Deadside in Bug City (8 page)

“Shit, is that all you can say?”

“What? No shit?”

“Yeah. No shit.”

“Shit, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“No shit. Shit’s all you do know.”

They laughed. James socked Josh on the shoulder. Josh socked him back, not as hard. James rolled his window down.

“Whadja do that for? It’s hot out there,” said Josh. “You’re letting out all the cool air.”

“So I can hear that bell.”

“It’s just a fuckin’ bell. What’s the big deal?”

“I dunno. I just wanna hear it. And find out who’s ringing it.”

“And you think your old lady’s weird?” Josh reached for the volume button on the radio.

James swatted his hand away.

“Hey! What the fuck, man?”

James said, “I told ya, I wanna hear the bell. Can’t hear it with the radio on.”

“Jeez.” Josh crossed his arms over his chest and sulked against the passenger door.

James turned right at the corner of Vinewood and Willow. A man, completely naked, was crossing the street in their headlights and James swerved to avoid hitting him.

“Holy shit! Look at that crazy fucker,” said Josh, craning his head around.

Both boys howled as they drove past the naked, balding man.

“That’s one way to beat the heat,” James guffawed.

“Yeah, but did you see who that was? That was Bony Berman, the math teacher. No shit, it really was.”

“Nah. He wouldn’t walk down the street naked.”

“It was him. I swear.”

“Must’ve found a math problem he couldn’t solve and flipped his shit.”

“I guess,” said Josh. “Jeez-oh-man, Bony Berman butt naked in the street. What’s the world coming to?”

Before James could answer with a witty comeback, an ice cream truck with its headlights off came barreling toward them down the wrong side of the street. James’s Jeff Gordon moves deserted him. His hands froze on the steering wheel and he did nothing but wait for the head-on impact. Josh yelped and threw his hands over his face. The ice cream truck swerved sharply toward the lane it should’ve been in, but it was too late to avert the collision.

In the final seconds before the crash, James heard the ice cream truck’s bell jangling wildly.

* * *

She was completely naked now, her piss-stained panties lying in a small pink heap near her feet. The man called Shades had pushed his dark glasses up on top of his shaved head, and his dark eyes seemed to smolder with a demented passion Candace didn’t want to think about. The sloppy-fat Woofer showed his teeth in what was probably supposed to be a grin, but looked more like the snarl of a feral animal, a hissing possum. He picked up her panties and sniffed them.

“She pissed herself,” Woofer said with a mirthless chuckle.

“Pregnant cunts can’t hold their pee,” said Shades as he pulled a bundle of black and white cloth from the burlap bag. “Here, put this on her.” He handed the bundle to Woofer, who unfolded it with his stubby fingers.

When she saw what it was, Candace allowed herself a fleeting moment of hope, but that hope was quickly supplanted by hopeless despair as she remembered that they had referred to her as the
unholy mother.

Woofer lifted her head off the cellar floor and put the nun’s wimple on her, then smoothed out its folds. The headdress smelled of stale cigarette smoke, mildew and unburned incense—sandalwood.

Candace wanted to plead for her captors to spare her the pain and mutilation of the insane crucifixion, but the duct tape prevented such pleading. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Okay, stretch her out,” said Shades. He had a spike in one hand and the hammer in the other. He bent close to her face and said, “If you fight, I’ll whack your head with the hammer. Got me?”

She nodded. Then she shook her head as if to deny what they were about to do to her. She glanced down at the pale dome of her swollen belly and thought,
I’m sorry, baby.

Woofer spread her legs wide, then moved behind her and pinned her shoulders to the hardwood floor. Shades positioned the spike against the instep of her left foot and lined up the hammer for the first blow.

Candace urgently shook her head and moaned against the duct tape.

“Hold still, titty mama,” Woofer cooed close to her ear. “Don’t move your legs or we’ll go ahead and kill you and your baby.”

She froze. Closed her eyes.

The ringing bang of metal on metal accompanied devastating pain in her foot as the spike drove into flesh and bone. Before the second blow landed, she had passed out.

* * *

Suzie Shrimpton raised her frozen margarita from the table, tilted the frosty glass and said, “Cheers.”

Joe Carr lifted his scotch-on-the-rocks and echoed her sardonic toast. “Cheers.”

They sipped their drinks. Joe opened the pack of cigarettes he’d bought from the vending machine by the rest rooms in the rear of Bill’s Bar, shook one out for Suzie and one for himself, then lit them both with a match. The scent of sulfur mixed with tobacco smoke.

“Ah, that’s good,” said Suzie, exhaling as she spoke. She propped her elbow on the tabletop and held the cigarette high between two fingers.

Though he’d never been able to figure out why, the sight of an attractive woman holding a cigarette never failed to send a jolt of sexual excitement through him. “Yeah,” he agreed.

The jukebox in the corner fell silent, and over the buzz of conversation in the bar they heard the faint tolling of the bell on Holy Cross Hill.

“Is that damn thing gonna ring all night?” she asked with a weary sigh.

Joe felt compelled to answer the rhetorical question. “Sure as hell seems like it.”

“I’ll bet Gary’s head’s ringing like a bell from that punch you gave him,” she said with a tense laugh.

“I hope I didn’t kill him.”

“Nah, he’s tough. Bastard gets in a lot of fights. He usually comes out on top though.” She smiled at him with obvious admiration. “He’s not used to having his clock cleaned.”

Joe shrugged self-consciously. The street door opened and a white-haired man in a seer-sucker suit entered the bar. He gave the bartender a casual salute as he climbed stiffly onto a barstool. “Hear that bell out there?” the old man asked.

“Been hearing it all evening, seems like,” the bartender said, drawing a beer and setting it in front of the new arrival. “What you reckon it means, Godfrey?”

The old man took a swallow of brew, giving himself a mustache of foam, and said, “Tell ya what I think. It’s an ill bell that bodes no good.”

“How so?” The grinning bartender seemed to be egging the old man on as if this were their customary style of barroom banter.

“Well, you know that old church has an unseemly history,” Godfrey said. “Way I hear it, that bell’s over two hundred years old. Forged in France before their revolution, it was. Used to hang in a monastery in—”

The jukebox suddenly blared a raucous George Strait song, drowning the old man’s words.

“Damn,” said Joe, “just when it was getting interesting.”

“Huh?” Suzie looked at him with raised brows.

“The old man.” Joe nodded in the direction of the bar. “I wanted to hear the rest of his story.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening,” she said. “Guess my mind was drifting.”

“Oh.” Joe blew smoke toward the ceiling and took another sip of scotch.

“I’m not usually like this,” she explained. “This spacey, I mean. I guess it’s this whole thing with Gary. And what happened in the convenience store.”

“Understandable.”

“You must think I’m a fool. For getting mixed up with such a jerk.”

“No, I don’t. We all make mistakes, especially in affairs of the heart.”

“Hah. With Gary and me it’s an affair without heart. Strictly physical, I’m ashamed to say. Lord, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You must think I’m awful.”

“Far from it. I think you’re just a little mixed up right now. You’re young, trying to make it on your own and Gary comes along and takes advantage of you. Guys like him, that’s what they do. Don’t blame yourself. Just learn from the experience.”

“I guess you’re right. Now I just have to figure out how to get rid of him.” She crushed out her smoke in the ashtray, suddenly brightened a little and said, “You could help me do it. If you could be with me when I tell him it’s over and I want him gone. ’Course, we’ll have to do it when he’s sober and less likely to wanna fight.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Sure it is. With you there, he won’t try to push me around or threaten me.” She reached across the table and clasped his hand. “Will you help? Please? You’ll have a friend for life if you do. I’ll do something good for you sometime.”

The touch of her hand sent a wave of warmth through him. “I…I want to help you, sure, but I don’t want to get in the middle of something that might land me in jail, you know? I mean, this is a volatile situation. What if he flies into a rage? Somebody could get seriously hurt. You never know how these things might turn out. I think you should get a restraining order to keep him away. Let the law handle it.”

“The law? We just saw the law in action. I don’t need that kind of help. They might decide to stick a broom up
me
.”

Joe blushed. He glanced at his wristwatch. “Damn, I’ve got to call my wife.”

He started to get up but Suzie didn’t let go of his hand.

“Will you think about it? Please?” Her eyes had suddenly filled with tears.

He sighed. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. “Thank you.”

His thigh bumped the table’s edge as he stood. He hardly felt it. He could still feel the warmth of her lips and breath on his knuckles. He made his way through the scattered tables to the pay phone next to the cigarette machine. Though he hadn’t finished his first drink, he felt a little light-headed and his legs seemed a bit rubbery and disconnected from his hips. He fished coins out of his pocket, fed a couple of quarters into the slot and picked up the receiver. He punched his home number. A plump woman with huge breasts came out of the Ladies Room, tugging at the seat of her tight slacks. She smiled at him. Winked a painted eye. He smiled back at her but the corners of his mouth felt sluggish and his smile didn’t feel much like a smile. More like a grimace. The faraway ringing in his ear somehow gave him a sense of dislocation. A movie-like image flashed through his mind: a phone ringing in a tomb; a desiccated hand reaching to answer it. Joe shuddered. How many rings was that? Six? Seven? Why wasn’t she answering? What was wrong? Had something happened to Sara?
Maybe she’s out looking for me.
No, that didn’t make sense. He hadn’t been gone
that
long. She was probably in the bathroom, maybe taking a shower. Had she showered before work this morning? He couldn’t remember.

He hung up the phone and went back to the table where Suzie was lighting another smoke. The song on the jukebox finished with a twanging bang. The chorus of distant sirens outside reminded him of a pack of howling dogs.

“Did you get her?” Suzie asked as he sat down.

“No answer. She’s probably taking a shower or something.”

“Let’s have another drink and you can try her again later.”

“I don’t know,” he said with growing concern. He looked at his watch. “We’re usually eating supper about now. Maybe we should call a cab and head on over there. You hungry?”

“She might not like me dropping in unannounced. You go ahead. I’ll stay here till I decide what to do.”

“I can’t just leave you.”

“You’re sweet,” she said, smiling. “But I’ll be okay. I’m a big girl.”

“Yeah, but Gary’s bigger. And meaner.” He winced. “Not that you’re mean. You know what I mean.”

She laughed. “I know. Really, I’ll be fine. You go home to your wife.”

Joe sighed. Then he rubbed his palms together with feigned enthusiasm and said, “What the hell, let’s have another round. I’ll call again in a few minutes. That’ll give her time to finish her shower.”

Even as he said the words, he knew she wasn’t in the shower. She wouldn’t be taking a shower at suppertime. She would be pacing the floor, trying to decide if she should be worried or angry that he was late for supper—if she was home and nothing was wrong.

Something
was
wrong. He could feel it. He could hear it. One of those sirens out there in the wild night could be screaming its way to his house.

End of Excerpt

HELLz BELLz
is available on Kindle and Nook

About The Author

Randy Chandler is the author of the new novels
Dime Detective
and
Daemon of the Dark Wood
, and of two previously published novels
Bad Juju
and
HELLz BELLz
. He also co-authored
Duet for the Devi
l with t. Winter-Damon (God rest his soul) and has contributed short stories to numerous anthologies. Randy has been a magazine editor/publisher, a freelance book reviewer, a mental health worker, a gas-pump jockey, an ambulance attendant, a soldier in Vietnam, and a funeral home flunky. He often haunts fields of carnage where angels and devils do battle.

Also by Randy Chandler

DIME DETECTIVE
Comet Press

When barroom bouncer Joe Dall’s ex-wife is murdered, he finds himself pressed into service as a novice private eye. Something very dark and deadly lurks in the lush shadows of the sleepy Florida town and if he can’t unmask the killer soon, others close to Joe will die. Working on a powerful client’s dime, Joe Dall’s first case could be his last.

“The new breed of retro authors isn’t getting paid by the word and, therefore, isn’t padding thin stories; instead, they’re crafting their books with considerable care and quality, and this novel is every bit a winner. Chandler introduces PI Joe Dall in a slick, atmospheric work that captures the underbelly of the 1950s with a sharp eye for detail and a flair for the sinister.”
—
Booklist
“With the publication of his latest novel, Randy Chandler gives modern readers a truly wonderful taste of a bygone age complemented by today’s views on women and minorities … From Dot Barker, a kind of big sister, to Valentine Cooper and her shotgun, Chandler’s characters go beyond the stereotypical dames, dolls, and broads that filled the pulps for a cast of strong, multidimensional, and entertaining characters. Readers can only hope to see them again in a sequel.”
—
ForeWord Reviews
“To find a wonderful example of hardboiled detective noir today, you need not look any further than Randy Chandler’s latest novel
Dime Detective
…
Dime Detective
is both an homage and a love letter to the genre, but in many ways, an interesting and original departure.”
—Walt Hicks,
Hellbound Times
DAEMON OF THE DARK WOOD
Comet Press
A man who digs cursed earth, uncovers great sorrow
. When the women of Widow’s Ridge begin to go missing, a deputy sheriff, a psychiatrist and a community college professor become mired in chilling myth and mystery. When the missing women reappear, the horror of the Helling comes home to roost.
“Randy Chandler writes with apt audaciousness. He seems truly fond of the salacious wenches he has created.
Daemon of the Dark Wood
deals with loss of control, but the novel’s author is in masterly command.”
—
Hellnotes
“If the devil is truly in the details then Chandler is a Practiced Master of the Dark Literary Arts.”
—Walt Hicks
, Hellbound Times
“Chandler wastes no time when it comes to creating tension and his narrative immediately conjures up a world of screams and fear.”
—
HorrorTalk
"
Daemon of the Dark Wood
will please any reader who relishes a well-written tale of ancient knowledge and hidden dangers, and those who fight to keep the human realm free of unbridled evil."
—
ForeWord Reviews
HELLBENT HOUSE
Comet Press
Haunted by a house seen only in her dreams, Ava locates the old plantation house in the real world and makes the mistake of venturing inside. She lands in the middle of an honest-to-goodness ghost story with murderous roots in the Civil War, but in this hellbent house, there are things far worse than ghosts. And one of them is hungry for Ava's soul.
BAD JUJU: A NOVEL OF RAW TERROR
Acid Grave Press
Dark forces are afoot in Vinewood, Georgia, a deceptively sleepy town where the dead don’t stay dead and a sinkhole is as sinister as it is deadly. Violent events both natural and supernatural build to a chaotic crescendo of horrors that will threaten the entire town and everyone in it.
An odd handful of townsfolk put their lives on the line to save the town—but the darkness may swallow them up before they have a chance.
“Hot and thick, the atmosphere reeks of earth, blood, and decay. The astringent air carries with it a sense of malevolence and resentment. No matter where you look, no matter how shallow you breathe, this town will touch you.”
—Kelly Tomblin, Horror-Web
DEADCORE: 4 HARDCORE ZOMBIE NOVELLAS
Comet Press
By Randy Chandler, Ben Cheetham, Edward M. Erdelac, and David James Keaton.
“Randy Chandler’s Dead Juju is a wild, graphic ride—a fast-paced array of elements including religion, politics, race relations, news media, socio-economic classism, contumacy—all handled with skillful precision as Chandler gives us deft glimpses of humanity in all its chaotic, whacked out splendor.”
—Walt Hicks, Page Horrific
"(Dead Juju) A wild ride and with an ending which leaves the readers as shocked as it does with its opening. Dead Juju opens Deadcore with a visceral thrill which is hard to ignore and equally tough to stomach."
—Fantasy Book Critic
“DEADCORE achieves all extremes. Violent, perverse, depraved and, as such, quite recommended.”
—Fangoria
THE DEATH PANEL: MURDER, MAYHEM, AND MADNESS
Comet Press
13 Hard boiled, violent tales of crime and horror from Randy Chandler, Tom Piccirilli, Scott Nicholson, Simon Wood, John Everson, and more.
“…be prepared to be blown away by some of the best genre short story fiction written in the last few years.”
—Horror World
“With sharp writing and a crisp design to match, the anthology makes a strong case for 2009’s best. It’s only Comet Press’ third release, but already, the small-press label has distinguished itself as a reliable name brand. Pick it up, if you’ve got the balls.”
—Rod Lott, Bookgasm