Let the Good Times Roll

Old Gregg enlists the help of his old man, the Hitcher, to reunite with his beloved Howard. When Howard goes missing on their trip to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, Vince once again has to save Howard in every way possible.

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Chapter 3

Chapter 3

“I think your boy can take care of ‘imself,” Irene teased. “I heard ‘im talk, sounds like ‘e’s got a little cockney in ‘im.”

Howard nodded and looked over his shoulder, just in case Vince was chasing after him, begging not to be left alone.

He wasn’t.

He’d probably already been stabbed.

Howard started walking back towards the bar but Eileen/Irene held his arm tightly.

“‘e’s a big boy, ‘e’ll be fine on ‘is own.”

“He’s really quite naive. He just assumes he’ll get on with anybody he meets,” Howard explained, his tongue thoroughly loosened by too many drinks. “Just because he does get on with everyone he meets doesn’t mean there won’t come a time…”

Howard was distracted by being pulled down by the collar into a passionate kiss. The feeling of a strange tongue in his mouth should have made Howard queasy, but there was something familiar about Eileen/Irene. She had big, clear, blue eyes and a way of tilting her head up to look at him that made him feel ten feet tall.

Not that there should be anything familiar about that. The only woman who had ever looked at him like that was his mother, and she was usually stoned and simply marveling that he was able to do things like find the car keys (on the key-shaped key holder he’d made) or the spare car keys (locked in his room for occasions when he was unable to intercept the keys from his intoxicated parents and put them on the key holder before they were lost).

“I’m sure ‘e’ll be fine for a few ‘ours,” she murmured as she ran her hands over his chest, “even without ‘is ‘usband lookin’ out for ‘im.”

“What part of America are you from?” Howard asked, belatedly noticing her strange accent getting thicker.

“I’m from everywhere. I guess you could say I’ve been around,” she said with a cheeky smile.

Howard wrapped his arms around her slim waist and looked into her all-too-lovely eyes. “I’m sorry. What did you say your name was?”

“It’s Elsie, my boy. They call me Elsie.”

The name rang a warning bell somewhere in Howard’s drunken mind, but it was muffled by entirely too much rum. Howard had spent his whole life being the responsible one; first for his parents and then for Vince. It couldn’t hurt to, just this once, ignore the obnoxiously pedantic angel on his shoulder (who seemed more interested in curfews and organized stationery than actual morality) and do something that felt wrong.

xxx

Howard’s head was swimming as he staggered toward the room he was sharing with Vince. The Hurricanes Elsie had been forcing down his throat had clearly gone to his head and his stomach. He could never tolerate the sugary drinks that Vince considered a fifth food group (the first four being crisps, wine gums, licorice, and chocolate) but he could hardly refuse the beautiful Elsie. When Elsie pushed him down on the bed, he was grateful to be on his back and put one foot down to keep the room from spinning.

“Oh, ‘oward. I’m starin’ ta think some’un put somefink in your drink. You don’t look well.”

Howard barely registered the words as Elsie straddled his waist. He dearly hoped he wasn’t going to be sick.

“I’m normally a moderate drinker. Old ‘Moderate Moon,’ they call me. Howard Moon doesn’t usually go in for excess, but in the company of a lovely young lady like yourself – I was inclined to make an exception.”

Elsie smiled and stroked the side of Howard’s face. “I do hope you is a gentleman, Mr. Moon. I’d ‘ate to fink I’m gettin’ messed up wif a cad.”

Howard put his hand over Elsie’s smaller one. “I’m no cad. Howard Moon is, first and foremost, a gentleman.”

He kissed her palm lightly before she began stroking her fingers through his hair. He was glad he’d used some of Vince’s shampoo and his mane was looking rather shiny and manageable.

“Good,” Elsie whispered into his ear, “cause you hear stories about these men who pretend to be in love, only to rob and abandon their future brides – leavin’ ‘em heartbroke and more than a little insane.”

“I would never do that.”

The hand tightened painfully in his hair, “S’at right, Moon? So you’ve never abandoned some’un who loved you? Took his only friend while you was at it?”

Howard pressed the small hands into his skull, until she was forced to release her grip – his zoo training was the closest he’d ever come to self-defense courses. The hands simply moved to his throat. He struggled and managed to throw Elsie off of him and onto the floor.

“Old Gregg?” he asked, his throat feeling bruised from the inside out.

“Actually, I’m ‘is old dad, and you done my son wrong. I’m ‘ere to make it right.”

The lovely Elsie transformed into the monstrous Hitcher, only the wide blue eyes remaining the same. The same eyes as Old Gregg.

xxx

Howard tried to open his eyes, but he couldn’t see. It took him a few minutes to realize he was tied up and apparently blindfolded.

Exactly what he’d expected to happen in New Orleans if he and Vince were separated. He should have never strayed from the itinerary.

He was trying to get his bearings when something was jammed down his throat and he began gagging.

“Best ya be sick now, ‘fore I put the gag on ya. Don’t want you to asphyxiate ‘fore the weddin’, now do we?”

Howard did his best not to be sick on himself, but once the spasms hit his stomach, they didn’t stop. He felt like he was vomiting up everything he’d taken in since arriving in New Orleans. The taste of his own bile was infinitely preferable to that of the Hitcher’s bony finger.

“Ah, you’ve gone and pissed ya’self, my boy.”

Howard hadn’t even noticed the warmth in his pants until then; he was still shaking and sweating.

“I’d love to piss on ya meself, but my boy’s a bit of the jealous type. ‘e’s also a bit of the murderin’ psychopath type, so I’m just gonna have a piss on this crackhead over here,” the Hitcher explained as he jammed a cloth into Howard’s mouth and covered it with what felt like duct tape.

Howard could hear the absurdly strong stream of urine in the distance. He fought vainly against his restraints, but it was a matter of minutes until he was tossed in the trunk of a vehicle. He tried to be like Sherlock Holmes and listen for clues – use his remaining senses. Instead, he promptly passed out.

xxx

Vince took Howard’s cash card to an ATM. Howard had wisely never told him the PIN number, but Vince got it on the first try. It was his birthdate again. He was shocked by the amount of money Howard had managed to save up, considering how little they had always made. Vince wanted to go shopping, surround himself in beautiful things that would make him feel secure, but he only took out enough for food. He had no idea how long it would take to track down Howard or what expenses he might encounter. The death cab had been quite pricey.

Vince’s eyes stung with the idea that Howard might be dead. Again.

It was different not being on his home turf. He didn’t even have Naboo to help. He and Bollo were off with the Shaman Council in Brazil for Carnival. He wouldn’t be answering his phone (or seeing straight) for at least a week.

He was on his own, in a strange country and surrounded by people he could barely understand. The police weren’t bothered that Howard was missing. It hadn’t been long enough for him to be considered properly missing, and the sergeant had been under the very wrong impression that Howard might have acted impulsively under the influence of alcohol and a lovely stranger.

When Howard had been accidentally dosed with acid (by his crazy hippy parents), he’d come straight round to Vince’s and sat on their couch, drinking tea, chasing away imaginary spiders, and helping Vince with his maths homework. Vince had wanted to coddle Howard then, having learned from his parents that ‘drugs are bad,’ but the older boy would have none of it. He would only allow Vince to inspect his biscuits and tea for spiders as he tried to carry on like nothing was amiss.

Howard wasn’t impulsive, and if Howard said he would be somewhere, he was there.

Vince walked to an outdoor cafe and ate beignets as he sketched a picture of Eileen/Irene. He had a good memory for faces, especially pretty girl faces. He drew her blue eyes first, but when he was done, he knew it was wrong. The eyes needed to be bigger.

His hand was shaking as he finished the portrait. It would be good enough to show to the police and the local bars. He would do just that tonight, but first, it was back to the hotel. He needed to book a swamp tour.