The characters of the Southern Vampire Mysteries belong to Miss Charlaine Harris. No infringement on my part is intended. The characters on True Blood belong to Mr. Alan Ball. No infringement on my part is intended.
I have no BETA, editor, or other such charming person. All mistakes are my own.
This story is rated M.
Chapter 7 Junk Yards, the Stuff of Life
“I am William T. Compton,” Bill kept repeating to himself. “I am beloved of my Queen and I am secured of my place in her court. I am her Agent of Procurements and she has entrusted to me, William T. Compton, this sacred trust.”
The gravel and car and silver pit was like navigating a maze. There were broken pieces of mirror that reflected the smallest amount of light. There was silver that reflected the smallest amount of light and burned liked hell if you brushed up against it. He seemed to always be doing that. Slide this way between the cars, duck under that. “I am forced to sleep in the trunk of a rusted out Fiat that smells of death, dog, and dog do-do,” he wailed, shaking his fists. “I hate the smell of dog shit,” he lunged out at a ghost from his past. “I hated having to clean the barn. That was why we had slaves,” he shook a fist at his father and then a piece of silver fell on him and he howled in earnest.
“I am a gentleman, not at all like that barbarian, Eric Northman. Viking raider and fascist and probably a communist and a left-wing nutter and a right-wing widget without a nut to tighten him down and he probably supported the North during the War! I don’t care how long he says he has lived in the South! He has never tasted a mint Julep prepared by the hands of a loving wife in a frosted silver cup on ice or had the pleasure of sippin’ fine bourbon from a lead crystal glass, on ice. And I bet women suck him off. That is just disgustin’.
He certainly is not deserving of a fine woman like Sookie. Her hair reflected the lights of the moon and stars and in her eyes danced the dollar signs of saying I am for hire.” The shakes were going to take him. He had to keep talking if he ever wanted to get out of here. Wherever here was…this pit…this pit was hell! “This pit is hell!” he screeched out into the universe as he maneuvered around what appeared to be a vampire catacomb. How was that possible? Vampires turned to goo! They left no bones! But there was no mistaking the skulls with the fangs! His insides were going to spill out! His blood would turn to water and he would diminish, no one to mourn him and no one to clean his house for his wake. “Who collects vampire skulls?” he cried in desperation. “And you may not take mine,” he shook his fists and glared at the skulls. “I know your dirty secrets. You were all sucked off so you turned to bone. Sinners, all of you!”
Oh, there was an opening between those two cars and he did not see any silver. Or smell any…”I know I can now smell silver,” he congratulated himself. “Do you hear that?” He laughed! “I can smell silver! And sunrise! And all manner of disgustin’ things when I stand down wind of the old farmhouse when Eric has had his way with that sweet young thing that lives there!” His voice lost its tremor, he was felling very right about this.
“Now, if I could just stake Eric and present her to The Authority, I am sure there would be a little something in this for me. Like maybe not meeting the sun and keeping my Queen from staking my ass. But I am stuck here in this pit of cars, gravel slides, and silver, not ever going to reach the top until probably a week past Judgment Day. It would be just my luck to miss the Second Coming and it would be all Eric’s fault. I would have to tell that to God. Explain to Him face to face that me being late was not my fault. It was all Eric Northman’s fault. A heathen. One of God’s bad boys that is surly burning in the fiery pit of hell for being a Viking Heathen. Let’s see him walk those long legs and tight ass past God. Yes, let’s just see him charm his way out of that one. Because God does not care if you have a tight ass! Do you hear me Eric,” he was screaming, “you cannot impress God with your tight ass! Wow,” he leaned against a car, was burned, screeched and backed away. “Fuckin’ silver,” he spit. Oh wait, maybe, he was looking up that passage way, that was an easier way out. “God,” he pleaded, “are you showing me the way out?”
Now there was a good thought. God would see to him. “I am William T. Compton,” he said in his most charming voice, “and I am lost,” now he was weeping. “I am grounded in ground. Graveled in gravel. Carred in cars. Would someone please come and release me? I am deserving. I am righteous. I stood for the South and believed all men are celebrated. Women are there to be of service to men but men are to be celebrated. Give Ole’ Nub his due and I can allow a woman to get up wash out her privates and fix me breakfast. I would only be with a worthy woman. I did not fuck whores. Well, once or maybe twice, but I did not pay them.
Please,” he was crying now. “Won’t someone please help me?”
Pam was laughing so hard she was snorting.
“Just what the fuck did you do to him?” Bloody tears were rolling down her cheeks as she grasped her side and hooted.
“Bill apparently has a real fear of abandoned cars,” Eric shook his head. “Get him around car junk yards, he just walks off the deep end. Like you see here. Brumley told me that.”
“Robert Brumley or his cousin Sid?” Pam said turning up the volume on the two-way radio.
“Robert. Sid has no sense of humor,” Eric was watching the monitor. “He said the two of them were in Heidelberg with sunup almost upon them. There was the Heidelberg dead car lot in front of them. Robert suggested a trunk and popped one open. Bill apparently went ape shit and started moaning and crying and screeching about how he was not an animal and refused to rest like one. Bill took off screaming about being surrounded by all that rusted out metal and dove right into the ground across the street. Hit his head on a cement pylon left in the ground since the war. Bashed his head in but no true death. Robert had to go get him and drag his sorry ass back and then tossed him in, got in, and closed the trunk.”
“I love you,” Pam smiled at Eric and sighed happily. “Bill Compton,” Pam spoke into the radio.
“Yes,” he replied, his head swiveling around.
“Stop your sniveling. This is God. I am here to rescue you.”
“Yes,” he smiled. “Thank you! Hallelujah! God…wait…why do you sound like a woman?”
“Because I am, you dick head,” Pam retorted back.
“Oh-h-h-h,” Bill nodded in understanding, then started to look scared. “Did I miss the Second Coming?” he asked.
“Yes, dick head, you did,” she replied. “So take your sorry ass topside and prepare to live the rest of your days as Captain of this junk yard.”
“So, I am in hell,” he sobbed.
“That’s right and even in hell, the car junk yards need tendin’. So get on it. Start by sorting by model and then year. Put them all in order, jumble them all back into the pit and then do it all again. Move your ass up and out. No more of this takin’ it easy and trying to side step shit. Take it like a man, let the silver burn what may, and get your ass topside.”
Bill emerged bloodied, bruised, torn and silver burned but victorious. When he stepped out onto the top of the cars, he could see the moonlight and smell…and smell the ocean…”I do not believe there would be an ocean in hell,” he thought to himself. Concentrating, he could hear the sounds of New Orleans and see the lights of the city in the distance.
There was the rumble of traffic and behind him were the dead cars. With one terrified look over his shoulder, he saw all of them with their tongues hanging out and their sharp teeth wanting to devour him.
Once he was away, a small “Humph,” passed through his lips. “No Second Comin’,” he hissed. “No hell…just Pamela,” he kicked at the ground.
Walking up to Sophie-Anne’s mansion he was recognized. “I need to see the Queen, but I would like to get cleaned up, first,” he said with authority in his voice.
“Of course,” the guard scanned him, logged in his arrival and made the announcement that William T. Compton was present on the grounds.
When he was presentable, he asked for an audience.
“I was wondering where you were for the past two days,” Sophie-Anne said when he entered. “Nan Flanagan contacted me,” she smiled, her eyes flashing sparks, her fangs down. “I should have known you had pissed The Viking off and you were providing amusement for his child and apparently everyone else on YouTube. God, why do you sound like a woman?” Sophie-Anne imitated his voice and rolled her eyes. “You are insane, Bill. That is what I am going to tell The Authority. I am not to be held accountable for your actions because as they can see, we can all see,” she screeched, “you are just fucking nuts!”
“No, my Queen,” he bowed, “I am not. And I am ready to hand myself over to The Authority.”
“Bravo Bill,” Nan Flanagan applauded entering from the back of the room. “I have not one fucking clue why you think you can piss off Northman. But now, we have to haul his ass in. Complete with all his pals from the Old World, and perhaps one or two from the New and the breather he calls Mrs. Northman. We have received his list of character references and let me tell you, it might not be very long but it is deadly. There is Vlad Drac who has a Blood Feud in good standing order with our Magister. Salome owes Siggy, oh I don’t know, her head. Seems she bet him back in the day…and has been on the run ever since.
Eire and British Isle, those two boys, they are always looking for a good time. I perhaps owe both of them a considerable amount of money. I either pay up or they collect…Ian, for being such a boor and British, has a nasty imagination. Rumor has it that The Da’vid will be in attendance, as well. Just to make sure that after we are all dead, the funds get properly transferred.” She continued on, her voice even and speaking of the seriousness of the situation. “You just could not leave The Viking alone, could you. We could have handled things internally, but not when it has been released to the YouTube World Wide Vampire Network.
You two enjoy. Godric has been in touch with us and is acting as Parlay. Eric has a week to gather his flock to him. Then it starts.”
“Good on you,” Sophie-Anne had to fire the parting shot. “Your arch nemesis met the true death. William the Con…”
Nan had the Queen of Louisiana pinned against the wall. “I would end you right now, except I want to see your skanky ass staked out in the sun. And even if it is next to mine, I shall rejoice in the fact the biggest mistake in vampire history has finally met the true death.”
Throwing her across the room, Nan left.