SKULL THE SLAYER in…

SKULL THE SLAYER

The Big Easy!

By Curt Fernlund

New Orleans, Louisiana

“Vieux Carré”: the French Quarter

Several Days Past…

James Scully stood in the shadow of Oz.

He shook out his black longcoat under the overhanging wrought iron balcony watching as the pouring rain slowly lessened. It was like that in the South; one minute the weather would be near perfect, the next the humidity would roll in like a warm, sodden blanket on the preceding edge of a storm that would dump inches of torrential rain in the space of minutes. Then just as suddenly it would be gone and clear, hot and humid again. He hated it.

He could see wisps of steam rising from the cobbles of St. Anne’s Street as emerald light flickered in scattered puddles reflecting from the club across the way. Little by little he saw people emerging from the buildings along the street, coming out into the humid night to brave the elements again now that the worst of the storm had passed. He saw the obvious tourists moving along the centuries old street out for a night of daring revelry on the ‘Lavender Line’. More so though he saw the regulars; those men and women that could still afford to live in the French Quarter after the building boom of the 1980’s had taken over and tried to ‘Yuppie-fy’ everything as it did everywhere. The street quickly filled, the ornately decorated ironwork balconies overhead suddenly bustling with merriment and drinking, a testament to the city’s open container law; a typical Friday night in the French Quarter.

Scully turned his collar against the fading rain and darted out into the steady flow of traffic. It was late – or early as one looked at it – and the bustling avenue was as busy at night as it was during the weekly business days. He weaved through the blinding headlights and blaring horns of cars, ignoring the curses of drivers until he stepped up onto the crowded sidewalk on the far side of the street.

James Scully slipped through the open doorway of Oz and was immediately accosted by the sights and sounds within. Jazz played over the club’s speaker system, the live band’s last set having ended long ago. Cigarette and cigar smoke at least drifted lazily overhead diffusing the various shades of green jell cell light flickering from overhead in rhythm to the loud music. Despite the air-conditioning he could feel the heat, smell the sweat of the bodies gyrating on the dance floor that was still packed and lively despite the hour.

It took him a moment as he threaded through the crowd on the dance floor to realize the clientele. Most were younger than he was and definitely looking a little higher end. He saw a lot of leather and jewelry, fedoras and horn-rimmed glasses accessorizing tight fitting suits and skinny ties more fitting the Sixties in the current Hipster kind of way. The women wore designer jeans ripped just so at the thighs and knees and leather boots that probably cost more than he made in a month. He’d stepped into a trend setting club; one of the largest and oldest Gay clubs along the ‘Velvet Line’ on the outer edge of the city’s Gay District. Not that he cared.

Scully shoved into an open slot at the crowded bar and waved down the bartender. She waved him off; busy at the far end with what looked to be a group of bikers that seemed totally out of place in the club. She looked good in her black leathers he thought, a nice body from what he could see, and her purple hair buzzed close on the left and spiked on the right with multiple piercings in both ears; silver hoops of different sizes dangling. He watched, lighting another cigarette as she set up the bikers with Boiler-makers then made her way back down the bar serving patrons along the way heading eventually towards him.

“Bud,” he ordered when she finally got to him in the long line down the bar. She snorted.

“Really?” she laughed. “I would have figured you for Coor’s Light.”

“Just the beer, Sweetie. Save the commentary.”

“Suit yourself, Stud.” Scully smirked as she tapped the beer kegs under the bar. Before long he had a frosty mug of ‘America’s Favorite’ set down in front of him. “Four!”

“Jeez…”

Jim Scully dug into his longcoat and then his tattered blue jeans finally finding his wallet. He dropped a Lincoln on the bar for the beer then thought better of it. He pulled a Hamilton out, and then another and finally set those on the bar as well keeping his elbow on the bills as he drank his watered-down beer, waiting for the bar tender to come his way again. It took awhile.

“Those for me?” the bartender asked as she tugged at the two ten-dollar bills he was holding down.

“Maybe… Depends…” he grumbled as he searched his coat for his cigarettes. Finding the old, crumpled pack he shook another out and lit up with his Zippo, blowing smoke at the ceiling feeling a bit calmer. He downed the last of his beer.

“On?”

“I’m lookin’ for someone.”

“Yeah, most people are; especially in the LINE.”

Scully smirked, knowing what she meant. “Nothin’ like that,” he assured her. “I’m lookin’ for a girl.” The bartender pulled her hand away from the money with a disgusted look on her face.

“This ain’t no ‘Chicken Coop’, old man. Best you get your sick ass outta here for I call the bouncers.” The woman was enraged as she started looking around for the club’s security guards. Scully stared at her dumbfounded until he finally realized what she probably thought he had meant. He had said ‘girl’ in a Gay bar and she was probably a Lesbian. Scully bit down on the butt of his cigarette and sighed, shaking his head. God he hated the South.

“Listen,” he soothed trying to regain her attention and calm her down. He slid the two twenty-dollar bills forward a bit more. “Please… Let me start again.” The bartender glared at him giving the bar a once over again but apparently the bouncers were not in sight, Still staring daggers she stepped closer and Scully saw her right hand slip down out of sight behind the bar. Baseball bat, Scully thought. At least he hoped that was all it was.

“Guess I ought’a learn to phrase things better.” Scully shrugged taking another drag from his cigarette. “Gotten me into trouble before; I was kind’a outta the loop for a few years.” The woman bartender looked at him curiously but still giving him an evil eye so Scully hurried on.

“I’m looking for a woman; an old friend. She gave me a call outta the blue a couple days ago. Said she was down here in New Orleans and needed help. She sounded in a bad way, Y’know? Really outta sorts and maybe a little strung out.”

The bartender frowned but finally brought her hand back in sight as she leaned forward crossing her arms to rest on the bar. Her lips twisted as she considered Scully.

“What’s her name?” she finally asked.

“Ann,” he answered wishing he had a photo. “Blonde, about my age; pretty. I’m not really sure where she’s from. Never had a southern accent so I figure not from around here. Probably been here a few months but I dunno how long. We fell outta touch for a while. Last name’s Reynolds, or maybe Farrow.”

The bartender thought for a moment. “A lotta women come down here trying to make a name for themselves,” she admitted. “I did; play a mean Jazz trumpet but never got a break outside of a few gigs in sleazy dives. Failed musicians mainly, singers and the like. I tend bar mainly. She one ‘a those?” Scully took a final draw on his cigarette and crushed the butt in the plastic ash tray on the bar top.

“I dunno. She never mentioned that. Really, I got no idea why she ended up down here. I figure she was raised somewhere up north.”

“Not too good a friend then, hunh?”

“She was,” Scully frowned, wishing he knew more about Ann to offer. He supposed he was a little bit of the chauvinist she had always accused him of being. “We were good friends for a long time though… went through a lot together. I had problems though and I kind’a lost track. Her call came outta the blue. I don’t even know how she found me again.” The woman behind the bar smiled waving off someone down the line wanting service.

“Internet’s a dangerous thing,” she mused, “People learn way more about you than you’d like sometimes. I gave up Facebook months ago.”

“I wouldn’t know much about that.” The woman’s eyes narrowed as she shook her head turning to grab a bottle of Jim Beam off the well-stocked shelf.

“You have been ‘outta the loop’,” she laughed as she popped the seal off the fresh bottle of whiskey. “Well, I haven’t heard the name, but you might try Shady Sadie’s over on Kerlerec in Marigny; place called the ‘Grey Mare’. Little place but it caters to the older crowd, and the younger likes to go that flow. Most of her ‘girls’ are mature women; do most anything for the right price; Mommy, school teacher, mistress…

“Not my cup ‘a tea, but a lotta young bucks like to be controlled, Y’know; told what to do. If she’s a looker and willing and needin’ money you might try there.” She glanced at the clock on the shelf beneath the huge mirror on the wall behind the bar. “Probably closed now though. Hold on…”

Scully drew out another cigarette as he watched the woman fill the man’s drink who was pestering her then worked her way along the bar taking other orders. It would take her a while to get back up to him at the far end of the bar so he sipped his own beer and thought about all she had said.

He truly felt bad about not keeping in touch with Ann and his other friends from that time in his wild life. James Patrick Scully had had a hard time when they were all rescued from Limbo and it took him a while to get back into the swing of things. It was a totally new world for him and he imagined it was just as bad for the others.

Born and raised in Wahoo, Nebraska, Jim Scully lived through a fairly normal childhood growing up. He worked his way through school and eventually married and moved out on his own until he was drafted into the Viet Nam War back in the Seventies. Even that was fairly typical for the time as a lot of young men were being sent over to Asia to stop the spread of Communism and protect American investments over there he later learned. At the time he didn’t know nor care.

Scully worked his way through the Army’s ranks to Lieutenant and had been trained well not only in ways to fight, but he also became a pilot. He had his problems throughout training of course, that seemed the norm but he always tried to do his best and deal with them. Unfortunately on his very first mission he was been shot down behind enemy lines.

He had been captured by the North Vietnamese and Scully spent five long, torturous years as a Prisoner of War. They beat and tortured him to his limits for information but being a still new recruit he knew nothing of interest. At the war’s end he was one of the lucky ones to be set free, unlike so many others still listed as ‘Missing in Action’, lost in the jungle.

Scully was released from military duty with Honors and went back home a forgotten hero to Nebraska. He didn’t come home to brass bands or any fanfare though, in fact he soon learned that both his parents died and his wife divorced him during the time he was feared lost as a P.O.W., remarried and wanted nothing to do with him. He spent months trying to kick-start his life again as best he could, hopeless as that seemed and eventually hooked up with his only surviving family member; his brother, Jeff.

During his time in the Nam his younger brother became a drug addict and they soon had a falling out. Out of control and hooked on heroin the current drug of fashion, Jeff actually tried to kill him with a knife while high and in a drug-induced frenzy. They fought, scuffled really as Scully was trained to defend himself in the Army and Jeff had fell on his knife in the scrap, dying. Scully, fearing imprisonment fled Nebraska and drifted for several months to many different places. The authorities finally captured and arrested him in Bermuda their police.

Jim Scully was being transported back to the States to stand trial for his alleged crimes when his life really took a nose dive…

He was under guard on a commercial flight back to the United States flying over the mysterious ‘Bermuda Triangle’ when the plane entered a strange ‘Time Warp’; at least that’s what they all thought it was at the time. The jet was ripped in half by the force of the Warp and when the remainder crashed, Scully and the other three surviving passengers found themselves in some strange prehistoric world of 250 Million years B.C. They soon learned the new ‘Land that Time Forgot’ they were in was populated by dinosaurs and cave-men and they spent the seeming months that followed simply trying to survive.

It was a weird time moving from one adventure to the next for sure, but Scully did his best feeling a lot like Doug McClure more often than not while he protected his three allies just trying to survive so they could find a way back home. It was there he was given the bizarre belt taken from what appeared to be an obviously alien skeleton lying hidden deep in a cave. He soon found upon donning the belt it granted him enhanced powers turning him into almost a ‘Marvel’ with greater strength, near invulnerability and endless endurance. It also came with a curse he later learned, but in their months marooned in that ‘Land of the Lost’ it helped him and his three new allies, Dr. Raymond Corey, Geoffrey Turner and Ann Farrow survive.

They battled their way through many encounters, fending off dinosaurs and cave men time after time until they eventually came upon what Corey named the ‘Tower of Time’. The bizarre, ancient, alien structure seemed miles high and in the center of their world, their current home. It also seemed their best bet to hopefully return to the ‘Real World’.

The stranded quartet soon found the Tower to be some alien construct and through some outlandish, otherworld technology none of them could begin to fathom – not even the arrogant. Dr. Corey – it seemed to lead to other lands lost in time. They had stumbled upon levels housing later, prehistoric periods and before long the ancient age of the Egyptians.

It was in that time, on that level where they were all captured by the alleged creator of the Tower; an extra-terrestrial named Slitherogue. Slitherogue claimed that his race, the Skorpions, had long-ago created the ‘Time Warp’ in the Bermuda Triangle to learn more about Earth and eventually conquer it. After several more ‘time jumps’ where the castaways faced countless foes like Merlin and the medieval knights, Slitherogue was finally slain by one of his own creations, the Black Knight. It seemed most of the inhabitants of the Tower – except Slitherogue himself – were highly-advanced robots. Why, Scully could not comprehend, but with the alien’s death the foursome barely escaped the Tower alive as it crumbled about them.

With their best hope of finding a way home lying in shattered ruins the quartet moved on to even more odd adventures. They more or less persevered with Scully leading the group. They eventually came upon an area looking like the ancient lands of the Incans and Aztecs complete with jungle cities and pyramids. Still inhabited and beset by dinosaurs, Scully and crew became embroiled in a power struggle between two ancient Indian tribes. Despite his best efforts his allies had been captured by the Incan warriors and their leader had demanded Scully give up the mysterious ‘Belt of Power’ to him or his friends would die…

It was then his life took another odd turn, though this time for once, for the better. Ben Grimm – the Thing of the Fantastic Four fame – had been sucked into the alien ‘Time Warp’ and crashed his plane in their ‘little’, private Jurassic Park. Like the true hero he was he rescued Scully and his allies, and the five of them returned to the original crash sites. They scavenged what parts they could from Scully’s trashed air liner to repair Grimm’s plane and the help of Corey the five managed to finally escape the strange, otherworldly land they were trapped in for so long.

They were all shocked to find out upon their return that the world had moved on without them. Time in the warp apparently ran under its own rules, and while Grimm was gone and lost only a few days, the rest were suddenly thrust into a brave new world they had never made. Their seeming months in Limbo was actually years, maybe decades Corey exclaimed and life and technology evolved and advanced leaving them all behind.

After Grimm, with the help of Reed Richards, got them all up to speed again the four allies had parted ways to try to get their shattered lives back together. They all promised to stay in touch, and Ann Farrow Reynolds who had come to love Scully in their lost time said she would wait for him until they all got their lives sorted. Shocked at the news Scully said he would return to but never did.

He endured even more levels of hell after that parting of ways. Scully soon learned he could not remove the alien belt and eventually the ‘Curse’ had taken over. His body slowly became transparent with his now skull-like head aflame, a ‘walking x-ray’ he said and he soon went to the mage, Doctor Druid for help in removing the belt and the curse.

Druid couldn’t do the job but falsely told Scully he would try. In the interim he joined Druid’s rag-tag group, the ‘Shock Troop’, a team of para-normal investigators where he met the likes of N’Kantu the Living Mummy and the mysterious Shadowoman, allying with them and calling himself the Blazing Skull. They defeated many under Dr. Druid’s direction including Dracula, Lord of the Vampires and met many heroes like Quasar, Spider-Man and eventually Captain America when Scully had finally moved on from Druid’s control.

Scully’s form slowly returned to normal though he was still trapped in the grip of the alien belt. Now more lost in the ‘Real World’ than he ever was in the Bermuda Triangle he wandered aimlessly and ended up on the west coast where he became a minor hero fighting street crime and eking out a living trying to survive. It was then he once again encountered Ben Grimm.

Like Doctor Druid, the Thing was putting together a team of adventurers to help him out. Also like the mage, Grimm was not very forthcoming as to reasons he was gathering heroes, but at the time Scully was not in a positon to worry. Jim Scully was living a hard life living in a seedy flop-house in one of the seamier districts in Los Angeles. Having nowhere else left to go but up, Scully readily agreed.

They made a bizarre bunch to be sure. Under Grimm’s leadership he met Midnight the martial arts Ninja-assassin cloaked in black, the famous John Jameson, an astronaut who had found a mysterious glowing red stone on one of his missions to the moon, which had changed him into the silver-furred Man-Wolf, James Woo, who was apparently an ex S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and computer wizard with a history of dark secrets all his own, another mage who called himself Doctor Arcane, and the Daughters of the Dragon, Misty Knight and Colleen Wing. The entire group seemed second-stringers – Scully included – but somehow they managed to click and more importantly, get the job done, whatever it was.

They had had some pretty wild adventures for a time but eventually the band started to break apart and split. It was about then Scully had received the frantic phone call from Ann Reynolds begging him to come to New Orleans and rescue her. Par for the course she did not give him much by way of detail, just a general location in the city.

“You’ll find me, Jim,” she cried, “I know you will…” before the phone went dead.

And that was that. Scully knew there was no way he could say ‘No’ to Ann after their past spent in the Time Warp and how he treated her there and after. He was an ass and he made her promises he needed to keep. Sure it was guilt, but he knew he needed to do something to help her.

Having no real money to speak of except the allowance Grimm gave to all his team members Scully was on an express bus to the ‘Big Easy’ that very night. The ride took hours as the Greyhound still stopped in the major cities along the route, but he finally made it, dumped out in New Orleans in the rain and finally here to his one lead; the club Oz.

Scully crushed out his latest cigarette with a sigh. One benefit of the belt’s immunity was it seemed to keep him healthy. He didn’t appear to age and never got sick, not even a cold. He doubted he was immortal, but close enough for him and ‘Rock-and-Roll’ he supposed. He looked up as the cute bartender set another beer before him with a grin.

“Somebody bought the bar, stud. Lucky you, hunh?” Scully smirked.

“’Bout time I got some luck rollin’ my way, Darlin’.” Scully took a long swallow of his fresh beer and wiped his mouth looking at the frosted mug curiously. “That’s not Bud, though I’m not complaining.” The woman looked down the length of the bar then back to him, smiling.

“Figured you were due for an upgrade. Besides, the guy who paid won’t know, and he’s an ass anyway.” She laughed and took away his first mug as one of the waiters came up to the bar to fill an order tray in hand.

“Thanks.”

Scully nursed his beer for awhile as he thought about his next move. He had a new destination – this Shady Sadie’s – but according to the bartender they were already closed for the night. He’d found a room he could afford a few streets over on the edge of the French Quarter and dumped his official NYC Messenger bag off before coming out here to Oz. He’d packed light for the trip, just the essentials. He hadn’t eaten yet, but again thanks to the alien belt he rarely needed to anymore. He did need to catch some sleep though.

He downed the last of his beer and set the empty glass atop the two twenties as the bartender finally returned. “You out?” she asked and Scully nodded as he stood up off his bar stool shrugging his jacket higher onto his shoulders.

“Unless you got somethin’ else for me.” He gave her a hopeful look as she placed a scrap of note paper on the bar before him and took away his drained mug and the cash, which disappeared into her blue jeans.

“Just my name and number, old man.” She looked hesitant chewing her lip a moment then shrugged. “You got some place to stay?” Scully nodded scooping up the paper and looking at it before slipping it into his pocket.

“Yeah; got a room down on the edge of the Quarter. It works. Name’s Scully by the way… Jim.” The woman wrinkled up her nose at that.

“Well, gimme a call if you want or even need a place to crash for the night. And watch your back when you get to Sadie’s. Used to be a decent place, but now it’s pretty raunchy down there. That whole neighborhood’s gone to pot the last few months. Dunno why.” She shrugged. “Hell, this is ‘Nawlins’. Ain’t no place like it in the world.”

“Thanks, Shelly. Maybe I will.”

With a final nod of appreciation James Scully started to push through the crowd heading for the door. He probably wouldn’t have to call her but it was nice to know he had a little back-up on this trip.

It was raining again by the time Scully made his way out on the street; not hard but enough to be annoying. He pulled his Trac-phone from his jacket pocket and checked the time with a groan. Well after three A.M. Not much time to get anything else done tonight, he thought as he slipped his phone back in his pocket. And he needed some sleep.

Skull the Slayer sparked another cigarette to life and went back out into the rain-slicked, cobbled streets, heading for his room and bed…

New Orleans, Louisiana

“Vieux Carré”: the French Quarter

Several Days Past…

James Patrick Scully rose groggy with the sun.

He groaned as he rolled over away from the light of the morning sun beaming through the tattered; roll-down shade covering the one small window in his SRO. He had fallen asleep almost immediately when he had arrived back at his room not even five hours earlier. He had hoped to get a bit more shut eye – he needed more he thought – but apparently the ‘Belt of Power’ that seemed to run his life these days decided he had had enough. Five hours usually seemed the maximum needing to recharge whatever the Belt was leeching from him.

And it was. Doctor Druid had found that out.

Knowing trying to fall back asleep was pointless Scully finally rolled out of his uncomfortable cot to sit on the side and try to come awake. He yawned as he stretched and his body limbered up again. The metal-framed cot that came with his Single Room Occupancy was uncomfortable as hell, but being in the Army Scully had learned to sleep wherever and whenever circumstance allowed. Eating and sleeping in the military was often few and far between so when the chance presented itself, you took it.

Scully ran his hand and fingers back through his shaggy hair and thought of Jim Morrison as he saw the half-drank bottle of beer sitting on the small nightstand the room provided. There wasn’t much in the room; along with the cot and the nightstand there was a small, battered dresser, a tiny closet, and an old, rusty sink to wash up in. Like most ‘hotels’ like this one, the bathroom and showers were ‘Community’, shared by all on the floor and down the hall. Not extravagant by any means, but again, he had been in worse.

Jim Scully stood and grabbed up the beer bottle as he shuffled over to the sink to clean up a bit and try to get straight. He looked in the cracked mirror above the sink at his reflection. Not bad he supposed considering he should be pushing seventy and then some. The ‘Belt of Power’ and its weird alien energies kept him looking the age – roughly – of when he had put the damn thing on. Scully really couldn’t remember exactly, but he had been in his late twenties when that had happened.

Now, looking in the mirror, Scully thought he appeared maybe late thirties, early forties. There was a slight tinge of gray at the temples but despite the miles his skin was barely creased with age-lines and his body still seemed in good shape. Druid had told him the ‘Belt’ seemed to keep him in his peak and retarded his aging to a certain degree enhancing his Immune System and actually giving him some regenerative abilities.

“You should live a long, healthy life,” Dr. Druid had told him after he had examined the ‘Belt’ with his mystic abilities, “as long as you don’t go out and get yourself killed. You’re not quite the Wolverine of those Mutant X-Men, but you run a close second.” Druid had laughed at that for some reason, but it was only later he and the rest of the Mage’s Shock Troop found out the man was using them all for his own purposes and holding back a lot of information to the point of lying. The man had turned out to be a mass manipulator and user and Scully was glad the good doctor got what was coming to him in the end.

Scully downed the last of the beer in his bottle as the water in the sink warmed. He cleaned up somewhat, though it wasn’t really needed as the Belt’s forces kept or shrugged off dirt after awhile. Old habits though, so he brushed his teeth and gave himself a wash in the tepid water ending with some B.O. Juice under his arms.

He got dressed in a pair of old Levi’s and his boots, with a black tee shirt pulled over the Belt’s shoulder strap. He didn’t know why he bothered as he knew if the shirt didn’t get ripped away in some fracas it would eventually start to hole and disintegrate, eventually just falling off. Part of the ‘Curse’ he supposed and the Belt’s power that kept him dirt-free. A little plus, a little minus he figured. He’d bought a five-pack of black undershirts before his flight down knowing what was coming.

Scully feeling somewhat refreshed and awake took a glance past the window shade to see what was going on outside. His tiny room looked out on a brick wall of the building next door so there was not much to see. All those windows were shaded or curtained, but he really didn’t care about his neighbors as he wasn’t planning on staying in New Orleans long. Find Ann and get the hell out was fine with him. It wasn’t raining at the moment but he could feel the warmth of outside and the rising humidity. Rain was on the way.

He donned his black longcoat checking to see he still had all his gear. He didn’t carry much as the Belt usually provided. But his pack of Marlboro Menthols was still half full, his Zippo lighter was active and the stubby pencil and notepad he always learned to carry was in place. He had his wallet, which was getting lighter after the night before. He was pretty much ready to go he supposed, except he didn’t know what to do next?

Breakfast seemed in order, and coffee, god yes, but after that? He doubted Shady Sadie’s would be open for business yet as he glanced at his travel alarm on the nightstand; seven am.

“Nobody up but us chickens,” Scully grumbled as he scooped up his room key and headed out, locking the cheap door lock behind him.

He’d figure it all out after a cuppa coffee…

Like Shelly the bartender had said, this district bumping into the fringes of the French Quarter had fallen on hard times of late.

Marigny was the name of the District, but it was just another neighborhood in the city, like the Quarter. Despite the whole ‘Tourist’ potential of ‘Nawlins’, Scully saw right away this District had been ignored for other up and coming areas that needed to be ‘Yuppified’. He was quite sure it was on the list as he had seen the same in NYC even for his brief recent stay there. Hell’s Kitchen had become Clinton, Park Slope in Brooklyn was now a shining Yuppie paradise compared to what he remembered, and even Alphabet City was being remade. He supposed it happened in all the big cities and urban areas these days. Life was a lot different now after his time in the Warp.

But as Scully entered the neighborhood bordering the French Quarter the hairs on the back of his neck immediately stood at attention. Despite the old landmarks the District housed the area was run down and decaying like Shelly had mentioned. Buildings, which were not tourist destinations or city-run, seemed to be in a state of decay with even the simplest maintenance problems being ignored. He had checked his map and saw there was not much here worth seeing though, just a few places – like Sadie’s – cut off from the Vieux Carré by zoning laws no doubt. But, there was definitely something here, he could feel it.

Scully took a sip of his container of cool black coffee as he looked up at the building in question. He found Shady Sadie’s club no problem and wasn’t impressed. It looked the same as most other buildings in the city with a gabled roof and wrought iron balconies. It was nothing spectacular though it did sport a neon sign proclaiming ‘SADIE’S’ over the front entry. The neon wasn’t on so early in the day but he could read the hand-painted letters beneath the tubing.

“Probably more impressive at night,” Scully mentioned to no one as he tossed his cold coffee into a trash receptacle on the corner of the street. He saw no movement through the windows that weren’t covered as he staked out the building for a time. No lights, no people, no one coming or going, no deliveries; the place, like the neighborhood seemed dead to the world. There was little traffic on Kerlerec Street so Scully had little worry if he needed to force his way in but first he’d try the door.

“Ya never know,” he mumbled as he walked the front path and climbed the short flight of steps up to the porch. It was fairly empty but for some trash and a couple chairs and a small, metal table set out for anyone wishing to laze the day away in the afternoons as seemed to be a thing in the South. Scully tried the door.

The latch clicked and he eased the old, heavy door open with his foot. He smelled must and mold as soon as the door swung in and wrinkled his nose at the stench of fecal matter coming from somewhere within. He stepped into the dim entryway and saw immediately the carpet was well-worn and threadbare and the walls needed a good point of paint. Sadie – whoever she was – was not keeping up. Maybe her regulars liked the lived-in, tenement look, but Scully had seen enough Dives and Crack Houses in his day to sense what was going on here. Drugs he figured, though he had no idea as to the particulars.

Scully looked about letting his eyes adjust to the dim and fighting the urge to spark a cigarette as the flare of the Zippo would put him back at square one. He saw the building’s obligatory parlor off to the left. It looked as unmaintained as the rest with shoddy, tattered furniture though that was probably the room the whores first met their ‘Johns’. Scully was surprised that room at least wasn’t in tip-top shape as a Sitting Parlor was a big thing in the South harkening back to the days before the Civil War.

“Ehn,” Scully grunted as he took a final look around and stepped into the parlor figuring that was the way to go. His mistake…

“You wan’ somethin’?”

Scully stopped short as he peered into the darkness before him, the red glow of a cigarette’s tip directing his gaze. He saw three women lounging in the parlor. They were dressed in morning coats and slippers, all three with their feet propped up on the furniture and enjoying a cup of coffee and a cigarette before the day got started. None of them seemed shocked or surprised he had stumbled in on them, apparently used to it. They might even be high, Scully thought as he sensed a lingering scent of marijuana in the air.

“Hi,” Scully offered trying to relax and not seem threatening. “I’m looking for someone,” he added finally giving in and lighting a cigarette of his own as one of the women clicked on a small lamp on the table set nearby.

Scully’s eyes widened as he saw the women. The bartender at Oz had said Sadie’s catered to men that liked older women but these three were far older than he would have imagined. All were skinny and decrepit; all three in their sixties at least though hard to tell. Their skin was jaundiced and sallow, yellowed from too many cigarettes by the look. Two were Black and the spokeswoman White; gray-haired and filthy with too much garish make-up. Matronly to be sure, but disgusting with their red-painted lips, blush and heavy eye shadow. He couldn’t imagine anyone looking for something like this, but Scully knew the world was full of Kinks.

“Well…” the spokeswoman drawled with her thick, southern accent, “Ya came to the right place then, boy. Seems ya found someone.” The three women chuckled.

Scully tried to smile though it was hard. “I’m looking for a lady named Ann,” he started and saw the three women frown. “Heard she was here. She’s an old friend.” The trio glanced amongst themselves and the two blacks nodded. The White woman sighed.

“Yah, we know her an’ she’s here fer sure,” the woman answered with a puff on her cigarette before crushing it out. “Unavailable,” she continued as she glared at Scully while scratching some itch within her robe. “Sure one’a us can’t fit the bill, boy? We’re all willin’ ta do a lot.” She smiled some sickly thing that looked more a grimace. Scully shook his head, declining the offer.

“Sorry. Gotta be her or nothin’.”

The woman frowned at that and pulled her hand from her robe. Scully saw immediately she was holding a small .38 and pointing it at his chest as she shook her head.

“Sorry, boy,” she offered as her friends giggled. They had apparently lived through this scenario before. “Tol’ja, Annie’s not available.” With her free hand and not seeming to care in the least she held Scully in her sights and lit another cigarette from the small humidor set on the table. She puffed deep and grinned, blowing smoke his way.

“If I was you, I’d be thinkin’ ‘bout leavin’.”

Scully shrugged and took a drag from his own cigarette trying to seem casual. He stared down the gun then shifted to the three women. All old ladies, he thought. I can take ‘em.

“Can’t do that, Ma’am,” he offered trying to show what respect he could muster for his elders. Maybe they are, he thought. “I’m here for her.” The woman shrugged and shook her head.

“Too bad, boy.”

The gun went off as Scully reeled back with the impact of the bullet.

“Like I need this,” he grunted falling to the floor…

To be Continued…

Next Issue: Skull the Slayer tries to survive as the ‘old-age Pensioners attack. Weird, hunh? But wait, it gets better as Scully tries to delve deeper into the mystery surrounding ‘Shady Sadie’s’ establishment and the missing, Ann Reynolds.

Emphasis on ’survive’…