Leprechaun in the Hood: The Musical: A Novel Page 12

  “Listen up, troops, we’re going to go in with a crash and catch some of the show with any luck,” Marvin said, “but anyone who tries to cap the lep before me will find their inner ear getting fucked.”

  There was no response. Maybe lobotomizing the entire police force had been a bit much, maybe he had spread his newfound magical mojo a bit thin.

  “If you’re not going to say nary a ‘ten four’, at least turn on your loud speakers so I can talk no more.” He no longer had to think about rhyming, it just happened. One of the perks.

  Marvin dropped the radio receiver, letting it bounce against its spiral cord and then snapped his fingers one final time.

  The music boomed, bouncing off the block in front of them, shaking the front windows of the businesses around them. N.W.A.’s “Fuck tha Police” streamed from the loudspeakers atop each cruiser.

  Nothing like a little mood music to enhance their drive. Marvin pushed one small foot forward, the bottoms of his special orthopedic shoes not touching the pedal, but the ignition flaring anyway, by magic.

  He checked the clock on the dashboard. The show should have started by now, but knowing the production, Marvin guessed that they still had some time to get downtown. He hoped there wasn’t much traffic, then bounced one small, slimy palm against his forehead.

  “Duh. That’s no flaw, because I am the law.”

  The extent of his magic execution still unknown, Marvin tried wiggling his nose instead of snapping his fingers.

  The Portland streets were bathed in the red and blue of their lights as Marvin led his police force to the theater.

  Simon was sweating. He would have been sweating anyway, squeezed into Marvin’s tiny leprechaun costume, but add the heat of the half-dim stagelights and the accumulated body heat of the opening night crowd and the moisture was pooling at the base of Simon’s spine, soaking through his underwear.

  Simon was parked in the wings, stage right, where he had parted the curtain a sliver to stare out at the crowd. There were already people checking their watches and fidgeting in their seats and they were only ten-past start time.

  “Are we almost ready?” Byron asked, tapping Simon on the shoulder and causing him to jump back from the curtain.

  Simon turned. Byron, Mark and Trinie had all gathered behind him on the wings without him noticing.

  “Yeah, I guess we should throw on the commercials. Once they start, though, we’re past the point of no return.”

  “You want to do the honors?” Byron asked and motioned to the control panel on the wall behind them. If Byron was as nervous as Simon, he wasn’t showing it. At least he wasn’t sweating as much.

  Simon approached the panel, pressed play on the remote for the DVD player and dialed up the volume as he dimmed the house lights.

  There was tepid applause from the crowd. They sounded happy that something, anything was about to happen.

  “Huddle up,” Simon said, his voice cracking as he did so. “We’ve got to assume that Lucas isn’t coming back. He bailed on us, and while I want to call him some terrible names, I guess we can’t really blame him, can we?”

  “That means I’m pulling quadruple duty?”

  There was laughter from the crowd. They liked the Cen-O-Bites gag, that was nice, but it didn’t make Simon feel much better.

  “Yes, you are,” Simon said. “But we don’t have time to go over what stays and what goes. You’re talented, Mark, just go with your instincts, ad-lib if you have to, just get the rest of us to our cues and keep your eyes open.”

  “Well, I think we should all keep our eyes open,” Trinie said, stomping on the only encouraging moments of direction that Simon had doled out since this project began.

  “That’s true. The second you see that little motherfucker, give the rest of us the signal and get to the nearest weapon.”

  The readout on the DVD player let Simon know that they had about three minutes to curtain.

  “Alright. Places everyone.” Simon checked the shoes that he’d sewn onto his pants, then kneeled. He wasn’t a convincing midget, but at least the costume was staying on.

  He looked up at his cast.

  “Break a leg, guys.”

  They all groaned, Byron rolling his eyes, then left the director alone, all moving to their opening marks.

  Tucked high above them in the fly loft, the leprechaun watched the thieves.

  They didn’t look scared enough, so he reached out a clawed hand and pushed a sandbag toward the main curtain, the fabric fluttered a bit, but the group of thieves gathered below were too ensnared in the director’s pep-talk to notice.

  “I’m trying to be creepy here, my little lass, but they’re all too far up that balding fuck’s ass.”

  The leprechaun tilted his head up and looked into Kay’s beautiful eyes. He held out a hand and she gripped it, he gave it a squeeze but she didn’t respond. In the low light, he couldn’t see the brilliance of the golden leash he’d slipped around her neck. Her expression was empty, vegetative, but she’d soon come around.

  “You’re not going to be a cold fish forever, my dove. After I slaughter your friends I’ll show you the secrets of leprechaun tongue-love.”

  He giggled, then realized he was being too loud and hushed himself. He looked down from the slender wooden footbridge at the group. They hadn’t heard him over the din of their stupid movie. Everything the leprechaun had seen of this production had only made his blood boil even further. Going into space had been cheesy, but this was positively amateur hour. Cardboard and papier-mâché.

  These little fuckers would pay for ruining his IP.

  Walking further down the deck, he looked out at the crowd. The assholes were all preparing to have a so-bad-it’s-good chuckle at his expense.

  He sighed. It would be hard work, but he’d have to murder the entire audience to make sure his brand made it out of this theater intact.

  Showtime.

  It hadn’t been half bad. Aside from the burning in Simon’s knees, the bruises accruing with every step, and the sweat stinging his eyes, the musical worked. Maybe it wasn’t getting laughs in exactly the right places, but at least nobody looked bored.

  Byron wasn’t a bad rapper, either. The opening number closed with more applause than Simon thought it deserved, but hey, he was too close to the material to be objective.

  He’d almost forgotten all about the mortal danger they were in, had begun focusing solely on his vocal cords, when the zombie fly girls began dancing up the aisles.

  His first thought, and it hadn’t been the correct thought, had been: Why didn’t I think of that? Using the aisles is a great way to engage the crowd.

  His second thought, the sane one, was: Holy shit, we are outnumbered.

  There was nothing to do about it. There was still no sign of the leprechaun himself and the fly girls were, for now, relegated to the audience.

  The show would have to go on until the fight could begin.

  Byron tried to ignore the possessed strippers dropping their asses in the aisles. It was coming up to his big number before the intermission. City-destroying supernatural event or not, he was going to decimate Simon in this rap battle. He only hoped that his friend could keep up, make the win look good.

  The original “Bitches Be Spooky” number involved leprechaun strippers, but since every girl besides Trinie had quit—and because the actual leprechaun strippers dancing in the crowd were probably there to murder them all—Simon changed the script to a rap battle between Byron and the leprechaun. The lyrics would have to be changed, but with no time to write them, Byron would just have to freestyle onstage.

  Byron took center stage and put the wireless microphone to his lips. He started spitting lyrics in Simon’s direction, getting so into his performance that it took a moment to notice the jade-green light beginning to glow from the trapdoor beneath Simon’s feet.

  Before he could yell out, it was too late.

  The door flew open, tossing Simon into the air. He
flipped head over heels across the stage and landed hard on his back, grimacing, now out of view from the audience.

  The leprechaun rose from the ground as if riding an elevator, though there was nothing underneath him except a bright green light that swirled from the opening like smoke. His hands were held out to his sides at shoulder height, almost a crucifixion pose, that familiar hideous grin on his face.

  And the crowd went crazy. It was as if they were tolerating Simon’s shitty leprechaun costume, letting it slide just to be nice, but now that an actual wee person was onstage, decked out in a costume as good as the one in the movies, they actually got on their feet, cheered, hollered, whistled.

  The beat for “Bitches Be Spooky” cut off, and the leprechaun chortled as he glared across the stage at Byron. Then he snapped his fingers, and a microphone flew from the trapdoor and landed in his clawed hand. The trapdoor slammed shut, and a new beat began to play. A deeper beat, low and bassy. Sinister somehow as it oozed from the speakers.

  The crowd, still on their feet, began to dance, waving their hands as if they were at a concert.

  The strippers, all wearing gold leotards, spread around the audience, probably positioning themselves for some kind of attack. But for now, they danced too, swaying their hips, running their hands across the people’s chests and backs.

  The leprechaun put the mic to his green, warty lips and took a few steps toward Byron.

  “Is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me? The leprechaun is here to give you the heebie jeebies.”

  The crowd erupted again, some shouting, “Oohh!”

  I have to keep him busy, Byron thought. Give everyone a chance to grab their weapons, end this shit once and for all.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Mark and Trinie both nodded at him. Simon was still on the ground, rolling around and grabbing his back.

  Byron turned to the crowd, nodded his head to the nefarious beat, then turned to the leprechaun and pointed at him.

  “You don’t scare me, motherfucker, you ain’t nothin’ but a joke. Now open wide, lil’ man, and suck my nuts til you choke. A little green bitch, a motherfuckin’ disgrace. Get the fuck outta my hood and float yo’ ass back to space!”

  Byron stepped back from the lep, smiling, arms out to his sides as if waiting for the wee creature’s response.

  The crowd continued to bounce and holler. The zombie fly girls rubbed their asses on men and women, but something was different about them. From the stage, with the lights in his face, it was hard for Byron to see, but their hands looked bigger, darker in color.

  The leprechaun snarled at Byron.

  “It’s not nice to call names, it’s not nice to be mean. I only want me gold and for your shoes to be clean. I’m a nice leprechaun and I mean you no harm. Now give us me gold or I’ll gnaw off your arm.”

  Byron felt his confidence building, and he knelt down so he was eye-level with the leprechaun, though still far enough away that the little fucker couldn’t reach him.

  “Yo fuck your gold, fuck your copyright too—”

  “Watch your mouth, laddie lad, let me give you a clue. You don’t have to die, not you or your friends. But if you keep fucking with me, you won’t like how this ends. All these innocent people, just here for a laugh. Me beautiful minions will cut their asses in half.”

  After the leprechaun’s verse, the strippers lifted their hands into the air, long, curved green claws on the ends of their fingers. The crowd was oblivious to anything going on besides the rap battle onstage, had no idea they were about to be torn into by the goddamn zombie fly girls.

  “Y’all get the fuck outta here!” Byron shouted into the microphone, waving toward the audience. “Run!”

  But they didn’t move. They only danced as the beat continued to thump from the speakers. The leprechaun howled with laughter.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with you! You’re all gonna die! Run!”

  The leprechaun did a jig to the roaring pleasure of the audience. He put the mic to his lips again. “You’re all gonna die. You’re all gonna die. Run, run, run, cuz you’re all gonna die.”

  The men and women smiled, clapping, now repeating the chorus back, rapping along with the leprechaun. “You’re all gonna die. You’re all gonna die. Run, run, run, cuz you’re all gonna die.”

  The strippers seemed to be waiting for the leprechaun’s instructions, still standing in their spots around the crowd, claws raised above their heads and ready to rip flesh.

  “Run, run, run, as fast as you can. You see the buckles on me shoes? I’m the leprechaun man.”

  “No! This isn’t a fucking joke…get the fuck outta here!”

  “I might give your shoes a shine, I might grant you three wishes, but this leprechaun is not magically delicious. Now not only me gold, you stole me copyright as well. I’m done playing games, lad, you can all burn in hell!”

  Simon finally caught his breath and sat up. Byron was in the middle of rap battling the leprechaun, which was completely absurd, but it was buying them time to grab their weapons, to get ready to attack.

  The leprechaun had his full attention on Byron and the crowd and didn’t seem to know Simon, Mark, and Trinie were just off-stage watching, preparing to end this nightmare, to send him back under the rainbow or wherever the fuck he came from.

  Mark and Trinie both already held their spears, whispering to each other, watching as the leprechaun spat his next verse, the crowd roaring in response, all on their feet dancing.

  The beat that pounded from the speakers made Simon feel sick to his stomach, sent a chill down his spine and bile to the back of his throat. He rose to his feet, locked eyes with Mark, who nodded at him, then jerked his head toward the leprechaun as if to say, “Let’s get this motherfucker.”

  Simon still ached from being launched across the stage, but he tried to ignore the pain as he turned to reach for the weapon they had strategically placed.

  And then he was face to face with Kay, his hand gripping her breast.

  “Oh, shit…sorry. I didn’t…Kay? What’s the matter with—”

  Kay’s eyes were half-lidded, staring at the floor, and her expression was emotionless, hanging slack from her skull. A golden collar was locked around her neck, the metal tight against her skin making the flesh bulge out around it.

  It only took Simon a few seconds to realize what he was seeing, what had happened to the girl he had had a crush on for so many years. Who was always nice to him, always had a smile when she served him his beers.

  That little son of a bitch is trying to make her his bride. Just like in the goddamn movies.

  “Oh Jesus, Kay. Here…just let me…” He reached up, worked his fingers under the collar. Her skin was hot, almost scalding, and no matter how hard he pulled on it, the collar wasn’t moving, seemed to grow even tighter. “Shit!”

  Simon turned, faced the others. Mark and Trinie stared at him with wide eyes, shrugging as if he was wasting time, not focusing on the task at hand.

  “Don’t worry,” Simon said, turning to face Kay again. “I won’t let that green little fuck hurt you. No fucking way.”

  Simon reached for the spear they had placed behind the curtain, and just as his fingers touched the cold metal, Kay’s hand darted out from her side, wrapped around Simon’s forearm and squeezed so hard he thought the bone would snap clean in half.

  “Ahhh…shit. Kay, come on…what are you doing?”

  Her eyes ignited into a bright, blinding green as a grin stretched across her face so wide the corners of her mouth covered her ears. A thick, moss-like fungus covered her teeth, and as Simon watched, the teeth grew longer, wider, like jaundiced fingernails pressed into her gums. Red hairs sprouted from her face like thin worms wriggling out from her pores until she had a patchy, wiry beard. The hand gripping Simon’s arm constricted tighter and tighter, hooked claws now protruding from the tips of her fingers and digging into Simon’s skin.

  “Where are you planning to go w
ith that spear, Simon me lad?” she said, pulling Simon closer to her. The breath billowing from her mouth smelled like beef stew. “You could put an eye out with that thing.”

  “Guys! Fucking help me!”

  Simon hoped Mark and Trinie had heard him, though right as he yelled to them, the crowd erupted with noise. Singing along with the leprechaun.

  Kay chuckled as she pressed a thumb to Simon’s eye and dug it deep into his socket.

  Mark wanted to run out onstage and stab the little bastard through the chest, didn’t want to wait another second. But if the leprechaun saw him in time, he could probably just wave his hand, use his green magic to break every bone in his fucking body or liquefy his innards or something like that. The timing had to be just right, so he gripped his spear, bouncing on his toes, ready to attack.

  Simon was finally sitting up after being launched from the stage and smacking the floor hard. He looked dazed, but in good enough condition to help. They would need every single one of them if they hoped to get out of this alive.

  “Are we really gonna do this?” Trinie whispered, her voice shaky and squeaky. “Oh fuck, Mark, I don’t know if I can.”

  Mark had to rest the butt of the spear on the floor—it was too heavy to carry one-handed—and he placed his free hand on Trinie’s wrist. “You can. We can. We have to.”

  She looked deep into his eyes, the rims of her lids fattening with tears, and she nodded. She hadn’t looked at him that way since they went to bed together, since before they found Marvin at the diner, gorging himself on potatoes and feline. Before any of this shit happened.

  And Mark couldn’t help himself. It was as if some other force was controlling his actions, and he leaned in and kissed her. Pressed his lips hard against hers and kissed her. She let her spear rest against the floor beside his as she gripped the back of his head and kissed him back.

  Once their lips pulled apart, and after a moment of staring at each other and smiling, Mark picked his spear back up, squeezed it, and glanced back over to Simon, who was now on his feet. Mark nodded to him, then jerked his head toward the leprechaun who was rapping onstage, his full attention still on Byron.