Tales of Necropolis - Backwoods Shadows
By: K.L. Miller
24 June 2010
Al likes the woods; not unusual for a Necropolis Local, skin color be damned. For most, even in the City, it is not uncommon to look outside, front or back, and see deer and other Woodland Critters along with chained pit bulls, stray cats, squirrels and turkey vultures circling overhead, crows being chased by cat birds, and in general, Nature-in-the-Sprawl. Besides... it gives him someplace to be other than inside his oven-Home; one of four children in a place ill-suited for three people... such Moments are a blessed Gift...
So on the afternoon he spots long blonde hair near the creek, he comes to a quiet halt in a place he's passed countless times without a single thought. His eyes slide to the one home he knew was unoccupied and smiled when he saw the activity. New neighbors... and, as he approached, a daughter around his age; crouching behind thick bush he observed her carefully, Tradition ticking in the back of his mind.
The Klan still enjoys a good Lynchin' 'round these parts; be careful out in dem Woods boy.
Al hears a familiar sound: a lighter; he twists his head ever so slightly, finding the wind; second later, marijuana hits his nostrils.
"Looks like I've got a Friend," he breathes, quietly pulling out his own joint before mustering the nerve to make himself known.
* * * *
Jerry thought his mother was right; something was wrong with his Grandma Jenny. He could find no real reason for her move to a house with an enclosed Jacuzzi and an outdoor pool. Of course... the money spent wasn't the real issue; she had plenty to burn without even touching what her late husband left her. Of course, the move to Grandma Jenny's old house was not only a good one for Mom, but KILLER for Jerry, who was eager to spend a Summer getting to know the kids before school started.
Then came the night his mom pulled him aside and said this: "if you go over to visit ma Jen... call and wait for her to answer first!!! Promise me!!!"
He promised... and broke that promise three days later; his mother had gotten a call and was off... apparently that big case she was assisting on had gotten bigger. Jerry, seventeen, was more than capable of taking care of himself. Dad was busy tinkering in the garage in case things really got crazy, enjoying his vacation, the first ever; and he wanted to see something...
He got his wish... when his silver-haired grand mother answered her front door... in a sheer white one-piece bathing suit!!!
* * * *
I was taught about sex early... mostly because it's kinda hard not to hear mom and dad groanin' and such through the thin walls of the trailer. Mom went for the Belt-and Thunder approach, doing her Mother's Best to frighten me away from Sex completely; Dad... just took it in stride.
"Once you get old enough to know how to use that thing... there are a few Rules you should keep as Bible, Son.
"Don't bring home shit you ain't leave with: No Diseases... No Babies... No Drama. Won't be easy, but nothing worth doin' is."
* * * *
Riding around during a typical Necropolis Weekend Night brings back stagnant Memories; not surprisingly, Reality differs only in that the Bodies are, by Definition, Different. Hoochie College Student crashing on the Rent's Dime... Status Quo; Rich Cunt getting out of shit because of who Daddy is... check thrice; the give-away are the Facial Features... and the complete Ho-Bag attitude. Pull into any of the open Convenience Marts and you'll pass more than one Story/Tale... and more than likely, have someone size you up in a local Tradition: How much do you Make...
More than one Over-Sized Black Bitch Ass swings my way; I always smile politely... because there is no other Way to Deal with such unstable explosives...
* * * *
The lyric and saying go like this: She gets it from her mama.
In Necropolis, that Saying is all too often the damn truth... and here's why: DEAD-BEAT BABY-MAKERS. So you can heap Triumph and Tragedy at mama's door... because no male stepped up to Play Man's Role in Raising the Next Generation. This is Why I'm not super-evil when I see a mother taking her eight year old into Victoria's Secret to pick out lingerie?!?!?!
A quick estimate of her age, with the Street Tats factoring in heavily...; she still has her umbilical chord attached, and is probably looking forward to Clubbin' with her daughter. If I follow long enough her mama will call and...
Looks like I don't have to follow long at all; the instant the ring tone is recognized, all remaining Mother falls from her features, and I See Trailer Trash Teenage Ho; of course... look away and I see nearly thrice as many Hood Rats about the same damn age... having the same fraggin' conversation...
* * * *
Historically, Necropolis has birthed many Ridge Runners, the Local Term for a Smuggler who specializes in cars and trucks. Hey chummers, NASCAR comes from the same humble, illegal Roots; so that Teen with the Boomin' System is just doing what plenty have done before him: his Ride is a Reflection of his Spirit...
And THAT says plenty, since most of today's Rides are all about Outward Flash and Bling; if you find a serious Racer, the body probably looks a bit tatty, with just enough of the Kits to let someone think the Image might be to the Bone.
So the Rumors about Wraith One are fairly Standard: the Owner's Runnin' Drugs; it doesn't help that the Owner is a Black Male and lives in one of the Hoods, one notorious for its Silence. The tint is legal (much to the cop's dismay), though the filtration system would probably raise more than a few eyebrows... along with the other Special Features packed within the Honda Accord's heavily modified body and frame...
And, true to the curious nature of Necropolis... the Owner has some powerful Contacts within the Government... Local and Federal; some of the tech-toys inside Wraith one are easily worth the Owner's Life. One he displays almost casually...
Listen to Wraith One... and all you will hear will be the Background Noise, NOT the car, and definitely not the pounding bass the Owner favors for music... unless he rolls down a window or opens a door...
* * * *
Frag Necropolis, this happens to every Guy with a guy Friend:
"C'mon!!! she can't be that bad lookin'..."
What really blows here, is that I've Run Blocker for PACK... but never just a Friend (some cobber you're not sure how far you're willing to Trust, but So Far So Good); worse... in Necropolis... a Friend is Defined as the fuck-head who accepts your apology after you hoop-frag 'em Good-fashion Style. I accept despite knowing my only real Escape came from my Two Feet and Knowledge of Woodlore/Wood Craft.
His date is a Ditzy Blonde; he promised liquor and weed (which he still owes me for)... and April demanded her friend Melanie come along.
"Besides... her friend is into photography... figured..."
"You'd use that as a Bargaining Chip; sheisty... but effective. Ask her friend to bring her camera then..."
Got my first Bonus: I knew the location very well; my Options looking better by the nano-tick, I settled into my high, mentally checking my Supplies: a fat quarter-sack of good Commercial (wasn't about to blow the creds on my usual for a Blind Date), three cigars to split... and enough Orange Kush for ONE Fat Blunt...
We hop out of my Friend's car and make our way down the dark path; scant moonlight fairy-danced through the Summer Storm Clouds overhead. He leads the way, and stumbles; when I take the lead I find myself soon far enough ahead that he has to raise his voice; part of me gripes, since it wanted a Quiet Glimpse of my Target before this shit went South.
So... we enter the clearing leading to the mini-lake together, right as the nearly full moon is sliced by two cloud slivers. My Friend makes for his date, the booze raised high in his hands and pure Cock-Sure Strut working overtime. I was more interested in the Moon, and so, I ignored my target.
"It is beautiful..." That... Voice...
I turned my head... and for an instant, Here/Now... became Elementary School... and...
"Mel-Mel?"
She turned, shock evident on her features; the Moon tried to shake the clouds... and perhaps it is Fitting that it did not succeed.
"It IS you... Shadow!"
Way back when... back when innocence was an Adult Concept I didn't give a rip about... there was the FIRST Packmate...
Ditching his happy ass with his Pussy didn't even tickle an Emotion; I had close to three DECADES of Catching Up to do... fuck him.
fin