Greasepaint (8 page)

Chapter Fifteen

The patrons of the club grumble loudly and mingle around. The bar area has cleaned out a bit as the audience attempts to figure what happened and whether or not they will even have a show now.

Ricky slumps over the bar, seated on a stool. He has a drink in front of him but doesn't seem interested. Detective Morris, his back to the bar, questions Ricky.

“What can you tell me about Michael?” Morris begins.

Ricky laughs, more to himself than anyone else. “Before tonight? Good guy, little weird. Real private.”

“And after tonight?”

Ricky shakes his head, truly upset. He downs his drink before answering.

“Man, I don't know if it's the Orzo shit or nerves or what, but he is a freaking basket case right now.”

“Do you think he could murder someone?”

Ricky doesn't answer right away. He signals the bartender, two fingers held high. The bartender nods and slides a double shot of bourbon in front of the guitarist.

Morris waits patiently for Ricky to slug back the booze. He had done this once or twice before.

“Right now, I don't know,” Ricky managed to get out after recovering from the shot.

Ricky looks to the bartender to order another. Morris catches his arm before it gets too high, he'd done this once or twice before too.

“Sorry, kid, but you're going to help me find your friend.”

Ricky's arm still in his hand, Morris stands and pulls the rocker away from the bar.

Mona bursts out of the stage door and into the alley. She is panicked, worried, and afraid not only for the present, but the future. She screams out “Michael!” before noticing the alleyway in total. Mona stops for a moment and looks around. The alleyway is still filled the remnants of the clown's antics. The half-light spilling from the alley entrance gives enough to show Mona just how awful the night was beginning to become.

“Oh my God.”

Frozen, shocked by the carnage, Mona can only stare in disbelief.

Slowly, Michael stands up from behind one of the garbage cans.

“Mona.”

Mona turns to Michael, her eyes wide in fear and shock. Michael moves toward her and she backs away toward the stage door.

“What have you done?” she asks.

Michael sobs. He moves closer with his hand extended.

Mona backs up again, pressing herself against the stage door.

“Mona. Help.”

Mona looks toward the collection of corpses and grue. She is transfixed by it and just shakes her head trying to lose the image.

“What have you
done
?”

Michael moves faster, desperately trying to grab her. Show her, somehow, that it wasn't him. “Please…”

Mona scrambles against the alley door, struggling to find the handle. She opens it, taking one last look at Michael and ducks inside.

The door shuts.

Michael stares at the door. He moves toward it.

A loud noise, a crack like a gunshot or a backfire from a car, reverberates down the alley. Michael starts, startled. He looks at the door, then down the alley. He looks back and forth over and over again. The life he wants versus the life he thinks he deserves.

Michael slowly turns and moves toward the garbage can he was huddling behind when Mona found him. His body wracked with heavy, heartbreaking sobs, slides to the ground.

“What have I done?”

Chapter Sixteen

The store room of the club is a pig sty. Empty kegs line one wall. A ratty couch is parallel to them, facing the doorway. On the side of the kegs, a hallway stretches back a little way into darkness. Only a small, partially illuminated EXIT sign can be seen. It reads “EX T.”

Skeezer is stretched out on the couch and he is most definitely stoned. He clutches a bottle of whiskey in one hand, pulling it up to his mouth and swigging. He smiles and addresses his fellow revelers.

“Now, ladies…”

The two beautiful girls that had followed Skeezer to the store room kneel down on either side of the drummer. They are still gorgeous and still partially dressed. They giggle as Skeezer addresses them and have no compunctions about pawing at the rocker.

“What're your names?” Skeezer asks.

The girls look at each other and giggle again.

The blonde answers. “Why do you need to know?”

Skeezer smiles and takes another swig. “Good point.”

Skeezer motions for them to come in closer. Both of the girls run their hands across Skeezer's chest, arms, groin. He groans.

“Are you guys really going national?” one of them asks. Skeezer's eyes are closed, he is getting into the pleasure of the moment. He nods.

“Hell yeah, ladies, it's the big time from now on.”

The girls press in closer. Skeezer kisses the blonde as the brunette grabs the bottle from Skeezer's hand. She takes a swig and sets it down. “Is it true that your singer guy was that little kid?”

Skeezer separates from the blonde and half-turns to the brunette.

“Yep.”

Both of the girls are wide-eyed now, staring at Skeezer. He leans in to continue making out with the blonde but she pushes him off. She licks her lips and grins.

“Did Orzo really…you know…with him?”

Skeezer's brow furrows. He reaches for the brunette and she brushes his hands away. “I dunno, gotta ask him that.”

The brunette bounces up and down, getting excited. Despite her wardrobe, a child-like glee is apparent. “Can we meet him?”

Skeezer sighs and sits back on the couch. He grabs the bottle and tips it back. “You really wanna meet Michael?”

Both of the girls nod their heads enthusiastically.

Skeezer takes another swig, a big one, and takes a moment to recover. “Jesus Christ…I'm in this band too!”

Skeezer shakes his head, more interested in the booze than the girls. They stare at him, hoping he can fulfill their wish.

From out of the darkened hallway behind Skeezer, unseen by the two girls, a white-gloved hand slowly emerges, wrapping its fingers around the corner of the wall that the kegs are leaning on.

Skeezer howls, the girls giggle in delight, and the hand quickly disappears back into the darkness.

“All right, I'll take you to meet Michael…on one condition.”

The girls lean in, still excited.

“What?” the blonde asks. “We'll do it!”

Skeezer smiles. He lifts his rear off of the couch and begins sliding his pants off. “You'll do me.”

The girls look at each other again. Smiles slowly play across their faces. They giggle, turn back to stand up. They start by taking off their jackets and concert shirts to expose two pairs of perfectly augmented breasts.

“We were going to do that anyway…” the brunette confesses.

The girls step out of their short skirts and descend upon Skeezer.

From out of the darkness of the hallway, the outline of the clown appears to glow. The whiteness is in stark contrast with the inky hallway. It is still shadowy and most of the clown's face is hidden.

Skeezer and the girls have moved on to second base. Skeezer divides his time from girl to girl. He sits up on the couch and smiles, taking the back of the brunette's head in one hand and the back of the blonde's head in the other.

The girls shake off his hands and bend down, ready to work.

“We've got this,” one of them says. Skeezer doesn't care which.

Skeezer smiles and shuts his eyes.

“It's pretty big, ladies, so no fighting…”

Behind the trio the clown emerges fully from the hallway. He moves quickly, a colorful blur of mayhem. It glides around the side of the couch, standing behind the girls and looks down at them. It claps its white-gloved hands.

The clown reaches down slowly and places his hands on either side of the girls' heads as they work Skeezer's junk from top to bottom.

The blonde smiles and half turns. “I said we got this.”

“You sure do,” Skeezer grunts out.

The blonde catches the colorful clown suit from the corner of her eye but, before she can warn anyone, the clown slams the girls' heads together with a sickening crunch. The force of the blow opens their heads like eggs. Blood and gray matter slop onto Skeezer's genitals as the clown drops the girls.

Skeezer's eyes snap open.

“What the fu—”

The dumbfounded drummer stares up at the clown.

It towers over Skeezer and slowly raises a white-gloved hand. The clown extends a single finger and wags it in front of the Skeezer's face as if chastising a child.

“Uuuh…sorry?”

The clown descends upon Skeezer. The rocker screams. The clown grabs Skeezer's head, one hand on each side, and digs his thumbs into Skeezer's eye sockets. With a great amount of effort, the white-gloved thumbs slowly turn crimson as they move farther and farther into the musician's skull, making a terrible squelching sound.

Skeezer's body quakes as if he is having a seizure. He manages to scream for a moment until that dies out from the shock or the pressure on his frontal lobe. The clown is knuckle deep before Skeezer's body stops shuddering.

The clown pulls his thumbs out and moves to wipe them on his outfit. It thinks twice and simply takes the gloves off. It drops them on Skeezer's gore-covered groin. Without missing a beat, the clown reaches into the puffy shirt sleeve of the clown outfit and pulls out another pair of white gloves with a happy squeal.

Chapter Seventeen

Mona stumbles through the darkness of the club's backstage area. The audience still mills around in the main area and by the bar but the bands have cleared out. The shadows seem to have grown and she is getting desperate.

“Detective? Skeezer!” Mona scans the area, attempting to pierce the gloom. She stares in one direct for a moment and then turns. In front of her, emerging from the shadows is the clown. It stays just out of her line of sight, playing in with Mona in the darkness.

The clown moves around her in the shadows. It appears and disappears. When Mona looks one way, trying to orient herself, it slips off into the waiting darkness only to reappear just on the periphery.

“Jesus, Ricky!
Anyone
!” she calls out.

Mona moves farther inside as the clown shadows her. On instinct, she moves toward the storage area. The light there flickers, but works, and draws her like a moth.

Mona feels along the wall, aiming for the storage area. She squints in the gloom, finally finding the doorway and stepping through. The clown shadows her the entire way, disappearing into the gloom when she makes it to the storage area.

Mona tentatively enters the area, letting the glow from the flickering overhead bulb show her what she's stepped into. When she realizes exactly what she is looking at, she screams.

“Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God…”

Ricky and Detective Morris stumble into the room, adjusting to the dimmer lighting. They stop short at the sight before them.

Ricky slowly approaches Skeezer's corpse.

“Oh shit…Skeez…”

The detective brushes past Ricky and takes Skeezer's pulse.

“What the hell…” is all the cop can manage to say. The detective pulls out his gun and turns to Mona.

“What happened?”

“I don't know! Michael was outside and the Kings are dead and I came in here to find you and Ricky and…Skeezer…oh shit…”

Morris scans the area and looks toward the door. “Who else is dead?”

Mona shakes furiously. Ricky steps up and puts his arm around her. For a change, she doesn't fight him and presses into Ricky's arm.

“Uuuh…the other band, uh the Kings and that internet guy. They're in the alley.”

Detective Morris takes a position at the door, weapon aloft. He takes a moment, weighing the options. Finally, after a deep breath, he begins speaking.

“All right, here's the deal. Looks like your buddy is on a weird little killing spree. We get outside and I call for back up. You two sit in my car until the cavalry shows up…good?”

Ricky nods. Mona sobs onto Ricky's shoulder but manages to agree with the plan.

Morris cracks his neck and squints. “All right. Here we go.”

The lights go out, plunging the entire club into darkness.

Mona screams before clamping her own hand over her mouth. Ricky hugs her tight.

“Calm down!” Morris hisses. He leans out of the door slightly. He can hear the people in the main stage area and at the bar. Apparently the areas are as dark as in the storeroom. The audience starts to make some noise. Morris can hear a little panic in the crowd.

A weird, red light kicks in. It is the emergency lights. They cast Morris, Mona and Ricky in a weird, devilish glow.

The sound of the audience ticks up a decibel and Morris can hear them getting a little louder as at least some of the crowd makes its way to the backstage area.

Mona looks up at Ricky, the red light turning his face into a crimson mask. “This is definitely not good.”

“Where the hell is he?” Ricky asks as Mona clutches his arm.

The sound of the crowd gets a little louder.

“This is most definitely not good.”

The three of them scan the room, straining their eyes in the colored light.

Suddenly, behind Ricky and Mona, the clown's face appears. The white make-up reflects the red emergency lights like a beacon. Morris spots it first.

“Get down!” Morris spins with the gun, trying to get a bead on the clown.

Ricky screams and panics. He throws Mona to the side, turns and stumbles backward into the detective. Morris falls back, catching his head on one of the empty kegs with a loud, resounding clang.

Ricky takes a fraction of a second to look at Morris before he bolts from the room.

Mona, eyes wide, scurries after Ricky.

“Ricky!”

Ricky skitters into the backstage area, the red light still illuminating enough of the club to maneuver. He breathes heavily.

Mona catches up, equally breathless, and grabs his shoulder. Ricky screams again and spins, raising a fist.

Mona pushes him backward.

“What the fuck?”

“We're gonna die!” Ricky screeches, attempting to look everywhere at the same time.

Mona grabs Ricky around the shoulders. “You have to nut up, right now! Do you understand me?”

Ricky nods, still looking from side to side. Sighing, Mona spins Ricky around and they move forward. Both of them scan the backstage area furiously as they slowly walk through. The emergency lights afford puddles of crimson down the hallway. It appears safe.

Until, ahead of them, the clown appears in one of the scarlet pools. It is holding Ricky's guitar.

Ricky and Mona see the maniac at the same time and both of them step back, startled.

“That's my guitar…” Ricky takes a deep breath and steps in front of Mona.

Mona looks at Ricky and shakes her head. She is incredulous. “This is not the time!”

Ricky calls out down the hallway. “This ends now, fucker!”

Mona glares at the clown. She looks it up and down and comes to a realization that terrifies her and elates her all at the same time.

“That's not Michael,” she whispers.

The clown smiles and steps forward. It holds the guitar up and pretends to strum it. Silently, frowning, the clown offers the guitar to Ricky.

Ricky is perplexed. “What?”

The clown extends the guitar again. Ricky moves forward to grab it but Mona pulls him back.

“Are you insane?”

Ricky looks at Mona and stops moving forward. He turns from the clown to Mona.

The clown frowns, even more exaggerated than before. It hangs its head and holds the guitar out with one hand.

Ricky takes a deep breath and grimaces, preparing to rush the clown. “Nut up, right?”

“Ricky, no!”

“I got this guy. I won't let him hurt you!”

Ricky lets out a battle cry, rage and hate pouring out, and rushes the clown.

The clown looks up and smiles suddenly, raising the neck of the guitar and pointing it directly at Ricky.

Ricky attempts to stop the rush but it is too late. The guitar neck pierces Ricky in the throat.

The clown pushes from the other side and the entire neck of the guitar rips through Ricky's neck. Blood splatters the front of Ricky's chest and his mouth opens and closes as he attempts to breathe as if there isn't three inches of wood and metal torn through his throat.

Ricky stumbles as the clown lets the guitar loose. He turns toward Mona and falls to his knees. He is trying to support the large head of the guitar from the front using his hands. If he let it go, the instrument would fall forward, tearing up and into the back of Ricky's head.

Before Mona could even think about helping, Ricky's slick, blood-covered hands drop and the heavy guitar head falls toward his chest. The neck of the guitar rips upward and Ricky's head lifts three inches as vertebrae separate. Ricky's eyes roll backward and he falls forward, dead.

The clown, still smiling, steps toward Mona and she screams.

Before the clown can get any farther, an arm extends from the shadows and a gun muzzle is shoved against the clown's head. It glints red in the emergency lights. The hammer cocks and Morris steps from the shadows. He is holding the back of his head with his free hand.

“Freeze, psycho.”

The clown frowns again, extending its blood-stained, white-gloved hands out to be handcuffed.

A low rumble builds from the stage area. Mona looks in that direction and quickly back to the clown. Morris fights every instinct to take his eyes off the clown.

“What is that?” he asks.

Mona can only shake her head. “I don't know.”

The rumble grows louder as the clown smiles.

Suddenly, from the main stage area, a large portion of the audience surges through. Many of them are wearing the Orzo masks. They swarm, moving in and around Mona, Morris and the clown.

The detective is knocked off balance, falling into the wall. Mona is surrounded by Orzo faces and is pushed against the opposite wall as she tries to help Morris.

As the crowd powers through, the clown disappears.

The alley doors burst open and the audience piles out. They are oblivious to the body count, moving through the grue and grime to get to safety.

Mona and Morris are left alone in the backstage area. Morris stands, shaking off the cobwebs. He sees Mona and moves toward her.

“Where did he go?”

Mona shakes her head.

“Was that Michael?”

Mona shakes her head again. “No.”

Mona takes Morris's arm and they move toward the alley doors, peering into the murky red depths as far as they can. The detective has is gun out and pointed into the shadows.

As they move past a shadowy corner, the clown rises behind them, smiling. It tip toes up to them, lifting each oversized shoe comically.

When it gets within range, the clown moves quickly. He grabs Morris's gun hand and twists. The muzzle is now pointed at the detective's chest. Morris looks down and panics briefly before shoving Mona to the side.

The struggle is brief. The clown, still holding on, moves to the side and forces the trigger. Morris, without the leverage, can only stare in horror as his gun fires.

The detective's chest explodes through his back. The clown releases Morris's gun hand and the cop drops to the floor.

Mona, unable to verbalize anything, starts backing away.

The detective falls to his knees, gasping for air. The clown mimics him. As Morris starts to falter the clown inserts a single finger into the gunshot wound. Morris gasps in excruciating pain. It isn't done and, using both hands, manages to shove two fingers into the wound, stretching the bullet hole, and lifts Morris to a shaky standing position.

The detective grimaces as the clown leads him around in a slow, stumbling circle, by the bullet hole. Morris, in utter agony, finally dies and the clown allows him to fall to the ground.

Mona, eyes wide in terror, backs toward the main stage area.

The clown turns to her and waves.

She finally turns and runs toward the stage.