Thursday, October 29, 2020

NIGHT FRIENDS, Part 4 of 4 Parts

 dontravis.com blog post #413


 
The last episode ended with Chad receiving gifts and a love note from Antonescu, one of which was an ancient signet ring with the letter A. Chad felt as if he was being wooed. We start this part with Chad still seated at his desk.

*****

NIGHT FRIENDS

The telephone startled me so badly that I dropped the ring box. The golden circlet rolled across the floor and came to a rest in a shaft of sunlight pouring through the window, its diamonds flashing fire, the ruby dark and mysterious.

It was the listing agent for the Malpais Trail property. Antonescu’s offer had been accepted. I put down the phone not certain how I felt about that. It meant I would have to face him again, but it also put a handsome commission in my pocket.

The phone shrilled again with my hand still on the receiver. I lifted it gingerly, already aware of who was on the other end. My hello was shaky.

“Good afternoon, St. Chad. I hope this has been a good day for you.”

“Antonescu,” I gulped. “Uh…yeah, it’s been okay so far. I just got a call. They accepted your offer. The property is yours. Do you need to arrange financing or—”

“No, that is not necessary. But I want to see it again. Can you meet me there tonight?”

“Too late to back out now,” I half-joked. “I’ve got fifty thousand of your dollars.”

“I have no interest in backing out. But I want to view it through the eyes of an owner. With you.”

“Look,” I said. “You’ve got to forget what happened the other night. I lost my head or something. Come to the office and we’ll do the paperwork.”

“Bring it to the house tonight,” he said in a low, seductive voice. “We will walk through my new home and then make love to one another. Antonescu will make you feel as you have never felt before. Give you experiences you never imagined. Tonight, my love. At eight.”

It took a second to realize that the phone was dead in my hand. How could the fucker talk to me like that? How could he expect me to…to….

I fell back in my chair and dropped the phone. Because he knew I wanted to see him again, see if it was as good at the first time. Oh, God! What was happening to me?

 

The fact that I willingly went to meet a man I believed to be a vampire in a remote lonely spot at night did not lessen my fear. My new knowledge heightened that fear. Heightened my senses, my awareness, my anticipation.

Although I arrived early, I knew that he was already there, hovering somewhere out of sight in the early darkness watching me, measuring my mood, savoring what was to come. As I opened the door to the house, he confirmed his presence.

“This will be a night to remember,” he whispered in my ear. I froze, unable even to flinch in surprise. He molded his body to my back, his strong, gentle hands enfolding me and sliding down to cup my manhood. I was already erect and had been since I parked in the drive. He nibbled at my neck, sending shivers down to my spine. I moved into the entryway and turned to face him without even snapping on a light. He closed the door and leaned against it.

“Have I told you how handsome you are?” he asked. “How beautiful? Men are so much more beautiful than women, do you not agree? Women are dainty, exquisite. Men are more forthright, have a stronger presence.”

I swallowed hard. “Do women attract you?”

“No one,” he said, avoiding the question, “attracts me as you do. You are the most beautiful man I know. And I have looked for you all over the world.”

“Looked for me?” I asked, startled.

“Yes, my beautiful St Chad. I have searched the continents of the world for you. And I find you in this rustic corner of the New World. But the search was worth it.” The tone of his voice changed. “I need you, Chad. I need your seed, now! This minute.”

I stood as if I a daze and allowed him to disrobe and have his way. Antonescu refused to be rushed. He took me as I stood naked on the carpet. Working over me until I whimpered and mewled and exploded.

Drained of semen and energy, I fell to the floor while he draped himself over me.

“What…did you…do to me?” I panted, my chest heaving against his strong pecs. My nipples toyed with his as I gasped for air.

“I love you,” he answered simply. “That is what I do to you. I love you.”

“How…why?” I didn’t even have the strength to make sense, ask questions cogently.

“Why? Because you are a man, a beautiful man. A man who had lived this long without discovering who you are. Teasing those poor souls in the bar when all the time you needed a man yourself. I felt the need to show you, and in the process, fell in love. How? By being me. Antonescu.”

I was breathing easier now. “And who is Antonescu?” I asked, taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in the feel of his long frame lying atop me.

“Are you feeling stronger now?” came his non-answer.

We lay silent for a while before he spoke again. “Your question was spurious. You know who I am, do you not?”

I wet my lips and nodded mutely.

“And still you came to me. Was it because you love me?”

I nodded again.

“I must hear the words,” he insisted.

“I love you,” I rasped through a dry throat.

“I believe you,” he said, a faint smile exposing his small white teeth. “Yes, St Chad, I believe you love me, just as I love you. But are you ready?”

I paused a long moment before I nodded again. “Yes, my love, I am ready.

Smiling, he lowered his lips to my throat.

*****

 So ends the story. Is Chad lost… for found? Only you can answer that.

 Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

 The following are buy links for my BJ Vinson mystery The Voxlightner Scandal. The next one, The Cutie-Pie Murders,

 Dreamspinner: https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-11285-b

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-537-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Voxlightner-Scandal-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07VL33P99

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-voxlightner-scandal-don-travis/1132632844?ean=9781640809260

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/ca/book/the-voxlightner-scandal/id1473985039?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=H3ilDwAAQBAJ

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/the-voxlightner-scandal

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/4AxPDo

 My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com.

 Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

 Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:

 

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-486-b

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-487-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Abaddons-Locusts-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07JLHKJLY

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/abaddons-locusts/id1439968525

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/abaddon-s-locusts

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=R0Z0DwAAQBAJ

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/abaddons-locusts-don-travis/1129769593

 See you next Thursday.

 Don

 New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.

Thursday, October 22, 2020

NIGHT FRIENDS, Part 3 of 4 Parts

 dontravis.com blog post #412

 


Last week ended with Chad standing on the porch of a remote home with a weird stranger. Antonescu asks if they can go inside.

*****

NIGHT FRIENDS

“Sure,” I said, fumbling with the Multiple Listing keybox. It took a little longer than it should have, but we were soon inside. Antonescu donned a heavily smoked, wrap-around pair of shades and made a slow, methodical round of each of the rooms.

Within thirty minutes, he turned to face me. “I like it. It will serve me nicely. Do you think an offer of three hundred thousand would be accepted?”

“I don’t know,” I answered frankly. “The listing agent says they’re motivated.”

“Motivated,” he repeated softly. “That means they are anxious to sell. Perhaps I should lower the offer.”

“Motivated, not crazy,” I said quickly. “It’s listed at three hundred fifty and is worth every nickel.”

“Do you suppose a deposit of twenty-five thousand would convince them that Antonescu is serious?”

“Couldn’t hurt, but it’s excessive.”

“Good. Perhaps it would be of inestimable value,” he said with a small smile at the corners of his broad mouth. It was, of course, a play on his name. I grinned to show that I got it. “I think I shall walk through once again,” he announced.

I tagged along behind him, noticing that he removed the shades, but did not turn on the lights we had carefully snapped off as we left each room. The darkness didn’t seem to bother him as he absently noted that this or that piece of furniture would fit here. When he reached the master bedroom, I hesitated at the door, reluctant to enter for some reason.

Antonescu halted in the middle of the room and turned to face me. He was swaddled in darkness, the pupils of his eyes picking up errant shards of light and reflecting them back at me. He stood waiting silently.

I had an unreasonable urge to flee, but my feet were rooted to the carpet. I swallowed hard as something swirled around me in the darkness, caressing my body, gently propelling me into the room. My shroud was warm and comforting, and in some manner emanated from the dark, still form standing in the room. Puzzled by my helplessness, uncertain of what I wanted, I moved to him, reaching a tentative hand to his breast. The moment my hand touched the soft, expensive suede of his jacket, I suffered a desire so intense that my sudden erection threatened to burst the seams of my trousers.

Strong, gentle hands pulled me into his embrace. His lips brushed my neck, and I had a moment of discomfort until they moved to my jaw, my cheek, and finally, to my mouth. The intensity of his kiss robbed me of all strength. I slipped to the floor, his strong arms easing my fall. He lay beside me, long, tapered fingers exploring my face.

“You are truly a handsome man, my love,” he whispered. So desirable. So manly, so…vulnerable,” he finished, bending to kiss me again while his hands loosened my shirt, my trousers.

It was as if no one had ever handled my manhood before. His touch sent sparks throughout my body. He slowly moved down my torso, exciting every part of me as he went.

Recovering my senses, I made as if to push him away, but his mouth closed over me, robbing me of my will. I was his, and he knew it. I sprawled across the carpet, helpless before my desire…his desire. And then my moment arrived, and never had I experienced an orgasm so intense, so powerful, so enervating. I thought it would never end, and when it did, I was exhausted, unable to move.

“Be easy,” he cooed in a calm, sure voice. “This wa an act of love, Chad…my own St Chaedda. My beloved. Can you not feel the love between us?”

I fought to raise some protest, some feeling of revulsion, of outrage, but it would not come. I lay naked beneath him as he straddled my body and offered himself.

The next few minutes should have repulsed me, disgusted me, shamed me, but they did not. I was eager for him, desiring him as I’d never lusted after another… man or woman. My world shrank to the strong, handsome man atop me, what he was offering me, what I was taking from him. His calm voice guided me, but I heard him only dimly.

Finally, he rolled off me and lay at my side. Despite his exertions, his breathing was not particularly labored, whereas, I puffed and sucked oxygen.

“That was your first time?” It came out something between a statement and a question.

“Y…yes,” I stammered, feeling ten years younger than my true age, like a fumbling adolescent anxious to please rather than a mature, sexually experienced man.

“You were magnificent,” he said gently, his hand stroking the small tangle of hair between my nipples. Your semen is thick and strong. A man’s seed.”

“Doesn’t it all taste alike?” I asked.

 “No, not at all”

I frowned. “You do this with a lot of guys?”

He rose on an elbow and gazed through the darkness into my eyes. “Only with those I care for.”

“Come on,” I tried to make light of it. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough. I know that I’m attracted to you above all other men. I know that I want you again and again. I know that I want you to save your semen for me…only for me!” His voice gained in intensity. “Do you understand?”

“Wait a minute!” I protested. “I’m not a queer! I like women. I’m a man!”

He laid a strong hand over my mouth. “That you are! A real man! If you were not, I would have no interest in you. But you learned something about yourself tonight, St Chad. Admit it! You liked what we did. You’ll like what we do in the future. You will come to love me, Chad Quarles! You will see!”

“I scrambled to my feet and clawed my clothing more or less into place. “This is a one-time affair! I’m not gonna…”

“Ahhh, my beloved, but you will. We will do things you cannot even imagine.”

Suddenly repulsed, I ran out of the house to my car tore out of the driveway in a panic with a strange finger of fear puckering my back as I roared off into the night.

 

I was skittish the remainder of the week. Every time the phone rang, I jumped. I flubbed a perfectly straightforward sale on a small, two bedroom, and was a wreck by the time Friday afternoon rolled around. What little calm I had managed to restore to my shattered life evaporated when the receptionist handed me my mail. I knew before opening the expensive, cream-colored envelope with no return address that it was from Ariel Antonescu. As I unfolded the letter inside, a certified check fluttered to the desk. I picked it up. Fifty thousand dollars! The guy had been serious. He’d even doubled his outlandish deposit.

Grabbing the phone, I reached the listing agent phone before he left his office and gave him the offer on the house. He was impressed by the news that I held a sizeable deposit. The man, whom I knew slightly, promised to call me at home on Saturday with an answer.

My hand was shaking as I hung up, and I sat in the nearly deserted office allowing myself to finally think about what I had blocked from my mind. I sat up straight in my chair as Moose’s words came back to me. “A fucking vampire, that’s who he is!” Those were his words. Impossible! They didn’t exist. They were the stuff of legends and novels. Slowly, I reached for my keyboard. Accessing the Internet, I pulled up a search engine entered the word, ‘Vampire.’

My boss, normally the last one to leave, checked out and said goodnight around eight. I hardly heard him. What I had found rattled my bones. It had taken a couple of hours to sift through all the bullshit and find gold.

Apparently stories of vampires began to appear about 1047 A.D. There were the usual references to Vlad Dracula, or Vlad the Impaler. I read about Elizabeth Bathory, tried and convicted of the vampire killing of several hundred girls. Something called the de Masticatione Mortuorum, some sort of German vampire text, was briefly described. I read about Fritz Haarmann, the Vampire of Hanover’s arrest and conviction for killing more than 20 people. There were vampire legends, vampire stories, vampire novels. There were descriptions of Kali, the Indian vampire goddess, of a Gypsy incarnation called the Black Goddess. There were Slavic vampires, Romanian Strigoli, gypsy mullos, Camazotz, the bat god of the caves in South America.

I found the nugget among the gold grains in material claiming that there were modern vampires among us today. And things finally began to make a screwy kind of sense. It did not speak of legions of the undead stalking the unwary or horrible creatures turning themselves into bats and flying away into the night. It reasoned that vampires share a physical existence on the human plane yet are not quite human. They appear eccentric to others...to mortals. Eccentric… like Antonescu.

A vampire is born with an extraordinary capacity to absorb, transform, and manipulate something called ‘pranic energy’ or life force. Among the prime sources of such energy are fresh blood and a man’s semen! Like Antonescu.

A vampire had psychic ability, absorbing vibrations from everyone, becoming an involuntary vortex, draining all energy. Like Antonescu sucking the life out of everyone in the bar, leaving them numb and lethargic. Like Antonescu draining my energy and leaving me exhausted. Like Antonescu drawing even the smoke in the air into his vortex!

A vampire is selfish and seeks to control others. Like Antonescu telling me he wanted my semen for himself alone.

A vampire functions in the night because of photosensitive eyesight and an upside-down internal clock. Like Antonescu wanting to meet me only after dark, wearing shades as we turned on lights in the house as we inspected it.

A vampire may or may not take blood, but if he does, it’s to gain energy. Like Antonescu licking my neck, making me suspect that he had been about to bite me.

A vampire may travel through a dimension undetectable by humans. Like Antonescu arriving at the show home without a car.

A vampire may have tremendous sexual energy, exchanging this force with another, who is attractive to him. Like Antonescu coercing me into unwanted sex.

The next sentence sent chills down my back and ice into my bone marrow. A vampire may establish a long-term relationship with a single person who derives satisfaction from being a psychic servant or martyr!

*****

 Is Chad in the grip of an eternal who bends him to his will? If so, what will the creature demand of him next?

 Did you notice the story has gone from three installments to four?

Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it! 

The following are buy links for my BJ Vinson mystery The Voxlightner Scandal. The next one, The Cutie-Pie Murders,

 Dreamspinner: https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-11285-b

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-537-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Voxlightner-Scandal-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07VL33P99

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-voxlightner-scandal-don-travis/1132632844?ean=9781640809260

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/ca/book/the-voxlightner-scandal/id1473985039?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=H3ilDwAAQBAJ

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/the-voxlightner-scandal

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/4AxPDo

  My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com.

 Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

 Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:

 https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-486-b

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-487-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Abaddons-Locusts-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07JLHKJLY

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/abaddons-locusts/id1439968525

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/abaddon-s-locusts

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=R0Z0DwAAQBAJ

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/abaddons-locusts-don-travis/1129769593

 See you next Thursday.

 Don

 New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.

Thursday, October 15, 2020

NIGHT FRIENDS, Part 2 of 3 Parts

 

dontravis.com blog post #411


 
Last week we met Chad Quarles, a handsome young “straight” who likes to drive the queers crazy in The Low Brow, his favorite haunt, by letting them cop a feel but never going home with any of them. The atmosphere changed when he met the mysterious Ariel Antonescu. Let’s see what happens this week.

*****

NIGHT FRIENDS

The next morning I was my old self again, and I faced the world like a champion. My work as a real estate broker gave me an opportunity to move about as I pleased and kept me in enough coins to pursue the role of a carefree eligible bachelor. Frankly, I enjoyed my life. There were day friends galore to enjoy most of the time, and night friends when I wanted to haunt the watering holes of the town. During that week I sold a good property and had a successful Friday night date—if you know what I mean, By Saturday, I was ready for the offbeat atmosphere of the Low Brow, my favorite hangout.

After a rousing afternoon of tennis, I showered, shaved, and looked over the duds in my closet. It occurred to me that I was taking more care than usual when I drew on a pair of blue slacks and a deep gold silk shirt. My hair’s not quite blond and not quite brown, but depending upon what I wear, I can make it look either. Tonight I went for tawny highlights and dark shadows. I examined myself in the mirror, batted my golden cat’s eyes a couple of times, slipped on a pair of black penny loafers, and bounced out the door.

I didn’t realize that I was looking for Antonescu until I saw him sitting alone in a darkened corner of the lounge. It threw me for a minute when I saw that all the cigarette smoke in the room was slowly collecting in his remote corner, but I didn’t understand the significance of the phenomenon and drifted with the smoke right to his table.

He stood politely and shook my hand. “Mr. Quarles, so nice to see you again,” he said in his well-modulated voice. He gave the ‘Qu’ a little flip so that my name almost came out ‘Karls.’

“Call me Chad. Everybody does.”

“Antonescu,” he said, giving me to believe that’s how he preferred to be addressed. “Quarles,” he repeated. “Do you know what that means? Circles. It’s an old English name for one who comes from Quarles…or circles...in Norfolk.”

“Interesting,” I said.

“Now Chad is even older. That’s Anglo-Saxon for Cheadda. He was a Seventh Century saint.”

Intrigued, I put a question to him. “And Antonescu? What kind of name is that?”

He hesitated momentarily. “Romanian. It means descendant of little Anton. Anton means inestimable. You know the word?”

I shrugged. “Can’t be estimated?”

“Or too great to be valued,” he added. “And in case you’re interested, Ariel comes from the Hebrew meaning ‘Lion of God.’ So you see, we have momentous names to measure up to, do you not agree? You, a saint. And Antonescu, a warrior of the deity beyond measurable value.”

We settled down to comfortable patter like anyone else on a Saturday night in a dive filled with working guys and queers. Eventually, he monopolized the conversation, but he kept it so interesting that I virtually didn’t notice. The guy was a whiz at history. He had his own spin on things. Sorta quirky. No, that’s not right; it was more like he was relating the events as a bystander.

Usually, I claimed my table near the bar and waited for the procession of supplicants to come by paying homage to my package, each wanting to touch it like they were fingering the Blarney Stone or something. I always closed up the joint, usually swigging a couple of beers too fast brought at the last minute by some hopeful expecting to be the one who finally treed Chad Quarles. Tonight, I spent the entire evening at Antonescu’s table tucked into a rear corner of the joint. Nobody came near us. Instead, they sat at their own tables, drinking, talking animatedly, and nervously eyeing the two of us. Not only that, but by midnight, I was done in, whipped, totally enervated. Antonescu, apparently saw my distress and expressed concern.

“Think I’ll pack it in early tonight,” I responded, puzzled over my condition. I wasn’t sick or anything, just drained.

“I’m concerned for you, Chad,” he said, his syntax slightly off, syllables accented a little differently. “Are you certain you are not ill?”

“Naw,” I waved a nerveless hand that flopped a little like it was drunk. But I wasn’t drunk. I was dead sober. Suddenly craving something sweet, I staggered to the bar and dived into the bowl the bartender keeps there for his diabetic patrons. After stuffing three of the sugary mints into my mouth I felt a little better.

“Let me help you to your car,” said a soft voice at my ear.

Surprised, I whirled. I hadn’t realized Antonescu had followed me. “Naw, I’ll be all right,” I mumbled.

“I insist,” he replied, clasping my upper arm in an amazingly strong grip.

“Don’t understand,” I said by way of protest as we exited the place. I heard the sudden silence behind us broken by a rush of excited conversation before the door closed. Shit! They’d all think we went home together!

“I will be glad to drive you home,” he offered.

I experienced a sudden glow of friendship for this strange, attractive man. “Naw. I’m feeling better already.”

Antonescu waited until I climbed into the driver’s seat and closed the door. I lowered the window a few inches.

“Do me a favor,” I said, peering through the darkness into eyes that were mere pinpoints. “Go back inside and have a beer, will you?”

He threw back his handsome head and gave a laugh. Actually, it was a sharp bark that deteriorated into a growl. “I will, my friend. I will protect your reputation if you will do one thing for me in return.”

“What’s that?” I asked, experiencing something foreign to me as I took in his fine, patrician features. What the shit? Was I interested in this guy?

“I understand you are a realtor. I am considering buying a home. There is one in particular I am interested in seeing. According to the sign, it is a multiple listing, so I would like you to show it to me.”

“Sure. Name the time and place.”

He gave me the address and suggested Wednesday night.

I frowned at him. “At night?”

“Unfortunately, I am engaged until around eight o’clock. There is a lamppost that burns during the dark hours, so I assume the property is serviced by electricity. Is the time an inconvenience?”

“No. It’s okay. You want me to pick you up?”

“Meeting me there would be satisfactory.”

“Okay. Wednesday night at eight it is!” I repeated the address to his satisfaction and kicked over the motor.

“Now,” he said with a trace of a smile hiding in his voice, “I shall return to the lounge and rescue your reputation.”

 

Monday was crazy, and Tuesday wasn’t much better. I spent Wednesday morning closing on a nice four bedroom, three bath, and didn’t get around to looking up the listing for 11,215 Malpais Trail NE until almost closing time. A quick call to the listing agent confirmed it was still on the market and gave me a realistic idea of the owners’ expectations.

I caught dinner with a girlfriend, which was a mistake because she wanted to go with me to meet the client. I guess I’d shot off my mouth too much about this mysterious stranger in black. Nonetheless, I managed to discourage the idea and race home to shower and dress in fresh clothes before heading out to meet Antonescu.

There were no cars in evidence when I pulled up before a large adobe, the darkness broken by only a small electric lantern atop a lamppost in the front yard. The house was isolated, and the closest street light was two blocks away, as blocks go in this meandering far northeast heights neighborhood that clung to the lower slopes of a mountain where it was de rigueur to leave your landscape in its natural state…that is, stones, sagebrush, and rabbit bush. It was, however, permissible to require that the resident rattlesnakes and coyotes vacate to more remote premises; roadrunners were allowed to stay.

Deciding to go inside and take a quick look, I closed and locked the car and strolled up the curved flagstone walk. As I gained the porch, all my senses kicked in. There was the faint smell of cigarette smoke in the air. A presence hovered near. My mouth went dry, my skin prickled. I’m not a jumpy man but sweat trickled down my back even as my blood turned to icicles.

“I hope I did not startle you,” came the rich, cultured voice. “I arrived early and was enjoying the night view. That’s one of the things I like about this property. The view of the stars and the mountain is unobstructed.”

After my initial startled jump, I relaxed slightly. “Didn’t know you were here. Didn’t see a car.”

His hand flickered in the moonlight. “I parked down the road a bit. I wanted to see what lay beyond the house.”

“Not much, frankly.”

“Yes,” he said. “Another thing in its favor. May we go inside now?”

                                                              *****

 Why is Chad reacting the way he is? Does he suspect something… sense something? And now he’s about to go into an isolated house with the guy. What gives?

 Perhaps we’ll find out next week.

The following are buy links for my BJ Vinson mystery The Voxlightner Scandal. The next one, The Cutie-Pie Murders,

 Dreamspinner: https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-11285-b

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-537-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Voxlightner-Scandal-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07VL33P99

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-voxlightner-scandal-don-travis/1132632844?ean=9781640809260

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/ca/book/the-voxlightner-scandal/id1473985039?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=H3ilDwAAQBAJ

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/the-voxlightner-scandal

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/4AxPDo

 Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

 My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com.

 Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

 Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:

 https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-486-b

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-487-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Abaddons-Locusts-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07JLHKJLY

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/abaddons-locusts/id1439968525

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/abaddon-s-locusts

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=R0Z0DwAAQBAJ

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/abaddons-locusts-don-travis/1129769593

 See you next Thursday.

 Don

 New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.

Thursday, October 8, 2020

NIGHT FRIENDS, Part 1 of 3 Parts

 

dontravis.com blog post #410

Courtesy of mentalfloss.com


 

Good reception for last week’s post, Chapter 2 of Mark Wildyr’s Wastelakapi… Beloved. Thanks, Mark, for your help.

 

Let’s descend into darkness this week.

*****

NIGHT FRIENDS

Let’s get a couple of things on the record right up front. I’m smart, good-looking, sexy as hell, and straight! All five feet eleven inches, one hundred seventy pounds of me…straight, heterosexual. But I’ve got this funny quirk. I get a kick out of teasing the fags, so you’re apt to find me in at the Low Brow—a local rathskeller that’s gay friendly. letting them drool…and even paw a little. Just by spreading my legs at a table I’ve outed so many queers that when they refer me as an ‘outie,’ they don’t mean my belly button, which is an ‘innie,’ by the way.

Accordingly, I divide my acquaintances into day friends and night friends. My night friends are those who haunt the bars, and my day friends are everyone else.

At the Low Brow, the line blurs between straight and gay. Patrons of both persuasions frequent the place, and I can go in, claim a vacant booth, lean back, stretch my legs, and never pay for a drink. My money’s no good in there… as long as I let them feel me up.

Moose Milltower, one of the bar’s regulars, is a big trucker type, and nobody in the place, including me, has quite figured out where he fits. He’s brutally manly, but after a few drinks, little giggles and androgynous gestures kinda slip out of him. But in the year I’ve been coming here, he’s never made a move on anyone, man or woman. Also, he’s never tried to feel me up.

Anyway, this one night he walked in the door and took a seat at my table. “Chad Quarles!” he boomed. “What chu up to?

“Moose,” I answered quietly. “You know youre scaring away my drinking money for tonight, don’t you?”

“Hell, they’ll be back. The minute I get up, they’ll fly right back over on them fairy wings with them little silver slippers tinkling. Don’t know how you do it, Chad,” he exhaled noisily, blowing out the candle in the red, decorative bowl on the table. “They know you ain’t gonna give it to them, but they come fluttering around like they’re about to pluck the golden goose.”

Before I could respond, he sent a hard look over my shoulder and pulled his ugly face into a grimace. “Be damned! Antonescu!” he half-whispered. “When did he get back in town?”

I turned to look.

“Over there. In the far corner. By hisself,” Moose said. “That’s where he belongs, off by hisself!”

I spotted a figure in black cloaked by the darkness in a remote corner of the bar. “I’ve never seen him in here before. You know him?”

“Yeah. I know the son of a bitch! He quit coming around a year ago.”

I noted that Moose’s usual sarcastic, smart-ass tone had disappeared, replaced by something else. I’d have said it was fear if I hadn’t known how mean he was.

“Who is he?”

“A fucking vampire, that’s who he is!”

I laughed. “Come on! You don’t….”

The big man leveled a glare. “You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t believe in vampires, if that’s what you mean.”

“I didn’t neither,” he said, his eyes flickering to the corner.

I shifted in the booth so that I had a view of the man and found him watching me from across the room. So what else is new? Everybody always watched me. I was the star attraction in this armpit.

“Tell me about him.”

“Name’s Ariel Antonescu. Nobody knows anything about him. Claims he’s American, but he’s got an accent… a little one. Showed up here at the Low Brow about two years ago and give everybody the willies.”

“He a troublemaker?”

Moose hesitated. “No. He just stirs things up.” The big man’s sudden frown pulled his eyebrows together. “Ain’t that it exactly, neither. I mean sometimes he riled people up, other times he just kinda shut them down.”

“You’re not making any sense,” I snorted.

“That’s just it, it don’t make no sense. None at all. Then the guy just disappeared.”

“Did he ever hook up with anybody?”

Moose shook his head. “Never seen him leave with nobody. Hell, sometimes I didn’t see him leave at all. There one minute, gone the next. Spooky!”

I laughed aloud this time. “Half the people in this joint are spooky.”

“Not like Antonescu.”

“So what makes you say he’s a vampire?”

Moose didn’t answer my question. “Look! He’s getting up. See that table over there by the jukebox? The loud one? Bet you a beer that’s where he heads.”

“Why?”

“Cause that’s where things is happening. All that laughing and talking. Them guys is wired. You wait and see. In two minutes it’ll be quiet as a churchyard over there. He’ll kill it for them.”

We watched as the man moved across the room. Although I could not see clearly through the smoky half-light, he appeared to be a tall, slender man who didn’t belong in a joint like this. He projected a sort of class that you don’t often see in a blue-collar pub. He walked like a man, not a fairy, but there was a slow, elegant grace about him that raised a question in my mind.

I knew the guys at that table. They were good ole boys who ribbed me about stringing the queers along, but usually stopped by to shoot the shit at least once before closing was called. They’d send a cultured peckerwood like Antonescu packing in short order.

Didn’t happen that way. The stranger interrupted the levity, shook hands all around, and pulled up a chair. The four men shuffled around to accommodate a fifth and started telling their stories again. It appeared that the stranger joined in occasionally, but for the most part he just listened. But Moose had been right about one thing. The raucous noise died within five minutes. Even the light in that corner of the room seemed to have lost its energy. Shortly thereafter, Antonescu rose, shook hands again, and ordered a round of drinks for the table before moving on.

“See what I mean?” Moose asked, nodding his head sagely. “You ever seen them guys so quiet? They usually full a piss ‘n vinegar. Noisiest table in the joint!”

It wasn’t now. The four men put their heads together and spoke in hushed tones. Before long, they broke up and left.

For the next hour, we watched Antonescu work the room, leaving strangely subdued tables behind him when he left. As he headed our way, Moose rose suddenly, mumbled something unintelligible, and moved away. Then the stranger was at my side.

“Ariel Antonescu,” he announced, holding out a manicured hand.

“Chad Quarles,” I responded, accepting a cool, steely shake.

“May I join you for a few moments?” he asked, the slight accent Moose had mentioned evident. I’m no good at accents, so I had no idea where it originated.  Eastern Europe somewhere from the sound of his name.

“Sure. Free country,” I said expansively, taking his measure as he pulled slid onto the bench seat. Probably about five years over my own twenty-eight, a ‘look-down-the-nose’ kind of haughty elegance, and an ethereal handsomeness. But he was no porcelain doll; there was a suggestion of power about him.

“Thank you,” he settled himself and waved to the waitress, making a circle with his forefinger toward the table. She nodded her understanding and raced off to fill his order.

The man flat wore me out! He sat with me for an hour, keeping a steady supply of beer flowing while we talked about everything and nothing. He did not ask one single personal question beyond my opinion on things. But talk, we did! About city, state, national, and world affairs. About the merits of hounds over setters, a pump shotgun over an automatic, about every damned thing on earth… except anything personal.

At last, he rose, thanked me for the company, and then paused. “You’re different,” he said quietly. The way he said it wasn’t a come-on, a criticism, or even a compliment. It was just a statement that defied contradiction. “I think we shall become very good friends.” With that, he walked toward the men’s room while I leaned back in my chair, exhausted.

Two of the younger queers scooted over and had a field day feeling me up because I was too worn out to put a rein on them. When one started working on my zipper, I roused enough to get out of the place, staggering as I made for the parking lot. I never staggered, even when I was blasted on my ass!

As I shoved my key into the car door, I froze. The hair on my neck stood. My arms pimpled. My back felt exposed, vulnerable. I whirled. There was no one there. The half-filled macadam lot was better lighted than the bar so I could clearly see that there was no one there. Unless… There was a shadow at the corner of the building that looked deeper than natural. Suddenly frightened, I fumbled the car door open and fell inside. Slamming the lock behind me, I fought a bone-chilling fear with a shaky laugh.

“What the fuck?” I asked, mentally shaking myself in the isolated semi-darkness of my own automobile. The night air seemed downright cold. “You that drunk?” Momentarily, I considered whether or not I was over the limit. The cops are death on DUI in this town. Naw! I’m okay. I turned the key in the ignition and took comfort in the sound of the motor. Still, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I felt like I had just chickened out. I didn’t want to leave the safety of the car to call my brother for a ride. I took the back roads home. Once, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something among the trees. Goosebumps swept my back like a cold breath.

 

*****

 Well, well, well. Did Moose’s talk turn loose Chad’s imagination, or did our protagonist sense something real… or unreal? More will be revealed.

 Once again, thanks, Mark for your guest post last week.

 The following are buy links for my BJ Vinson mystery The Voxlightner Scandal. The next one, The Cutie-Pie Murders,

 Dreamspinner: https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-11285-b

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-537-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Voxlightner-Scandal-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07VL33P99

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-voxlightner-scandal-don-travis/1132632844?ean=9781640809260

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/ca/book/the-voxlightner-scandal/id1473985039?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=H3ilDwAAQBAJ

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/the-voxlightner-scandal

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/4AxPDo

 Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

 My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com.

 Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

 Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:

 https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-486-b

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-487-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Abaddons-Locusts-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07JLHKJLY

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/abaddons-locusts/id1439968525

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/abaddon-s-locusts

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=R0Z0DwAAQBAJ

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/abaddons-locusts-don-travis/1129769593

 See you next Thursday.

 Don

 

New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.

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