The Boys didn't throw a bon voyage party for Max. Instead, Max took me to the cliff, above the cave the boys called home. We were met by the three Musketeers: Dwayne, Paul, and Marko. David was nowhere to be seen. I guess it was beneath him to meet the pet he and his gang will be taking care of; Max just shook his head when he was only met by the three Boys. To them, he handed over the box of dry and canned dog food, assorted toys, water and food dishes, plus an envelope of money just in case I ran out of food. It was also more than enough to cover any expenses if I ran into a car, or vice versa. Hopefully, it wouldn't involve any neutering and veterinarians (I'm planning on meeting a nice female hellhound and having a future litter or two of hellpuppies, thank you very much!) The exchange was over and done with when the last items were handed over.
With a low whistle, he called me over, and as I trotted towards him, I was struck by how utterly weird this must be: the whole thing looked and felt surreal. You'd feel the same way too if you were handed over to three dubious characters on the edge of a cliff with the full moon shining down on everything like a grinning death's head.
The three vampires looked blandly at me while Max talked about feeding schedules and walking. It seems I'll be having free reign over my own activities during the day, but it was limited to the cave and the rickety stairs that led up to the cliff. The nights were going to be a different matter; I'll have to wait for the Boys to discuss this part of the schedule.
"And please, no chocolate for Thorn. Make sure to give him a bath after you boys take him out during your feeding runs. There's nothing more awful than waking up and smelling the previous night's victim's blood and junk all over your pet when sunset rolls around," instructed Max as he placed one nearly forgotten squeaky toy atop the pile of stuffed animals Dwayne held in his arms; he gave the toy an inadvertent squeeze in the process. The mournful squeak that escaped the toy perfectly underscored the look of grim acceptance on the black-haired vampire's face.
It was time to say our good-byes, but the Boys were already heading down the wooden stairs. One of them was whistling what sounded like 'Oh where, oh where has my little dog gone,' but in a very mournful key. I saw Max head for his car without a backward glance. Once he got inside, he started the engine and drove away. I lingered at the cliff edge, watching the car's taillights disappear down the dirt track. Where he was going, Max didn't tell me. I guess he didn't need the protection of a Hellhound at his destination.
The night was still young, and as I made my way down the flight of stairs, I was stuck observing the back of one of the Boys before me. I could see the lazy sway of Marko's dark blonde locks as they sprouted from their nest of curls, snaking their way down the nape of his neck where they met the collar of his crazy, kaleidoscopic jacket of frayed denim and various patches. Above the whispering sound of the surf, his leather chaps scuffed, annoying me to no end. Even with my Hellhound powers, I couldn't ignore those chaps. I rolled my eyes, suppressing the urge to nip his heels, and when he finally entered the cave, I paused to look across the dark Pacific. The ocean spray was refreshing, flung from the waves that collided with the rocks and boulders near the mouth of the cave. The ocean rolled and rippled beneath the moonlight, and a light onshore breeze was blowing, ruffling my fur with its tangy scent of distant tide pools and drying kelp. It was the first and only time I wanted to bite Max.
xXx
I hopped down the rocky steps of the cave entrance, marveling at the sight of the transformed hotel lobby and the stone fountain in its center. Flames flickered from cast off oil drums, and candles in varying sizes were placed haphazardly on the rim of the old, dry fountain that would have greeted the long dead guests of the buried hotel. In one part of the room, someone arranged a couple of worn-out couches to form a comfortable living room, while the odd addition of a wheelchair completed the furniture set.
David lounged in the wheelchair, eyeing me balefully and smiling a small smile that seemed to curl up one side of his face and die before reaching his eyes. The whole cave reeked of blood and cigarettes. This was going to be one long night, so I sat and pretended to be a good clueless dog, lolling tongue and all. I can see my doggy bed in one corner, placed next to a nice bed surrounded by gossamer curtains and filled with soft pillows; forget the ratty dog bed, I knew where I was going to take my naps. Oddly enough, somebody arranged my toys and stuffed animals artfully among the cushions and plush pillows.
"Well, it's official. Who'll it be for tonight, Marko?" asked David.
Marko shrugged his answer and looked over at Dwayne who remained silent. David leaned forward in his chair and took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing a cloud of smoke in my direction.
"There's that chick from last night, you know, the one at the hot dog stand," Paul suggested from the defunct fountain, pacing around the rim, and bouncing to some tune only he could hear. "She was giving me the eye-"
"I wasn't talking about hunting, Paul," David growled.
"Well, what were you talking about?"
"Walking the dog, giving devil-pooch here some exercise so he could stretch his legs out, that's what I was talking about."
Devil-pooch, I actually liked that name, but I was beginning to get weary of the banter between the Boys, well, between the two of them; the silent duo of Marko and Dwayne stood in the background, listening in on the scintillating conversation. I decided to leave them alone so I could explore the cave. I wandered by that large poster of the old Lizard King himself, Jim Morrison; either one of the Boys was a big fan of the Doors or the poster was placed there to cover a gaping hole in the wall. I didn't know what else to think of the old hotel lobby; it was like a dank animal lair trying to pass for a swinging bachelor's pad and failing miserably. The small collection of surfboards in one corner intrigued me though. I guess the kids picked up a surfer or two who stayed out long after the sun had gone down. I don't think the majority of Santa Carla's surfers ever considered themselves 'dinner on the half shell' for a gang of vampires: for great white sharks, yes, but for vampires, no. Luckily, it didn't look like the Boys preyed upon the surfers often.
The carrion scent wasn't so apparent in the lobby, perhaps due to the pall of cigarette smoke in the air, but while I made my way deeper, past the curtained alcoves, and into the warren of tunnels towards the rear of the cave, the air grew colder and the smell of rancid flesh and blood dominated the last room. The ceiling of the cave in this room was lost in dark shadows, yet I could detect the gleam of metal bars high above me. A series of dilapidated ladders climbed up one side of the cave. Judging from the miasma of stale vampire breath, this must be where the Boys slept during the day, hanging upside down from the iron bars. It was a unique sleeping arrangement and quite clever of them. Coffins would have been too conspicuous in the cave, basically making them easy targets for those intrepid or stupid enough to go after them in their own hideout.
Satisfied with what I've seen of the cave, I trotted back to the main room. It seems that I had never left at all since the topic of the conversation was still about my walking schedule.
"What's the matter? Nobody wants to give old Thorn here a walk in the moonlight?" David had his gloved hands over his face, rubbing it like he didn't know what else to do with his hands other than wrapping them around the necks of the others and throttling them. Throughout the whole movement, his cigarette dangled between the first and second fingers of his right hand. "I'm not going to waste the whole night talking to myself about who's walking the dog!"
"Hey, you were having the conversation with me," Paul interjected.
"Doesn't count," said David. He had his cigarette back in his mouth, jutting at an angle. "Okay, if none of you wants to walk Thorn tonight, I'll do it, but all of you are coming with me."
"Why walk when you can fly?" added Dwayne quietly.
"I am not going to fly around Santa Carla with devil-pooch in my arms!" David's composure was beginning to crack.
"Could we at least separate once we get to the Boardwalk? I don't think I want to be nearby when you land with a big dog in your arms." Marko was smiling his sweet smile.
"No on the separation, and just for that last part, I'm thinking of getting a sidecar for your bike so Thorn could ride with you. I may be cruel, but not that cruel to drag devil-pooch around on a leash while we're riding our bikes," said David.
"No way man, no sidecar for me," stated Marko.
"Devil-pooch can ride behind me," piped in Paul.
I saw the cigarette droop and finally drop from David's mouth. "Look carefully Paul: does Thorn have any hands to hold onto you with? And don't suggest strapping him to the seat or to your back!"
The Boys began to laugh at this, and Paul was laughing the hardest. I had a feeling that I was witnessing an unseen side of the Boys, a side Max and I hardly ever saw during the brief contact we had with them at the store.
"Okay, I'll take Thorn out tonight while you guys go and do whatever the crap you do. Remember, you three owe me." David stood up, stretching this way and that. He removed the extra cigarette he kept behind his left ear and tucked it into his mouth. From within his overcoat, he took out a box of matches and shook one out. There was a brief flare when he struck the match against the box, and for a moment, his face was lit with an unholy light as he brought the match up. He cupped his hands over it to keep the little flame from being blown out by the breeze that blew in now and then from the entrance of the cave. "It's just you and me, Thorn," he said softly, shaking the match to extinguish it. He quickly bent down to retrieve something from behind one of the sofas. Whatever he picked up, he hid it from me when he stood up. As he came nearer, he leaned over me and leered, his icy blue eyes flashing malice: "How far are you willing to go, Thorn?" From his coat pocket, he brandished a leash and a spiked collar, and in the back of my mind, I knew both came from Paul (I must explain here and now that Max never had me on a leash nor did he have me wear ugly spiked collars. I was an independent Hound of Hell, and to wear something as demeaning as one of those leather collars with the metal spikes that shrieked 'Junkyard Mutt' and a leash to lead me around like an idiot who doesn't know where he was going would be an insult to the proud and infernal line of Hellhounds.) As for Paul having a dog leash and an atrocious collar, well, it proved once and for all that the kid's fashion sense was undeniably kinked.
xXx
I swallowed my pride as David replaced my usual collar with one of Paul's fashion accessories. If only I was quicker, I would have bitten him and made a run for the exit, but I wasn't quick enough. Perhaps it was the thought of Paul's disturbing fashion sense that distracted me enough to give David an advantage. Nevertheless, I now had a leather collar (with spikes!) encircling my neck. I swallowed my pride again when I heard the 'snick' of the leash being attached to the collar. I can see where this was going. The picture already forming in my mind was leaving a bad taste in my mouth. If he was going to challenge me, I had to show David who was top dog.
Adopting a meek front, I sat and waited for him while he watched the Boys leave the cave noisily, flying out in a rush of wind and whirring noises that reminded me of chattering bats or creaking bicycle wheels that haven't been oiled for a long time. They were going to where they hid their bikes, a place not too far, and from there, head onto the Boardwalk where David and I were going to meet them after our walk.
I felt a slight tug as David walked me outside the cave and towards the stairs. It was now or never. Crouching low, I gathered myself for a powerful spring. He never suspected a thing as he paused beside me, wondering briefly why I stopped at the foot of the staircase. The sound of his startled grunt was a satisfying sound to my ears as I leapt up the stairs, dragging him up the steps. I hoped he was getting a lot of damage from the large splinters that flew off the railing as he flailed along, his booted feet stumbling to keep up. My voice howled with pleasure when I got to the top, and there I went all out. I ran as if I was being chased by chanting villagers with torches and sharpened farm implements. David began howling too, but it wasn't a happy sound. I could feel him trying to dig his heels in and pull me back in a futile fight for control.
Ha! Let's see how far you're willing to go! I thought as I raced along the dirt track, heading for the lights of Santa Carla and beyond. The tension on the leash slackened suddenly, causing me to turn my head slightly to look back and check on David. The kid glided behind me with his great coat billowing out like some huge bat. Flying surely helped because he could now keep up with me, but the wind and the leash conspired against him by buffeting him, making him flutter erratically in the turbulence. Sometimes he was thrown down and dragged for a bit before the wind picked him back up only to be flung back down again. A sensible person, or vampire, would have dropped the leash by now, but David was too stubborn. Hell's bells, he looked more like a giant black kite, and I was the one pulling his string.
We continued our 'walk' in this manner until I became bored. By the time I started to really walk, David was a shambling mess. His spiky blonde locks were awry, the mousse or gel keeping them straight and perfect was all gone, replaced by dirt, twigs, and all manner of debris picked up during his scrapes with the dirt track. The black overcoat still billowed about him, coated now with a fine layer of dust that puffed at times when he slapped at his sleeves and chest. The t-shirt he wore was torn to shreds, plus the knees on his jeans were in tatters. An unreadable expression occupied his dirty face, an expression that looked somehow angry or mortified, yet appeared to say that he was aware of being taught a lesson, but for what he wasn't too sure of, and when did walking the dog involve so much pain and dirt? He spat out the broken cigarette that dangled from his lips and reached up to get the extra one tucked behind his left ear. The cigarette was long gone, so he reached into his coat and took out a pack. Most of the cigarettes were broken, while some just rolled out in pieces when he shook the packet. Only one escaped damage, but it was crooked. Sighing deeply, David stuck it in his mouth and lit it. He looked down at me as he took one long drag from the cigarette, his eyes shining dangerously with undisguised fury.
"This round belongs to you, Thorn, you sonuvabitch," rasped David as he exhaled a long cloud of smoke into the night air.
xXx
Author's Notes: This chapter was inspired by the many walking misadventures I had with my own 'junkyard mutt,' and the title 'Blood and Cigarettes' was suggested by a strange dream I had involving mountaineering, highway overpasses, and zombies.
Many thanks to the readers who have read and enjoyed this romp so far.