Wanna Live Forever?

By Bob Liddil

The taxi driver charged me a hundred and sixty bucks to for the ride from the airport to the front door of the hotel. I gave him two bills, and told him to keep the change commenting, “For another fifty, I could’ve come up here by helicopter.”

He lit a cigarette, eased the ancient Checker Marathon into gear and flipped me a limp salute, retorting, “You’re not going to need money much longer anyway, pal.”

He drove off around the long circular driveway, leaving a thin haze of blue smoke behind him, laughing as he went, as though in on some joke that only he knew the punch line of.

The hotel was opulent, to say the very least. It was a hideaway in the mountains above Denver; one of those that you see on cable on the Travel Channel in some cracker box Detroit Motel 6 and wish fate or luck would put you there.

Momma always said, “Be careful what you wish for.” I’ve never listened to her and that character flaw has put me in harm’s way more than once.

I almost never open Spam E-mail. But the subject line on the one that brought me to this place had been irresistible. It had simply read, “Do you wanna live forever?” The body of the message said, “August 11, 9:PM, The Galaxy Room, The Clouds Resort, Denver.”

Now honestly. Would you have tossed that into the “deleted” file? Such opportunity.

The hotel front desk was polished mahogany, crafted with old school carpentry like they never practice anymore. The registration book rotated on a Lazy Susan, and had a quill pen and ink well for guests to sign in with. The desk clerk was dressed impeccably and his manners were just as impressive.

“Please sign our guest book.” He said, disarmingly. “We’ve been expecting you.”

I did as asked.

My room was elegant. Dinner was beyond a gourmand’s expectations, capped by a complimentary 1993 Williams & Selyem Olivet Lane Russian River Pinot Noir poured discreetly into a Riedel Vinum Burgundy glass and served just slightly chilled from room temperature. It was a delightful experience.

A Seth Thomas clock chimed nine times from the mantle over the fireplace near my table. I signed the check and departed, making my way through the lobby and along the hallway toward The Galaxy Room, in front of the door of which sat a lovely receptionist greeting individuals and couples as they filed in through the sculpted double doors. I was the last arrival, because after me, the doors were quietly closed.

There were exactly fifty of us. I counted as I made my way to a comfortable chair. The quiet buzz of expectation in the room changed to polite applause as a tall, caped man, dressed in a traditional tuxedo entered from stage left and stood up to the podium. Then, silence descended as he cleared his throat to speak.

“Eternal life. “ He began in a clear voice that resonated to the nearly perfect acoustics of the room. “Immortality has been sought after by mankind since its very beginning.” He expanded his arms magnanimously; gesturing first to the left and then to the right, to twelve other black tuxedo clad gentlemen, six to a side, who had so silently appeared that even I had not noticed them.

“We are here to make your dream of eternal life come true.” The speaker intoned, enthusiasm now beginning to creep in to his voice. “This is the ultimate in Multi-Level marketing, a product you can sell to a willing audience.” His volume was rising now and his pitch was beginning to catch hold. The audience was responding with murmurs of affirmation. He had everyone in his sway.

Almost everyone, that is, except me. I wasn’t watching the speaker. I was watching the acolytes. They were now moving through the audience, stopping, bending and whispering to the different attendees, then moving to the next as the speaker intoned his core message.

“Do you wanna live forever?” The speaker asked.

One of the acolytes reached me. He rustled like old leaves in an October wind as he approached my chair. His face was a little pale and he wore white formal gloves, as did they all. From his standing height he bent over to quietly speak to me and whispered, “How about you? Would you like to live forever?”

My hand came out of my pocket with the answer. I shot him between the eyes. The force of the shot snapped him upward and backward. He flew fully five feet away from me, landing sprawling on the floor, then erupted into an acrid, acidic, bubbling mass, writhed twice, gurgled and vanished in a plume of smoke that rose into the air almost pink and dissipated.

Screams erupted and panic ensued. Everyone stampeded to the door by which they had entered. But it opened inward, rather than outward and would not budge. Systematically, I assassinated every single acolyte, each one I dispatched with a single shot that first killed, and then disintegrated him. All during that time, the speaker never moved, just watching me, hatred blazing from his eyes. Finally, he was the only one left and I still had three rounds in my Glock 20.

By now, the group had abandoned their escape attempt and just stood, staring, open-mouthed at me.

I said, “There are three things in this world that I truly cannot stand; multi-level marketing, vampires and spam.”

I fired three times and put all three 10mm rounds in a precise pattern in the center of his forehead. The Holy Water encased in the tip of each round did its thing. He melted into bubbling ooze, and then vanished in pinkish smoke.

“Take me off your e-mail list.” I said puckishly as an afterthought.

To the crowd, I said, “This seminar’s been cancelled.

I reloaded and put my gun away, chuckling to myself. With vampires, it’s always something.