Big thanks to Alle, who insisted I should -- and could -- do it, and for looking it over before I posted.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Josef and Mick – but that would be cool, wouldn’t it? Sometimes they tell me stuff and I just write it down. No disrespect or copyright infringement is ever intended.
One Hundred Grand
“Joz’f. I’m in trouble.”
Do I even want to know how bad this is? “You call me during Happy Hour, it better be good. What’s the matter? Did the blood bank have a run on A positive?”
He ignored the dig. Not even a sniff on the other end of the line. All he said was, “One Hundred Grand. 30 minutes.”
“I’ll be there in 20.”
It goes against standard operating procedure. Usually, I’m the one doing the summoning. But tonight’s different. So, tonight, he calls and I go. I didn’t ask why. I didn’t have to. Some things you just don’t need spelled out. He screwed up – again – and he knows it. I should use his sorry ass to wipe up the mess he’s made. But it’s Mick. And asking for my help comes right below feeding fresh on his bucket list Hit Parade. One of these days he’s going to listen to me. Unfortunately, today isn’t that day.
As much as I’d like to run the 430 at full throttle, the last thing I need is to attract an escort of LA’s “finest.” He’s smart enough not to lead them to me – the least I can do is return the favor. At least the lights are cooperating.
He could have picked any place in the city or up in the hills to meet me. But his choice told me all I needed to know. He’s in deep this time and there’s more at risk than his own hide.
You know, when humans say they have history with someone, they mean they go back a couple of years. When you have four centuries behind you, history is more about connection than marking time. It sure as hell doesn’t seem that long ago…
~~~
It was 1952 and I had been buying property downtown. I’d made a sizable donation to Dottie Chandler a couple of years earlier when she was raising money to reopen the Hollywood Bowl, and I’d caught wind of something bigger on the horizon – talk of a performing arts center she wanted to fund. Long before she went public, I knew she had a location in mind, up on a hill over on First, and it seemed in my best interest to invest not only as a patron of the arts, but also in some of the nearby real estate. If she got her music center built – and I had no reason to doubt that woman – it was going to jack up surrounding property values. Abandoned lots and deteriorated buildings could be revitalized. The potential parking revenues alone would make even a decade-long wait worth my while. After all, I had time on my side.
So it was late one night while I was checking out one of those new acquisitions, a vacant lot right on the corner diagonal to Dottie’s dream location, that I came across the most pathetic excuse for a vampire I’d ever seen. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a movement deep in the shadows of an adjacent building, beyond the reach of the streetlight. There he was – dirty, clothes torn – cowering near a trash heap. He had his face turned toward the wall; on the ground next to him was a pile of half a dozen rats, torn in two and sucked clean. He was half starved, totally crazed. He was shaking, sputtering as he warned me away; he didn’t want to hurt me, he said. I almost laughed.
Almost.
I would have left him, but he was newly turned and unstable – and an unstable vampire is a danger to us all. So, I got close enough for him to see my face and I flashed him my best welcome to the neighborhood. The fangs got his attention, and he scrambled back some against the bricks.
I waved my hand at his empties and told him, “You can’t live on that, you know.”
“I don’t want to live. Not like this.”
“Turning not your choice, huh?” That rarely goes well. I moved closer.
He warned me again to stay away; and he pulled out a Zippo, flicked it open, and held it out in my direction like some sort of crucifix in an old Dracula film. Then, he raised his other arm, the sleeve of his jacket dangling just inches from the flame.
“She said it was a gift. But it’s a curse. I didn’t want it. Monday – Monday night, I killed a girl. Because I needed to. I was so hungry.” He was shaking so hard I thought he might light himself up without even trying.
“Listen, kid, you don’t need to kill to eat. In fact, it’s frowned upon.”
“I can’t… go on like this.”
“You wanna take yourself out? Go ahead. You keep the rest of us out of it. Understand?”
“Why should I care about you? Any of you?”
At that point I was starting to think I should take him out myself.
“So, have you always been a quitter? A coward? You get dealt a hand you don’t like, so you run away – throw in the towel? Your sire must be one hell of a screw-up.”
That hit a nerve. He snapped the lighter shut and flashed fang faster than I thought possible in his wasted state. He struggled to his feet and actually snarled at me. “She’s my wife!”
Anger. That was something I could use. So, I laughed at him. “You married a vampire and you didn’t even know it! Your sire must like ‘em big and dumb. I should have you both put down.” That was when he lunged at me. Didn’t know he had it in him, but the guy had some fight left after all.
I spun him around and planted him face first into the wall. And I held him there, while I gave him some advice. I told him he needed to harness his anger. That the fire in his gut meant he had a reason to go on. I kept a grip on the back of his neck with one hand as I reached into my pocket and pulled out a couple of bills, stuffed them into his coat pocket and then released him. He was smart enough to know not to come at me again. As he was turning around, I fished out a card with directions to a safe place where he could get cleaned up and get a “decent” meal. I told him to stay there for a day or two before he went back to make nice with the little woman.
He said he didn’t want my money and tossed it down on top of the rat heap. But he kept the card and limped off into the shadows, heading down the hill.
That was the first time I met Mick St. John, vampire. Oh, Coraline thought she introduced us for the first time a few weeks later, and I did nothing to disabuse her of that notion, but Mick and I – we already had history.
~~~
You didn’t say north or south, boy-o. You’re lucky I’m sentimental. And here we are, back at the scene of the crime, so to speak. One Hundred South Grand.
And there he is, looking almost as lost and mad at the world as the first time I found him at this address. There was no garage here then. Just a vacant lot and a pile of empty dreams. He saw broken promises. I saw potential. Maybe tonight we see which one of us was right.
Right after I make my point…
“You made the news.”
Such a unique take on the Challenge--and I'm really awed that you figured out that the parking garage across from Disney Hall is at 100 South Grand! 
It certainly happened that way in my mind -- I appreciate your coming along for the ride. 
They DO have history. And it is great fun to explore that. 
I'm not sure it completely makes sense, but it sounded like a classic Josef pop culture reference to me. And I'm so pleased you liked the address "twist." 
