Rock 'n' Roll is Undead (Veronica Mason (2 page)

I touched the red rose clipped to the side of my hair and met his gaze.

“I like the red against your black hair. Plus the color looks good with that black and white dress thing you’re wearing. Is it new, too?” He pointed.

“Frank, you know good and well I wear this rose a lot. And I wore this same dress last week.” I gestured toward my outfit.

Like I said, he never stopped trying. In fact, he kind of creeped me out with the constant advances. Periodically, I tried to tell him delicately his come-ons made him a borderline creepy-perv, but how do you tell someone you think they’re weird? You don’t. Just like I don’t tell my cousin Dwight he’s creepy. He ran for county coroner last year, but he doesn’t even know what a coroner does. The sad part: he won. Anyway, Frank was a great guitarist and finding someone to replace him wouldn’t be an easy task, so I tolerated him.

I slid into my shoes and stood. “Frank, you’re the best, but you need to stop.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.” Did he not hear what I said? Only the good things? Selective hearing. My mama said all men had it.

“No, no, it’s not necessary.” I waved him off as I walked past.

“I saw your little fan ogling over your lungs,” he said as I reached the doorway.

“I think his girlfriend would have something to say about that.” I opened the door.

“Probably so, but I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t waiting around for you.”

I stepped into the hall. “So now you’re protecting me? Where were you when the blood bottles were flying by my head?”

He shrugged. “I was a little busy with a vamp who is five hundred years older than me. He packs quite a punch.” Frank rubbed his jaw. “Bye, Doll. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

No doubt Frank’s eyes watched my backside as I turned and waved over my shoulder. He was probably all talk in the bedroom anyway. The need to discuss sex so often usually meant men were overcompensating for lack of bedroom prowess and a teenie weenie, in my opinion.

With my bag slung over my shoulder, I headed out the door toward my fully restored ‘57 turquoise and white Bel Air—my baby. I’d parked in the employee lot behind the bar. The backdoor opened out directly into the parking lot. Maneuvering in four-inch pumps and a pencil skirt proved difficult as I eased down the steps. The darkness didn’t help, either. So far, I’d only fallen on my butt once in my killer heels and managed to escape with only a couple scratches. Odds were I was due for another tumble soon. I’d suffer a ton for a pair of crazy wicked leopard print high heels.

A few stars twinkled about a mostly cloudy night sky and the moon was only a sliver, not providing ample light. Only a few employee cars dotted the lot. My heels clicked against the wet pavement. The forecast had called for storms, and apparently, one had passed through. Rain puddles dotted the pavement and flashes of light flickered in the distance, but the clouds were beginning to break up.

I’d stepped into a clichéd scene from your typical scary movie: girl goes into dark alley and killer chases her with sharp object. I needed to stop having such horrific thoughts. Just because I’d recently had dreams with this scenario didn’t mean my dreams would come true. This wasn’t a movie and a killer didn’t linger in the distance waiting for me.

I spotted my car and hurried my steps, glancing over my shoulder. Funny how your eyes can make human shapes out of everything from trash cans to shrubs. I said a silent prayer that I’d let the top up on the old Bel-Air. During the summer months, I usually left it down. A habit I needed to break, but I loved being able to hop in and drive around with the wind blowing through my hair. I kept one of those cool vintage scarves in the glove compartment to tie my hair back. But tonight I liked the idea of being safe within the Bel-Air’s surroundings. Kind of like being wrapped in a cozy sweater made of metal, or ensconced within a big tank.

A few trees sat beyond the parking lot, and behind those, more buildings. I wondered if the people living in the apartments above the businesses could hear the music from the club. They were probably used to downtown living. Next door to the bar was a tattoo shop and on the other side a voodoo paraphernalia store. Beale Street in Memphis was an eclectic mix. I loved it because of that—the music and the laid-back attitude was where I fit in.

As I approached my car, I spotted Johnny’s old white van. It was the kind of van that looked as if it belonged to a serial killer—no windows and plenty of room for several bodies stacked in the back. Perfect to pull up next to an unsuspecting victim with. He said it added to his ‘vampire mystique.’ Like he needed any help in that department. I think he liked freaking people out. He strolled around town dressed in all black, and in the winter months, he wore a freakin’ cape. A cape. Johnny loved seeing the expression his getup produced on humans’ faces as he approached.

The van’s back door was open, but I didn’t see Johnny.

I stepped toward the serial killer mobile. “Hey, Johnny, awesome job tonight.”

He had kicked butt on the bass and I needed to thank him for doing such a great job.

“Johnny? You there?” I called again.

As I rounded the corner, I saw it. Johnny’s charred body lying on the pavement—or what was left of him.

Chapter 3

I knew it was him. A vision flashed through my head the second I saw him. As if in slow motion, in my mind, a dark figure stepped from around the front of the van, raced toward Johnny, then shoved a stake through Johnny’s heart before he even had time to register what was happening. Having the event play out like a movie in my mind wasn’t the only disturbing thing, though. With the vision came emotion and overwhelming thoughts, not only Johnny’s thoughts, but the killer’s, as well.

The swell of feelings came in waves across the pavement, slid up my feet and spread through my body. Heat pulsated inside me with every heartbeat. The night air seemed hotter. I swiped my forehead with the back of my palm, then rubbed my flushed cheeks. Rolls of pain churned through my abdomen like a tugboat in a storm at high sea. My legs trembled and I stumbled a couple steps forward. A flashing light blinked with each throb that pounded in my head. Every one of my limbs tingled as thoughts flashed in my mind, only they weren’t mine, and I had no control to make them stop. I wanted to push them away, force them out of my body, but without knowing why this was happening, I was helpless.

Johnny’s thoughts, that he’d been excited to bang a hot chick after the gig. A blonde he’d seen before—not his wife. Next, his thoughts popped to our show this coming Saturday night and he felt if it worked out, it would mean a butt-load more money for him. I wasn’t sure that was the case, but he’d never find out now. Without warning, the thoughts were back to the blonde. Typical man.

As quickly as they came, Johnny’s thoughts floated out of my mind, replaced with images more appalling than any horror movie I’d ever seen. Rage filled the killer’s mind. My stomach turned worse than I’d ever experienced before. Small blips of playing bass filtered through the murderer’s thoughts, but behind those, underneath everything, darkness and ugliness remained. Images of fire, blood, and fangs.

What the hell was wrong with me? Nothing like this had ever happened to me. Was I hallucinating? What I saw and felt wasn’t normal and I wanted it to go away. My body trembled, making it difficult to remain upright.

“Johnny,” I screamed.

A pile of ashes was all that was left of Johnny. He was gone. Really gone. No longer undead. Without warning, the images of the horrific event returned, causing the pulsating heat to return and run through my limbs again. When I neared Johnny’s body, the pain moved upward and ran through me. The dark figure appeared in my mind again. The vision was on a freakin’ loop in my head.

My mind raced and I couldn’t believe the scene in front of me. The only thing not in my vision was the killer’s face. Why was this happening to me? My heart thumped louder than Johnny’s bass at the rowdiest of honky-tonks. Adrenaline coursed through me. I clutched the van door, steadying my shaky legs. Thank goodness the van was there, because otherwise my face would’ve gotten an up close and personal view of the blacktop. Running or screaming again seemed like my only options. I opted for screaming. My screech echoed through the alley as I knelt down beside the remains, avoiding the ashes as much as possible.

“Oh my God. This is unbelievable. This is definitely not good. Who did this to you? Why?” I asked, as if he’d answer. He was nothing more than ashes, some bones, and not much else. Some parts more intact than others.

Frank burst out the door. “Veronica, are you all right? What’s wrong?” He ran toward me, stopping in his tracks before he reached the van. “What the fuck?” His eyes widened and his face blanched.

“Call the police.” My words came out in short gasps. I struggled for air, but managed to choke out the words. “It’s Johnny. He’s been staked.” The words turned on me like a boomerang, sounding so final. Dead. Expired. No more. Kaput. Sayonara. Buh-bye.

“Are you sure it’s Johnny?” Frank leaned down to Johnny.

“Well, yeah, the crumpled up remnants of his body is one indication.” I pointed as he neared what was left of Johnny. “The lack of movement, ashes, charbroiled body parts, etc. are others.”

“I mean, how do you know it’s him?” he asked.

Hmm. How did I know? He posed a good question. Now which lie should I tell?

“The pants. See the bottoms. And his shoes.” I’d always been a fast thinker. Thank goodness for little talents; sometimes they weren’t entirely useless.

“Why are you breathing so hard?” I asked.

“I have allergies.” Frank paced around the perimeter of Johnny’s remains, looking down at what was left of our bass player.

“What? I didn’t think—”

“Yeah, yeah. You didn’t think vampires could get allergies. I’m standing next to the trees, aren’t I? Look at the pollen. We may be dead, but we still breathe that shit.” Frank pulled his cell phone from his front pocket.

“Yeah, okay sure.” I’d never get the hang of the vampire life. Just the same as they didn’t understand the witches. They were technically dead, but still had all living functions. Immortality as well. Sounded good until the cons were listed—drinking blood and the whole ‘mob with torches and pitchforks’ thing. When would people stop carrying crucifixes and wearing garlic around their necks, anyway? I guess drinking blood was the least of vamp problems.

The bar owner lunged out the back door, barreling toward us like a bull and I was the one holding the red torero cape. “What the hell is going on?” Charlie asked.

Frank was on the phone with nine-one-one, leaving me to answer his question.

“Johnny, our bass player has been staked. Or at least, I’m guessing.” Again, I held back the truth. No one needed to know how I knew the means of death. How would I explain the missing stake? Plus, I was the one who’d found him. I didn’t even understand how I knew. “But maybe he was burned?” I added so they wouldn’t be suspicious. I looked at Frank and he arched a brow. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s horrible.”

“I’ve seen it before,” Charlie said.

Chapter 4

To ask or not to ask. Curiosity would nag at me worse than my mother badgered me for info about my dating life if I didn’t ask, but did I really want to know? Then again, how much worse than looking at the corpse in front of me could his answer be?

Screw it. “You’ve seen it before? Where did you see a dead vampire?” A dead vampire? If vampires were already dead, what were they called when they had been permanently dead? Re-dead? Dead-again? Dead part two?

“Yeah, over at Ruby’s Blues Club. Same thing happened there just last month,” Charlie said.

Why hadn’t I heard about this? Had I been so busy with my music I didn’t know a vampire had been murdered? “Do they know who did it?” I asked.

He shook his head. “As far as I know it’s still unsolved.”

“Do you know who the vampire was?” I crossed my arms in front of my chest. In spite of the warm weather, a chill ran down my spine.

“Nah. Some vampire dude, I’m not sure. Listen, I can’t believe y’all brought this shit into my club. I’ll lose business because of this.” He looked at Frank, then to me.

“Hey, I didn’t have anything to do with this shit. Don’t look at me.” Frank held his hands up as if waving a white flag in surrender.

Charlie was right. Vampires wouldn’t want to hang around a place they had to watch for flying stakes. I didn’t answer him. What could I say? No words would make this situation better.

We stood in silence for a moment. None of us knowing what to say, I guess. I shuffled my feet and looked at Frank, motioning with a tilt of my head for him to say something. He bobbed his head up and down. “Say something,” I mouthed. He shook his head again. This was definitely awkward.

The dim light over the back door blanketed the lot with a faint yellow glow. I scanned the area, taking in the now somber surroundings. My pulse thumping in my ear blocked out any noises around me. The area was hazy as if I wore dirty glasses. Tears didn’t form in my eyes often, but this time, there was no stopping them. I wiped away the moisture from my cheeks with my trembling hand. None of this seemed real, yet it was all too real. It wasn’t everyday I saw such a violent scene. Try never.

“Of all the damn days for him to die, he had to pick tonight.” Frank stuffed his cell phone back into his front pocket, then ran his hand through his short dark hair.

“Frank! It’s not as if he wanted to take a stake to the heart. He obviously didn’t commit suicide. Don’t be such an insensitive bastard.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Don’t you care?” I asked. “Vampires start going down and it’s serious trouble, don’t you think? Y’all aren’t exactly easy to kill, you know?”

He frowned.

“Not that I’d know,” I added quickly. Sometimes I stuck my four-inch heels in my mouth.

I thought Frank liked Johnny. Didn’t it bother him to see another vampire in this situation?

“Damn it, Veronica. Tomorrow’s important. We don’t have a bass player now. What the hell are we going to do?”