King of the Mutants (7 page)

By the time we found Billy Bob’s, it was three in the morning and my heart sunk when I saw the joint. I thought, rather wrongly, that we would be staying in a nice part of town. You know, by the old mansions or on one of those busy streets? First of all, Billy Bob’s sat on top of a packed, loud bar that played crazed music. And second, groups of homeless people slept in piles of garbage just outside the front door.

Somebody must have just bombed the building. The iron balconies were about to fall off. Holes marred the surface, bricks crumbling down onto the sidewalk. A bright neon sign, hung with shoddy wires that sparked, flashed, “Now playing, Zombie Zydeco.”

The worst-of-the-worst accosted us the moment we pulled Cherry Pie up to the front—panhandlers, conartists, thieves, thugs, drug dealers, and pimps. You know, the typical types we nice kids hang out with on a school night. All of the hoodlums surrounded us like rats fighting over a piece of cheese.

A man dressed head-to-toe in white waggled his finger in our direction. Inside the heels of his patent leather platform shoes, live goldfish swam around. Thick gold chains and an open shirt brought attention to a long scar that looked fake—like he’d drawn it on with a red marker to look tough. He smiled. His grills, encrusted with real diamonds, shimmered in the moonlight.

“You looking for a good time?” he said, his accent lilting.

I had visions of elephants, because this guy was Indian, not American Indian, but from India.

“Them young things are always looking for a good time,” said a white guy wearing a doo-rag and a big gold necklace that said “Player.” He held a plastic bag filled with purple pills in front of Freddie’s face. “Let’s say we has ourselves a party. Know what I’m sayin’?”

“Get away from us,” screamed Freddie. He held up his hands in Judo-chop position. “If you don’t, I’ll call the cops!”

All the hooligans burst out laughing.

“I am the police,” said Doo-rag. He held out a badge. “So go ’head and call me!”

A toothless man with an irregular shaped head pushed everybody away. If he had been green, he would have resembled a giant praying mantis. He wagged his skinny finger at the wackadoos. “Get,” Toothless threatened, “or I’ll call the General. And y’all don’ want to make the General angry.”

Grunts and moans emitted from the crowd and they scattered across the street.

The man dressed in white said, “Oh snap! You are one crazy mizzle dizzle for shizzle.” Due to his accent, his voice rose and fell in a high pitch. Then, he turned on his heel and in a controlled, almost cool swagger; he limped down the dark road, his shoulders leading the way. I assumed this “General” was a force to be reckoned with because nobody, except Toothless, stuck around.

Freddie’s top lip curled up. “Are we seriously crashing here?”

“How bad can it really be?” I said with a shrug. “Right now, I need toothpicks to keep my eyes open. Besides, it’s too late to try and find any place else for twenty bucks a night.”

“I just hope we don’t get killed—”

I burst out laughing. Freddie joined in. When you compared the guys on this street to anybody at Grumbling’s, it was like a picnic in the park on a warm summer day.

“Look, if this place is really, really bad, we’ll go sleep in a field or something,” I said. I stuffed Snaggletooth into my duffle bag to sneak him in to the boarding house, which he didn’t seem to mind. “I just really need a cold shower.”

“You are smelling rather ripe,” said Freddie.

Before I could deliver my comeback, Toothless interrupted us. “See, now, I got your back,” he slurred. His breath smelled like the inside of a garbage truck filled with decaying rats. He whistled at Cherry Pie and ran his grimy hand across the sidecar. Dirt encrusted his fingernails. “Want me to watch your bike? All it will cost you is fifty-tay-tay and a handshake-shake-kay.”

I ignored Toothless when I got out of the sidecar, but he positioned himself in front of me, blocking my path. His eyes looked like they could bleed they were so red—like he might have a strange disease like Ebola or something else deadly and contagious. I pushed by him using my bag as a barrier.

“You going to be sorry you did that,” he said, stumbling to the side. “Good thing to having someone watch your back in N’Awlens.”

In this kind of darkness my eyes glowed a fiery red. I lifted my sunglasses to the top of my head, bared my teeth, and hissed, “If you or one of your friends gets near our bike, I’ll hunt you down and rip you to shreds. I suggest you keep an eye on it for free.”

Toothless grunted.

Freddie jabbed me in the ribs. “How bad can it really be?”

HOW TO GET A FAKE ID

Yellow wooden arrows directed us toward the entrance to the boarding house. We followed them and found ourselves in a dark, dumpster-filled alley. A loud moan, followed by an even louder bang, emitted from one of them. Black gunk oozed off its side. We steered clear of it. Freddie stepped on a pile of newspapers that squealed “ouch,” which was weird, but neither of us wanted to find the source of the noise. Then I think a cat ran in front of us. Either that, or it was a really, really big rat. At the end of the alley, a large black door with a big orange, neon sign reading “entrance” summoned us. We made a run for it.

Cockroaches the size of mice scattered as we entered a dingy room lit by flickering fluorescent lights. It was so humid inside it felt like we were in a sauna. There were a couple of grimy chairs, a payphone without an earpiece, and a Plexiglas barrier. Behind the barrier sat a chair, and in that, an old, wrinkled Cajun woman wearing a bathrobe and head wrap slept. A record player whined out scratchy Blues music in the background.

I pressed the bell on the counter and breathed in a mouthful of musky air, a combination of sweat, dirt, and urine. The old lady didn’t budge and I wondered if she was dead. We must have been staring at her for at least five minutes until a deep voice behind us drawled, “Reckon you need a room?”

I turned around to face a man who resembled Elvis Presley—not young Elvis, but old, bloated Elvis. He had slick-backed, greasy hair, giant glasses—the kind that bug someone’s eyes all out, a funky cowboy hat with twinkling lights, and dirty overalls held up with a belt—its shiny, silver buckle as big as a bowling ball. No shirt. He eyed the woman behind the counter.

“Don’t worry, Henriette is alive. She’s just older than dirt and dog-gone tired, could sleep through a hurricane. In fact, I think she has.” Scary Elvis looked us over. “Whachew boys doing out so late? Running away from home, I reckon?”

Freddie stared at me, both of us unsure how to respond.

“No,” I explained. “We’re running away from the circus.” The man chuckled and motioned for me to carry on. “And we need a place to stay tonight.”

“Twenty bucks, right?” inquired Freddie.

“That’s right.” He hooked his thumbs into his overall straps, rocked back and forth on his cowboy-clad heels, and smiled. His teeth jutted out of his mouth like square, yellow Chiclets. “But I’ll need to see some iden-ti-fa-ca-tion.”

“We don’t have any,” I said. “Why do we need them?”

“It’s the law ’round here, boys. So we’ll just done and have to get you some.” Scary Elvis began to walk away. “Whachew kids waiting for? A par-ade? Follow me and I’ll get you sorted out.” He opened the door and we followed him into the dark alley. “The name’s Billy Bob Lafitte. But most people ’round these parts call me the General. This is my joint, this is my hood, and I’d like to welcome you boys to the Big Easy.”

Billy Bob walked up to the pile of screaming newspapers and tossed them aside. Under them slept a boy, probably my age. “Gad night a living,” screeched Billy Bob. “Well, if that don’t put the cayenne pepper in the gumbo. I reckon I told you not to sleep in my alley. It doesn’t make a good impression for my paying customers. Now get, before I knock you so hard you’ll see tomorrow today!”

The filthy, bug-eyed kid scrambled off the ground, stuck out his tongue, and ran toward the main street with his arms outstretched. He wasn’t wearing shoes, or, um, pants, just a t-shirt, a red cape, and blue underwear.

Freddie tried to hold back his laughter. I thought his brain might come out of his nose he snorted so hard.

“Tell your mama I’ll be home late, son,” Billy Bob yelled after the strange running boy. Then he shook his head in disbelief and muttered, “That boy is so dumb he could throw himself on the ground and miss. Couldn’t even find a pair of dungarees.” He tapped his temple with his forefinger twice, opened up a rusty door, and led us into a dark and dingy hallway. We could hear the bar’s music and laughter swell. We walked through the back of the building, the lingering scent of stale beer and cigarettes making me gag.

“Careful of the stairs,” Billy Bob said, almost falling. “They’re slipperier than snot on a glass doorknob. And careful of the hole. Been meaning to have it fixed.”

Nope, this definitely wasn’t a five-star joint.

Billy Bob led us into a small room that was more like a closet. He turned on the light, the kind where you yank the chain on the ceiling and it swings back and forth in the air. More mice-sized cockroaches scattered into the cracked cement walls. A wobbly desk sat in the center of the floor, a map of Louisiana hung on the wall. Besides those two things, wires hung down from the ceiling. Otherwise the room was bare, like an interrogation room at an abandoned police station. Billy Bob closed the door, reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny …

“Don’t shoot us, please!” I screamed. “I didn’t mean to upset Peaches so badly and Grumbling hates my guts. You seem like a nice guy. Can’t we talk about this?”

“Easy now, boy, ain’t nobody hurting you. You’re jumpier than a crawdad on a hot-buttered skillet. I’m just fixing to take your picture, that’s all.”

Billy Bob held up a digital camera and played around with it, mumbling, “Now, let’s see if I remember how to use this thang. I think this is the on button…”

While Billy Bob fumbled around with the camera, Freddie shot me a look that said “let’s get out of here.” Walking backwards, we skulked toward the door and I opened it slowly, its creak giving our intentions away. Bill Bob lumbered over and slammed the door shut. I nearly jumped out of my skin and, because of this, my tail peeked out from under the trench. Billy Bob noticed it immediately.

“Grumbling, hmmm?” He gave me the once-over. “Hey, you that alligator boy who wears the funny green Speedo and plays that rock and roll music? I saw you the last time you came to the outskirts of town. You’re good with the guitar, can jam some. Shame you’re so ’flicted.”

“I’m not conflicted. I’m really all right with the way I am,” I said.

“Boy, not conflicted, af-flicted with the mu-ta-tions.” He drawled out the last word with disgust. “Gotta cousin with some issues, though not extreme like yours. Nice little wee man. No matter, now stand over there.” He held up his camera and pointed to the poster with the outline of Louisiana. “I’m going to…what is it you kids saying nowadays?”

“Hook us up?” asked Freddie.

By the way Billy Bob smiled, I knew we had to play along. We were stuck.

“That’s right, hook y’all up. Now smile real big,” he said, and I did. “Mercy me, kid, you gotta set of teeth on you. Probably could tear a tin can apart like a goat.” He just had to add insult to injury. I sneered right when he took my picture. “Skinny kid, you’re next.”

Once our pictures were taken, Billy Bob pulled out an Apple Powerbook Computer and small printer from the desk, tapped a few buttons, and BAM, like hot Creole spices, we were set. He handed us the cards. The name on mine said Vardon Bean, but Freddie’s was even worse. His name was Francis Wiener. Together, we were franks and beans. This guy had a sick sense of humor.

“What?” Billy Bob belched. “I made y’all eighteen because you surely cannot pass for twenty-one. And that’ll be two hundred clams for the IDs, plus twenty for the room, and fifty to watch the bike.”

I glared at him. This was absolutely criminal.

“Look-y here, don’t you eyeball me like that. My cow died last night and I don’t need your bull.”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“You got cloth ears? See this is the way things go, either that, or that nice red chopper y’all rode in on is mine. Virgil’s been keeping an eye out on it for you. Said you’d be paying him fifty smack-a-roos to look after it.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Like I said, this neighborhood’s mine. Ain’t nothing going on around here that I don’t know about. And I’m sure as the Pope’s Catholic, y’all don’t want me to call up that circus of yours.”

Billy Bob cracked his knuckles. The sound, well, it was like I could hear every single one of my bones turning into dust. I could tell Freddie wanted to object, but let’s face it—the man had us. We were being bamboozled. I held up my hand to Freddie as if to say don’t argue.

Snaggletooth licked my arm when I reached into my bag to grab, ugh, two hundred and seventy dollars. At least the dog seemed to be doing okay. I turned my back to Billy Bob while I begrudgingly counted out the money. Before I handed it over, I still needed to be sure of one thing. “Cherry Pie, our bike, is going to be alright?”

“She’ll be right as rain and spit shined in the morning. I’m an honest man. Never go back on my word.” Billy Bob grabbed the wad of bills like a crazed monkey going after a banana. “Pleasure doing business wichew. You boys hungry? ’Cause I’m hungry enough to eat the south end of a north bound skunk. Dinners on me and then I’ll show you to your beds. Ol’ Henriette, why, she made up the best jambalaya this side of Congo Square’s ever done seen and I’d hate for fine fellows like the likes of you to miss out.”

He glanced down at my duffle bag, which moved around on its own.

“Maybe you want to take your dog out of the bag? I don’t have a problem with ’em. Sure he’d like some of Henriette’s sausage, and it’s not like Louisiana’s finest gives a hoot.”

Busted again. Been had. Time to move on.

Honestly, food sounded good, and it was a free meal…sort of.

“Come on, boys,” said Billy Bob as if we didn’t have a choice in the matter. “Let’s say we go and grab us some grub.”