Greasepaint (7 page)

Chapter Thirteen

The dressing room of Corpus Delicti is silent. Ricky and Skeezer finish getting ready for the show without a word said between them. The silence shatters as Mona bursts into the room, holding her head. Blood streams from a wound.

Ricky jumps to her aid immediately and helps her lie down on the small couch. She eventually waves him off and sits up on her own.

“What the hell happened to you?” Ricky asks.

Mona groans and removes her hand from her head, checking the amount of blood.

“The North Side Kings, they jumped us.”

Skeezer moves toward the door, a grimace splayed across his face. “I'm gonna kill those guys!”

Ricky manages to stop Skeezer before he can go on a holy war. “Hold on, we have to make sure Mona is okay.”

“I'm fine, no thanks to you guys.”

Ricky, chastised, shrinks back.

“Where's Mikey?” Skeezer asks.

Mona's eyes grow wide as if remembering something for the first time.

“I don't know! There were four of them.”

“Fuck!” Skeezer heads for the door. Ricky goes to help Mona up. She shakes off his arm and stands on her own.

“Go and help him you ass! You owe that to Michael at the very least!”

Ricky heads out of the dressing room, his head hanging in shame. Mona tentatively stands, testing the waters of her head injury, and follows.

Skeezer bursts into the backstage area of the night club. He looks around for the other band, but doesn't find them. He doesn't notice Michael's leg protruding from a pile of boxes and musical gear heaped in the corner.

Ricky and Mona catch up but don't notice Michael, either.

“Looks like they split.”

Michael moans loudly. The three of them turn their attention to the corner and scan the area trying to discern the darkly-clad Michael from the darkness of the room.

Mona sees the leg.

“Michael!”

The three of them rush over and dig Michael out from the debris. Milk crates, cables and booze boxes fly as they uncover more and more the young singer. After a moment of digging, they manage to sit him up. He is bruised and battered, with a few cuts, but nothing looks too desperate.

“You all right?” Ricky asks.

Michael regains his focus enough to glare at his former friend. “Fuck you.”

Michael allows Mona to help him up. With some effort, she gets her arms underneath him and he manages to stand. Wobbly at first, he steadies quickly.

“Anything broken?”

Michael takes a deep breath. “I don't think so.”

Ricky steps forward and Michael takes a defensive stance like he might have to fight again. His fists ball up and Michael glares.

“Whoa. Dude. I just want to apologize.”

Ricky turns and slaps Skeezer upside the head. Skeezer rubs the spot and turns to face Michael.

“We want to apologize. We didn't know it'd be so bad, man, seriously.”

Michael nods his head. He doesn't exactly look at Ricky and Skeezer. “Yeah.”

The door at the end of the hallway slams open and the stage manager, complete with clipboard and headset, stands in the doorway. She is frazzled, worked to the bone, and glares at the band members.

“There you are,” she manages to get out, furious. “You're on in five.”

Ricky looks around to Skeezer and Mona, they nod. He lands on Michael and tries to hold his gaze but falters.

“We good?” Ricky manages to sneak out.

Michael takes a deep breath and nods. “For now. We'll talk about this after the show.”

The stage manager nods and marks it down on her clipboard. She spins and starts to exit but things twice and turns back around. “You guys seen Da North Side Kings anywhere? They're up after you.”

Michael shakes his head. “No, but trust me, when we find them we'll let them know.”

The stage manager nods again and exits.

Ricky, as if a large weight has been lifted, nearly bounces toward the door. “What happened with those guys?”

Michael shrugs and indicates the dump of boxes and gear in the corner. “Dunno. I don't remember much after Tom decked Mona.”

Ricky is taken aback, truly shocked. He had thought that Mona may have been caught in the crossfire, but not targeted by the Kings.

“Now I'm really gonna fuck those dudes up!” Ricky said, complete with puffed chest.

Mona snorts as she laughs. “Thanks, Lancelot.”

Skeezer steps up. He fishes a vial of cocaine out of his shorts and holds it up, grinning from ear to ear. He cracks it and dumps a bump on his fist. He quickly snorts it up and holds the vial out. “Friends?”

Michael, Ricky and Mona all pass on the pick me up.

“Sure. Friends,” Michael says.

Skeezer shrugs his shoulders pulls the werewolf mask down over his head. He howls and smacks his own forehead. “WOOOOOO! Corpus fucking Delicti!”

Still howling, Skeezer bolts for the stage area.

Ricky looks at Michael and waits a moment, just long enough to defer to Michael's lead. Michael nods his head and slaps Ricky's shoulder. Ricky follows Skeezer out to the stage.

Mona looks Michael up and down. “You ready for this?”

Michael nods. They take one another's hands and follow Ricky. Showtime.

Chapter Fourteen

The stage is still surrounded by fans. The clump of Orzo fans has dispersed and mill around and in between the concert goers.

Without warning, the stage lights up. Multi-colored lights play across the audience and the crowd cheers. Strobes flash, spotlights play across the stage. The audience eats it up.

Skeezer, howling, rushes the stage. He takes center stage and squats down. As if by rote, the crowd quiets down. They had been through this before, it was the pre-show ritual and showed just how popular this particular band was. Skeezer raises his fist and counts out with his fingers: one, two…three! At three he leaps and howls to the moon and the crowd howls with him in unison.

Michael, Mona and Ricky, waiting for the howls, take the stage and the crowd cheers again. Michael, smiling, settles behind the microphone.

“Monster Fest! We're Corpus Delicti!”

The crowd cheers again. Michael turns to the band.

“We start with ‘The Raven.'”

The band nods and Skeezer starts. The drums resonate, rhythmically pounding. Soon, the crowd knows what song is next and they undulate in time to it. Mona's bass lights up, complementing the drums and creating a foundation for the song. The lyrics were originally written by Poe, and set to music by the band. It is a crowd favorite.

Grinning, Michael turns back to the crowd and looks out. The Orzo masks rattle him at first, but he finds solace in the backbeat. The rhythm of drums and bass. He closes his eyes and waits for Ricky's caterwauling guitar to cut in.

It does and Michael snaps his eyes open. And immediately regrets it. At the rear of the club stands the clown from the alley. No figment, no hazy apparition. Flesh and blood.

It waves.

Michael shakes his head violently. When he looks back, the clown is gone. Lost in his own personal hell, Michael misses the opening line of the song. Mona looks at Ricky. Ricky motions to Skeezer, fist up…the international sign for “Michael is having a moment” and they restart the intro.

Michael starts the song on time, the second time, and starts singing. “Rap tap tapping at my chamber door!” He is getting into it when he looks back out at the crowd.

The clown has returned. Michael shakes his head again and looks back. The clown remains. It frowns, exaggerating like a mime. It traces a finger down one of its cheeks indicating that Michael is a crybaby.

Michael stumbles again and stops singing. He looks back at the band and they continue to play. None of them have any clue what to do and Michael is at a loss.

At that moment, the audience appears to move as one and the Orzo masks that dotted the crowd before now look as if they comprise the total audience. From the wings of the building, the back hallway area, the bar set up, from everywhere Orzo fans, all in the cheap masks, rush the stage. They chant in unison and the audience parts as if they are toxic.

“Orzo! Orzo! Orzo! Orzo!”

Michael stumbles backward at the influx of Orzos, dropping the microphone. The band quits playing. Not all at once, but one member at a time, petering out as Michael's past swarms them.

Michael stares out into the see of Orzos, but he is only looking for one. One in particular. He sees the clown, or at least he thinks he does, until a group of Orzo fans obscure it.

Without a word, Michael jumps from the stage. He is quickly lost in the press of Orzo masks and fans. The Orzo fans, to their credit, are so shocked that a living relic of their hero is in their midst, that they let Michael pass without incident. He is absorbed quickly.

Mona drops her bass. She scans the crowd looking for Michael.

“Michael!”

She turns to Ricky but he just looks around, dumbfounded. He sets his guitar down.

Michael exits the club into the alleyway. He is alone and panicked. He scans the alleyway up and down, certain the clown came this way.

“Where are you, motherfucker!” Michael screams to the sky. He turns and kicks a garbage can.

The can tips and falls to the side. Tom's corpse falls out, as well as the remainder of Tom's entrails. They slop onto the alleyway mixing with the oily dirt.

Michael jumps back. Taking a deep breath, he hesitantly approaches the can and peers inside.

Tom is mangled horribly and was stuffed inside the can. His upper half had been separated from his lower half in order to fit.

Michael's eyes grow wide in shock. He backs up, without even looking, and runs into another can. That can topples over and takes the other two behind it down like dominoes. Each of the cans contain a member of Da North Side Kings. Each of them are equally as sloppy as Tom and had to go through the same bisection process just to fit.

Michael shrinks back in shock. He slides down the wall and sits on the concrete. He grabs his knees and begins to rock back and forth, an old defense mechanism from childhood, one he had given up as a kid.

“He's back…he's back…”

Since the music had stopped, the Orzo fans continue to chant. Mona stands before them, her bass forgotten and slung to the side, and tries to scan the crowd for Michael. She slips the bass from around her neck and jumps from the stage and into the maelstrom. She pushes through the crowd, heading in the direction she last saw Michael. The crowd swallows her.

Ricky sits on the stage and put his head in his hands. He drops his guitar and it squeals, electronic feedback wails.

Skeezer stands. Not used to caring too much he looks to the side of the stage to find two beautiful women, one blonde and one brunette. They are wearing skirts that barely clear their genitals and shirts two sizes too small stretched across their ample fake breasts.

Skeezer points his drumstick at the girls and they smile, giggling. Skeezer barely manages a look at Ricky before hustling toward the young ladies.

Ricky is left alone on stage. He looks up as the chanting quiets. The crowd has dispersed, Orzo fans and all. He sighs, heavily, and slips off the edge of the stage. Ricky grabs his guitar and heads toward the bar area.

Detective Morris steps from the shadows. He watches Ricky move off and follows behind.

Michael hasn't moved. He rocks, back and forth, shaking and sweating. The remains of Da North Side Kings are strewn about.

From the backstage area Orzo39 exits, his mask is still on. Michael looks up, startled, for a moment until he realize that is just one of the fans.

“Thought you'd be out here!” the masked man said.

Michael glares at Orzo39 as the smaller man fishes out a cigarette and lighter. He lifts the mask and stops short when he realizes what he has just walked into. Orzo39 looks around, mesmerized by the blood glinting in the moonlight.

“Whoa,” he whispered. “Did you do all this?”

Crying out, Michael leaps up and attacks Orzo39. It is a pathetic, lunging attack. Orzo39 pushes Michael off. Both of them nearly slip in the wetness of the alley.

“What's your deal? I think you're great, okay I don't want to hurt you! You're the last scion of Orzo's legacy!”

Michael retreats backward to the spot he was huddled in. He moves like a trapped and injured animal. He doesn't take his eyes off of Orzo39.

Orzo39 pulls the mask up.

“Look, if you did this I'm sure these guys had it coming, okay?”

Michael squats down again, grabbing his knees.

Orzo39 advances toward him, hands outstretched.

“Everything's gonna be okay, man.”

Michael looks up to the young man as a pair of white-gloved hands appear on Orzo39's shoulders. Michael cannot move. He whimpers to himself as tears well in his eyes. He pulls his legs in even closer, trying to disappear.

Orzo39 notices the hands. “Hunh?” Behind him the clown rises up and spins Orzo39 around.

Orzo39's smile grows. His eyes are wide in excitement. “It's you!”

The clown smiles, a genuine grin behind the make-up. He gently pulls the mask down over Orzo39's face.

“I love you.”

The clown grasps Orzo39's head and twists violently. The fan's neck makes a sound akin to a dog biting into a piece of rawhide. The sound continues as Orzo39's head turns completely around.

The clown holds Orzo39 aloft momentarily, looking into his eyes and, done with the fun, drops the corpse, letting him splash in what is left of the other victims.

Michael watches with wide eyes.

The clown steps forward.

With a squeal, Michael attempts to press himself through the wall.

The clown raises a single finger to his lips indicating that Michael should not tell. The clown waves and backs into the darkness.

Michael is left, terrified and rocking back and forth. For the second time in his life something that looked like a man made him watch awfulness and left him with a shhhhh.