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On The Road Again
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Tampa, Florida – 1988
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After quitting my job over the phone, and then telling my landlord I was moving out, I was on the run the very next day. Why had my life become so goddamn complicated? Why couldn’t I eke out an existence in peace? I rather liked my job at the Bunny Hole and all the regulars I’d gotten to know. Now I would be lucky to find another job because the hell if I was gonna be able to use that place as a reference by leaving so abruptly. I didn’t even have the chance to collect my final paycheck, as I feared some of Dick’s goons would be waiting there for me when I did. Thank God most of the patrons paid their tips in cash so I had that at least. That minimum wage paycheck I could afford to throw in the toilet.
With nothing but a backpack full of my possessions, I sat on one of the benches inside the Greyhound bus station and counted the wad of cash I had rubber-banded that I kept in one of the pockets. I looked around to ensure I was alone and counted it. And then counted it again. And then a third time to be sure I was correct. I had seven thousand dollars. That was more than enough to buy a motorcycle. I stuffed the cash back into my pocket and looked around for a newspaper stand. I put a quarter into the slot and pulled open the Plexiglas lid before retrieving a paper.
Scanning the For Sale section quickly, I found a used Suzuki GSXR for sale for six thousand dollars. I looked around the station for a pay phone and breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted a bank of phones on the east wall. I dumped a dime into a phone and quickly dialed the number.
“Hello?” a man answered.
“I’m calling about the motorcycle. Is it still for sale?”
“Yes, it is. You interested, man?”
I checked my watch. It was 10 p.m. “I am, but I don’t have transportation. Any chance you can drive it to the downtown Greyhound station? I have cash and I’ll pay extra for your time and gas.”
“Hell yeah, I’ll be in there in ten. What’s your name and what do you look like?” he asked.
I relayed the details and hung up.
The guy arrived in five minutes. The bike had a few dents and scratches, but I didn’t give a shit. I sat on it, revved the handlebar throttle, and determined it worked just fine. I handed him six thousand in cash, plus another twenty-dollar bill for his time and delivery fee, and thanked him. After signing the bill of sale and shoving the title into my backpack, I took off up I-10 West for an unknown destination.
It was a sleepy town, really. Just the type to get lost in. After driving about six hours I decided to stop in Pensacola, Florida. The locals were nice, a thick Southern drawl apparent in their speech. I paid cash for one night... or day, I should say since it was now almost 5 a.m.... at the Motel Six. I parked my new bike (which I loved, by the way) in a spot around back, and made my way to my room. I threw the heavy comforter over the window and collapsed on the bed as the upcoming daytime sun caused me to succumb to sleep.
I woke ten hours later to a room still full of light. Sunlight creeped around the edges of the blanket I’d haphazardly thrown up there. When I got up to take a shower, I was rewarded with a zap of sizzle to my backside from the sunbeams so rudely blaring through the cracks. I smacked my bare ass cheek to quell the pain before slamming the bathroom door shut behind me.
Being a vampire was such a fucking drag.
My shower complete, I realized I was famished. The two blood bags I’d stolen from Dick’s mansion were long gone, as I’d gulped them down while Alan had slept on my futon. I hadn’t wanted to feed off the poor dude who’d rescued me. It was bad enough I’d had to compel him into completely forgetting about me before leaving him in the apartment alone, wondering how he got there.
But shit, the sun was still out. Or... was it?
I saw a glow of orange around the blanket but no actual sunbeams blaring into my room. With vampire speed, I whipped the blanket down and stood with my back flush against the wall. No more sunbeams. Just that orange glow. I chanced a glance out the window to see the city still illuminated, but not engulfed in the sun. Knowing I could heal from a sunbeam hit, yet knowing it would hurt like a sonofabitch, I took the chance. I put my hand in front of the window and waited for the sting. Nothing. I slowly walked in front of it and peered down. Nothing happened to me.
Hollering like I’d just won the lottery, I punched the air with my fist and yelled in victory. Quickly packing up my belongings, I raced down the stairs and checked out of the hotel. With the now-set sun still illuminating my way, but not harmful enough to kill me, I made my way to my bike. I took a look around. A scroungy-looking man was digging through the dumpster.
Silently, I approached him. “Excuse me,” I said.
He turned around and furrowed his brow at me. “What the hell do you want?”
I pulled a twenty-dollar bill from my pocket. “Just a minute of your time. I have a few questions.”
He looked at the cash then narrowed his eyes at me. “You a cop?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
He jumped down and approached me slowly. “Whatcha wanna know?”
Once he was within five feet of me, I used preternatural speed and grabbed him by the back of the neck. He gasped, then hollered. My fangs descended, and I quickly bit into his carotid. Sweet blood flooded my mouth and I swallowed it down quickly. This guy seemed to be homeless, but he obviously ate somewhat well.
I removed my fangs and sucked in a breath, “Ahh, you, my friend, are well nourished.”
I dropped his passed out, yet still alive, body to the ground and shoved that twenty-dollar bill into the pocket of his dirty trousers before I mounted my bike and took off into the night.
I didn’t get far because I found my bike inadvertently steering toward the beach. The drive took me over a large bridge, its view of the blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico absolutely breathtaking. My bike sped over it and I had to fight to keep my eyes on the road instead of the view of the sparkling water. At late sunset, the view was indescribable.
A sign welcoming me to Pensacola Beach greeted me at the end of the bridge. I steered the bike around a lot of traffic, and for nighttime, I found this odd, until I realized it was a Saturday. Lots of partiers looking to have some drinks on the beach. I had once been that guy. I weaved the bike through the streets where the bars and restaurants were and realized this was where I was going to put down some roots.
A bar called the Thirsty Parrot caught my attention and I parked in the lot. As I wandered inside, tons of young people dancing, drinking, and having a good time caught my attention. Everyone was so happy!
I wandered up to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic. After the bartender gave me my price, I paid him in cash and asked if they were hiring.
His face lit up. “Oh yeah, man. We need servers and bar-backs badly. You interested?”
I nodded. “Hell yes, got years of bartending experience,” I replied.
He shoved a business card at me. “Jim’s the manager. Come back tomorrow before two. He’ll be happy to interview you on the spot.”
Fuck.
I put on my best charming smile. I looked at his nametag, then back to his eyes. “No can do, Corey, I got a day job. I can only be here at night. Let Jim know I’ll be by around seven tomorrow night.”
I downed the gin and tonic, which had no effect on me, shoved a dollar in the tip jar, and left the bar, hoping Jim would be here tomorrow night. It wasn’t like I had a phone he could call to set up an interview.
The next night, I showed up at seven sharp. Sure enough, the manager was there and hired me on the spot. He asked for references, but I had to use that hypnotism thing on him just like the last time. I hated it but had no choice. I was sure the manager at the Bunny Hole would have given me a decent reference, despite my abrupt departure, but I couldn’t risk one of Dick’s guys finding out who had called for a reference and tracking me down.
Fuck that.
I began working that very night. Aside from the lack of strippers and costume-clad waitresses, the place wasn’t too different from the Bunny Hole. Lots of drunk and happy partiers, the occasional fight and kick-out, and chill-as-hell coworkers. The tips were actually better here, believe it or not. I lucked out and found myself a furnished apartment the next day. Manager said some guy had moved out abruptly and left all his stuff a month ago. He never came back to claim it, so it belonged to the apartment complex now. Hmm, sounded familiar. I was sure some man or woman was enjoying my abandoned “furnished” apartment right about now as well.