BLOOD OF THE CENTIPEDE, NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON, PRINT AND KINDLE:
http://www.amazon.com/Blood-Centipede-Chuck-Miller/dp/1479353582/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1348274723&sr=8-1&keywords=blood+of+the+centipede
"You're Bela Lugosi," I said, smiling in spite of the day I was having.
"So I am told," he said with a little smile. "And you appear to be the famous Black Centipede." He was dark and compact, dressed in a neat, double-breasted blue suit. His Hungarian accent was as thick as week-old goulash. It gave him a sort of mad dignity that I found compelling.
EXCERPT from Chapter 24:
"So I am told," he said with a little smile. "And you appear to be the famous Black Centipede." He was dark and compact, dressed in a neat, double-breasted blue suit. His Hungarian accent was as thick as week-old goulash. It gave him a sort of mad dignity that I found compelling.
"It is a great honor," he continued, "to meet the man who saved President Roosevelt's life."
"The honor is mine, Mister Lugosi," I said, as we shook hands.
"Bah," he said. "You can call me Bela." He pronounced it Bay-lah. "Lugosi is just a, what is it called, stage name."
Béla Ferenc Dezs Blaskó, I knew, had been born in the Austro-Hungarian hamlet of Lugos, which would eventually provide him with his pseudonym. I was a genuine admirer of his work. In fact, I had seen him in the title role in Dracula on Broadway in 1927, a few months after I left Fall River, Massachusetts for good. His performance had affected me powerfully. In fact, I had incorporated some of his stage mannerisms into the public persona of the Black Centipede. He could lurk and menace like nobody's business. The 1931 film version had been a mere shadow of what I had seen on the Broadway stage that night.
"The honor is mine, Mister Lugosi," I said, as we shook hands.
"Bah," he said. "You can call me Bela." He pronounced it Bay-lah. "Lugosi is just a, what is it called, stage name."
Béla Ferenc Dezs Blaskó, I knew, had been born in the Austro-Hungarian hamlet of Lugos, which would eventually provide him with his pseudonym. I was a genuine admirer of his work. In fact, I had seen him in the title role in Dracula on Broadway in 1927, a few months after I left Fall River, Massachusetts for good. His performance had affected me powerfully. In fact, I had incorporated some of his stage mannerisms into the public persona of the Black Centipede. He could lurk and menace like nobody's business. The 1931 film version had been a mere shadow of what I had seen on the Broadway stage that night.
"This is fortunate," he continued, "running into you this way. I was looking for you. Someone said they thought they saw a man of your, ah, description heading this way. I was curious about the package I brought to you yesterday."
"You brought that?" Leave it to Percival Doiley to fail to recognize one of the most recognizable movie stars in the business.
Bela nodded. "I have a very small role right now in a film called 'The Devil's in Love,' so I was on the lot all day. I was approached by someone claiming to be a friend of a friend from back in Hungary. He said it was a script he wanted you to see. I did not wish to be bothered, I told him I don't even know the Black Centipede, but he was insistent, so I agreed. But it bothered me. You know? People always are importuning me with such things, asking me to look at this script or that one, like it was me that makes the decisions about what movie gets made and what does not. I don't really know why I agreed. There was something about him, his eyes. Sort of hypnotic, I would say. It was very strange. The more I thought about it after the fact, the less comfortable I grew. That's why I came looking for you. To apologize, and to see if anything untoward might have happened. I hope you were not inconvenienced."
"Oh, not at all. I was pleased to receive what was in the package, though I can't imagine what I'm going to do with it."
He nodded. "I am glad."
"Could you describe the man who gave it to you, Bela? He seems to have left his name and address off of the note that came with it. I would like very much to find him."
"Really? So the script was not too bad? That's good. The man? Eh, he was, how do you say it, scruffy. Messy hair, a greasy, tangled beard. Something very sinister about him, I thought. He was tall, but he walked hunched over, you know. I thought at first he was a hunchback, or maybe he was an actor made up for a role. But no. He said his name was Ygor something or other, I don't recall. As I say, he claimed he was from Hungary, but his accent was wrong. He sounded more Russian than anything."
"Interesting."
"Well... As an actor, I found his appearance and manner interesting. Who knows, perhaps I will use him some day in one of these monster pictures. He would be a good 'heavy,' I think. He was repulsive. He struck me as a degenerate, you know? Dissolute... In Hungarian, we would call him elfajzik."
"I see. And you say he sounded Russian?" An odd thought had struck me. I did not know where it came from. But I recalled a Russian adjective that could be translated as "degenerate" or "licentious" in English: Rasputny. This seemed important, though I had no clue why.
I was about to put a few more questions to Bela when something caught my eye. It was a nun, and she was carrying a large book that most emphatically was not a Bible.
I took off at a run, leaving Bela standing there, moving as quietly as I could so as not to spook the sister. She was trying to appear nonchalant, and was doing a good job of it. Anybody who didn't know there was anything to find wouldn't bother looking. Her back was to me. I slowed down so my heavy footfalls wouldn't alert her. Holding my breath, I got close enough to be certain that the book I was looking at was in fact the peripatetic Ripper grimoire
I quietly stretched my hand out as I drew closer, ready to snatch the book out from under her arm. Needless to say, none of the people bustling around on the lot paid us the slightest attention. We were in the one place in the world where a masked man sneaking up on a nun carrying a forbidden tome of Black Magic could pass unnoticed.
My hand was within inches of the book when I detected a blur of motion from the corner of my eye. Before I could quite process that, the nun in front of me vanished.
A noise to my right caught my attention and I looked over to see that the nun had not dissolved into the ether, but had been very abruptly forced to the ground by no less a personage than my bosom pal the Black Centipede Eater! If nothing else, it was refreshing not to be the one on the receiving end of her attentions for a change. But I couldn't just sit back and enjoy the show.
The Eater was snarling. The nun-- whose wimple had been knocked askew so that it covered her face-- clutched the grimoire tightly in one hand while balling the other one into a fist. She threw what looked like a very respectable punch. Max Baer wouldn't have been ashamed to claim it. But I could have told her it wouldn't do much good against the Eater, a fact I knew from painful experience.
Imagine my shock, then, when the nun's haymaker connected with the Eater's gas mask and knocked the creature to the ground! Evidently, they taught them a lot more in those convents than I was aware of. Along with the punch, the sister delivered a string of words I was sure she hadn't learned in her catechism class.
I wasn't sure which of the two was the bigger threat. I decided that since I knew what kind of an abomination the Eater was, I'd concentrate on her first.
"Mary Jane!" I snapped. Her head whipped around. So did the nun's. I had startled them both, but the Eater recovered first and snatched the grimoire away from the nun. This gave the sister another opportunity to exercise her gutter vocabulary. But it was in vain, as her audience was already nearly out of earshot. The Eater had taken off toward the backlot.
"Oh no you don't," I said grimly, as I proceeded to give chase. "You owe me a finger!"
I was pushing myself beyond what I previously believed were my limits, and was actually starting to catch up. Of course, she might not be aware that I was after her. Either way, I didn't want to risk breaking my momentum even slightly by drawing a gun or any other implement of mayhem. I didn't think I had anything that would do any good at this distance, anyhow. Gritting my teeth, I ran faster.
My quarry was zigzagging around and in between bemused moviemakers. I was following suit, occasionally leaping over one I couldn't go around without losing a crucial foot or two.
We left the sound stages and makeshift bungalows behind, and were racing down what looked for all the world like a charming, bucolic goddamn country lane. Looming ahead was the backlot, with its massive outdoor sets.
I was about to put a few more questions to Bela when something caught my eye. It was a nun, and she was carrying a large book that most emphatically was not a Bible.
I took off at a run, leaving Bela standing there, moving as quietly as I could so as not to spook the sister. She was trying to appear nonchalant, and was doing a good job of it. Anybody who didn't know there was anything to find wouldn't bother looking. Her back was to me. I slowed down so my heavy footfalls wouldn't alert her. Holding my breath, I got close enough to be certain that the book I was looking at was in fact the peripatetic Ripper grimoire
I quietly stretched my hand out as I drew closer, ready to snatch the book out from under her arm. Needless to say, none of the people bustling around on the lot paid us the slightest attention. We were in the one place in the world where a masked man sneaking up on a nun carrying a forbidden tome of Black Magic could pass unnoticed.
My hand was within inches of the book when I detected a blur of motion from the corner of my eye. Before I could quite process that, the nun in front of me vanished.
A noise to my right caught my attention and I looked over to see that the nun had not dissolved into the ether, but had been very abruptly forced to the ground by no less a personage than my bosom pal the Black Centipede Eater! If nothing else, it was refreshing not to be the one on the receiving end of her attentions for a change. But I couldn't just sit back and enjoy the show.
The Eater was snarling. The nun-- whose wimple had been knocked askew so that it covered her face-- clutched the grimoire tightly in one hand while balling the other one into a fist. She threw what looked like a very respectable punch. Max Baer wouldn't have been ashamed to claim it. But I could have told her it wouldn't do much good against the Eater, a fact I knew from painful experience.
Imagine my shock, then, when the nun's haymaker connected with the Eater's gas mask and knocked the creature to the ground! Evidently, they taught them a lot more in those convents than I was aware of. Along with the punch, the sister delivered a string of words I was sure she hadn't learned in her catechism class.
I wasn't sure which of the two was the bigger threat. I decided that since I knew what kind of an abomination the Eater was, I'd concentrate on her first.
"Mary Jane!" I snapped. Her head whipped around. So did the nun's. I had startled them both, but the Eater recovered first and snatched the grimoire away from the nun. This gave the sister another opportunity to exercise her gutter vocabulary. But it was in vain, as her audience was already nearly out of earshot. The Eater had taken off toward the backlot.
"Oh no you don't," I said grimly, as I proceeded to give chase. "You owe me a finger!"
I was pushing myself beyond what I previously believed were my limits, and was actually starting to catch up. Of course, she might not be aware that I was after her. Either way, I didn't want to risk breaking my momentum even slightly by drawing a gun or any other implement of mayhem. I didn't think I had anything that would do any good at this distance, anyhow. Gritting my teeth, I ran faster.
My quarry was zigzagging around and in between bemused moviemakers. I was following suit, occasionally leaping over one I couldn't go around without losing a crucial foot or two.
We left the sound stages and makeshift bungalows behind, and were racing down what looked for all the world like a charming, bucolic goddamn country lane. Looming ahead was the backlot, with its massive outdoor sets.
I dived. I managed to get an adequate grip on the book, and I yanked it out from under her arm. She continued on her way as though she had not even noticed.
That done, clutching my prize to my chest, I dropped to the ground and spent a few moments catching my breath.
After a time, I became aware of a thrumming noise that was getting louder. A small engine of some kind, heading in my direction. I could now hear the sound of gravel being displaced by rubber tires.
Getting back to my feet, I saw a little motorized buggy of some sort heading in my direction. It was like a small automobile, with a sort of canvas awning stretched over the top of the single bench seat. The cart was carrying two people, which was all it had room for. As it drew closer, I saw who those two people were.
Bela Lugosi and the nun!
The little contraption rattled to a stop a few feet from me, and the nun jumped out from behind the wheel.
"I'm sorry, Bill, I really am," she said as she sprinted in my direction. "But I have GOT to have that book!" Before I could react at all, she delivered a punch to my head that knocked me unconscious.
When I came to, Bela Lugosi was fussing over me.
I shook my head, sat up, and asked, "What the heck just happened?"
"I think a nun punched you and took away the book you were holding."
"Yep," I said, raising a hand to my masked face, "that sounds about right. Three times in one day! What happened before that? How did you get here?"
"Are you alright?" Bela asked.
"Absolutely. Head like an anvil. What happened?"
"Well... After you took off chasing that... What was that, anyhow?"
I shook my head. "It's complicated."
"Yes, I suppose it would have to be. Well, after you took off, as I say, I walked over to help the poor nun who had been attacked. I was trying to help her get to her feet, and she began cursing me. I had the strong impression I was about to be murdered. Then she pulled her wimple aside. When she got a look at me, her manner changed completely.
"Like you did earlier, she informed me that I was Bela Lugosi. I admitted to it, and she expressed her admiration for my work. She said she saw me as Dracula on Broadway. Very flattering."
I smiled and shook my aching head. I had no doubts about that nun's true identity, and I knew that she, too, was an admirer of Lugosi's.
A thought struck me. Had someone deliberately sent my finger via Bela Lugosi? Someone who knew of my admiration for him and his work? If so, who was it, and how did they know? The only person I could think of who might be aware of the fact was the same one who had just masqueraded as a nun. Was she in cahoots with the Ripper? It really didn't seem likely, but...
"Well," Bela went on, "she asked if I saw which way you and that... person had gone. I said I had. She asked if I knew the layout of the studio well enough to serve as a guide. Again, I said yes. She commandeered this little cart from someone who was passing by, pulled me into the seat, and off we went. And now here we are. Or here you and I are. The nun took the book she got from you and continued on into the backlot."
It was getting dark. The sun had already dropped below the horizon.
"That backlot is fenced off, isn't it, Bela?"
"Yes, a very tall fence, all the way around. There are some guards, too, but I don't know how much good they are."
I nodded. "Not that a fence would be much of an obstacle to her... But I just have a feeling she's still in there. I don't think she knew I was after her. She was running to, not away from. It could be where she... ah, holes up." I didn't think "lives" would have been an appropriate verb for the Eater.
"The nun went in there, too," Bela reminded me, "and she has not come back out this way."
"Do me a huge favor, Bela. Get back to the Black Centipede set as fast as you can and let Percival Doiley know where I am and what I'm doing. Tell him to call Lieutenant Matteo."
He nodded. "Certainly. What will you do?"
"She's in there someplace. They're in there someplace. I'm going to find them."
That done, clutching my prize to my chest, I dropped to the ground and spent a few moments catching my breath.
After a time, I became aware of a thrumming noise that was getting louder. A small engine of some kind, heading in my direction. I could now hear the sound of gravel being displaced by rubber tires.
Getting back to my feet, I saw a little motorized buggy of some sort heading in my direction. It was like a small automobile, with a sort of canvas awning stretched over the top of the single bench seat. The cart was carrying two people, which was all it had room for. As it drew closer, I saw who those two people were.
Bela Lugosi and the nun!
The little contraption rattled to a stop a few feet from me, and the nun jumped out from behind the wheel.
"I'm sorry, Bill, I really am," she said as she sprinted in my direction. "But I have GOT to have that book!" Before I could react at all, she delivered a punch to my head that knocked me unconscious.
When I came to, Bela Lugosi was fussing over me.
I shook my head, sat up, and asked, "What the heck just happened?"
"I think a nun punched you and took away the book you were holding."
"Yep," I said, raising a hand to my masked face, "that sounds about right. Three times in one day! What happened before that? How did you get here?"
"Are you alright?" Bela asked.
"Absolutely. Head like an anvil. What happened?"
"Well... After you took off chasing that... What was that, anyhow?"
I shook my head. "It's complicated."
"Yes, I suppose it would have to be. Well, after you took off, as I say, I walked over to help the poor nun who had been attacked. I was trying to help her get to her feet, and she began cursing me. I had the strong impression I was about to be murdered. Then she pulled her wimple aside. When she got a look at me, her manner changed completely.
"Like you did earlier, she informed me that I was Bela Lugosi. I admitted to it, and she expressed her admiration for my work. She said she saw me as Dracula on Broadway. Very flattering."
I smiled and shook my aching head. I had no doubts about that nun's true identity, and I knew that she, too, was an admirer of Lugosi's.
A thought struck me. Had someone deliberately sent my finger via Bela Lugosi? Someone who knew of my admiration for him and his work? If so, who was it, and how did they know? The only person I could think of who might be aware of the fact was the same one who had just masqueraded as a nun. Was she in cahoots with the Ripper? It really didn't seem likely, but...
"Well," Bela went on, "she asked if I saw which way you and that... person had gone. I said I had. She asked if I knew the layout of the studio well enough to serve as a guide. Again, I said yes. She commandeered this little cart from someone who was passing by, pulled me into the seat, and off we went. And now here we are. Or here you and I are. The nun took the book she got from you and continued on into the backlot."
It was getting dark. The sun had already dropped below the horizon.
"That backlot is fenced off, isn't it, Bela?"
"Yes, a very tall fence, all the way around. There are some guards, too, but I don't know how much good they are."
I nodded. "Not that a fence would be much of an obstacle to her... But I just have a feeling she's still in there. I don't think she knew I was after her. She was running to, not away from. It could be where she... ah, holes up." I didn't think "lives" would have been an appropriate verb for the Eater.
"The nun went in there, too," Bela reminded me, "and she has not come back out this way."
"Do me a huge favor, Bela. Get back to the Black Centipede set as fast as you can and let Percival Doiley know where I am and what I'm doing. Tell him to call Lieutenant Matteo."
He nodded. "Certainly. What will you do?"
"She's in there someplace. They're in there someplace. I'm going to find them."
No comments:
Post a Comment