Short Fiction - One Night at the Titty Bar (Explicit Content)

This short story features characters from my novels
Trailer Park Trash & Vampires and Dirty Southside Jam

One Night at the Titty Bar (Explicit Content)
by James Wayland

It was a hot and humid night, the kind that some might call muggy and others might call miserable.  The ones who pegged it as miserable were the ones to ask a question of if an honest answer was desired.  Mosquitos were hard at work, doing their best to make the soggy heat and the damp funk a bit more unbearable.  Wet clothes clung to flesh while faces dripped sweat, but none of this was uncommon for Tallahassee in the burning heart of summer.  Those who had endured some of the worst summers on record here wouldn’t have been impressed at all, but a boy from Bogut might think that he had stumbled into the seventh circle of hell.

Speaking of which, Billie Boyd, better known as Blue, was trying hard not to spray the interior of Bama’s prized ‘67 Nova with the contents of his stomach, but that had precious little to do with the heat.  No, the heat hadn’t made him queasy, but it damn sure wasn’t helping with the situation and Blue was thinking that he was probably going to lose this fight before the night was over.  There would be puke, and Blue really hated puking.      

His long hair was held back with a pink bandana and his eyes were bloodshot.  There were dark circles beneath those eyes and his weary gaze aged him beyond his years.  His clothes weren’t doing much better.  Blue’s tropical shirt might have made Magnum P.I. proud when Tom Selleck was in his prime, but it was now a relic.  It benefitted some when compared to the pair of cutoff jean shorts laced with holes and stains hanging low on Blue’s waist.  The stoner lurched forward, clamping a hand over his face to stop the vomit, but it was only a dry-heave.    

Bama eyed him with some concern. 

The big bastard was clad in a little tank-top, but the heat hadn’t stopped him from wearing his leather pants.  Per his custom, Bama had enough gold on to turn a rapper’s head, and he was dressed entirely in black.  Bama gave the wheel a spin, sliding his Nova into the parking lot.  The car was a vision in cherry red, a true classic that Bama loved more than he could ever love any person. 

Neon lights washed over them, reflecting a garish scene on the purring Chevy’s waxed hood and gleaming windshield.  The bar’s sign featured a naked woman twirling a lasso over her head, her proud breasts boasting enormous green dollar signs for nipples.  This garish pink, blue, and green monument to stripping only added to Blue’s discomfort.  He was not a fan of this sort of joint, but Bama practically lived at places like this.

Strip clubs weren’t all bad, but Blue preferred the nicer establishments where he didn’t find himself dwelling on germs and disease.  When he was surrounded by naked women and he couldn’t think of anything but hand sanitizer, well then, what exactly was the point?  He wouldn’t mind jumping some of the strippers at the classy clubs, but they weren’t dishing it out, and the dirty strumpets who were ready to go at these tawdry affairs weren’t getting anywhere near Blue’s jewels.  That was just the nature of the game.  Spending more for less gave him peace of mind.  Some say a single battle with scabies can change the way a man thinks, and two can scar him for life.

Occasionally, Bama took him someplace nice, but more often than not they found one of these tawdry places out in the boonies.  If Blue had to take a dump at some point, he was certain to use enough toilet paper to line the walls in his efforts to cover the seat.  It was either that or hover, and he had learned that drunk men don’t hover well.

 “You all right?”  Bama wondered.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re pondering some heavy shit over there.”

“Nah.”

Bama thought this over for a moment while massaging the steering wheel with his big mitts and squinting.  “What?  You don’t want to talk about it?”

“I said I’m fine.”

The big man shrugged.

Blue was learning a lot about the hard bastard sitting beside him, a brute who could be one mean son of a bitch.  Yet Bama was capable of many things, and for the most part he was a genuinely likable fellow.  He was warm and he could be surprisingly generous.  It was easy to forget that he could sink to deplorable lows with ease, just like he was shifting gears in his beloved car. 

Bama scared Blue because the wiry stoner knew the big man could commit any crime and spend the night at the bar without so much as a twinge of remorse.  He could go places that scared the fuck out of Blue and it didn’t bother the big mother.  It didn’t bother that fucker not one iota.  That was frightening.

Of course, that wasn’t all Blue was figuring out, he was also learning that he himself wasn’t cut out for this sort of life.  Truthfully, that was no surprise, and it didn’t count for much, seeing as how he had no way out that didn’t involve an anonymous grave at sea. 

It was a damn shame. 

He hadn’t asked for any of this, he had stumbled headlong into the life.  He had put his toes in the muck, thinking he would be able to wash it off, but it didn’t work like that.  He had been consumed by it, and ever since he took the money and his first lonely step down this wicked path, his luck had soured.  He had suffered one bad break after another, and the time had come when he clearly felt that he was on the cusp of execution.  Yes, he was in a bind when he took up with the big madman who was now parking his beloved Nova, but sometimes it seemed that the noose had actually grown tighter during the last several months. 

Bama checked his reflection in the mirror, using both hands to tidy up his unruly black mane.  “Lookin’ good, baby,” he purred.

The big man chuckled as he exited the sleek vehicle, pausing long enough to run his hand across the Nova’s smooth finish.  “This is my kind of night,” he said as he started forward, his boots echoing on the asphalt.  He was obviously feeling it.  That was one of Bama’s gifts.  The man could always find his groove quickly.  “Care to drown your sorrows, amigo?”

Blue had no choice but to follow, so he did. 

 “You sure you’re okay?”

“Biscuits and gravy.”

The big man stopped, frowning.  “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means I’m just fine and dandy,” Blue answered, offering up a shit-eating grin. 

“Biscuits and gravy.  That’s fucking retarded.”

The two men started walking again.

Bama put his arm around Blue’s shoulder, pulling him close.  “Listen up, kid, ditch the shit.  Ain’t nobody got time for that.  We’re going to have a good time here.  This is a cool joint.  Lighten up, my man, you know, live a little bit.”

“Sure thing,” Blue mumbled.

“I’m serious.  There’s a girl who works here, Blue, her name is Cindy, and she has the goods, my friend.  She has the goods like no other broad you could imagine.  I’m telling you, this woman is unbelievable.  Smokin’ hot!  If she’s out there working the floor, you have to get a lap-dance from her.  I demand it.  Unbelievable, this chick is, just amazing.  And if she likes you, she’ll bite your fucking cock right through your pants.”  Bama arched his eyebrows.

“That’s just what I look for in a woman.”

The big man laughed, shoving Blue away.  “Sometimes you can be a real asshole, you know that?”

For an instant, Blue thought the moment had arrived, and he braced himself, knowing that he was about to throw up.  The moment passed, and Blue almost managed to grin.  “Yeah, well I ain’t the only one here with a card to that club,” he said at last.

“Shit.  I’m not an asshole, Blue.  I’m the big winner.” 

Four beers later, Blue was definitely in a better mood, and he was no longer feeling the urge to vomit.  He still felt a little off, but he was fighting through it.  What else was there to do? 

He was ready for another frosty, but he wasn’t keeping pace with Bama.  The big guy was truly in his element surrounded by booze and cheap broads, rubbing shoulders with hoods and swindlers who enjoyed the life just as much as the killer in black.  He hit every girl who passed with a line, an insult, or a little pat on the rump.  He gave every man who dared to give him a second glance an earful.  Basically, he was the baddest man in the building and he knew it, so he behaved as such.

Blue drifted in his wake, looking down when crooks eyed him with disdain or approached as friends.  He made nice with the ladies (this wasn’t the appropriate term for women who worked at this dump, but Blue was raised proper) and he didn’t dare put his hands on any of them.  He was a country boy at heart, but he wasn’t just being a gentleman.  He was thinking about his personal hygiene as much as anything else.

A wisp of a girl with a haunted gaze and a colony of fever blisters just below her nostril told him that she would “party down” with him for sixty dollars.  He told her that he wasn’t feeling all that hot, which was the truth, and even added a “maybe some other time” with no real effort to be convincing.  She uttered a bored goodbye and set off in search of another mark.

The music was loud, an aggressive thump that was devoid of style or grace.  It seemed appropriate for the girls gyrating on the stage, but the combination of the electronic rumble and the strobe lighting made Blue queasy all over again. 

He closed his eyes and saw that poor bastard they had deep-sixed this afternoon, unable to shrug off the frumpy little guy’s pleading eyes as he begged them to let him go, going on and on about his wife and his little girl.  Blue wanted to forget all about it; he didn’t want to keep picturing Bama humming nonchalantly as he trussed the crying man up and dumped him overboard with a cement block for company, but he couldn’t help it.  Blue was having a hard time tearing his thoughts away from that grim scene, and he kept coming back to that one little detail that unnerved him more than anything else.  Bama had hummed.  He had hummed while the poor guy begged.  He had hummed the whole time.  He had clapped Blue on the shoulder when it was finished, still humming, and he had hummed while Blue sat mute during the return trip to shore.     

He didn’t know if he was going to be able to drink it away this time, and he knew he wasn’t cut out for this kind of life, but he didn’t have any choice.  Maybe he would keep faking it until he was no different from the savage killer who had taken him under his wing, if such a thing was possible.  Maybe he was damning himself to hell with every second that passed.

Maybe he was already there.

“There she is,” Bama said, taking him by the arm and directing his attention toward an absolute beauty with short blonde hair that appeared white under the bright lights.  Her body was a marvel in the flesh, her face was fit for an angel, and she moved with a sense of purpose.  Her sure gaze suggested that she owned the men she was dancing for, and her charisma was impossible to ignore. 

Well, maybe it was possible to let the grim scene from this afternoon go.  For a little bit, at least.  “Holy shit.”

Bama winked at him.  “That’s what I’m talking about.  She’s hotter than two mice fucking in a furnace on the sun.”

Blue had to admit that the woman was a particularly unique specimen.  He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.  Cindy’s shapely hips and her delicate naval made his heart race, and her feline power was only enhanced by her wanton gaze and the tantalizing sheen of sweat glistening on her taut skin as she swayed before him.  She was a woman who knew just what she was capable of, and she appeared capable of damn near anything. 

Blue wiped his chin to make sure that he wasn’t drooling.

Her eyes found him and she delicately chewed her bottom lip.  Blue instantly fell deeper under her spell.  She was a goddess. 

“Save me,” he pleaded.

            Two hours later Blue was definitely drunk, and he was definitely having a good time.  He was no longer dwelling on the dead man and the wet grave that poor bastard had inherited.  Blue felt great, and for the time being, he liked this place—and perhaps even this life—almost as much as Bama did.

            He had already bought two lapdances from Cindy and he was eagerly awaiting a third.  She had indeed bitten his cock through his pants, and he had enjoyed it.  The second time she danced for him, she had also draped her legs over his shoulders, slid her pink thong aside, and fingered herself inches from his face.  Her shiny stiletto heels had pressed against his back while her spiky hair had poked his groin as she deftly arched backward, her slender form growing taut as she contorted her luscious body and her finger plundered her wet slit, her strong right hand gripping his thigh for support. 

Then she had turned and slid to the floor with all the grace of a serpent, giving him a sublime view of her gorgeous behind that he would remember for the rest of his life.  After that, she stood and leaned over him, pressing her breasts against his face.  Her nipples were so hard they were like pink pebbles adorning those sublime mounds, and Blue actually found himself growing faint as she eased into his lap once more.  Perhaps she giggled as she ground her pelvis against him--he was feeling too warm and fuzzy to know or care.

Two other girls had approached him as Cindy had made her rounds, and while he had paid one of them for a dance, it had been a poor substitute for the work of the goddess who had enchanted him.

Yes, Bama had been right about Cindy, that much was certain.  The woman was an angel who had descended from heaven and taken a job at one of the sleaziest clubs in Florida.  She had apparently come to alleviate all of his concerns with her heavenly face, incredible figure, and her amazing skills, and thus far the mission had been a stunning success.  She was perhaps the finest finger-banging agent of the lord he had ever happened upon.

“Fuckin’ A,” he said to anyone who was listening.

Even as he reflected on her considerable prowess, she approached him again, smiling, her sultry gaze immobilizing him.  His dick got hard as soon as she placed her hand on his shoulder.  “I like you,” she said.

“I like you too.”

She laughed.  “You’re cute.”

“You’re cuter.”

“They say the third time is the charm.”

“I’m all yours,” Blue answered, awash in a sea of pure bliss.  Perhaps this life had never been better.

She leaned in closer and nibbled his ear just as someone screamed from somewhere within the club.  This sudden interruption was no playful shout or raucous catcall either, it was a bloodcurdling howl.  Cindy paused as another wretched shriek cut through the thumping club music and the unruly murmur of conversation.  Blue shoved the heavenly stripper aside, his blood turning cold.  A rush of fear every bit as massive as a roaring wave crashed into him even as he rose, his mouth hanging agape. 

There was another cry, this one a pitiful moan, and now just about everyone was taking notice, scanning the torrid scene for any potential threat.  There came a final pitiful whelp and a gangly man with a long beard came stumbling out of one of the private rooms. 

The man’s face was wet with blood and his eyes were fiery pits of malice.  He was stumbling like a drunk, caught in the grip of a strange euphoria, but he quickly regained his composure, eying those who gawked at him with disdain.   

            A stout bald man with a multitude of tattoos and an impish whore in a flimsy gown who must have been companions rushed to join the man with blood dripping from his tangled beard.  Now several people were screaming and some were already shoving their way through the crowd of onlookers transfixed by the unlikely scene playing out right before their very eyes.

Even as a bulky bouncer with a face like a pitbull stormed through that impromptu gathering, demanding an explanation for the outburst, Blue watched the outlandish trio led by the man with the dripping beard confer.  He saw the man with the bloody beard’s eyes flicker like a flame and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. 

“What’s going on?’  Cindy asked, gripping his arm.

He pulled away.  She tried to cling to him and Blue shrugged her off.  “Get out of here,” he said.

“Why?”  Her power had evaporated in the face of her terror.  Whereas she had owned this space only minutes before, now she was like a frightened animal looking for comfort and reassurance.  She looked older, and weaker, and Blue suddenly felt sorry for her.  Surely she wanted more from this life, but there was no time for that now.

 “Get out of here,” Blue hissed.

            He was drunk and he had always been paranoid, but he had also been in his fair share of scrapes, and he was quick to recognize trouble.  This was trouble of the highest order.

            He looked for Bama and saw the killer in black making his way back from the bar toting a couple of mugs.  He was watching the crowd that was inevitably gathering around the bouncer and the three weirdos, but hotshot that he was, Bama was still going about his business in his usual nonchalant manner.  He didn’t believe there was anyone here who posed a threat to him. 

            “What the fuck is going on here?”  The big bouncer with the pitbull face yelled, his beefy chest swelling as he confronted the curious trio.  As the onlookers closed in, Blue could no longer see past the strippers and lowlifes who had crowded together to watch the coming melee. 

There was a loud grunt followed by a vulgar tearing sound.  The crowd seemed to ripple as someone screamed, and then there was an abundance of screaming and everyone was running.  They fell over one another, writhing and clawing, howling as they sought escape, blindly stampeding toward the exits.

            Bama dumped the mugs and grabbed Blue by the arm.  “Fuck me running,” the killer shouted.  “Let’s bail.”

            “Damn straight,” Blue readily agreed.

            He and Bama slipped into the mob running for the door, riding the surging tide of hustling bodies.  Even as they fought their way forward, something hurtled above them and landed in their midst. 

Now the people in front of them were screaming as well.  A bloody body tumbled into Bama and he shrugged it off.  The stripper in front of Blue, a tall redhead with pale skin and a cobra tattooed on her lower back, abruptly turned and plowed into him, causing both of them to fall. 

            “Get off of me,” the stripper shouted, her knee finding Blue’s jaw as she scuttled across him in her panic.  Her heel jabbed him in the throat as she surged to her feet and then she was gone.

            Bama was reaching for Blue and then there was a blur that could have been movement and the big man was no longer there.  Blue turned his head and saw Bama’s bulk slamming into the wall ten feet away.  Bama came crashing down on the floor with a groan and then Blue lost sight of the big mother as the unruly mob pushed him forward. 

            Blue was very drunk, but he thought he saw the man with the bloody beard grin at him before a dark shape crashed into him at amazing speed, tackling him.  He was slammed into the floor, the air violently forced from his lungs, and Blue began to gag and cough as a dark shape straddled him.  Now he puked, splattering the bloody shape that had assaulted him with an abundance of vomit.  There were so many screams echoing off the walls now that it sounded like he had stumbled into a nightmare.

            He saw teeth in his face and Blue screamed, loosing himself in raw terror.  At once the mayhem was shattered by a thunderous gunshot.  The banshee wail of a chainsaw filled his ears and then Blue clearly saw the fiend straddling him, a monster with gore dripping from his bearded chin.  As this gruesome figure drew back, trying in vain to shield his face as another shotgun blast rang out, Blue began to tremble.  The bloody lunatic was flung away in a splash of crimson, rolling across the floor with a whimper. 

Blue rotated his head and beheld a tall man with a heavy mustache wielding a sawed-off shotgun.  This angry savior had a black headband on and his eyes were shimmering pools of heat.  Stubble lined his chin and his lips were compressed into a thin line.

A lithe young man sporting a manic grin bounded around the man with the mustache and this quick-footed daredevil came racing toward Blue with a chainsaw rumbling in his grasp.  Blue screamed as the young man easily leapt over him and he turned to watch this warrior plunge his roaring chainsaw into the writhing fiend who had tackled him only a moment before.  The lithe man destroyed his adversary with a few twists of his bucking weapon, a crimson mist staining him red as he deftly beheaded the bastard.  He kicked the bloody head across the floor, chuckling when a stripper whose shapely legs had been splashed with blood began to sob. 

Then the impish whore Blue had seen with the bearded man earlier slammed into the young man, knocking his chainsaw from his grasp and sending him sprawling.  People were still grappling toward the exits and Blue was violently shoved aside, but he continued to watch as the little woman advanced on her prey.

“Shit,” the lithe warrior muttered, quickly drawing a knife from his belt, but she took hold of his wrist as he tried to strike.

Blue sensed movement from behind, and even as his head swiveled in that direction, the tall man hurtled him and closed the distance in three loping strides.  He was pulling the trigger even as he thrust his shotgun into the bitch’s face.  Her skull exploded, her brains splattering everything and everyone within a ten-foot radius.

The young man was now drenched in gore.  “Thanks,” he muttered, his hair matted to his head with blood that wasn’t his own.

His tall cohort smiled and helped him up.  “You’re welcome, T.”

Blue heard more chainsaws and he turned to see a sleek figure with long black hair holding the stout bald man and his fascinating array of tattoos at arm’s length.  The man was fighting to free himself, twisting left an right while he lashed out wildly with his feet, but the sleek figure didn’t seem to notice.  While the stout man was suspended in mid-air, two young men who resembled one another enough to be brothers dismembered this third member of the sinister trio, their buzzing chainsaws ripping through flesh and scattering limbs. 

There was blood everywhere, and once the men with chainsaws finished their gory demolition, there was no sound save a whispering murmur of disbelief.  Bodies littered the floor and the club was now filled with faces that spoke of shock and dismay.  People were still scuttling out through the exits.

Blue didn’t see Bama anywhere.

The sleek figure with long black hair and the young man were leading the tall man with the shotgun and the two men with chainsaws toward the back door, and without knowing why, Blue followed them all the way out into the parking lot.  They were moving quickly, so he had to run to keep up with them.  As he trailed them across the asphalt, the tall man with the shotgun turned and took aim at him, stopping him in his tracks.

“Take me with you,” Blue said, surprising even himself.

The tall man didn’t respond.

“Please.”

The young man had doubled back as the others climbed into a hulking black van, and this blood-soaked warrior sized Blue up quickly.

“He said wants to come with us,” the tall man advised.

            “Bring him along for the ride,” came the cheerful reply.



Author's Note: 
This short story is a follow-up of sorts to my novels Trailer Park Trash & Vampires and Dirty Southside Jam.  It also serves as a bridge to what comes next for these unlikely heroes.  Stay tuned for more on that front.  For more on those books and my work in general, please visit jameswayland.com. 

Baller excerpt (Warning: Adult Content)

Baller revolves around a suspended NBA player and an old friend of his who earns a living starring in pornographic videos.  These unique pals are attending a private party at a posh resort in the mountains when a blizzard rolls in.  The lights go out, a murder is committed, and things quickly spiral out of hand.  None of the prestigious guests who have gathered at WinterCrest are safe.  A game with no rules is being played and deadly gifts have been scattered throughout this remote retreat.  Can our pair of unlikely heroes figure out who is responsible and save the day, or will they suffer a gruesome fate?

Here's a neat little excerpt from Baller that details what happens when a party guest who is up to no good stumbles upon one of the deadly gifts mentioned above:

An excerpt from Baller (Warning: Adult Content)           

Tommy shrieked.  He didn’t know what he had expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t a nest crawling with massive hornets.  To make matters worse, by opening the box he had disturbed an amber vial that had been rigged to spray.  He had been doused with a colorless liquid with an obnoxious smell.  Though Tommy couldn’t have known this, the chemical was known as 1-Pentanol.  It was the primary ingredient in the liquid commonly known as “hornet alarm pheromone,” and it was driving the big insects crazy.  Like many of their social peers, hornets can attack with the strength of the entire nest, identifying their prey with the pheromone.  

This agitated bunch was composed of some extremely large hornets, some over two inches long with heads as big as one of the rotund man’s fingernails.  The fat hornets were burgundy in color and they had thick yellow bands on their swollen abdomens. 

He reached for the lid, but it was too late.  They were coming for him, quickly vacating the box and buzzing angrily as they swarmed toward the startled man.  He abandoned his perch on the bed and screamed.

The alcohol in his bloodstream had made him jumpy.  Without thinking, he raised his weapon and fired three quick shots at the hornets that had taken flight before he emptied the clip in the box. 

He may have killed a couple of them, but that was debatable.  One thing was certain, he had definitely agitated all of the survivors even further.  Tommy flung himself at the door, knocking it open and slamming it so hard that it didn’t latch and instead rebounded back toward him, the hornets gliding through the opening.

“Son of a bitch!”  He screeched.

He turned and jumped for the stairs, landing awkwardly and flailing for balance.  He lost that battle and went tumbling down the staircase with a series of muffled shouts.  In addition to accumulating an array of bruises on his torso, he sprained his left ankle, tweaked his left knee, and nearly dislocated his right shoulder in the process. 

As he tried to stand, collapsing to his knees with a moan, one of the hornets finally caught up to him, stinging him on his hand as he flailed at it.  Another hornet stung him on his forehead.  The pain was instant and Tommy squealed even as he clapped his hand down on the hornet, trapping it against his flesh.  The little fucker stung him again and even bit him as he started to squash it, the bulging abdomen crunching loudly as yellow fluid that looked like mucus oozed out. 

Tommy seethed as he ground the hornet into mush.  Another hornet stung him on the back and he flailed again, disrupting the angry horde.

“Motherfuckers,” he roared.  “You dirty little motherfuckers!”

He dove and rolled, scurrying toward the money stowed by the front door.  The hornets continued to bear down on him, attacking as one, a buzzing monstrosity that thrived on rage.  One of them stung him on his lower back and he screamed again.  The stings were agonizing, far more painful than any that he had ever suffered before. 

Tommy was clawing his way forward, screaming.  He grabbed the money and thrust his shoulder into the door, knocking it open as he lunged out into the cold.  He slammed the door, spittle flying from his lips, but two of the hornets were out there with him, zipping around his face as he ducked and fell, sinking into the snow. 

The hornets were obviously disoriented by the cold and the gusting wind, but they were still coming.

“Damn you!  Damn you to hell!”  Tommy was in great pain and he was losing it.

He ripped his jacket off and used it like a whip, downing both of the vicious insects with a single clumsy strike.  He beat the jacket against the snow and stomped the area in which the hornets had fallen, dancing on their corpses as he trampled them, burying the big bastards in the compacted snow.

“You don’t like that shit, do you?  No, you don’t like that at all.  Lousy motherfuckers!  What in the fuck is going on here?  Son of a bitch!” 

For a few minutes he could do nothing but pace, furious, his body running so hot as a result of his fury, the multiple stings, and the booze coursing through him that he didn’t notice the brutal wind or the frigid cold. 

He was lost in a flurry of emotion, his beautiful plan marred by a situation so absurd that he couldn’t believe he had fallen for it.  Worse yet, even though he had been effectively victimized by this ridiculous scheme, he had no idea as to the intention behind such a ludicrous ploy.  He still had the fucking money and no one was moving in to take it at this, his greatest moment of weakness. 

Was it mindless terror?  A sick joke with no greater meaning?  That wasn’t likely.  It seemed like too much of a coincidence on this particular night, the night he had made his play and took his rightful place in this world.

Tommy was pondering what to do next when Lamont Fields finally eased the big double-deuce into the driveway.  Tommy was so out of sorts that he hadn’t even heard that gigantic machine’s engine rumbling as it approached.

Fields stepped out to greet him, concerned by his grave appearance.  “Damn, man, you all right?”

“No,” Tommy fumed.  “I am not all right.  I am not all right at all.  I am very, very pissed off right now.  As a matter of fact, I am so pissed off that if I were you, and I liked having my teeth in my mouth, I would probably just shut up and get back in the fucking truck.  And I probably wouldn’t say another word tonight if I damn well didn’t have to.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, I-“

“I said shut the fuck up and get back in the fucking truck!  Mouth closed, asshole!  Do you understand?”

Lamont could only look perplexed.

“Answer me!  Do you understand?”

“But I-“

Tommy slapped him.  Hard.  Fields wasn’t a man accustomed to such treatment and the indignation in his eyes was hard to miss, but Tommy couldn’t have cared less.  “Nod your motherfucking head, asshole.”

Lamont glared at him, but Tommy knew his place in the grand scheme of things and he was unafraid.  “Do you understand?”

Fields took a step back and nodded his head.

The Scoop on Trailer Park Trash & Vampires (plus an excerpt)

What's my novel about?  Well, it goes something like this:

War erupts between the living and the dead in this unholy romp pitting a ragtag band of misfits against a new breed of vampire. These creatures of the night aren't dapper fiends seducing lovestruck damsels, they are soulless monsters that thrive on carnage and prey on the innocent. Sex, drugs, and violence reign supreme in this gruesome struggle where nothing is sacred and everyone is fair game.
Sink your teeth into Trailer Park Trash & Vampires, a depraved plunge into pure mayhem laced with dark humor and drenched in blood.

. . . . .

When I set out to write this book, I had two goals in mind.  First, I wanted to do something new and different with vampires, and given the popularity of this sub-genre, that was a tall order.  However, I think I succeeded.  My vampires aren't bothered by crosses or garlic, they don't turn into bats, they don't sleep in coffins, and they may not dig the sun, but they can endure it.  They don't even have fangs.  By placing them in a trailer park and showing these fiendish creatures struggling to survive in our modern world, I think I was able to present a different side of these terrors, and I actually feel that their vulnerability makes them even more unpredictable and dangerous.

Secondly, I wanted to have a huge climax.  Who doesn't?  Seriously, nothing is more disappointing than a gripping tale with a lackluster finish, and I wanted to offer up an explosive conclusion in TPT&V.  The end result was a saga that simmers, slowly building momentum until boiling over in a bloody battle that encompasses the last third of the book.

Currently, the book has a 5 star rating on Amazon courtesy of 15 reviews.  Here are a few choice excerpts from those reviews:

"If you are looking for the glitzy hollywood-pretty vampires, which politely and quietly feed and sip upon the high society of Europe, and then delicately wipe their lips with a lacey wet-nap and break for tea and biscuits to discuss Faulkner --- look elsewhere."

-Mal Rorrer

"What Mr. Wayland has done here is to portray vampires the way I believe they should be portrayed, violent and animalistic. These vampires don't sparkle in the sunlight, they rip your throat out and laugh about it as you bleed to death.  The human characters in this story are no less entertaining that their inhuman counter parts. The collection of outcasts thrown together in this trailer park are all unique in their own way and each of them contributes something to the story (even if it's nothing more than acting as a vampire happy meal.)"

-Brandon Bowles

"Mr. Wayland has done away with the aristocratic bloodsuckers of Eastern Europe and replaced them with gritty, primal, and at times surprisingly human monsters. The author not only reinvents the vampire genre, but also creates characters that are powerful and easily related to. Readers will quickly forge bonds with the blue collar residents of Little Drop and their satanic assailants. Black humor abounds in this highly imaginative and blood-soaked romp through Anywhere, USA. If you are tired of the same old one-dimensional rehashed horror clichés then I strongly suggest you pick up a copy of this book."

-Erin Sprinkle

"Think Pulp Fiction meets the Evil Dead Trilogy.  There's plenty of action, insanity, and, of course, sex to keep any hot-blooded reader (vampire or human) hooked."

-William Brust

Additionally, I always envisioned releasing TPT&V as an illustrated novel, and I was able to partner with Chris Visions, an amazing talent, toward that end.  Here's one of the spectacular pieces of grisly artwork he provided for this edition:

Lastly, I didn't think this blog would be complete without an excerpt, so here's one of my favorite sequences from the novel.  This is the second chapter from the big finale, Part Four: Come Hell to Earth.  Here, our hero, Lennie Prescott, a drunk who was once a hell of a basketball player, is under attack.  Vlad, the oldest and most powerful of my vampires, has declared war on the people of Ryker's Trailer Park, and he's looking to kick his campaign off by taking Lennie's head.  Lennie has other ideas . . .

chapter 2: war

1

                                                                                                        

Lennie Prescott found himself dancing with the devil in the eye of the hurricane.   

The rain was pounding down in swirling sheets, stirred by the gusting winds.  The nightmare ride that had started back when the strangers took the trailer on Lot 9 had reached a fearsome crescendo.

      The big vampire was after him and it was on as it had never been on before.  Prescott was moving before his mind actually acknowledged the need to flee.  The big vampire was bearing down on him and Lennie was running, his sore muscles answering the call of duty.

     This then would be either his finest hour or his last.  God knew he was going to try, but if he was a betting man-

     But it was better not to think of such things, it was better to move.  It was better to take hold of the doorknob and thrust the door open, slamming it behind him as he rushed into the camper.  Don’t stop!  Prescott wouldn’t allow himself any time to take pride in the seconds he had earned.  Pride meant death and he knew it. 

     Anything other than allegiance to the battle would result in failure. Lennie grabbed the couch, the ugly piece of shit couch that no one could ever like, and the adrenaline coursing through him boosted his strength.  He was able to thrust the ravaged piece of furniture against the door, wedging it shut with a single monstrous shove.

     But Vlad wasn’t coming through the door.  The vampire dove through the kitchen window, rising up amidst the shattered glass with a grace that would have seemed more at home in a ballet as the camper rocked violently.

    “Motherfucker,” Lennie said.  The beast was no more than six feet away.

     Vlad brushed himself off gleefully and offered the teacher a big smile.  “Howdy, neighbor.” 

     For an instant, Lennie thought he was going to faint.  His legs went rubbery and he wavered on his feet.  A single thought kept him alert: Toby. 

It was going down and Toby was defenseless.  Well, maybe not defenseless, as sharp as he was, he probably had a better chance of getting through this than Lennie did.  But he was outmatched.  They were all outmatched if they went at it alone.

      All these thoughts raced through his mind in no more than a second and then it was just like before, he was moving before he had decided to take action.

     The vampire started laughing.

     Lennie moved the couch just enough to open the door and dashed outside, pulling the door shut carefully and letting up at the last moment so that the locking mechanism didn’t catch as Vlad lunged after him.  The storm was picking up and the moisture on the ground made it hard to keep his footing, but he battled for traction. 

Prescott waited a beat and kicked the door open on the oncoming vampire, catching him high on the forehead with the aluminum frame.  Vlad stumbled backward, spitting curses. 

It was familiar, this motion without thought, this inspired drive that came from being called upon in the heat of battle.  His life was in jeopardy and part of him was petrified, but part of him was thrilled to be a keg in the machine once more.  There had been games when he felt like this, contests where the heated competition had triggered moments where his primitive nature took hold and his body and spirit merged, excluding his mind from the proceedings. 

It was as though Lennie’s intellect became an observer in such situations.

A jagged bolt of lightning arced across the sky as the vampire leapt outside with a fearsome roar.  Lennie made a U-turn and used his momentum to pitch himself toward the broken kitchen window.  He knew such a leap wouldn’t be nearly as easy for him as it was for the beast, but he thought it was possible. 

He was cut on his forearms and his belly as he went through and he slammed down on the tile floor awkwardly, but by some miracle, he came to his feet quickly, his momentum carrying him across the room.  He crashed into the tiny kitchen table he kept against the wall and sent the chairs clattering to the floor.  Without hesitating, Lennie bounded into the living room, shoving the couch forward, using it to barricade the door a second time.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Vlad groaned.  He ignored the window this time and patiently made his way around the camper, looking for a back door but finding only a tiny ventilation shaft. 

Lennie went to the gas stove and turned all the eyes on “HIGH,” pinching off the pilot lights with his thumb and index finger.  He ripped open drawers until he found a lighter and put it in his pocket.  He could smell the gas in the air and it made him think of the family cookouts he had enjoyed as a youngster.

His mind had yet to catch up with his body.

Well, there you have it, the inside scoop on my baby, TPT&V.  If you enjoyed this, I promise you that you'll have a great time with the book.  I strongly believe that fiction should exist solely to entertain, and no one will be bored with this novel.  Thanks for taking the time to read this blog, and I hope to see you at the trailer park!

Click either of the following links to buy the version you prefer:

6 x 9 Paperback - $8.99

Kindle Version - $1.99

Warning: Explicit Content

Trailer Park Trash & Vampires Excerpt: Meet Lynne Shelby

Let's cut right to the chase.  I'm a fan of girl power, and there are some strong female characters in my book.  However, it's not like you can title your novel Trailer Park Trash & Vampires without inviting a tramp or two to the party.  With that said, I would like to introduce you to Lynne Shelby. 

     The following scene takes place at Sloggins Recreational Center, a local hotspot where the misfits from Ryker's Trailer Park and the rich kids from The Glen (a posh retirement community located nearby) gather for a dip in the swimming pool.  It's a hot summer day and the place is packed, but Lynne Shelby is about to hit the scene and she's eager to add some drama to the proceedings.   

Trailer Park Trash & Vampires Excerpt: Meet Lynne Shelby

 (from Chapter 1: Brilliant Summer Day)

After she claimed a lawn chair with a towel, Lynne Shelby slipped out of her shorts.  Her nails were painted black so they would match her miniscule bikini.  She peeled off her shirt and a kid wearing red swimming trunks actually gasped.  The exercise was really paying off.  She was willing to bet that no one here could even come close to guessing her age.

“Can you believe that?”  An old hag wearing a straw hat big enough to pass for a modest sombrero griped loudly.

“Senile old bitty,” Lynne Shelby hissed, making sure that her voice was every bit as loud.  She was hoping that her would-be adversary would say something back.  Lynne remained tense for the better part of a minute, her eyes blazing with primal heat.  Nothing would be better than a confrontation.  She absolutely thrived on being the center of attention. 

Alas, there was no fight in the older woman.  Aware that she was being baited, she wisely decided to say no more.

Lynne studied her surroundings, anxious to discover someone looking at her.  She was wearing one of her slightest swimsuits, a scant bikini with a Brazilian-cut bottom that left most of her round ass exposed to the world.  Lynne Shelby was quite proud of what the good lord had given her.  She had the kind of body that men wanted and she knew it. 

She applied plenty of lotion so that her tan skin glistened in the burning sun.  Yearning to feel eyes raking her over, she began to stretch provocatively.    A smile spread across her lips as she caught some of the kids from The Glen openly ogling her.  She pretended to make adjustments to her top while in reality she was merely pressing her breasts together to make her cleavage appear more significant. 

“Oh my,” the woman who had spoke out earlier groaned.  “Would ya just look at that?  This ain’t a strip club, is it?”  As she shook her head in disgust there came a strong gust of wind and she had to grab her big hat to keep it from being blown off.

Her short brown hair whipping about in the sudden breeze, Lynne moistened her lips with her tongue and gave the boys a knowing wink.  She knew what they would be thinking about later when they were lying in bed.  The thought of what they would do to themselves with her body in mind brought a fierce gush of warmth between her thighs.

She was 39, and in less than two months she would be 40, but she could still turn any man’s head, whether he was 15 or 55.

She was fine.  It wasn’t easy to keep a flat stomach and a firm ass.  Lynne ran two miles on a daily basis and worked out for forty-five minutes or longer at least four days a week.  It was hard work, but she wanted men to want her.

Men were all that mattered, men like Lennie Prescott, . . . she’d love to bring him home for the night.  He was getting big, but she knew he could give her a ride.  For some reason she couldn’t comprehend, as of yet, she had been unable to snare him.  She had certainly tried.  Her trailer was on Lot 7, just behind his camper.

Okay, maybe the fact that he lived in a camper was a bit of a turn-off, but aside from that, Lennie Prescott was all man.  She had been hanging out in enough bars in Bisby and Miller a few years ago to catch glimpses of him playing basketball on the television, and that alone afforded him more celebrity than anyone else in Little Drop.

She had flaunted her wares enough when he was around, but he hadn’t copped to it thus far.  She was spending a lot more time lying out in the sun than was necessary, and whenever he was outside she was always finding some reason to bend over.  He didn’t seem to be interested in anything other than drinking.

Maybe he was just too drunk to respond properly. 

Maybe he was just going to take a little more work to get started.  All men started differently but finished the same.

After thinking it over for a moment, Lynne decided that she was just going to have to be a little more forward with Mr. Prescott.  The feisty cougar grinned as she basked in the blazing heat, rubbing her delicate feet together and scanning the poolside, always conscious of the hungry stares she attracted.

“Excuse me,” she said to a teenage boy with pale skin that was already starting to burn.  “Would you mind putting a little more lotion on my back?”

“Really?”  He asked eagerly, blushing furiously.

“Really,” Lynne said. 

She allowed him to rub more lotion on her legs as well, smiling broadly as the woman in the straw hat wondered if someone should call the police.  When the teenage boy’s erection nudged her left foot as he worked on her calves, she briefly caressed the small bulge in his baggy swimming trucks with her heel.  When he finished, he sat beside her for at least five minutes before he dared to stand and depart, and she smiled the whole time, chatting amicably about nothing in particular.

It was good to be wanted.  For Lynne Shelby, little else mattered.

The Mighty Chris Visions

I had the pleasure of working with Chris Visions on the illustrated edition of my novel, Trailer Park Trash & Vampires.  The artwork gracing my page here is from the stupendous cover he prepared, and all of the grisly illustrations he composed for the book were savage treats.  He has a wealth of skill and style, and I could go on and about his composition.  Recently, I got to interview Chris for RVA Magazine.  The end result was a fun piece that reveals a lot about Chris and his methods, among other things.  I encourage you to check out RVA and scope out my interview with the mighty Chris Visions.

Movie Town's 28th Birthday Party!

I am definitely looking forward to this.  This is a great opportunity for the people of Martinsville and Henry County to support local artists, and the setting is a place that I'm incredibly fond of.  Night of the Vampires at one of my favorite places?  Oh yeah.  This is going to be a blast!
Come meet the cast of Young Blood and see a local film on the big screen.  Mat and Myron have put a lot of effort and ingenuity into their movie. 
Sink your fangs into a personalized copy of Trailer Park Trash & Vampires.  I will be on hand with the illustrated edition, so you can enjoy a bloodthirsty romp complete with the incredible artwork Chris Visions created just for this volume. 
Celebrate 28 years of Movie Town in grand fashion. 

For more on Young Blood, check this out: Young Blood facebook page

For more on the phenom known as Chris Visions and his amazing artwork, scope this out: Chris Visions

To learn more about Trailer Park Trash & Vampires, go here: Trailer Park Trash & Vampires on shelfari

And, of course, last but not least, if you want to learn more about Movie Town, visit their website: Movie Town "About Us"

Fall Book Festival

I'm really excited about taking part in the Fall Book Festival that Binding Time Cafe has slated for tomorrow.  There are going to be fourteen authors in the mix, and there will be all kinds of titles to choose from.  The festival starts at 10:00 and will last until 2:00.
Of course, Halloween is just around the corner, and I think I'm the only horror author in the mix, so that should bode well for me.  I can't thank the good people of Binding Time Cafe enough for putting this together, and I'm looking forward to signing some books and giving race fans and local readers nightmares!

Binding Time Cafe in Martinsville, VA

Binding Time Cafe is a great place to pick up a book or a killer cup of coffee, among other things.