Disclaimer: The Lost Boys belongs to Warner Bros. I'm just having a bit o' fun with the characters.
xXx
Intimidating, that was the word; despite their garish outfits, the Boys personified it perfectly. They lounged against the railing with their motorcycles parked to one side, an island of savage calm in the sea of gangs that called Santa Carla home. In their own quiet way, they dominated the groups around them. Some vague undercurrent of violence and unease emanated from their group, causing the other gangs to avoid them on some nameless, instinctual level, like that strange feeling of being too close to something that regarded you as potential prey. Such supernatural intimidation guaranteed complete control: Santa Carla truly belonged to Max's Boys, and they knew it. However, intimidating would not have been the word to describe David's appearance when we finally arrived at the amusement park.
"Oh man, where did you guys go?" Paul was the first to see us. He was laughing at the sight that greeted him. "You walk through Hell or what?"
"Shut up, Paul!" snarled David, his crooked cigarette clenched between slowly grinding teeth.
"Don't be mad. At least we now know what we're in for when we take Thorn for his walk," Paul continued. "Did the leash hold well? How about the collar? Do you think it makes Thorn look tough and sexy?"
"I'll tell you what I think! I think I'm going to enjoy tearing your throat out!" David lunged forward with the single-minded intent to rip Paul's throat out, and it took the combined strength of Dwayne and Marko to restrain him. It was also quite comical to see Dwayne put David in a headlock with Marko trying to avoid his flailing arms and legs.
"Chill out man, don't go vamping out with everybody watching! It ain't cool." Marko had grabbed a fistful of David's hair.
If only I had an adequate larynx, I would have been giggling; instead I huffed and barked, enjoying the Boys antics. I also noticed Dwayne looking at me with a calculating gleam in his dark eyes.
"I'm alright, I'm alright!"
Dwayne quickly released his hold on the struggling vampire.
"You can let go of my hair, Marko! Damn it! I felt your nails digging into my head," David muttered while he rubbed at his scalp. Sighing with resignation, he turned away from Paul and said, "I'm going to let this go once, Paul, just this once." He was starting to calm down, smoothing the newly acquired wrinkles on his coat and removing whatever debris remained in his hair. "Any of you boys got a cigarette or something? I'm almost done with this one." Taking out the crooked cigarette, he waited for it to burn down to the filter before flicking it onto the sand. He turned around, accepting a cigarette from Paul who had been waiting quietly to tell him one last thing.
"You know you got some big nasty bug parts stuck in your teeth."
xXx
Now that David was calm, we all had a wonderful time observing the crowd. The night air was filled with the salt and decaying kelp smell of the beach; wafting in were the fried batter scent of funnel cakes, a whiff of cinnamon and sugar, and the sickening sweet aroma of rotting garbage. I turned my head, sniffing at the air, lapping up the odor of roasting meats, frying hamburgers, French fries, and doughnuts. The tantalizing smells made me hungry, too hungry. Max fed me earlier, but all that walking gave me an appetite. I looked up at David and whined a little bit.
"You gotta be kidding me. We just got here! Don't tell me you want to go back now," said David, "I'm not walking back with you!"
"Hey dude, chill! I'll drive you guys home," said Paul.
"With what? A magic carpet?" David was losing his patience.
"You'll see! I got friends in low places. Wait right here!" Paul ran off into the crowd.
"You two know anything about these friends in low places?" asked David.
The dynamically silent duo of Dwayne and Marko just shrugged their shoulders.
I sat down and waited, watching the crowd pass us by. There were bits of conversations my ears caught, and most of it consisted of idle talk concerning boring mundane things, but there were snatches of friends whispering to other friends about the sordid details of various individuals, laughter and screams from the rides and games, and one strange discussion that revolved around vampires, ghouls, and werewolves in the town council. Such topics shouldn't be discussed in public, especially when there were supernatural creatures lurking nearby to listen in. I looked about me, trying to find the source and seeing only a couple of boys arguing and arranging the display stand in front of a store.
Max and his Boys had an uneasy truce with the other creatures that called Santa Carla home. Who knew what kind of mayhem could stem from a discussion that sounded fantastic and ridiculous to normal people. Max would have to look into this when he returns. I caught David whispering something to Marko, who nodded and nudged Dwayne. They were intently observing a young woman dressed as if clowns stole all her decent clothing and left her with their cast-off garments that never saw the light of day or were never worn by any clown with sense. She was also a person of interest for one of the rival gangs: the so-called Surf Nazis.
This was something I've heard of from Max, but have never seen before. One of the Boys would wait, gauging their prey until they knew enough to come closer and learn more. Sometimes they attracted their prey for no reason other than their reputation and appearance. It was a subtle game of seduction for the Boys, knowing full well the fate of the victim who willingly comes along for a ride with them. The Boys also ranged far to feed, falling upon individuals or other gangs who found themselves in an isolated area of Santa Carla's stretch of coastline. David was about to swagger in to attract the attention of the young woman when a weird noise stopped him in mid-swagger. The Surf Nazis stopped in mid-conversation and looked up, allowing the woman to leave. A slight disturbance near the entrance was causing a stir, and the crowd parted briefly enough for Paul to come dashing through. He was grinning like a kid who was happy that the subject of his Show-and-Tell grossed out his classmates.
"I got it! It's out in front." Paul waved towards the entrance.
"What is it?" David approached him, a wary look on his face. Any scheme of Paul's always ended in something far raunchier than expected. Even Max knew this, and he learned it the hard way.
"A car, a convertible actually; friends of mine are letting me borrow it for the night. I'll just drive back and get my bike after I drop you two off."
"A car? Since when did you get a driver's license? Wait, don't tell me: friends in low places, right?" David was beginning to catch on.
"Take a look. It didn't cost much, and the guy did a real good job." Paul handed over the fake license.
"You don't even look like the guy in the picture!"
"It's close enough," Paul said when David handed back the license. "I can get a discount next time if ever you guys want one."
"Just show us the car." There was a tiny bit of impatience in Dwayne's voice.
Whatever Paul had waiting for us, it was far weirder than expected. When he said convertible, we thought it would be a real convertible. The thing that waited for us at the curb was a hearse, double-parked and gawked at by passing visitors. It wasn't even one of those black or white stately vehicles that one sees at funerals. This one looked like somebody's experiment gone horribly wrong.
In its dingy past, someone converted it into a convertible. Only the area where the coffin would have been loaded and transported was still covered by the original roof. Yet the most disturbing thing about the car was the stuff that was on it. The entire car was decorated with countless stickers, and not just bumper stickers, but decals of forgotten brand names and stickers of various subjects, colors (very bright primary ones,) and sizes. There were layers upon layers of stickers. A few of them clumped up to form strange bulges that looked like there was something trapped beneath it all. The windshield, passenger windows, and hood ornament were left untouched by the stickers. Curiously, the hood ornament was a beautiful sculpture of a leaping hare painted to look like it was wearing a striped shirt and short pants with suspenders. The deranged individual who converted the hearse must have decorated it too.
"What do you think guys?" Paul beamed as he leaned against the hood.
"It's...it's hideous," Marko said with awe. "Your friends must be as screwed up as you, Paul, to do this."
"Nah, they told me they won this baby in a card game. They've been letting the local funeral home borrow it for special funerals, but it was free tonight. Check this out!" Paul reached inside and pressed on the steering wheel. The car's horn began playing the strange sound we heard earlier, but now we could hear it clearly enough for us to discern the music; it was 'Pop! Goes the Weasel,' but played as a slow, solemn dirge. The music didn't last long, and the brief silence that followed was broken by Marko's and Dwayne's laughter.
"I'm not riding in that! It looks and sounds like Death's Ice Cream Truck!" David stood on the curb, his grip tightening around my leash.
"Just get inside. You'll be at the cave in no time to fix your hair," suggested Dwayne as he walked away.
"See y'all later!" Marko followed, giving a slight wave and a smile.
Those two went to go hunting on their own, and I was left with the hideous hearse, Paul, and a very pissed-off David. He was muttering every obscenity under his breath as he opened the passenger door for me; I hopped in and sat in the middle while he settled into the passenger seat. Paul got behind the wheel, whistling happily.
"Turn on the radio," said David when the whistling started to grate on his nerves.
"I don't know if I can."
"Of course you can."
"How can I when there's nothing?"
"What do you mean there's nothing? Don't play your stupid games with me, Paul."
"I'm not playing any games! I'm trying to tell you the car doesn't have a radio."
xXx
Paul's driving wasn't as bad as I thought it would be; we didn't hit anybody or anything on the way back to the cave, but he did take the turns a bit too carelessly. The ride was spent in relative peace because Paul and David managed to shut up for the rest of the trip. We were the only vehicle on the coastal back road at that time of the night; the Boys learned a while back which roads the police mainly patrolled. These lonely, hidden roads of Santa Carla probably hid a good portion of the Boys' victims.
We finally reached the cave in one piece. Paul was drumming on the steering wheel while he waited for us to get out of the car. He was also humming another one of his nameless tunes, and with a mischievous glance in David's direction, he reached forward and flicked a switch on the dashboard. The nonexistent radio burst into static life as the local radio station played the latest loudmouth. With a raucous laugh, Paul turned the car and drove away. The last we saw of him, he was headbanging to the raucous tune.
"I'm going to wait till that idiot falls asleep, and then I'm going to punch him in the face," said David.
I followed David down the stairs and into the cave, but not before doing my business and getting him to clean up after me. He didn't look too happy about it. When it came time to feed me, I could see his patience wearing thin. Afterwards, he spent most of the time pacing, puffing on his cigarette, and waiting for the boys to come back. It wasn't long before they returned.
"Hey David, how was Thorn? Did he help you fix your hair-do?" Marko asked as he carried in a cardboard box.
Ignoring his questions, David replied, "It's about time. Now I can go feed, and you guys can watch Thorn."
The other three looked at each other, pointing at one another and whispering. Paul finally spoke up, "It seems you're a little too late, pal." He didn't sound too apologetic.
"What do you mean a little too late? The last time I looked, it was still dark outside." There was a slight catch in David's voice.
"That's where you're wrong, bud. I think all that walking screwed up your time schedule." Paul looked like he was enjoying David's discomfort.
Somehow, I knew where this was going, and I didn't want to be near when David was finally given the bad news, so I slowly made my way to the curtained bed.
"You're too late, and the sun's about to rise," said Dwayne. He was brief and to the point.
"Yeah," Paul agreed.
"But we got you..." Marko tried to add when he was interrupted by a fully transformed David.
"I haven't fed, and you're telling me I can't go outside because it's already too late?" His fiery yellow eyes glared as he bellowed, "Forget this; I'm going after fresh meat!"
I have no idea where or how David came up with a knife and fork, but the look of intense hunger on his face was all I needed to get me to run away from him. The Boys did their best to tackle and restrain the rampaging vampire, but not without getting a few nasty pokes from the fork. They did manage to get the knife away at the beginning. It was an unfair wrestling match, and in the end, David was finally subdued when Paul and Dwayne tied him to his chair. They quickly rolled him over to Marko who was opening the cardboard box he carried in earlier.
"How about getting some type O positive into your system?" Marko pulled out a blood transfusion bag and stabbed a straw into it. He quickly gave it to David to suck on.
"Promise to not vamp out on us again?" asked Paul as he loosened the restraints. David nodded as he continued to drink. He already had one hand free, clutching the bag and squeezing it to force the liquid into the straw and into his mouth. When the restraints were finally removed, he lit another cigarette and accepted another bag of blood, and there he sat, content with smoking his cigarette and sucking at the blood like a kid with a juice pack.
"So, who's going to walk the dog next time?" asked Marko.
"You can. I'm done, finished, out. No more walking for me," David said around a mouthful of blood.
"No, no, Paul can walk Thorn." Marko didn't look so eager.
"Hey, I have plans tonight!" cried Paul. "Why can't Dwayne take Thorn out?" He looked around for the other vampire, but he was nowhere to be seen. "Aw shit, where did he go?"
"Should we settle this in the usual way?" Marko raised an eyebrow, waiting for Paul's answer.
"Okay, but no cheating. It's rock, paper, scissors, right?"
xXx
Author's Notes: Twisted dreams and humorous discussions concerning the different ways a vampire would snack on blood if given a choice were the inspirations for this chapter. Death's Ice Cream Truck does not exist, I think, but if ever there was such a thing, I don't think I'd want to buy a treat from it.