Fangs for Nothing (Vampire Hunting and Other Foolish Endeavors) (6 page)

Chapter
6

Jeans are the world’s uniform. Seriously, they are. You know how in futuristic movies from the seventies, everyone is always wearing matching jumpsuits? And you think, that’s stupid. Why would everyone wear the same thing all the time? Especially something that you practically have to take off in order to use the bathroom. Men might put up with it, but the ladies definitely would not. Well, in my opinion, jeans have become the world’s uniform. From Paris to Bangkok, everyone is always in jeans. They’ve somehow become the clothing that’s always supposed to be cool to wear. I just don’t get it.

I never wear jeans.
I’m being completely honest here. I don’t even own a pair. Xander has some black jeans he’ll wear sometimes especially if the weather’s bad, but Xander is the exception, not the rule, for fashion in general. Rini exclusively wears skirts or dresses, most of which she’s altered or made herself. I’ve only seen her in pants to go skiing or sledding. I asked her about it once, and she said, “Pants make me look squat.”

I always take some time when deciding what to wear. Especially to a show like Young Lords. It seems almost pointless when I’ll be standing in the same room as Xander, but I think it’s good to take pride in your appearance. I mean, most guys my age look like
they slept in their clothes all the time, and that’s supposed to be cool. I just don’t get it. I’ve always liked how good everyone looks in old black-and-white movies and photographs. And seeing that I acquire most of my clothes from thrift stores, it’s a look I try to emulate. Yeah, I do get teased at school pretty chronically for my choices, but the good thing about getting a little older is, at this point in my life, I just don’t care.

I chose black pants,
a burgundy shirt, black jacket, and a burgundy pocket square. You heard me, baby, I said pocket square. I also have a sweet collection of vintage ties, many of which would have worked well with my outfit, but I decided against it. I added black shoes, a black belt, and the vintage Bulova that I inherited from my grandfather, and I was ready to go. The watch’s band is a dark brown, which didn’t really work with the whole look, but certain sacrifices had to be made to accommodate a family heirloom.

Xander pulled up in the
Dart at precisely nine o’clock. I zipped out the door, calling goodbye over my shoulder to Grandma. I didn’t want Xander to have to come to the door because then Grandma would invite him in and insist on feeding him, even if he wasn’t hungry. We’d probably miss the opening band. I didn’t know anything about The She Cops, but in my opinion, an all chick band is a rarity and a thing not to be missed.

I notice
d Rini already comfortably ensconced in the front seat when I opened the door, which didn’t even make sense because Xander had to double back to get me. “Hey,” I said, accepting my usual spot in the back seat. They both kind of grunted at me, and I wondered what was going on. I hoped against, but assumed they’d been fighting again. That always made for a fun evening.

*****

The She Cops were not the best band I’ve ever heard, but they also weren’t the worst. They had a couple of good songs. Plus, the girls all wore these super-snug matching outfits, which gave us hetero males the illusion that they could play their instruments. By the time Young Lords were getting ready to hit the stage, the Agora was packed. There were tons of cute girls all over the place. So many that even Xander couldn’t occupy all of their attention. As I was heading back from the men’s room, I noticed that a slightly husky but reasonably attractive girl walking toward me was wearing a multicolored enamel bat pendent. That was odd. Were bats suddenly all the rage? Three bat necklaces in two days seemed like a lot. The girl noticed me staring and snapped her fingers in front of my eyes. “You can look all you want, but don’t think you’re going to develop X-ray vision or anything,” she told me. “I’m wearing a lead-lined bra.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I sa
id, feeling my face turn red. “I wasn’t staring at your…” I waved a hand in the general direction of her cleavage. “I mean, I was looking at your…” I could tell by the look on her face that she was not buying any of it. “You’re necklace,” I finally managed to blurt. “I was looking at your bat necklace.”

“Right,” she sa
id, putting her hand over the bat as if to hide it from my view while she moved on through the crowd.

To my surprise
, I knew her. “Hey, Lydia… Hi.” She turned and gave me a vague look, so I continued, “You’re Lydia Sarducci, right? Your grandfather owns Sarducci Meats. I met you yesterday. Remember?”

Recognition caused her eyes to shift. They became speculative, less disdainful. “Oh
, yeah.” She tilted her head back just slightly and let a purr rumble in her voice. “It’s good to see you. What was your name again?”

S
eemingly from out of nowhere, Violet Girl appeared. “Hey.” She buttonholed Lydia, and the two of them exchanged a heated debate all in whispers. I couldn’t hear much of what they said, but a few words got through. I distinctly heard Violet Girl say, “I’ve been.” Then I could have sworn she said something like, “my,” or “mine” and “claimed” and then something like “vixen” or “vacant,” I wasn’t sure. I also heard “army” or “blarney” or something like that. Then Violet Girl gave Lydia a small shove, and I distinctly heard her say, “Go find your own.”

Lydia Sarducci shot
Violet Girl an incredibly angry look then spun on her heel and stalked off into the crowd, slamming into me as she went passed. “Hey,” I called after her, but there really wasn’t anything I could think to say. By the time I turned back around, Violet Girl had vanished. I don’t mean she literally disappeared or anything, but I couldn’t find her in the crowd.

That’s when Xander caught up with me. “Where have you been?” he scolded. “
Come on. Young Lords are about to start.” We cut through the crowd heading toward our seats. “I hear there’s some huge after party under the Detroit-Superior Bridge,” he called over his shoulder. “A lot of cute girls have been talking about it. I think we should hit it after the show.”

“Under the bridge?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard him clearly.

“Yeah, there’s a lower level where the streetcars used to run back in the day. I guess you can still get down there. It sounds cool.”

“
Uh, I can’t.”

Xander turned to look at me as we waded deeper into the
sea of Young Lords fans. “Why not?”

“I told Violet Girl to stop stalking us when we were at Lake View. And then she said she was going to be under the bridge tonight. I didn’t know what she meant, but this must be it.”

“So?”

“
So I can’t go, or it’ll look really weird, like I’m chasing after her or something.”

Xander rolled his baby blues. “Sherbie, that girl
is really cute, and she has been following you all over town for two days. Then she tips you off where she’s going to be and you don’t want to go? Explain to me how this makes sense.”

“Well, I mean
...” I tried to think of how it actually made sense. My point was she wasn’t stalking me, she was stalking Xander. But she told me not to go under the bridge, so I would just look pathetic showing up. And if we did go, she’d probably just throw herself at Xander right in front of me, and I would feel even more pathetic. But I couldn’t just say all this to Xander because he could sometimes be really defensive about girls hitting on him all the time, and this was exactly the kind of thing that set him off. “I don’t know,” I finally managed. “But I can’t go. If she saw me there, I’d feel like a complete idiot.”

“We’re going,” was all Xander said before turning back into the crowd. I wanted to protest, but everyone started cheering as Young Lords took the stage.

*****

“Well, there’s
Firenze’s,” Xander said, nodding toward the Italian restaurant as we slowly rolled down W. 25
th
. “The entrance is supposed to be through there.”

“The restaurant?” I asked. “What are we suppose
d to do? Break in?”

“Yeah, maybe it’s
just nearby.”

“Let’s park
, and then we can find it,” Rini suggested.

“Yeah, but where?” Xander asked, making the Dart do the
looking-for-parking crawl. There were an unusual number of cars lining the streets.

Rini squinted her little cat face and peered out the window. “How about there? That church has a pretty big lot.”

“You can’t park in a church lot,” I protested from the back seat.

“Why not?” Xander asked, already pulling in the drive. “They’re not using it right now
, and we’ll move it by morning.”

I slumped in the back seat prepared to be annoyed for the rest of the evening. This would probably end up being
the same as when everyone was hanging out at the observation parking lot at the airport—where you can view the planes coming in. Xander had heard it was supposed to be cool, but it was just masses of kids with cans of cheap beer cruising each other. We checked it out a few times, but then the cops started busting it on a regular basis, and finally they just padlocked the gates shut at night, so no one could get in. Not even people legitimately there to watch the planes land. I know I’m not going to get any traction on this, but America really needs to focus more on cool places for underage drinkers to hang out.

We got out of the Dart and started looking around.
The Detroit-Superior Bridge stretched east across the river to the left, its smooth white support arches giving it a fluid, undulating feeling. Violet Girl’s little sketch definitely made sense. Maybe she actually wanted me to find her under the bridge or wanted me to find her with Xander in tow. The entrance obviously had to be near the base of the bridge, so that was our first clue. We heard the sharp cackle of girl laughter as a flock of Goth chicks hurried down an overgrown path and disappeared into the dark. “That has got to be it.” Xander ran his hand through his hair, smoothing it into perfect position. “Let’s go.”

“
Um, guys.” I felt some misgivings. “Does anyone else think this is a little weird? I mean, we have no idea what’s down there.”

“For crying out loud, Herbert
.” Rini was using her I’m-losing-patience-with-you voice. “How are we supposed to enjoy our wild teenage years if we never do anything?”

“
Never do anything? What are you talking about? We just went to San Francisco,” I protested, but it was too late. Rini was marching determinedly on her short little legs toward where the Goth chicks had disappeared, and Xander followed in her wake.

“Come on, Sherbie,” X
ander called back to me. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

Chapter 7

I have to admit, under the bridge was pretty
damn cool. At first, there were just some steps and a long hallway. It was kind of scary, like we were entering a haunted rail station to catch the trolley car of death or some other poorly conceived movie plot. We could hear a muffled throbbing, as if there was a band playing under water. Initially, there wasn’t much to see, just the hallway with a lot of dirty white tile work, bare light bulbs overhead, and peeling paint. It was obvious we weren’t going through the original main entrance, but when we got into the actual under-the-bridge area, things really opened up.

First thing, the
music hit us in the face as an industrial Goth band filled the space with an eerie pounding beat. A strobe light made me wonder if the crowd of people gyrating on a makeshift dance floor were enjoying themselves or having simultaneous seizures. Xander made a gesture to herd us away from the music so we could get our bearings.

With a little distance between us and the band,
it was easier to take in our general location. We were on the lower level of the bridge that thousands of people used to commute from the Westside to downtown Cleveland every day, but we were also suspended pretty high up over the Cuyahoga River. Enormous pale white support pillars kept the motorists crossing overhead from crashing in on the party. The band appeared to be set up where the streetcars used to stop for the loading and unloading of passengers. It was hard to tell the layout. There were still some vestiges of the old days, but a lot of the ticket booths and benches and stuff must have been torn out a long time ago.

A
s we moved further along the bridge, the walls disappeared, and we could look out at the river on either side. Unfortunately, a lot of the floor disappeared as well. There were huge gaps between large wooden beams that looked a lot like extra-sturdy railroad ties, leaving open the possible thrill of plunging through a gap and falling into the water below. It gave me an initial wave of vertigo, but fortunately, someone had laid down a bunch of broad plywood sheets in the center for people to use as a steadier walkway.

Xander squinted down the
length of the bridge. It appeared that every few dozen yards there were art installations and some lounge areas. “Do you guys want to explore or dance?” he asked.

I immediately said, “Explore.”

Rini simultaneously said, “Dance.”

I knew what Xander was going to want to do. He usually gave Rini her way if he didn’t have a strong opinion of his own.
“Why don’t you check out what’s cool while Rini and I dance a few songs? We’ll meet you back here in, like, twenty minutes.”

I could have just capitulated and headed onto the dance floor
with them, but I was feeling grumpy and annoyed that I never got my way; so instead, I waved them off and said, “Make it thirty.”

Xander gave
me a goofy grin, grabbed Rini by the hand, and trotted off, leaving me standing by my only. I told myself it didn’t matter. There was plenty of cool stuff to check out, and I could easily occupy my time. I just hoped that Xander didn’t pull his usual, completely forgetting about the time and leaving me standing around like an idiot, waiting for an hour.

I scanned my surroundings
, wondering what to check out first. Being under the bridge was so strange that it was the first moment that I really focused on the individual people surrounding me. Now, I’ve never been one of those guys who think that everybody living in L.A. must be hot or that all of the inhabitants of Philadelphia are ugly. The pretty-to-ugly ratio is spread pretty evenly across the U.S., from what I’ve witnessed. But for whatever reason, a large percentage of the Clevelanders who had found their way under the bridge for a little partying were unusually attractive. I mean, not Xander attractive, but some were getting pretty darn close. It was bizarre and made me a bit self-conscious. I do my best to conceal it by dressing well, but I’m sorry to report that Herbert Lehmer is not one of the beautiful people.

Shaking off my insecurities,
I approached the first art installation and was confronted with way too much pictorial information about the victims of the Torso Murderer, Cleveland’s unidentified serial killer from the 1930s, who once taunted Eliot Ness. Once I got an eyeball of what the booth was all about, I decided to give it a pass. I have never been overly interested in murderers.

Next came a lounge area, the whole thing
covered by long red fur—the chairs, the table, the couches, everything. It was set up like a living room, and the only thing that wasn’t swathed in the red synthetic tangle was a television screen. I grabbed a seat to see if they were playing anything interesting. It appeared to be some very
Leave It to Beaver
scenes of modern domestic life. A family prepared food, played with toys, ate dinner, etc… It was as if I was a fly on the wall in the most pleasant / boring household in America.

S
omething about it was making me feel unsettled. I was focusing harder on the screen, trying to figure it out when I caught a quick flash of the family being tortured by masked assailants. I immediately understood my discomfort. The
Leave It to Beaver
footage of domestic bliss and boredom had been inter-spliced with ultra-violent,
A Clockwork Orange-
style images. I got up again, my stomach feeling slightly sour from having been manipulated. The artists who were displaying their work under the bridge were way too focused on gore.

I don’t like slasher movies
, so I wasn’t too thrilled about horror being subversively thrust at me. I felt tense while entering the next art installation area. The floor was covered in some type of reflective material that made it a blurry mirror. Overhead there hung hundreds of glittering snowflakes suspended by fishing lines. I kept looking around, waiting for some blood and guts to assault my senses, but as far as I could tell, it was simply pretty. The twinkling snowflakes were reflected on the floor. With a gentle breeze blowing in from Lake Erie and the music from the band being reduced to a muffled thud, thud, being under the bridge transformed into something very tranquil. My shoulders, which I had apparently been scrunching up practically under my ears, began to unknot. I sighed. At the very least I could stand among the snowflakes for the next twenty minutes while I waited for Rini and Xander. I closed my eyes for a moment to breathe in the warm, fresh summer air, and when I opened them again, there she was.

“Hello
.” Violet Girl smiled.