Walk on the Wild Side - By Karl Edward Wagner Page 0,72
over; they’re not just East End. They told the world to sod off, and the world repaid them in kind. Dead, they were no more wanted than when they lived. Drugs, suicides, traffic accidents, maybe a broken bottle in an alley or a rape and a knife in some squat. I started out with just the fans I recognized, then with the poor sods my mates told me about. After a while I had people watching the hospital morgues for them. The kids no one gave a shit for. Sure, often they had families, and let me tell you, they was always pleased to have me pay for the final rites for the dearly departed, and good riddance. They were all better off dead, even the ones who didn’t think so at first, and I had to help.
“Well, after a time the money ran out. I don’t regret spending it on them. Fuck the fame. At least I still have my fans.”
Nemo Skagg took a deep swig from the bottle, found it empty, pitched it, then picked up his ruined guitar. He scraped talons across the loose strings.
“And you, Ryan, old son. You said that you’re still a loyal fan.”
“Yes, Nemo. Yes, I did indeed say that.” Chase set down his empty glass and bunched the muscles of his legs.
“Well, it’s been great talking to you here backstage. We’ll hang out some more later on. Hope you enjoy the gig.”
“I’ll just go take a piss, while you warm up.” Chase arose carefully, backing toward the doorway of the lean-to.
“Don’t be long.” Nemo was plugging wires into the broken speakers, adjusting dials on the charred amps. He peered into the vaulted darkness. “Looks like I got a crucial audience out there tonight.”
It was black as the pit, as Chase blundered out of the lean-to. Nettles and thistles ripped at him. Twice he fell over unseen mounds of debris, but he dragged himself painfully to his feet each time. Panic steadied his legs, and he could see the halo of streetlights beyond the hoarding. Gasping, grunting, cursing—he bulled headlong through the darkened tangle of the demolition site. Fear gave him strength, and sadistic fortune at last smiled upon him. He found the rubble-strewn incline, clawed his way up to pavement level, and shouldered past the flimsy hoarding.
As he fell sobbing onto the street, he could hear the roar of the audience below, feel the pounding energy of Nemo Skagg’s guitar. Clawing to his feet, he was pushed forward by the screaming madness of Needle’s unrecorded hits.
Nemo Skagg had lost nothing.
Little Lessons in Gardening
The benefits of discovering the hanged man were not immediately apparent to Darren Grover.
Shocked, then suspecting a prank, Grover cautiously approached the hanging object. It was not a prank, and Grover was doubly shocked.
Sunlight pierced the wooded glade and dappled the pallid body. It was that of a young man—possibly a student from the nearby university campus. He was quite naked except for some sort of black latex hood stretched tightly over his head, and Grover was relieved that he was spared from seeing his face. A length of cotton rope was affixed to a padded leather collar, looped over the outreaching limb of a large oak, and tied to one gnarled root. Beneath the trunk lay a neat pile of clothes, and inches beneath the dangling toes lay the stained grassy earth. Some distance away a short section of log had rolled.
Although badly shaken, Darren Grover quickly hiked the half-mile trail through the woods to his house and phoned the police.
In the end, the death was ruled accidental—some small consolation to the student’s parents. A search of his discarded clothing revealed no suicide note, but did discover a small quantity of crack and attendant paraphernalia. Publications of dubious and pornographic nature were found in his dormitory room, and an alcohol level of .2 was found in his blood. The forest was a short walk from campus and traditionally was an area favored for clandestine and often questionable activities. Whether others had been present at the time of the student’s death was never determined.
However, on the basis of the evidence and the absence of other physical restraint, it was concluded that the unfortunate young man had hanged himself accidentally while engaging in a bizarre sexual experience under the heavy influence of drugs and alcohol, either by himself or in conjunction with unknown participants who had fled.
Case closed.
Regardless, it had been an unnerving experience for Darren Grover, a solitary man who