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Chapter 5
The Hummer Limo — I soon lost sight and recollection of ghostly fears in the majestic beauty of my hallucinogenic scene. My mind was playing “Get On My Horse” on an endless loop, reminding me how lucky I am to be in this sweet hummer limo and not on a Romanian Chariot.
I heard a harmonious voice emanate from the multicolored nothingness.
“Sebastian. Owl.”
I clicked the melting neon intercom button and babbled, “Did you say something, Gonzo?”
The driver laughed. Maybe he saw Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas too?
I don’t want to say it was obvious I was rolling, but even Gonzo, the Romanian Silent Bob, knew I was acting queer. I did; after all, explain to him my elaborate plan to beat everyone who refers to the Internet as “Internets” with a sack of doorknobs.
The auto-tuned voice returned, “Doctor of journalism.”
I jumped like a wenis. Seated next to me was a man with no face. He had graying temples, brown hair, and was dressed in a Reed Richards-like speed suit. Ray-bans sat where his eyes should be. A TarGard Permanent Cigarette Filter System jutted from his almost non-existent mouth.
“I thought, maybe if I had a chat with you, explain things, you would rest easy”.
I did the logical thing and screamed like a little girl.
He laughed, “Still want to fuck a ghost?”
The road was rugged, but we flew over it with feverish haste. Gonzo heard my shriek and was evidently bent on losing no time in reaching the pass.
“I want you to have all the background. This is a very ominous assignment. With overtones of extreme personal danger. I want you to understand that the man at this wheel is my attorney. He’s not just some dingbat I found. He’s a foreigner, he’s probably Romanian. That doesn’t matter though does it? Are you prejudiced?”
“Hummana. Hummana. Hummana.”
“I didn’t think so. Because in spite of his race, this man is extremely valuable to me. And to you.”
My faceless contemporary went on and told me this road is beautiful in the Summer, but as well maintained in the winter as a blogger’s credibility.
In this respect it is different from the general run of roads in the Carpathians. “In the winter they are not maintained. The Latverian time traveler next door lost control of a squadron of BATS, which activate only at night and in cold temperatures. They take their three laws very seriously. Any winter travel must be done quickly and during the day” the musical voice intoned.
I started to calm down. If I lost it now, how am I ever going to keep it together on the bigger cases? You know, when I’m actually representing a monster and not some Romanian CEO who uses excessive exclamation marks?
It didn’t seem like Owl was out to Scott Peterson me anyway. The firm had previously employed ghosts as process servers. Judy Garland was assigned to Loman until the incident and I’ve been campaigning to work with her ever since. Amleia isn’t a fan of Judy because she played her sister in a film once. Thus far all of my requests have been denied, but instead of the usual, “No John. You can’t sleep with one of our ghosts”, Amliea generally growls at the mention of Judy’s employment and dismisses me.
Owl was different. I don’t recall any of them missing a face or dressing like Mr. Fantastic. Or really dressing at all. They were ghosts, and ghosts roamed the world naked. After you die you stop caring about what others think.
As I regained my composure, I noticed mighty rifts in the mountains, through which, as the sun began to sink, I saw now and again, between the dwindling psychedelic rainbows, the spastic bursts of shit brown mountains this region is known for.
Gonzo got on the intercom, “Look! “God’s seat!”
Owl began to laugh and asked me, “I know what will calm you down. Do you want some beer?”
“Sss … sure. Sure. I’d like …”
“Well I’m out of god damn beer. How about some ether?”
“What?! No!”
“Good. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge.”
“I. I don’t do …”
“But you do blotter acid? I’m sure you’ll get into that rotten stuff pretty soon.”
“The acid wasn’t mine.”
“You poor fool. Wait until you see those god damn BATs. Than you’ll wish it was.”
As we wound on our endless way, and the sun sank lower and lower behind us, the shadows of the evening began to creep around us like a pedophile in the midst of an evening stroll.
By the roadside were many crosses. Here and there was a schlub kneeling before a shrine or headstone without a single Greenberg or Mendelson in the collection.
Just Belmont. Belmont. Belmont. Belmont.
“There are monsters here” Owl explained.
“You mean the BATs?”
“Not them. They’re robots. Not monsters. Big difference. You ever meet a monster before?”
“No.”
“Is that right? Well. I guess you’re about ready then, aren’t you?”
Gonzo turned on his intercom. He’s been listening the whole time. Can he hear Owl? He said, “We’re your friends. We’re not like the others in town.”
Right on cue, the doctor of journalism replied, “No more of that talk or I’ll put the fucking leeches on you, understand?”
I was also a bit offended by Gonzo’s comments. Annette seemed very nice and I’m still wearing her cross. I retorted, “All because they make spandex in your size doesn’t mean you should wear it!”
Gonzo and Owl cackled. I know Gonzo wears Levis, and has a problem keeping them intact, but this was the best I could think of in my limited mental state.
Owl seemed please. “Yeah. Now you’re getting it. Give shit back. Always give shit back. Life is too dangerous and far too short to not do so.”
As the evening fell it began to get very cold, optimal BAT weather, and the growing twilight seemed to merge into one dark mistiness as we ascended through the pass.
Owl and Gonzo continued their banter.
“We can’t be like the people in town, Gonzo. We can’t be raving and jabbering at this boy. What will he think then? This insane, lonely mountain was the last home of the Belmont family. Would our friend here start to make that connection when you start screaming about BATs and huge manta rays coming down on the car? If so, well, we’ll just have to cut his head off and bury him somewhere. He’ll be a lot better off compared to where you’re taking him.”
Another blackout. I felt like I was ripped from one place and dropped in the next. Suddenly, I could clearly see the ruined woods that seemed in the darkness to be closing down upon us.
It was temporary. Fleeting like the fame of Balloon Boy. I can’t explain it. I just know one moment I was floating outside the car, speaking in a descriptive Victorian dialect, and the next moment I was back talking to Owl.
Sometimes the hills were so steep that, despite Gonzo’s haste, the limo could only go slowly. I had the sudden urge to urinate, realizing that since arriving in town I had yet to do so. Owl reminded me he didn’t have that problem anymore.
“No, no,” Owl said. “We can’t stop here. This is BAT country.” And then he added, with what he evidently meant for grim pleasantry–for he looked at Gonzo to catch his approving smile–”And you may have enough of such matters before you go to sleep.”
I started to black out again. Realizing I was about to fade, Owl got in my face and said as the world turned black, “Now. Let me explain … For every moment of triumph, for every instance of beauty, many souls must be trampled …”
What the hell does that mean?
-John
FYI: An appropriate greeting: “Well don’t you look like the fucking mayor!”
