Three guys on choppers and one on a Jap crotch rocket made town by sunset and stopped in the middle of Main. Abandoned, just how they liked it. The recession had people fleeing for anywhere else, seemed. Not like they’d find better jobs over in the bigger towns, but at least there would be more people. Better to sink with company than swim alone. Steel God batted dust and bugs from his jacket, shook his black mane and lifted his sunglasses to his crown, holding hair out of his eyes. Had his eyes on the squat brick dive with windows either too dark or filthy to see past, weak Hamm’s and Tecate signs trying to shine through. Worn-out wooden sign with a few letters not faded yet--could see “PL” and a “W” and “NS”. But the neon hanging off the pole, squeaking hinges going with the wind, said Crimedog One: Virtual Dive Bar. Buzzing orange and green. He turned back to his enforcer, new guy named Lafitte, like the pirate. Nodded. “This one’s the one.” Lafitte squinted, crossed his arms. “Don’t know. Gives me the willies. Like déjà vu or something.” Got the other guys laughing. “Each day’s pretty much like the last one anyway when you get right down to it. Especially if you’re not on the move,” Steel God said. Lafitte lifted his shoulders. How can you argue with God, right? “I’m just saying. Like another life or something. I’ve been here before, but it’s not the same.” “Well, good. You’re a regular, then. More than we are.” Skinny guy named Fry couldn’t keep his hands still. Flexing his fingers all the time. “So we put out the call, then?” Steel God held up his palm, a bit of Hold off and a bit of Heston playing Moses. He stepped away from the others, then stood still and breathed in as if trying to get a hint from the dead souls left haunting this town because Hell was at full-capacity. Another blast of wind kicked up clay and all except Steel God shielded their eyes. While he meditated, Lafitte took a look at the other shut-down bars, clubs, and restaurants along the street. Just over twenty of them. Badass names like Blood Sweat and Murder, Needle Scratch Static, Secret Dead Something. Had some sort of “pop culture” vibe to one joint. A Tex-Mex place called Chimichangas at Sunset next to an all-night bail bonds place called First Offenders. One spot, Lafitte couldn’t even tell what it was supposed to be--a mushroom cloud and something about the Apocalypse, but funky. A used bookstore called Central Crime Zone was a little farther along. With a name like that they either specialized in crime fiction or encouraged you to steal the books. Not to mention the sign pointing to a door up the backstairs, supposedly only open on Saturdays. Some sort of brothel? There were plenty more, talking about Bleak Futures (tattoos?) and Demon Theories (a coffee shop) and Hardboiled Wonderlands (best breakfast in town) and whatnot. Lafitte thought he’d have to make a stop in each and every one while they were here, which looked to be a couple weeks at the least. The other guy they brought along on the crotch rocket, his name never sticking in Lafitte’s mind, whisper-hissed at him. Lafitte turned. Dude was a punk. Kristal had told Lafitte this was one of the guys trying to make trouble for Steel God. Guy said, “Lafitte, you into dog fights?” “I like dogs.” “Like to watch em fight?” Fry laughed. “Dude.” Lafitte said, “Gets your rocks off, watching dogs go after each other?” The guy ignored the jab, kept on. “How about hogdoggin’? I though maybe we could get some pit fights and maybe some hogdoggin. Find us a basement around here, let the concrete soak up the blood.” Lafitte’s moth hung open while this guy seemed to get aroused over this shit. Finally said, “What the fuck is wrong with you? And what the fuck is hogdoggin’?” Guy looked like he’d been struck down from on high. Shrunk a little. Before he could answer, Steel God was back, dustier than ever. He said, “Yep. Put out the call.” * Thus begins the HOGDOGGIN’ Virtual Motorcycle Rally, a gathering of twenty-three notorious Biker Clubs (I.e. “blogs”) to celebrate the publication of my fourth novel this June. It’s all leading up to June 1st, Hogdoggin’ Monday, when I’m asking you to go beg, buy, or click yourself a copy of the book. In the meantime, we’ll be visiting with some of the baddest and coolest folks out there on the Web.
First up, Kent Gowran & his BBQ Revelators bring the food and the tunes at Blood Sweat & Murder.
Each stop will also include a song to provide some mood music.
Tonight on the Main Stage: Rob Zombie, “Two Lane Blacktop”
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