly and lips pursed together as though she were in thought. Her friend, the redhead, simply stared up at me as though trying to read the joke on my face. I'd hit some kind of soft spot and immediately I was searching for my proverbial knife to gouge it out entirely.
"Vampires? Why do you want to know?" the blonde asked, a serious tone in her voice.
I twisted the blade. "I'm a reporter, doing a story for a magazine and looking for leads. I take it… you ladies might know some of these creatures?"
The redhead's glasses lowered for a moment, giving me a glimpse of those soft, green eyes.
"Well… I don't know if you would call them vampires… but their definitely not the kind of people you'd want to meet alone in an alley or anything," she said.
"Oh yea? Who are they?" I asked.
The redhead shrugged. "This gang that comes down to the Pier almost every night. They ride motorcycles and are really hot---" A look was shot from her blonde friend. The redhead quickly recovered.
"I mean, not that we'd ever go for anything like that."
The blonde continued. "Yea, I mean, these guys aren't weird as in crazy or anything. But you just get this vibe when they pass you… it's hard to explain. Besides, their creepy as fuck."
"Hot as fuck too." Her friend countered. The blonde's eyes rolled.
Vampires… on motorcycles? I guess it made sense in some teenage fantasy, but I was burdened by ideas of widow's peaks, creepy castles and bat wings. I guess it was time to revamp my imagination.
Pun definitely intended.
"So… what makes you think they're vampires?" I asked.
The two girls exchanged glances, as though some sense of fear and guilt was suddenly casting over them. It was the bubbly redhead that gave the details I was waiting for.
"Well… a year back, there was this girl…"
"Joni," the blonde cut in.
"Yea! That was her name, Joni. She went to school with us, was never really popular and kinda hung out with the geeks and retards in the drama club. I mean, we didn't hate her or anything, but we definitely weren't in the same crowd."
I nodded as though I understood entirely.
"See, one night she showed up at one of our parties and actually opened her mouth and started talking to people. It was weird, I mean, this girl never says anything at school. And things were going pretty good when she started to flirt with this guy that showed up at the party. God, he was drop-dead gorgeous."
Another roll of those shaded eyes, though the redhead took no notice.
"And the fucked up thing is, he actually started flirting with her. I mean totally just laying it on her and everything. And before long, she disappeared with him on his motorcycle--"
"And never came back?" I finished.
The redhead smirked. "Oh no, she came back. And with hickies all up and down her neck and probably regions lower but we're not quite sure about that."
The blonde laughed and I managed a smile. Teen sex isn't a road I need to go down.
"Anyway," she continued, "so everyone was asking her what happened and she just casually tells us that she's going out with him now. I mean.. can you imagine that? This girl whose a complete shut-in, nerd all her life, suddenly going out with a sex god like that. It was fucked up but she managed to pull it off."
"She was a real bitch about it too," the blonde put in.
"No she wasn't."
"Yea she was, still all quiet like that but you know she was just eating up the attention. She was really asking for it."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Another look between them.
"Well.." the redhead hesitated. "I mean, it was cute at first. She was actually breaking away from those hideous pigtails and steeping skirts and all… but the more she hung out with this guy… it's like… the more she became like him. I mean, just cruel sometimes and totally acting on impulse. Like stealing and flashing the guys during gym, drugs. Shit that I wouldn't even touch."
"So what happened to her?" I was getting very, very close to something.
The redhead shrugged. "I don't know. No one does… she took off with him one night and the last anyone ever saw of her was riding on the back of his motorcycle. We saw him again, but we never saw her. The investigation lasted for months but then people just seemed to forget she ever existed."
"I see… except for you two, right?"
The redhead laughed. "Well, I can't even really remember her face. All I know is that guy and his friends are to die for."
