Business in Biloxi
Dorian Blue #36.3
Painting by caarrp
She let the damp heat take over her senses. Cicadas hummed and the waters of the gulf weren’t far afield. She’d never been to Biloxi before, but it was high time. What should have been paradise was instead an aging sprawl of casinos and beaches caked in whatever filth the gulf tides brought in. The city had lost its confidence and luster and was well aware of it, languishing in bygone days that weren’t so glorious themselves. But all of that was quaint to her. It had the unique despair of an American city, so young but already so hollowed out. She rolled up her sleeves, questioning her decision to wear anything other than a tank top.
She was parked on the side of a Mississippi River offshoot, slightly above the murky water. There was a small beach, nothing more than a spit of sand, a hundred feet downriver. A group of men in baseball caps and faded denim shared beers and blunts. They hadn’t taken notice of her. It was pitch black and she was a lone motorcycle rider, gender indeterminate in the hazy dark. They talked about women, their construction work, and a trip to Shreveport they wanted to take when they had the money. It was a pipe dream and they all knew it. Whatever money they did have was funneled right back into their vices. She decided to let them be. She wasn’t very hungry, and even though taking on four grown men was possible for her, it wasn’t pleasant.
She hopped back onto the bike, speeding towards nowhere in particular. The sprawl of the city lent itself to many hidden enclaves. Most of them were boring, neighborhoods full of houses with peeling paint and RVs in the back. Some of them had more interesting features: gimmicky bars, boats for rental, and gun ranges. She’d even heard tell of a goth bar with people dressed up as vampires. The idea of dressing up as a vampire was always amusing to her. There was no one way that they all looked. If most vampires showed up looking as they normally did, they wouldn’t fit the dress code at all. Such was the way of humans. Everything had to be delineated sharply, or else the true reality of the grays would scare the Jesus right out of them.
She tried to remember where the bar was. She had overheard a pair of locals talking about it. They hadn’t bought the rumors that there were real vampires there. She wasn’t so convinced either, seeing it as a 50/50 tossup. Her kind, especially the younger ones, liked using the gimmick to hide in plain sight. She didn’t blame them; the trappings of it were fun. Though sometimes, it led to them being too reckless. She hoped whatever she found there wasn’t going to warrant any clean up work on her part. It was always a dreary task to put misbehaving vampires back in line.
She merged onto the main highway, enjoying the air whipping past her as she sped up. She understood why the system of highways dominated the American landscape like a web of arteries. It brought unparalleled freedom to a population often caught in dead ends. The types of vampires that chose to settle in this vast country were different than the ones she was accustomed to. But she liked the thrill. It had yet to disappoint her. She remembered the exit number mentioned. She had two more to go. She had to work hard to cut over to the rightmost lane. The cars around her were unyielding, annoyed that she had her own place to go, but she prevailed. The exit ramp deposited her in a clearing of dead grass and concrete. It looked abandoned, until she saw a lone building on the edge. It looked almost abandoned, but she could already sense the activity around it.
Over the front door, garish neon red letters spelled out Ruthven’s Roost. Someone had done their research. Wolf had enjoyed the novel about Lord Ruthven when it came out, but it was nothing extraordinary. It was less of a vampire story and more of an attempt of a jilted lover trying to claw back control from his mentor. She parked her motorcycle in the back parking lot. Cracks ran through the concrete, filled with weeds. There were only a few other vehicles, parked on the edges. She hoped her bike wouldn’t stand out, at least not in a negative way. While getting into a scrape every now and then was fun, it became tiring fast. She wanted to be entertained by the locals, whether human or vampire.
As she walked to the door, loud music thumped from inside. It was electronic, but infused with darkness. There was a bouncer, human, in a black tank top and sunglasses. He examined her driver’s license with little care. It was a well-crafted fake ID. She had new ones made almost every year.
The bar’s interior was a decent attempt at aping a real goth club. In some areas, like the bar counter painted black, it shone. In others, like the dart board in the back, it failed. Whoever owned it wasn’t committed enough to their own theming. She imagined it wasn’t easy having a bar that was even a whiff alternative in such a bible thumping region. When fundamentalists had a target in mind, they dug their talons in. Without something sinful to rail at, what was the point? While many of the patrons were wearing black clothes, goth was certainly a stretch. They had more of a biker and metalhead feel, which was fine with her.
She caught the eye of the bartender, a man with long black hair that had a few streaks of gray. In his black cut-off tee, spiked bracelets and smudged eyeliner, he was the most goth thing in the establishment.
“Hey, what can I getcha?” he said. Friendlier service than she had expected.
“Some whiskey on the rocks, please,” she said. It seemed a fitting order.
“You feeling something more top shelf or low shelf?” He picked up a clean tumbler and shoveled a few ice cubes in.
“Something comfortably in the middle, if you don’t mind,” she said, taking out her wallet. “I trust your judgment.”
He smiled, just a little. “So, where are you from? I don’t think I’ve heard an accent like yours before.”
“Norway,” she answered.
“Wow,” he said, turning briefly to fetch a bottle of whiskey. He flicked his wrist to pour it, the amber liquid making the ice crackle. “What are you doing around here?”
She shrugged. “Just exploring. I love to motorbike, so your highway system has really been a boon for me.”
He pushed the glass out to her. “Yeah I bet. Just don’t go too fast around here. The cops are out there handing out tickets like candy.”
“Good to know,” she said, pulling out her wallet.
“Sure thing. That’ll be eight bucks.”
She handed him a ten. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Hope you have a good rest of your trip.”
She smiled. “I appreciate that.”
Glass in hand, she spotted a table towards the back. A perfect place to people watch. Even after so many centuries of doing it, she always found something interesting from it. This time was no different, especially being in such a new locale. A few drunk women were dancing, being eyed by the men sitting nearby. The energy of the place was decidedly male, but her presence was going unnoticed. She figured if she sat there long enough, something would come her way. She sniffed the whiskey; it was noxious stuff, but it secured her place there.
She noticed another woman walk in. She had short, bleach blonde hair, spiked up with gel. The bartender recognized her, and they chatted as he made her drink, without her even having to order it. When he put it in front of her, she didn’t pay. Wolf considered this. Did it point to a relationship between them, or did she know someone who owned the place? The woman looked around the room, her corset top laced tight. She looked Wolf right in the eye and winked. Wolf chuckled to herself. She liked being noticed by the right people. Right after, the woman sauntered over.
“I hope this seat isn’t taken.” She spoke with a honey-sweet drawl.
“Not at all,” Wolf said, motioning for her to sit. “So what’s your name?”
“Cheyenne,” she said, taking the first sip of her drink and sighing. “Lord I needed that.”
“Tough day?”
She leaned in closer, a wild glint in her eye. “You wouldn’t believe it.”
“Tell me more,” Wolf said, shouldering off her leather jacket.
“Well, I just started this new job at a beauty shop. I thought I was a shoe-in, but the lady who runs the counter with me seems to think I can’t do anything right. At first, I thought it wasn’t personal, but when I was coming back from my smoke break, I heard her saying something crazy.” She paused, taking another swig.
“What did she say?” Wolf said, mimicking a sip of her own.
Cheyenne dropped her voice to as low of a volume as she could. “That I only got the job because I’m a stuck-up slut.”
“Wow, that’s low. She must be jealous of you.”
“I don’t like thinking that way, but you’re probably right,” she said, shaking her head. “I tried so hard to be nice to her, but some people are hopeless.”
“Yes, you can’t save them all,” Wolf said, leaning her elbow on the table.
“That’s enough about me,” she said with a grin. “What’s your name? And what brings you so out into the sticks — you’re from somewhere in Europe, right?”
“Yes, I’m from Norway,” she answered, “my name is Wolf.”
She had been asked about her origins many times throughout her month spent in the states. Her accent was just ‘other’ enough to be noticeable, but not instantly recognizable like something of the British variety.
“Wow, that’s cool. You choose that yourself or is it a nickname you’ve gotten?” Cheyenne said, her interest only growing.
“Both, in a way,” Wolf said. “It started as something my brothers teased me with, but I quite liked it. The name made me feel strong.”
“I think it suits you,” she said, smiling. “I like when a woman knows her own strength.”
Wolf nodded in agreement. “
“I used to run a business with my husband, back in Norway. After he passed away I decided to retire, and I’ve been traveling ever since.”
“I’m sorry about that,” she said.
“It’s okay,” Wolf said.
“I’m gonna go freshen up,” Cheyenne said, motioning at her faded lipstick. From the way she moved, Wolf knew she wanted her to follow. She was happy to, of course. She took her jacket with her, knowing they probably wouldn’t see that table again.
“Can I ask you something?” she said, eyes lidded. “Are you one of…them?”
“One of what, darling?”
“I think you know,” she said, lifting up her chin and exposing her neck.
Wolf smiled. Her night was growing more interesting by the second. “So there are vampires here?”
Unbeknownst to Cheyenne, men were in the hallway gathered outside of the bathroom. Though they were talking in low voices, Wolf could hear them through the door.
“…you really think that lady’s a vampire?”
“