Instant Karma's Gonna Get You
Spec: Instant Karma’s Gonna Get You
By Father of Lies
Disclaimer: This is a work of SPECULATIVE FICTION. It is not intended to infringe upon the rights of SOME CRAZY BITCH WHO SUES HER FANS, Alfred A. Knopf, Miramax, the Estate of Brandon Lee, The Estate of John Winston Ono Lennon, Apple Records, Amadeo Enterprises, ReporterBoy International, or any other interested parties, the Framers of the U.S. Constitution, and Misties everywhere. It can’t rain every day, Beautiful Boy.
Spoilers: The Vamp Chron in general, and the spec Foster Fledgling. Contains scenes of graphic violence, explicit sex, and some naughty words. If any of this stuff bothers you, please do yourself and me a favor and read no further. Thank you for your continued support.
Notes: This is dedicated to the memory of John Lennon and Brandon Lee, two beautiful souls who were taken before their time.
Instant Karma’s Gonna Get You
By Father of Lies
* * * * *
CherryLynn pulled her short jacket more closely about her thin frame. Damn, but it was getting cold awfully early this year. Must be due to the storms, she thought. God, how she hated this time of year. Once Halloween was over, pickings were mighty slim until Christmas. She hoped she’d find something tonight, just one good trick, one rich john, and she could go home, get off her feet, maybe do a few lines, have some fun. She turned around, and began walking back up the street. She reached in her purse for her cigarettes, and shook one out. She dug further, looking for the lighter.
Suddenly, a hand appeared before her, holding an expensive looking lighter, one of those classy ones, not a cheap disposable, but a real, honest-to-god Zippo or something, in silver or platinum. Very choice. In an instant, the lid was opened, and it was lit.
"Allow me, miss," said a smooth, slightly accented voice. CherryLynn kept her composure, and leaned into the flame, lighting the coffin nail. Only then did she look up at the lighter’s owner.
She was shocked to see it was a boy, not out of his teens, surely. He was dressed expensively, in a long, black woolen coat and white silk scarf.
"Thanks, Darlin’." She didn’t care if he was twelve, he obviously had money, and if he wanted to buy, she’d sell, no questions asked. She flashed him her best smile, letting her coat fall open to reveal the filmy, low cut blouse. Might as well show off the merchandise, those implants hadn’t come cheap, better get full use out of them. "You’re a life saver, for sure."
"I am glad to be of service," the boy said. He stepped back, and gestured to a sleek, silvery BMW standing a few paces behind, its engine purring so softly that only the wisps exhaust indicated that the motor was running at all. "Can I give you a lift? It is rather late for a lady to be out alone." He looked up at her intently, his deep brown eyes filled with longing and suggestion.
"Well, that would be very nice," CherryLynn cooed. She tried to sneak a peek inside the car, but the windows were not only tinted, they were mirrored. The boy had money all right, no doubt about that. "I was getting worried. It’s not a nice area, you know."
"Oh, yes, so I’ve been told," the boy replied, taking her hand, and bowing to kiss it. "I’ve heard a boy could get into some serious trouble around here." He pretended not to notice CherryLynn’s eyes practically bulging out of her head at the impossibly huge gemstones gracing his fingers. "Please, come this way." He led her to the automobile, and opened one door, bowing again.
She tossed aside the cigarette and stepped inside, sinking into the soft seats. She ran her hands appreciably over the upholstery, surprised to find that it was velvet. The boy slipped in beside her, and pulled the door closed. He then tapped on the mirrored glass divider, and the car eased away from the curb. He then turned to her, and smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting just a bit.
"Where can I take you?" he asked. "Or more to the point," he leaned over to her, and put one hand on her bare thigh. "Where can we go?" He once again gazed into her eyes, devastatingly seductive
"I think we can find someplace close," CherryLynn replied, slipping her hand under his long coat. "The Fairmont is nice, if you like that sort of thing." She unbuttoned his coat, and trailed one finger down his chest, and then back up to circle around his neck, leaning over to plant a long, slow kiss.
"And if I don’t like that sort of thing?" the boy asked softly, moving his hand up under her skirt, reaching around with the other hand to pull her closer.
"There’s other places," she said throatily, moving her hand down to unbutton his shirt and then his vest. She slid her hand inside his shirt, searching out his nipples and pinching them softly. He made a soft sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh, and gently moved her legs apart, teasing her with one finger, then two, with a dexterity that spoke of much practice. He pulled down the collar of her blouse, and bent to take her breast into his mouth, squeezing and suckling at the small, mauve nipple, now and then nipping hard enough to bring a squeal to her lips. She moved eagerly against him, spreading her legs further apart as he brought her to the brink of orgasm, and then maddeningly eased off; no need to fake anything with this one, that was for certain. God, he was good, as good as a pro. It was only with the most intense effort that she was able to move her hand to his lap. Expertly, she unfastened his trousers, sliding her hand down to grasp his manhood, pulling it out into the warm air of the car. With deft, well practiced fingers, she manipulated him, stroking and tickling, squeezing and pinching.
Abruptly, he stopped his attentions. She fell back against the seat, panting, and looked over to him, trying to anticipate what he’d want next.
His clothes were all completely fastened properly, he was as un-mussed as he’d been when they’d climbed into the car. CherryLynn stared at the neatly buttoned vest, the perfectly knotted tie, the impeccable white shirt, and the firmly zippered trousers.
"What the fuck!" she said, putting a hand to her head. Suddenly, she felt dizzy, weak, a little nauseated. "What’s going on here? How’d you get dressed so fast?"
"Incredible, isn’t it?" the boy said, brushing a speck of lint from his lapel. "It’s amazing what a bit of skill can do, don’t you think?"
"You - you must a give me something, didn’t you?" CherryLynn laughed, a harsh, unpleasant sound. "What was it, a popper? Man, you fast, I never even seen it. You gonna have to pay extra for that, you know."
"Tell me something, CherryLynn," the boy said. "Have you been to confession recently?"
She blinked at him, once. "What the fuck do you want to know that for?" she demanded. The car lurched around a corner, and she felt her gorge rise. She fell forward, and vomited violently.
"Because Frankie would be concerned to know you died in a state of grace," the young man replied, brushing back the auburn hair from his face. "Not that such a thing is actually possible, of course. All the confessions in the world could not erase your sins, could they?" He lifted one Gucci clad foot, and kicked her in the side, sending her crashing into the opposite door.
"Oh my God, oh my God!" she screamed. "You’re some kind of freak! I don’t do that shit! Stop this fucking car, you let me out right now!" She clawed her way up the back of the seat, grappling with the door handle. The handle held firm, and she began to pound on the glass, pulling off one of her six inch heels to bash at the glass, but to no avail.
"Bullet proof." He tapped a knuckle against the glass next to him, smiling proudly. "But to answer your question, not a freak, no." He reached over and grabbed her hand to pull her back over to him. "But we are neither of us what we seem, are we CherryLynn?" He caught both her flailing fists, and before she knew what was happening, he had her arms pinned beneath her, and was on top of her on the seat. "You, for instance, you would seem to be a human being, the mother of a young boy, but you’re really nothing but a cheap, heartless, murdering whore, aren’t you?"
"Fuck you!" she screamed.
"Ah, but you already did that, don’t you remember?" he chuckled. "Pay attention, CherryLynn. We were talking about your son. You remember him, don’t you? Francis Albert Gallagher? Your son?"
"What do you know about Frankie?" she screamed, twisting to try to kick him. "You leave my boy alone!"
"Oh, he’s your boy now, is he?" the young man asked, his voice never rising above a soft whisper. "Like he was your boy when you sent him to work for Chaunce?"
"What do you know about that?" Her eyes were wide, searching about the car wildly for any chance of escape. She reeked of vomit and fear; it was almost a palpable thing.
"I know all about that," he replied. "I know how you sold your own son to a drug dealer, sold him for a fifty dollar bag of cocaine. You knew that Chaunce wouldn’t let him live, didn’t you?’
"I don’t know what-"
"YOU KNEW IT, DIDN’T YOU!" His preternatural voice was like a knife in her head, bursting both ear drums in a split second.
"Yes!" She shook her head from side to side, and a trickle of blood leaked out one ear. "Yes, God damn it, I knew he’d get rid of the kid. But I couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t!"
"You mean you didn’t want to stop it," he said evenly. "Isn’t that true? You wanted him to deal with Frankie, so you wouldn’t have to, isn’t that right? So you wouldn’t have to be bothered anymore."
"I didn’t know nothin’," she sobbed.
"You certainly knew nothing about maternal love," he agreed amiably. He reached up to the nose ring glinting in the dim light, and with a quick movement, jerked it out. She screamed, blood streaming down her face, and he smiled warmly at her. "Tell me something, CherryLynn," he asked, ripping out one of the earrings lining her ear. "Did you ever see a film entitled ‘The Crow?’ It was a wonderful film. Heartbreaking, but beautiful in its way." He ripped out three more earrings, and then slapped her face, hard, breaking her jaw with a satisfying crack, and flipping her head around to reveal the opposite ear. "There was a line in that film that has always touched my heart." He ripped all six earrings out, in rapid succession, pressing her face into the seat.
"Do you have any idea what I’m talking about?" he asked suddenly. She stared up at him, but made no answer. She had ceased to scream, and was now making gasping, squeaking noises, hyperventilating, each breath making tiny blood bubbles in her nostril. The young man shook his head, sadly. "I thought you didn’t. That’s a pity. I shall have to set up the scene for you, then." He smiled warmly again, looking for all the world like a cherub from a church ceiling.
"The little girl goes home, and her mother is there with her disgusting boy friend. Rather like you and Chaunce they were, come to think of it. Yes, exactly like the two of you. Utterly worthless. Except, of course, they were both alive." He winked at her. She shuddered. "Anyway, the boy friend injects some drug into the mother’s arm, and she has the usual reaction. Never mind the details, the end result is that she neglects her daughter.
"The Crow - he is the hero of the piece, you see, the beautiful, tragic Brandon Lee," he explained quickly. "The Crow grabs her arm, like this." He jerked one of her arms free, and gripped it around the wrist, squeezing until the bones audibly cracked and the skin burst, spraying blood over her face and his own. "Then, the drug ran out of her arm, much like the blood is running out of yours." He smiled benevolently again. "I always enjoy a good visual aid."
He laughed lightly, his eyes gleaming. "But back to our story. The Crow is standing there, in this filthy little hovel, and he tells the woman -" He jerked her other hand up, and repeated his actions, crushing it to a pulp. "This is the important part, pay attention! The Crow says to her, this worthless piece of human excrement, he says to her, ‘The name of God on every child’s lips, is Mother.’ Isn’t that the most beautiful thought you’ve ever heard?" He raised his eyebrows brightly, questioningly.
"What kind of monster are you?" CherryLynn croaked, her voice raw. She was quaking with terror, each tremor throwing splatters of blood from her shattered hands.
"I could ask the same of you, you heartless bitch," he said, grinning fully to show the sharp fang teeth dripping with her blood, blood from the breasts that had harbored no love for the helpless, frightened child of her womb.
"This is for Frankie, who deserved a far better life than you gave him," he said, sinking his fangs into her bared throat, ripping it open to expose the throbbing, pulsing artery. "It’s for that beautiful, perfect young soul that you sent to a horrific death. It’s for selling your own child for a noseful of poison." He drank deeply, sucking hard at the wound to cause as much pain as he could. He filled her mind with the images he’d taken from François’s memory; the beating, the agony as his arms were broken, the fear as death overtook him, the searing pain of the suns rays, the utter despair. He paused, as he heard her heart slow, and raised his lips to her ruined ears.
"This is for making his life so hellish that only death could bring him the love and the life that he deserved," he whispered. "Payback is hell, CherryLynn. You stole his childhood, and now I am stealing your life."
He sank his fangs once more, and felt the roaring as her heart stopped one final time. He sat up, and shoved her body onto the floor. He reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a silk handkerchief, dabbing his mouth with it, looking around the car; blood was everywhere, there was no way the velvet would ever come completely clean, and the stench! He hated when that happened, but when mortals were that frightened, it was inevitable. Ah, well, he hadn’t planned on keeping this car, anyway. It had served its purpose. He neatly folded the handkerchief again, and tucked it into his coat pocket. Then, he pressed the intercom button.
"Yeah, Boss?" came the reply.
"It’s done, Daniel," Armand sighed, leaning back against the velvet upholstery.
"Way to go, Boss," Daniel replied, as the mirrored divider sank into its well. He flashed Armand a smile in the rear view mirror. "Now where to? Gretna?"
"No," Armand said, puckering his lips and furrowing his brow. "I think not, not for this one. We don’t want her to be found anywhere near the dealer, it wouldn’t do to have them connected. It could cause questions. The swamps, I think. Yes."
"Outstanding," Daniel laughed. "I haven’t driven out there for a long time. And it’s as good a place as any to dump the wheels."
"Good, then, it’s settled." Armand wrinkled his nose. "Try to hurry, will you? This is not pleasant."
"Oh, for God’s sake," Daniel grumbled. "He’s had weeks to plan this, every last detail, and still he forgets about the clean up. Christ!" He pulled over to the side of the road, and stopped the car. He jumped out, and yanked open the back door. "Here, give it to me," he muttered, gathering up the body. He disappeared around the rear of the car, and Armand heard the thump of the trunk lid being slammed shut. Daniel reappeared at the door, grinning.
"Okay, happy now?"
"It’s better," Armand allowed, rolling his eyes. "It still smells."
"Join me up front, then." Daniel smiled invitingly. "I have that CD you like."
"Good idea, Daniel." Armand stepped out of the car, kissing his lover lightly. He slid into the front, stopping in the middle of the bench seat, and Daniel dropped in beside him. The engine purred to life, the divider screen went back up, and with the window opened fully, it was soon pleasant again. They headed out away from the city, passing only the occasional late night driver. Neither said anything for some time.
"Hey, Boss?" Daniel asked, after about an hour.
"What Daniel?" Armand replied lazily, shifting his weight to snuggle more closely to his fledgling. He felt somewhat buzzed; both his victims had been drunk to some degree, and he was still feeling the aftereffects of the intoxication. It was not entirely unpleasant.
"That was a really nice thing you did tonight. Most decent thing I’ve ever seen you do."
"Oh, Daniel, it was nothing," he shrugged.
"No, I’m serious," Daniel protested, taking his right arm off the wheel to wrap it around his maker. "It was just, well, beautiful. The Chairman’s gonna flip when we tell him."
"We will not tell Francesco about this, Daniel." The voice was soft, but the tone was unmistakable. "Never. Do you understand?"
"Why not?"
"Because -" He paused, and sighed, shaking his head. "Because despite everything, she was still his mother."
"Oh, yeah." They lapsed back into silence.
Armand stared out into the night. "For you, Francesco. For the child who was lost." He thought, one scarlet tear sneaking its way down his perfectly formed face. "For both of them."The End
