Bruces Last Night

Author's note: The Carter brothers' legend continues. All names except the Carters and Philippe Trufont are my own creation to build the story around the legend. My description of the bar I named "Dominique's Dungeon" is an accurate description of a place in the French Quarter I've visited several times. Yes, you can see bikers dancing with cowgirls, Goths dancing with ravers and couples making out in the courtyard. And if you meet a young man in black silk clothes just keep telling yourself "There's no such thing as vampires."

*

The only sound in the interrogation room was the tick of the clock. It was 11:15 A.M. when the sergeant came in to question Mr. Fremont.

"Mr. Fremont, I'm Sergeant DeVallera. I'm going to read you your rights before any questioning..."

"The arresting officer did that. I've waived my right to an attorney."

"So I was told," replied the detective. "But this is for the record. You have the right to remain silent..."

Ben Fremont listened without looking at the man. When DeVallera finished Fremont carefully articulated "I waive my right to an attorney. I will answer your questions to the best of my ability."

The sergeant was stunned. "You do know you're facing murder charges, don't you?'

"Yes."

"I think I should call the public defender's office," said the sergeant.

"If you like," Fremont continued "I'll talk under any circumstances."

DeVallera looked him in the face. "Why, Mr. Fremont?"

"I had to do it. Whatever was in Bruce's body wasn't Bruce."

"I don't understand."

"Did you work on the Carter brothers case?" Fremont asked.

"Everyone in the precinct worked on that. Your son was one of the survivors."

"No," said Fremont. "My son died in that chamber of horrors. What came out in his body was nothing like Bruce."

"So you handcuffed him..."

"IT!" Fremont interrupted. "While IT slept I handcuffed IT to the radiator, poured gasoline on the floor and set fire to the house. When the fire department arrived I prevented them from entering by firing a shotgun over their heads until I was sure the house was fully involved and there was no way that thing could survive."

"Excuse me," said DeVallera standing up and heading out the door.

In the next room the assistant district attorney sat watching the proceedings on a video screen. DeVallera opened the door and broke his concentration. "Well, what do you think so far?"

"Insanity plea?" said the lawyer. "Not doing a very good job if that's his plan. Only thing for sure is that we've lost a witness against the Carters."

*

Ten hours earlier.

Bill Wallace wondered how he had missed New Orleans all his life. Nineteen years of hiding his homosexuality from his wife and he'd never been to New Orleans. This town was a wet dream come true and Dominique's Dungeon was a bar to remember.

The building in its prime had been the French Quarter home of a plantation owner. Sometime in the twentieth century it had been transformed into an avant-guard watering hole for writers and poets of every sexual preference. Now it still served every preference but its clientèle were mostly tourists trying to relive the literary hay days and locals who didn't want to be noticed by their neighbors.

Bill had never seen anything like the dance floor: A barely legal female "candy raver" with jewelry that looked like M&Ms danced with a middle aged biker in a Harley Davidson jacket. A cowgirl in white hat, denim mini skirt and knee high boots tangoed with a goth boy in a black kilt. Two gay leather men and a lesbian couple with dog collars joined by leashes finished the picture, and then there was Bruce.

Bill noticed Bruce in his black silk clothes, shoulder length black hair and a face out of an Ann Rice novel. As if he were reading Bill's thoughts he approached and sat down next to him at the bar.

"Merlot for me, and give this guy another Jack Daniels" Bruce ordered the bartender. How did he know that I was drinking Jack Daniels Bill wondered.

"Let's step outside for a cigarette," Bruce ordered Bill, again reading his mind. More intrigued than scared, Bill followed him into the courtyard.

In the center of the courtyard was a fountain with a statue of a naked man and woman in a position the Kama Sutra might cover. On the stone seat next to it was a couple, fully clothed but apparently trying to imitate the statue. Bill marveled at the French kiss the woman performed on her man as she stood over him pulling his head backwards.

"Looks like she's trying to lick his ball from the inside," said Bruce. "Here try this." He offered Bill a cigarette like none Bill had ever seen.

Before he could ask Bruce answered "Marijuana, cloves and angel dust. It makes police doggies crazy and lowers your inhibitions. You look like you came here cruising for boys."

Bill was starting to get scared, but still intrigued. "Yeah, I like boys."

Bruce finished his sentence for him. "You've done a good job hiding it from your wife. If you're tired paying boys for sex would you like to come home with me and see what a man can do for you?" There was no audible click as Bruce held up a glowing lighter for Bill's cigarette.

"Yes," Bill said taking his first puff of the dope. Stars began to twinkle in Bill's eyes all around Bruce as this strange host lit his own cigarette.

"If you're ready, my home is near by," said Bruce. He took Bill's hand and for the first time Bill felt the coldness of Bruce's flesh. The temperature of the New Orleans night was a comfortable seventy degrees, but Bruce's hand felt like it had been refrigerated.

Bill let Bruce lead him through the narrow streets to a white shotgun house across a wide street from St. Louis Cemetery. Houses that had once stood on either side of it had long ago been torn down and replaced by tall grass and empty beer bottles. A privacy fence surrounded the house on three sides.

Bruce dropped Bill's hand and opened the door as Bill climbed the steps to find himself in a living room out of the nineteenth century. In weak yellow light he saw Bruce turn to him and take off his silk shirt. Bruce was absolutely hairless from the neck down, not a chest or armpit hair marred his pale skin. He raised his hand and gestured for Bill to follow him into the next room.

The light was no brighter in the bedroom but Bill made out an antique sleigh bed and a radiator that looked like they came from a vintage furniture store. Bruce turned to him and began to unbutton the older man's shirt. His flesh was cold all over, but Bill found it stimulating, perhaps because of the drugs they had smoked. Bruce opened Bill's pants and gently pushed him to sit on the bed while he pulled off his shoes and socks the removed Bill's pants and underwear, letting Bill's seven inches spring free.

Kneeling on the floor Bruce looked up into Bill's wide open eyes. "Lie back," he ordered, wrapping his cold hands around Bill's testicles.

Bill looked up into a ceiling fan that spun I front of a mirror. His naked body stood out on white sheets as Bruce's head bobbed up and down, cold wet lips stimulating the length of his penis and cold fingers fondling his balls. One finger found his anus and stimulated his prostate gland. Stars began exploding around the room as Bill shot his load into Bruce's mouth.

Bruce let go of Bill and stood up. He kicked off his own shoes and removed his silk pants. Bill glimpsed then looked again at the dick that stood out from his host's body: He had never seen one like it. It had to be nine inches long but less than half an inch wide thick a dark bulbous head.

Bruce pulled Bill's knees up and stood with his dick touching Bill's anus. He reached around Bill's thigh with one hand to fondle his dick and balls. With the other he touched Bill's anus. Bill wondered why his ass felt as if it already had lubricant on it. How was Bruce doing that? Was that his finger?

Bruce penetrated him without a word, sliding into him. The stars appeared around him again as he began rutting like an animal. Holy Shit thought Bill, how the hell is he doing that? It felt like that needle of a dick was spinning inside him, touching his prostate gland and bladder at the same time. How was he doing that?

The sight of their fucking in the mirror was the last thing he remembered before the drugs sent him into a deliriously sensual dream.

When Bill woke up in the antique bed, Bruce was nowhere in sight. A warm sunlight filtered through cracks in the shuttered window. Their clothes were scattered on the floor.

Bill's head hurt, so he decided to seek the kitchen and hoped that this guy kept the makings of a bloody Mary for a "hair of the dog." He stumbled into the kitchen and found an ancient white refrigerator. When he opened it he found not a hang over cure but three severed human heads. Their eyelids and lips had been sliced off and they stared at him in horrible grins.

What ever had been in Bill's stomach tried desperately to climb out of his mouth, dropping him to his knees, retching in pain. Bruce's bare feet stepped into his view. Bill slowly looked up at the naked man, not pausing at his flaccid penis but fixing on his flashing eyes. What was that in his hand?

Bill felt Bruce grab his hair and pull his neck to expose it. Still retching, he was unable to do anything to stop the knife as Bruce severed his carotid artery. Bruce's cold lips closed over the wound.

*

At 11:25 A.M. Sergeant Pat DeVallera and Assistant District Attorney Silas Washington had stared at the man on the video for some minutes when a uniformed NOPD officer interrupted them.

"Call for you two on line 1," the policeman croaked. Washington picked it up.

"Washington... Uh huh. Thanks. I'll let you know."

"Fire department or coroner?" asked DeVallera.

"Coroner," Washington answered. "Five bodies so far. One they think is Bruce Fremont, but it was burned beyond recognition. One in the kitchen, three headless ones in the tool shed out back and three heads in the refrigerator just like this man said... Where you goin'?"

DeVallera was on his feet and half way to the door. "Trufont's place first," he mumbled. "His place is closest. Then I'm going to check on Molly Johnson and the Boudreau girl. We're down to three witnesses against the Carters. I'll be damned if I'm gonna let those monsters get away. You comin'?"

"Yeah, right behind you."

NOT THE END.