The HellBelles: Dead Man’s Party
By Shuvcat Feb 2009
Dedicated to my girls Venti and Swest…rock on girls!!
Rated NC-17 for a sex scene, and R for naughty language
Featuring the music of Oingo Boingo, Far, Samantha Fox, Motorhead, Veronicas, and Human Radio. (yes, I know none of these are punk songs…)
This is a work of fanfiction for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement or offense is intended.

++++++

Not long ago there was a female punk rock band that did some very naughty things to a cheeky talk show host. However this story ended happily for all involved, as you will soon see…

First let’s meet our anti-heroines: the HellBelles. Let’s watch them as they scream their way through a femme-punk version of the classic song “Dead Man’s Party”:

I was struck by lighting, walkin' down the street
I was hit by something last night in my sleep.

Violette la Violent- is the heavily tattooed, undisputed leader of her little group of punks. She plays a merciless lead guitar, and takes no crap from anyone. She may be in a wheelchair but don’t be fooled—she’s no sad sack and can kick ass as easy as playing a Motorhead lick. Her bandmates/minions Kay and Meredith are unswervingly devoted to her.

It's a dead man's party
Who could ask for more?

Kay Slaughter- the country-western psychobilly, plays guitar. Never without her studded cowboy hat and jacket, which she made from the skin of the mad cow that shot her paw. Well learn’t in the ways of the lasso, she is also the very loud and exuberant tenor voice of the group.

Everybody's comin’
leave your body and soul at the door…

Meredith (a.k.a. the Merry Death)- Dark through and through. Plays the bass and harmonizes with Kay in a low, scary alto. Limps due to a fight lost with a weedwhacker. More goth than punk, and a little bit psycho. You can always tell when she’s about to have an episode by the way her eye twitches.

Don't run away, it's only me!...

The band also has a drummer, but he’s not worth mentioning, since he doesn’t appear in this story.

Our three punkettes tour in a graffiti-covered wheelchair-friendly van, roaming the country, crashing punk venues. But playing grungy waterholes doesn’t pay much, and last year it became clear to the HellBelles that the only way they were ever going to give the finger to all those other punk bands out there was to appear on TV. They began to wonder who would ever be crazy enough to give a punk band like them an audition, and very soon set their sights on TV’s Craig Ferguson—himself an ex-punk rocker, and recently crowned the number-one talk show host in America.

So the HellBelles began to stalk the hapless talk show emcee. Unbeknownst to him Violette, Kay, and Meredith staked out no less than thirteen of his comedy gigs over a six-month period. During that time, each of the punk girls also fell madly in lust with the cheeky, sexy, punk-loving Scotsman. They continued to deliberate on how they could convince him to audition them for the show—but now their schemes also turned to how they could kidnap this sexy man, take him to the nearest motel, and have their wicked way with him.

Nashville, Tennessee. Every night this week had found the HellBelles perched along the bar of the Opry Plaza’s nightclub, where Craig had been performing his standup for the past five nights. The girls always assumed the same positions: Violette sat in the middle in her tricked-out heavy metal chair, looking very much like the proud punk rock queen she was. Kay and Meredith would flank her sides, like punk handmaidens from Hell. Kay and Meredith drank, Violette did not. It was unfortunately due to a history of imbibing that she was in the chair now. But she didn’t begrudge the others their drinks. The three of them watched the act on stage wordlessly, knowing Craig’s set by heart; possibly better than he himself did. For example, they knew that he was about to close the show when he began to pick on Tom Cruise. They also knew that this was the perfect time to leave, the better to stake out the stage door with. They’d been doing so all week. However this particular evening their routine would have a new kink: tonight was the night they planned to kidnap Craig.

“Do you think we can do it, Vi?” asked Kay worriedly.

On her throne, Violette nodded. “We have to.” She spoke in brief sentences, to conserve her air. It gave her words that much more gravitas. “Tonight’s his last show here. Tomorrow he goes back to L.A. We’re going to make sure he’s booked us…. by the time he leaves. He loves punk bands… and hot women. He’ll love us.”

“Ha!” Over the bar, the pasty punk bartender sneered at the three girls, with their eyes fixed so intently on the comedian. “Punk is dead, man! All you Hot Topic poser kids today, you’re not punk! You just do it to get on TV! You’re nothin’ but sellouts!”

Meredith turned her head and gave the bartender an evil glare, accentuated by her thickly-shadowed eyes. “Selling out is the new punk,” she quipped darkly.

Up on stage, Craig seemed about ready to go into his final convulsions. “And Tom Cruise!” he ranted into the mike. “That’s 12 feet of crazy in a four-foot-five inch man!....”

“Now’s the time,” Violette proclaimed. “Let’s go.”

Meredith and Kay instantly snapped to attention, following as Violette fingered her chair's joystick, with the makeshift wine cork handle, and steered herself purposefully toward the exit door, gracefully weaving through the crowded club. Then they swooped quickly down the long hallway toward the street entrance, Kay jogging ahead to hold the door as Violette sailed through, followed by Meredith. They progressed rapidly down the street toward the van, which was parked very near the stage exit. They got into their positions, having practiced this all week.

There were lots of other girl groupies there, all squealing and screaming. Kay herself was quite excited, as many times as they’d done this. “We get him tonight! We’re gonna get him!!” she exulted, the fringe of her leather jacket bouncing excitedly.

“I wonder if he’s ever had three women in one night before,” grinned Meredith.

Violette’s full lips pursed in a smile. “Let’s just remember why we’re here,” she calmed her two bandmates who were as horny as she was. “The gig’s the thing. Anything else we can talk him into… is frosting.”

Kay giggled. “White, pearly frosting!”

They all watched as Craig emerged from the stage door entrance. He was wearing a black cowboy hat, kidding and joshing with the Nashville crowd with a wacky cowboy accent. They kept silent as he autographed things and posed for pictures with the crowd of crazy fans. Finally when it looked like he’d made his way to the end of the mob, Meredith took the handles of Violette’s throne and wheeled Violette purposefully toward Craig-- right into his path. “Hi!!” Meredith greeted him exuberantly. “Ohmigosh, my sister--” she touched Violette on the shoulder, “—is like your number one fan!! She was attacked by PETA extremists last year; she’s totally deaf and mute and lactose intolerant, and she’d just freak if you gave her a kiss on the cheek, please Mr. Ferguson?” Meredith batted her heavily-blackened eyes at the comedian. “Please, pretty please??” She bared her red-lined teeth in an innocent grin.

Craig, unfortunately, was completely taken in by this ruse. “Oh, well, of course I will!” He gazed down at Violette, preparing to lean in and give her a quick, noncommittal peck on the cheek. “What’s your name, love?--”

Anything else he said was muffled by the backwards ski mask Kay swooped over his head from behind (the ski mask was the only thing resembling a blindfold they’d been able to find). Meredith darted around from the throne and wrapped her arms around his, pinning them to his sides, squeezing him tight and loving every second. Kay grabbed his ankles, and the two girls hoisted Craig up and made off with him toward the van. Violette wheeled herself afterward, watching the street carefully to make sure no one witnessed the abduction. “Careful!” she warned her two bandmates. “Don’t hurt him. We want him to like us.”

Kay had bound Craig’s feet in record time. “World record!” Kay hooted. “If he’d been a calf, grand prize at the fair, baby!”

Violette smiled as she flicked her joystick, wheeling herself up the ramp. “Can you be a little louder Kay? I don’t think they heard you in Memphis.” The door clanged shut, the van’s cargo safely secured. Meredith, the designated driver, hopped in the front and peeled out of there.

The next thing Craig knew, someone was taking a backward ski mask off him. He blinked at the unfamiliar cheap motel room he found himself in—sitting on the edge of a bed, feet tied, mouth duct-taped, and surrounded by girls.

Two of them were kneeling on either side of a girl seated in a black, zinc-studded wheelchair that looked almost like a throne. All three of them were clad in the typical “punk” regalia—studs, chains, black clothes, dyed hair. The queen had pink streaks in her russet-red hair, offset by dark purple streaks accentuating her eyes. Intricate tattoos decorated her arms, and her Ramones tank top draped her voluminous curves. At her right hand crouched a punkabilly cowgirl; totally clad in leather and burlap, short blonde hair all but hidden by a large studded cowboy hat. At the queen’s left hand kneeled a deathly pale chick with long dyed black hair and raccoon-like eyes, looking not unlike some feminine version of Gollum.

The queen spoke. “Greetings, Craig. You are in the presence of Violette la Violent--” she pressed a hand against her own heart, “--Kay Slaughter--” she motioned to the cowgirl, “--and Meredith. Hers is a Merry Death.” The goth Gollumette. “We are the HellBelles.” She smiled at him. “We’re huge fans of yours. Good job on stage tonight-- you were fabulous. We seriously love you. However… don’t let the fact that we’re fans distract you from the fact that all three of us are totally psycho.”

The goth girl giggled evilly. The cowgirl from hell raised a gloved hand to the tip of her cowboy hat, saluting him with a grin.

Violette, the queen, looked pleased. “As you've probably guessed, we're not nice girls. I ran over a man once. Left tire tracks all over his ass. Kay here took the name Slaughter after she went all Pete Townshend on a guy's head.”

Kay looked unabashedly proud. “I’m the bride of chaos!” she exulted. Her voice was rather loud for an indoor voice.

Violette’s face almost betrayed a smile. “Meredith here, she likes to kick men. She once kicked a guy until he didn’t move anymore. That’s why she walks kind of funny.”

Meredith’s black eye twitched, almost spastically. “My right foot wants to hurt people." A slightly insane gleam came into her eye. “I always do what my right foot tells me to.”

Kay seemed more excited than the dangerous punk cowgirl she was rumored to be. "We're really big fans of yours!" she gushed.

Violette however was calm. "I ain’t trying to scare you. Just let you know the kind of chicks you're dealing with. Now, Meredith’s gonna peel that tape off your mouth. And we're all gonna have a nice friendly chat. All right? All right then." Meredith reached up and peeled the duct tape off his mouth. “Now… here’s the low down. We’re a punk band on the way up. We know you like punk. You know we like you. We want to be on your show. If you don’t say yes, we’re each of us going to have sex with you until you give in to our demands.”

Craig blinked. He looked round at the three very attractive, very frisky punk rock women. He licked his dry, tape-sticky lips; swallowing hard before he spoke the question looming large in his mind:

"That’s supposed to be a threat, right?" he asked them, straight-faced.

+++++

Meredith grinned lasciviously. "Who gets him first?" she asked offhandedly, knowing it mattered very little either way.

Kay was a little more altruistic. "Well, shouldn't Violette get him first?"

“Why?” Violette was sarcastic. "Because I'm the ‘special’ one?"

Kay’s hatted head jerked to attention. "No, because you're the leader of the band!" she reasoned.

Meredith grinned at Craig. "She really is. And you really are going to have to fuck her too." She got to her feet, looming over him, her scary dark eyes gazing down into his. “You don’t have a problem with that… do you?”

Craig glanced between the crazy goth chick standing over him and the serene-looking queen punk in the wheelchair. “No… I don’t have a problem with it at all,” he assured them. And he really didn’t. He was an equal opportunity shagger.

Violette was unimpressed. "Well, as leader of this band I say fuck arguing. Let's do this fair and draw straws."

Kay nodded, fully on board. “Okay-- no wait! Straws are too easy to fix. I know—draw fries!” She held out one of the super-size fries they’d grabbed at McD’s on the way from the Plaza to their motel. “Everyone takes one, and whoever gets the shortest fry… gets him!” She nodded toward Craig.

“If the hostage may put forth a wee request…” Craig shifted on the bed, fingers idly fiddling with the corner of the ugly faded bedspread, “…I’d much rather be represented by the longest fry.” He peered up at them slyly from under his brows, the hint of a smirk curling his lips.

This caused all three punk girls to giggle like… girls. “All right, whoever gets the long fry gets him!!” squealed Kay.

Violette and Meredith drew first. Meredith’s face drooped at the dismayingly short potato-rind she ended up with. Kay happened to get one of those uber-long superfrys. She screamed at the top of her lungs, causing Meredith and Violette and Craig to flinch. "Hot shit, I got it! Awesome!!"

Violette snickered. "All right. You two have fun. Merry, let’s go get a drink."

Kay looked surprised. "What, you're not gonna stay and watch??"

Meredith laughed, making a face. “I don’t wanna watch you doing it, Kay!” she insisted.

Violette smirked. "It might affect his performance. Enjoy." And they left through the motel room’s door.

Craig sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at his new roommate. “Well,” he spoke finally. Kay certainly wasn’t bad-looking. The whole cowgirl-from-hell ensemble was kind of turning him on. And the whole kinky scenario of being kidnapped, tied up, forced to engage in dirty fantasies with no less than three unattached women… Craig had to admit, this was more than a little relevant to his interests.

That wasn’t to say that his current jailers didn’t unnerve him a little, though. This one, Kay, in particular-- why was she pulling out a rope?? He watched as she began twirling it expertly over her hat. “Ready to get branded, baby?” she grinned at him.

Craig grinned back, though he had to wonder what kind of branding she had in mind. “Lay it on me, sweet,” he shot back at her, warily watching the rope in her hands.

You’re horny
Let’s do it
Ride it, my pony
My saddle’s waitin’
Come on, jump on it

And so Kay got with Craig. She lassoed him, tied him to the bed, rode him like a cowgirl. And she was vocal, to put it kindly. To be honest, she was loud. Very loud. When he tripped her wire she screamed, actually screamed like a hellion. Craig was grabbing pillows and jamming them against his ears as she rode him out. Across the street, in the bar, Violette and Meredith heard Kay’s rapture even from their vantage point. They toasted each other; Violette’s iced tea to Meredith’s ice water, grinning to themselves.

Finally the cell phone they had laid on the table by their drinks brringged. Violette picked it up-- and flinched at Kay’s squeal of pleasure coming over the line. She clicked it shut, smiling at Meredith. “Time for the second elimination round,” she quipped, holding up the box of fries. She went first, pulling out a fair-sized fry.

Unfortunately Violette lost out again; Meredith got the big fry this time. “Yes!!...” Meredith cheered. Then, she seemed to relent. She didn’t know why, but she felt like she ought to be giving her friend a second draw. “Vi… do you wanna go first? I mean it, I’ll let you.”

Violette gave her a look of fake exasperation. “Get in there and warm him up for me!” she demanded. “I’m doing you a favor, no way he’s gonna be happy with you after he’s had me!”

Meredith uttered a fake indignant gasp, but she was smiling. “You beeyotch!” she exclaimed, but they were both thoroughly joking. “All right... I’ll keep him warm for you. Hasta luego.” Getting to her feet, she bid Violette farewell, exiting the motel restaurant. She limped across the wintry road, back to the motel room.

There's love in my house, don't worry
there's love in my house for you.

Kay met Meredith at the door, giggling and grinning, somewhat incoherent. “Okay, okay…get along now,” said Meredith. “We left you two alone! Go find Violette, she’s probably running over the bartender.” Shepherding the giddy Kay out the door, Meredith shut it behind her and turned to face Craig.

Craig sat on the bed, in a bathrobe, his dark hair ruffled and mussed from whatever Kay had done to him. He uttered a sigh as soon as the door shut behind Kay. He studied the new, dark girl who now stood before him. “That girlfriend of yours has a mouth like a siren,” he said by way of greeting.

“Yeah. We could hear her from the bar.” Meredith’s red lips curved in a toothy grin. “You must have been doing something really hot to her.”

“And now you want an encore.” Craig stood up, watching as she approached him.

“I promise I'm not as vocal as she is.” She blinked once, twice, innocently. “Unless… you want me to be.”

Craig’s mouth lifted in a grin. “Ah, the quiet type.”

“We make the best serial killers.” Her kohl-lined eye began to twitch.

This only reminded him he was getting into bed with a certified psycho. “Quiet with a dark side. Are you a bad girl?”

“I’ve been a very bad girl. I might have to be punished before the night’s out.”

“Yeah. You might at that.” Now Craig was as much a fan of kinky sex as the next man. But he’d had enough of being tied up for one evening. He rather hoped his current mistress wasn’t going to be one of those who liked being pierced and whipped and slapped and all that shit. He’d had one or two of those in the early days. The so-called “thrill” of sado-masochism was lost on him, he was sorry to say. Give him nice friendly, no-bloodshed sex any day. But, if this particular punkette wanted to be dominated… he could go along, to a point. The second it started getting too gory, he’d just threaten to leave. Surely she didn’t want that. He really was in control here, he realized. She’d undoubtedly say yes to anything, just to get naked and sweaty with him.

This could get interesting. Craig stood with arms folded, pretending to size her up, looking her up and down. “I’ve been very filthy myself, this evening. Your friend got me very, very dirty. I think I’d like to be washed off.” He looked her in the eyes. “Draw me a bath, woman.”

Meredith’s eyes glittered; he had her pegged right after all. She turned to enter the bathroom, casting him a sexy glance over her shoulder. “If you take a shower… can I join you?” she dared ask.

This was getting better and better. “We’ll see,” Craig murmured noncommittally. He followed her into the bathroom, watching her swoop the shower curtain back from the cramped stall. Barely looked like the two of them would fit in there. He had a brief vision of the girl soaking wet under the waterfall from the cheap showerhead, her dark hair dripping as she rubbed her nude slick body.

He shoved the bathroom door closed with his foot. “Get naked for me,” he commanded her. “Right now.”

She looked up in surprise, clearly not believing her luck at having him say such a thing to her. With a grin she started wriggling out of her punk tee, her stretch spandex pants, her matching black thong and brassiere—even her nylons were black. Her legs were in fact a little crooked-- but he’d be pretty hypocritical to refuse sex with a slightly bowlegged woman. Seeing as how he himself had left more than one girl walking like that afterward anyway.

Craig caught sight of a nipple ring on her left breast—black metal, of course. Stepping toward her, he brazenly reached out to touch the metal—not her skin. Her breasts began rising and falling in rapid succession with her heightened breathing, as she watched his large fingers gently tug the jewelry, teasing her. Deftly he unhooked the clasp that held the piercing on. With expert ease Craig slipped the jewelry from her tit, just barely tugging her flesh. He set the bead carefully down on the edge of the sink. Well, when he wanted to see bare breasts, he meant bare. No decorations need apply. He overrode his desire to just grope her huge boobies and bury his face between them right then and there. There would be ample time for that after this little game they were playing with each other.

So now she was completely naked, while he was still covered up. He held out his arms in mock impatience. “Come on-- what are you waiting for? Get me ready for my bath.”

She caught on, eagerly going to work undoing his bathrobe’s belt, sliding it off his shoulders. “Ah-ah-ah—fold it,” he bossed her cheerfully, watching as she obediently folded the bathrobe oh so neatly, arranging it in a symmetrical pile upon on the hamper. Finally she kneeled down and slowly hooked her fingers under the lettered elastic of his briefs, and peeled the black fabric down over his burgeoning flesh. Her raccoon eyes went wide at the immense length between his legs—and at how erect he was for her already. “Jesus,” she breathed, awestruck.

Craig uttered a chuckle. “Well, it’s been called a lot of things before, but never that,” he confided. Then he shut up, holding his breath as he watched her pale face nearing the tip of his cock, her red lips parting. He could feel her warm breath; watched as her tongue ran over her lips like a vampire getting ready to bite. He stifled a groan as he felt her lips lightly kiss his rigid head-- and then the sudden wetness as she took him in, swallowing him all at once.

Now it was his turn to utter the Almighty’s name. He couldn’t help from reaching down and clutching the back of her head, slightly pressing her against his cock as she sucked him hungrily. And as much as he liked this, as good as she was at it… he knew that if she brought him off now he wasn’t going to be able to get it up again in time for their rendezvous in the shower. He had a hunch she was the sort of chick who got deeply pissed off when she didn’t get off.

So, with a tremendous amount of self-control, Craig drew his hands away from the back of her head, slipping his fingers underneath her soft chin. He gulped audibly as he pulled her suckling mouth off him; gripped her under her arms and pulling her to a standing position before him. He gave her a brief smile, reassuring her that she had done nothing wrong. “Get…get in the shower,” he got out. “Turn the water on—only the cold water. Not the hot.”

Her smeared red lips grinned. “You are so evil,” she told him.

“Don’t you backtalk me.” His voice dripped fake imperiousness. “Just do it.” He watched with a smile as she stepped into the empty shower. Casting a plaintive look up at the showerhead, she reached down to grasp the cold water lever—and she turned it on all the way. “—Aww, God!!” she let out a yelp as the cold water splashed down on her skin. Her black hair matted against her flesh as the icy rivulets poured down her bare body. “Oh--shit-- that’s cold!” she gasped.

Craig watched with admittedly some amount of sick pleasure as the girl’s nipples began perking under the cold cold rain. She’d neglected to wipe off her punk makeup job; that was running down her face as well, making her look even more like a tragic gothic waif. Black tracks slid down her cheeks, and cheap blood red lipstick smeared down her chin. Nevertheless she put on a show for him, twisting and posing under the deluge; stretching out her slick arms, rubbing her hard nipples. “Is my naughty little lass chilly?” Craig tormented her only a moment longer, letting his voice sound mocking and sinister. “Doesn’t she wish she was nice and warm now?”

She was trying to look naughty and jaded, but it was a hard task to look bad-ass when one was sopping wet and shivering. “Y-yes master!” she got out very quickly, her red lips chattering.

Oh crap, enough of that. Relenting with a grin, Craig reached in and turned the hot water on her, all the way. “All right, all right. You’ve been a very good girl. Time for your reward.” He stepped into the stall with her, feeling the water needle his bare back. He slid the torn curtain shut behind him, cornering her against the wall under the water spray. He took her large breasts in each hand and gave in to the impulse he’d been repressing; he buried his nose deep in her cleavage, hungrily devouring every inch of her skin, feeling her utter a gasp as he scraped her with his teeth and kneaded her tits with his warm tongue. He moved up her neck and kissed her wet lips hard, slipping his tongue deep inside, feeling it when she uttered a groan of pleasure into his mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck, sucking him deeper. Without another moment’s hesitation he slid his hands down around her ass, pressing her body against his hardness. He scooped her up under her wet thighs, and he slammed her hard against the tile wall of the stall, burying himself deep inside of her.

Her red mouth broke away from his in a grunt of shock, as he plunged deep into her pussy, the now-heated gushing water soaking them both. He watched her face as he fucked her against the wall of the shower, slow but hard, dealing her equal parts pain and pleasure. The half-grin of rapturized bliss on her lips conveyed she was loving every second of it. He felt her right thigh slide slickly over his hip as she blindly planted her foot against the shower wall for leverage, and he moved his left arm to hook under her knee, spreading her wide, surging deep. She was grunting under his every thrust now; the shower head vibrated over their heads every time he thumped her against the wall. She laughed suddenly, a crazy cruel laugh like a woman possessed, and her pussy squeezed him deliciously with every giggle. He grinned, smothering her open lips with his in a hungry kiss, and she hooked his lower lip between her teeth, biting him. Finally he felt her beginning to flutter and clench around him. Her damp legs trembled in his hands as she made a guttural sound like someone who’s just been punched in the gut— and he felt four fiery hot lines of pain erupt over his back as her nails raked down his skin. He came then, burrowing furiously in her flesh, crushing her against the wall.

They both needed the shower after that. The water had gone cool again but they generously took turns rubbing the cheap motel soap all over each other, scrubbing away the evidence. His shoulder stinging from soap in the wounds she’d dealt him, Craig stepped out first and offered his hand to her, helping her from the shower like a lady from a carriage. They embraced each other with the few clean towels that were left, and she didn’t stop kissing him the entire time. She was clearly tickled and pleased with how the evening’s “domination” had played out. “You are so fucking kinky,” she praised him, stains of black and red still marking her lips and eyes. “God, I love you!! You’re so bad!”

Craig smiled darkly down at her, giving her a final kiss. “Get out of here. Bring me your friend… the queen. I want to look at her now.” He slapped her ass once smartly, as a final parting cuddle.

With a wicked grin, Meredith did as he asked. She got dressed again, pulling her dirty clothes back on her damp body, her hair still wet. She looked very much less than goth, more than a little dilapidated...she looked freshly fucked, is what she looked like. Craig felt his cock twitch once more at the sight of her all flustered like that. She hurried toward the room door, glancing back at him. Giggling, she rushed out of the motel room, sprinting lopsidedly all the way back to the bar.

Craig uttered a sigh of relief, and of pleased contentment. Now, that hadn’t been bad at all-- if incredibly strenuous. He looked toward the empty bed—he would insist that this last liaison take place in bed where it belonged. Violette seemed like one who wouldn’t demand gymnastic feats of skill out of him. He sure hoped not. He felt like he could have slept for months right there, right now.

Craig collapsed on the bed, covering his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes. He’d been feeling more tired than usual lately. That was one of those things that came with age, but it was troubling because the last time he’d felt this weird kind of fatigue it was back when he was having all those blackouts. He sure hoped those weren’t going to come back on him.

He rolled over in the bed, keeping an ear cocked (heh) for the girls’ return. A catnap would be nice right about now, he thought to himself sleepily………

…the only time I´m gonna be easy is when I´m
Killed by death…

Meredith burst into the motel restaurant. She looked around for Kay and Violette, and found them sitting by the window. Kay grinned. “How was he??” she demanded immediately. “Was he great or what?!”

Meredith giggled, very unlike the goth princess she pretended to be. “He was so-freaking-big!!” She grinned down at Violette. “You are gonna love this. He’s waiting for you right now, c’mon!”

The three Hellbelles zoomed quickly across the road to the motel room. Meredith pounded on door. “Hey lover,” she shouted. “Are you decent? Or are ya dressed? Craig? Open up, bitch!” She giggled, twisting the doorknob.

She pushed open the door as Violette and Kay followed her in. “Hey baby,” Meredith called as she leaned over the bed with the man-sized lump in it, “you gotta get up outta bed. Violette’s gotta be on the bottom, so move your sweet ass. Craig?” Meredith’s smile vanished as she prodded his still form. “Craig?....” Her grin faded, as she realized that he wasn’t moving. She jerked back the cover, and her eyes slowly went wider and wider.

Kay leaned over Craig’s body, grabbing his wrist to check his pulse. She dropped his hand with a sudden, loud gasp. "Oh my God!! He’s dead!”

Violette was not given to hysteria. “Is he breathing?” she asked the guitarist to make sure.

Kay was checking, touching him all over. "No… he’s not breathing, he’s not moving, there’s nothing!” She looked up at Meredith. “You with your S&M kinky weirdness! You killed him!!"

Meredith’s mouth dropped. "Me?? You probably gave him an aneurysm, all that screaming! Violette and I could hear you all the way across the road!"

“Yeah, well-- you should’ve let Violette go first! This is so unfair!!"

"It was a totally fair election! We drew fries!!"

Violette was still not giving in to the drama. “OK, guys-- calm the fuck down. We don’t know we killed him. Hell, you heard him in the show… he thinks he’s an old man. It was probably a psychosomatic disorder or something.”

Kay was not soothed. She jumped up to shut the motel room door, through which the cold winter wind was moaning. “OhmiGod…oh, my God…”

Meredith was staring down at Craig’s inert body. "What are we supposed to do with him??"

"We could sell him to a medical hospital.” That was Violette, ever the gallows humorist. “Organ donations. They'd probably have a field day studying that massive cock of his."

Kay was incredulous. "That’s sick!"

Violette shrugged. "Hey, we could make a shitload of money off him, why not? He would've!"

Meredith nodded, eye twitching as she gazed down at the bed. "He WAS Scottish…"

Kay found no humor in this. “This is a nightmare. This is a fuckin’ nightmare and you guys are joking around! The police are gonna ask us what we were doin’ with him—they’re gonna impound the van as evidence! How are we supposed to get to L.A. now?!”

Violette sighed. “Kay… calm down. First we need to get him out of this hot room. He stays here, he’s gonna start stinking up the place.”

Meredith looked as if a light had just gone on. “Yeah… you’re right. Kay, help me lift him.”

“I’m not touching him!!”

“Excuse me?? Ms. Slaughter? Bride of chaos? You can tan a horse’s hide but you can’t touch a dead man?”

“A dead man is a lot different than a dead horse!”

“Yeah, well, you were riding THIS dead man like a horse not a half hour ago!! Kay, please, I can’t lift him alone, just pretend you’re lifting Violette or something, c’mon!”

So the two girls lifted Craig’s motionless body, using the bedsheet as a shift. Violette opened the motel door, and Kay and Meredith carried the bundle between them, out the door into the cold winter night, over the snowy parking lot to the van. Violette wheeled herself up to the back, and she unlocked the van door, pulling it wide. Once it was open, Kay and Meredith looked at each other. “On three. One—two—three!!”

They threw him into the back of the van, onto the floor next to the toolbox. Craig landed with a loud thump. They arranged the flimsy motel sheet over his form as best they could without touching him too much. “I’m freezing my ass off,” Violette shuddered in her throne.

Something plinked on the ground in the snow. Meredith reached down and picked up what looked like a turnkey. “It’s his hotel key,” she whispered.

Kay looked amazed. “Wow, they still have those?!”

“Yeah. I guess these backwoods places haven’t updated to the cards yet.”

“Hang on to that." Violette commanded, through chattering teeth. "If we have to put him back in his room at the hotel… we’ll need it.”

“Why would we put him back there?” asked Kay.

“What do you want to do, keep him? Have him stuffed and mounted? Stand him up in our garage like a cigar store Indian?”

Kay bowed her hatted head, groaning into her hands. “Oh God… this is a nightmare. This whole thing is sick.”

Meredith looked at Craig’s still form. “Shouldn't we-- say somethin’?"

Violette gave an incredulous sniff. "What, like a prayer? If I pray to anyone it's going to be someone who can bring him back to life, get us out of this mess. I’m freezing.” She turned the throne on a dime and wheeled quickly back toward the warmth of the motel doorway.

Kay slammed the van door, and she and Meredith turned and left the van, and Craig, in the cold.

Back in the room, the girls conferred. “But if we take him back to his room, we’re gonna leave our DNA in there!” Kay reasoned. “As it is now, nobody knows we had anything to do with him!”

Violette disagreed. “What else can we do? Hide a dead body—a dead celebrity? You think they won’t be out looking for him the second he doesn’t turn up in L.A. tomorrow? Hell, there’s probably someone looking for him right NOW. He’s been with us for over three hours.”

Meredith shook her head. “We can’t get him back into his room! You wanna try lugging a dead guy past the front desk? I sure don’t!”

Kay covered her face with her hands. “Well… what if we bailed out tomorrow, and just left him in this room?”

“This room? The one we paid for? The one they have a record of us staying in??”

“Well… yeah! I mean, we dig his wallet out of his… ugh, God, we get his wallet, get his credit card, and tomorrow when we leave, sign his name on that register they have! That way it’ll just look like he switched hotels, checked in here and keeled over! We don’t have to have anything to do with it!”

“Yeah, except WE were in this room last! We’re the first ones they’re gonna look for! And why would a big-time celeb like Craig swap a nice place like the Plaza for a shithole like this??”

“He’s still got both your fingerprints all over him,” Violette realized. “And… other…DNA evidence.”

Kay covered her face again. “Oh…God…”

Violette’s face was grim. “We have to bury him,” she decided. “It’s the only way. Tomorrow we take him in the van… we stop off somewhere by the side of the road. Someplace they’ll never find him. They’ll trace him to the Plaza as the last place he stayed… before he vanished off the face of the earth.”

All three girls looked very glum. Meredith nodded her head. “You’re the boss, Violette. Whatever you say… that’s what we’ll do.”

That seemed to end the discussion. Violette drew in a sigh. “All right. I need to sleep now.” She pulled away from the table, wheeled over to the bed.

Meredith looked up. “You’re gonna sleep in that bed? The one a man died in?”

“The one you and Kay just spent two hours fucking him in? Yeah, I am.”

Meredith glanced sheepishly toward the bathroom. “We didn’t really use the bed that much…”

Kay looked thoroughly creeped out. “Me, I'm never gonna sleep again!" But they both helped Violette get into her nightclothes, and lifted her out of the throne and into the bed.

Violette noted Meredith’s gloomy look. “What’s the matter with you?”

Meredith glanced guiltily up at her. "I'm sorry you didn’t get to have a turn with him,” she said honestly.

Violette took this in stride. “How was it?”

That brought Meredith’s grin. “Big. Ginormous. Awesome. You’d have loved it.” Then she looked sorry again. “I'm sorry Vi. I shoulda let you go first."

But Violette shook her head. "You say sorry too much,” she told Meredith, kindly. “Shit happens. Go on… get outta here. Let me sleep."

Meredith smiled, and she leaned over and dropped a small kiss on Violette’s lips. “Good night Violette,” said Kay. “Good luck getting any sleep in there!” Then the girls left; heading to the bar to figure what to do next.

I feel so untouched right now
Need you so much somehow
I just can’t forget you…

The cold was the first thing he felt. An eerie, icy stillness which didn’t move, didn’t blow by like a cold draft would. No, this cold was stationary, motionless, which meant that no matter how he moved to get away from it, it was ever wrapped around him, like some perverse bizarro-world blanket. He could not escape it.

He gasped, his eyes fluttering open.

Somehow he kicked his numb legs loose from the suffocating funeral shroud he was wrapped in. This was escaped only to suffer the far sharper and unforgiving ice cold of the metal he found himself jammed against. He remembered the Viking legends of Valhalla from his cursory childhood education, and he wondered if he had somehow been dumped into that mythological afterworld; and was now going to be forced to endure an eternity of relentless icy perdition. He didn’t see how. He was a Scot and some Scots were descended from Vikings; but (as far as he knew) he didn’t have a drop of Norse blood in him.

His bony knees seemed to knock against nothing but hard cold metal. His skin was bare of course; they stripped you when they got ready to bury you. Craig twisted in the chilly cotton shroud; his left foot shot out and he uttered a grunt as his big toe crunched painfully hard against something.

Fucking shit, he was cold. Craig forced himself to sit up, to push through the tundra entombing him. He sat upright, his teeth chattering, his every limb flinching from ice cold touches. He blinked, his brow crinkling in confusion at the chilly dark blue surroundings.

He was in a van? The trunk of a van??

He kicked against the icy van door with his rock hard legs; he stepped out onto the snow-covered gravel with his bare feet. He uttered a yelp and a string of curses, watching his own breath escape him like icy smoke in the inky blue-blackness. How long had he been entombed? Where the hell was he anyway??

Craig’s eyes dimly registered the hot rectangular glow some distance before him. Was this the light at the end of the tunnel, then? Was this what all those myths about the warm welcoming light of heaven were centered around?

Numbly, stiffly, feeling every bit like a mummified zombie in a bad ‘50’s monster movie, Craig forced one miserable foot in front of the other, making his painful way through the cruel soft snow, toward his goal.

In the motel room, in the warmth of her covers, Violette’s eyes snapped open, awakening at the grinding noise as the lock on the door was forced open. Her head jerked, she pushed the comforter away, trying to see. She saw the room door open, and she saw the hulking dark shape loom therein.

“I’ve got a gun!” Violette burst out at the stranger.

She reached for the bedside table. She didn’t have a gun, but she did have a wicked-looking switchblade. She flipped it open as the dark shape in the door stepped inside, causing the dim rectangle to vanish as it slammed the door closed. “I’m not kidding,” she belted out. “I can hurt you dude, I mean it!” Wildly she flailed for the switch to the lamp.

Light, warm if feeble, flooded the room suddenly. Violette was shocked and a little bit relieved to see… “Craig??”

He was nearly naked, was the first thing she noticed. He was also clearly in a world of misery; his skin almost blue, hair disheveled—and coming in from the icy winter cold outside naked the way he was, that couldn’t be good for him. “What the hell—you were dead! How did—what do you think you’re doing--climbing in my bed??”

He had reached out for the comforter. A crooked, slightly creepy smirk briefly cut the near-frozen ex-corpse’s face. "I thought this is what you wanted.” He pulled the cover back further.

Violette was still clutching the switchblade. She brandished it, though not as firmly as she had. “Hey—now just wait a minute--” she started.

Craig dropped down on his knees by the bed, in desperation. His jaw was shuddering, causing his speech to sound pathetic. “Lass, for C-Christ’s sake... I'm f-f-freezing to death and y-you’re making me play out W-Wuthering fuckin' Heights.” He gazed up at her, the contrast between his ice-paled skin and the dark shadows underneath his pleading eyes making him look like a lost puppy dog. “Please—j-just let me in the bed, just for a s-second or two… just to warm my feet? Please?"

Violette studied him, weighing the situation. A very sexy (if recently deceased) Scotsman, in her room, on his knees, literally begging to get into bed with her. Really, did it get much better than this? Slowly she folded the switchblade closed, placed it back on the nightstand. Keeping her eyes on his face, she pulled the comforter back further, baring her large, intricately inked thighs to him.

“Think you can fit in here?” she asked him.

A smile finally crossed his chattering lips. “I’ll make myself fit.” Slowly he climbed into the bed, nestling next to her rubenesque body.

His limbs were like ice, jarringly cold from head to toe. Violette drew in a breath as his icy skin came in contact with her bed-warmed limbs. “You’re freezing to death!” she sympathized with him, as he drew his muscular legs in, pulling the comforter over them both, curling up by her side. “What the hell happened to you? You weren’t breathing… we all thought you were dead.”

His teeth still chattered, but he was clearly feeling better already. "D-don’t worry-- I promise not to stick my cold feet up between your legs," he assured her. “I have this…thing…Every so often I drop into a fugue-- I did too many drugs back in the old days, that’s why. I’m told I sleep like a dead thing when it happens-- which isn’t often. Only when I’m stressed.”

Violette’s bare skin was prickling pleasurably now at the sharp contrast between his cold and her heat. “That’s a real bitch. I’m in the same boat… doing drugs got me like this too.” She turned her neck awkwardly to look in his gorgeous blue eyes. “Guess we stressed you out too much… kidnapping you and all.”

A grin bared his white, slightly uneven teeth adorably. “Not to mention the marathon sex,” his low Scottish burr rumbled pleasantly next to her. “I’m an old man. I’m not used to doing it twice in one night.”

A slow smile spread Violette’s lips. “Maybe third time’ll be the charm.”

Craig chuckled. He actually looked like he might be up for that. “You girls are trying to kill me, aren’t you?” His voice was low, but playful. “I’ve already died once this evening!”

Violette grinned. “On the other hand… it’s one way to warm you up real fast.”

Craig’s grin returned, a sly, dirty expression. “Do you mean… you actually want me stick my cold feet between yours?” his low, sexy voice came. Even as he said it he was slowly lifting his long, lithe body over her in the sheets.

“It’s not your feet I want.” Violette couldn’t believe this. She literally had dreamed about something like this happening. She never would have ever believed it could—Craig was the superstar after all, who usually went after skinny young blondes. She wouldn’t have expected him to be attracted to her at all. Yet here he was, in her bed. Between her legs.

He was still chilly; his muscled legs like cool loin beef resting against her thick, heated thighs. The punk side of Violette was morbidly turned on-- this was what she used to imagine sex with a vampire must be like. The fact that Craig had technically risen from a “grave” that evening made it all the more fitting. She could feel another part of him was rising as well. Her entire body tingled as Craig finally rested his full weight against her, sinking into her pillowy, generous folds. “Oh… Christ, you feel good,” his low voice came in a dull groan.

Violette moved her thighs upward, her heat against his legs. “Are you getting warm yet?” she drew a breath to ask softly.

Craig’s dark head moved up and down wordlessly. The pressure of his heated, hardening cock between them was causing both of them to gasp for air, not just her. Craig gazed into Violette’s eyes, seemingly torn between taking her right there, and taking it slow. Suddenly Craig seemed cautious. "I don't want to hurt you," he confessed to her.

Violette shook her head, dangerously breathless herself but not even caring. "I’m already hurt,” she told him with a glib smile. “Don’t be scared.” Her bare hips pressed against his weight. “I can take it…do it really hard."

Craig’s lips rose in a smile. He paused only a moment to kiss Vi, a slow, sweet kiss, before doing exactly what she asked. Slowly, very slowly… he pushed his hard heat in deep between her wet legs.

As it turned out, he really had been telling the truth about himself all those times. Meredith had not been exaggerating either: he was big and ginormous and awesome, and all those things. It was even better than Violette had fantasized about. She had been worried that her compromised limbs would prevent her from moving enough for him-- but he moved plenty for both of them. He alternated from going slow and intense, to letting loose and giving in to his baser instincts. Violette loved it all… the gentle strength of Craig’s arms, the hungry tenderness of his kisses. And Craig was definitely enjoying himself as well. “God, that feels good…so warm… you’re so fucking hot, lass,” he groaned, burying himself deep inside her fiery lava. “Unh… fuck—Violette—God--” His voice was becoming more strangled, his motions more frantic, as he tried to get even further inside her.

Violette’s breath was coming in soft, abbreviated gasps. “Craig—fuck, yes—oh God, yes--” She let out a sudden cry of pure pleasure, feeling him dig helplessly against her flesh as they came together, rubbing together, spilling their juices on each other’s skin at the same time. Their bodies adequately heated to the same feverish degree now.

She was breathing hard, in the aftermath of her fiery rapture. Craig pulled up to make sure he wasn’t compromising her need for oxygen. “Are you all right??” he asked her breathlessly, his large-knuckled hand stroking her pink-streaked hair.

Violette nodded. Frankly, if she could have died of suffocation in Craig’s arms right now… that would not have been a bad death at all. “I’m okay,” she got out, reassuring him. “Are you… are you warmed up now?”

Craig’s bare chest rippled against her as he chuckled, self-deprecatingly. “I’m definitely warmer than I was,” he promised her. “Even although… I may need to be warmed up a bit more before the night’s over. It is the wintertime, after all.”

Violette grinned, her hand stroking the damp angles of his handsome face. “I don’t want to wear you out,” she sighed.

Craig looked unfathomably impressed that this wee woman could do what she just did to him, without experiencing some kind of damage to herself. “Lass… if you wear me out, that’d be just fine by me.” He liked her, he really did. Craig leaned in to kiss Vi’s lips, their bodies melded together, reveling in the sweat and the warmth and the smell of each other.

In the morning, Craig woke up feeling like his head was stuffed with cotton. He recognized the first signs of an oncoming cold, and shifted tensely in the sheets next to Violette, trying not to disturb her. She woke anyway, her cheek resting by his forehead. “You’re burning up,” she noted.

He nodded. “That’ll happen when you spend two hours in a trunk in the snow,” he sighed.

Violette felt bad. “We should never have pulled this whole scam with you. I’m sorry.” She looked toward the bathroom. “I have Sudafed and vitamin C tablets in my first-aid bag. It’s in the bathroom… you’re welcome to as much as you want.”

He gave her a grateful smile. “Ah, thank you, Violette darling. You’re an angel.” He leaned up and gave her a sweet, lingering kiss, full on her lips. Then, smiling, he wearily got up out of the hot bed and made his way staggeringly to the bathroom door.

The hotel door opened almost the instant the bathroom door shut. Kay burst into the room, having spent all night in the bar. “Violette? Are you awake? Look, we still gotta get Craig’s wallet out of his pants and fake his signature, and get Craig out of the trunk and back in the bed—HOLY SHIT!!”

Craig had just come out of the bathroom, staring quizzically at Kay, who had been stunned silent by the appearance of the previously-thought-dead talk show host. “What’s this about my wallet?” he spoke up, clueless.

“Kay.” Violette reached out a hand so Kay could lift her up and prop a pillow behind her, the easier to speak. “Craig got over being dead, as you can see. He’s got a sleeping sickness. That’s what happened to him last night.”

Kay was staring openmouthed at Craig the entire time she was propping Violette up. “You mean—we left you outside in the van all night?!” Suddenly she was very motherly, very protective, not at all the badass psychobilly anymore. “Are you all right?? Ohmigod, you’re on fire!” She had put her cold hands on his fiery cheeks and forehead. “You’re gonna be sick as a dog if you don’t get warmed up!”

Within no time at all Kay had filled a pail full of hot water from the shower and ordered Craig to sit down on the closed toilet. Running to the restaurant, she returned with a large cup of hot chicken noodle soup in record time. Not very long after Kay returned with the soup, Meredith barged into the hotel room, slamming the door, her face a dark frown. “We have to audition a new drummer,” she growled.

Violette blinked. “What happened to Bruce?”

Meredith threw down what she had been grasping in one hand—a snare drum, which had been punctured straight through by some unknown object. “Sudden head trauma,” she snarled. Turning away from the wrecked drum, she stalked toward the bathroom. “We gotta pack up and get on the road. I called the theatre; so far nobody’s heard anything about him going missing--” she jerked her thumb at Craig “or if they do they’re not saying. We clear out now, we can be miles from here before anybody starts looking for—JEEZ!!”

It was a repeat of the earlier scene with Kay. Meredith had just glanced into the bathroom, where Craig was sitting forlornly on the commode with his feet in the pail, clutching his cup of soup. “What's he doing here?!" she blurted out, eyes wide with horror.

"He's got a cold!” Kay glared at her. “He nearly froze to death in the van!"

“But… he was already dead!! YOU said he didn’t have a pulse!”

“He’s got a sleeping sickness! Vi said!”

Meredith looked extremely leery of their resurrected Scottish whore. “So… what, we just let him back in the room? We don’t even tie him up?”

"Merry, enough with the tying-up! We kidnapped this man-- we killed this man!! We owe him a break!"

Meredith looked incredulous. "What else do you want to DO for him, Kay? I mean, we already rode him like the 25-cent pony ride at the supermarket! Call me selfish, but a long-term relationship with a corpse is kinda where I draw the line!”

“He is not dead, look at him! He’s miserable now because of us! If we don’t take care of him now he’s damn liable to go to the police and tell them everything we did to him!”

“No--” Craig looked up, looking absolutely pathetic in his bathrobe and his bare feet in a tub. His eyes were thickly circled with dark shadows. “I won’t, I won’t go to the police. I give you my word of honor.”

Kay and Meredith were not impressed. “Well, of course he says that now; he’d say anything to get out of here,” sniffed Meredith.

“He has to leave sometime.” Violette's voice was firm, calm. “There’s no way we can keep him from leaving, or talking. Short of cutting out his tongue. Last I looked none of us was a pirate.”

Meredith’s eye was twitching. “Not like you need to speak legibly to be a talk show host…”

Kay threw up her arms. “Are you all nuts?! How can you talk like that after what he did for you last night?”

“Kay, think!” Meredith insisted. “It’s what we did to him last night that’s gonna get all three of us busted! You honestly believe he’s gonna let us walk after all the shit we did to him??”

“Excuse me--” Craig broke in. “May the hostage suggest something?”

This silenced them all. He took a deep gulp of soup before continuing. “Personally, I’m willing to forget the entire thing ever happened… I mean it’s not your fault I passed out… I suppose in your place I might have mistaken me for a dead man as well…” Shuddering, he took another sip. He peered woefully up at his three mistresses/kidnappers. “Frankly, I was having a rather fun evening right up until I woke up in a trunk.”

“We’re sorry.” All three punk girls looked rather contrite. Kay shuffled her feet guiltily. “We didn’t want you to go bad!” she explained. “We were gonna bring you right back in here in the morning!”

“Well, that’s a relief.” His voice was sublimely sardonic. “So, here’s what I’m thinking about… how about you let me go, I hitch a ride to the nearest bus station, hop a bus back to L.A., we chalk it up as a lovely night and never speak of this again, eh?”

The three were silent. “What about our guest spot on the show?” That was Meredith.

Kay looked at her. “Are you nuts?? He’s giving us a get out of jail free card, Merry!”

“If we don’t get on the show, it kinda defeats the whole point of kidnapping him in the first place!”

“I can live with that! Meredith, we all got royally laid, our hostage didn’t die-- I say we’re pushin’ it in the luck department! If the worst thing that happens is we don’t get on the show that’s a bargain, considering!” Kay looked over at the band leader. “Violette, what do you want us to do?”

“Yeah, Vi.” Meredith looked entreatingly at her. “We went to all this trouble, just to get this gig. Do we hold out for the show or not?”

Violette did not look away from Craig’s eyes. “It’s his show. Depends on whether he wants us,” she said finally. “If he doesn’t want us… I guess we can’t change his mind.”

Craig felt himself caught in the middle. On one hand he was willing to do anything to get back to L.A., like Meredith said. He felt slightly beholden to the three darlings for showing him a very sexy, lively evening—the incident with being locked in the trunk aside. On the other hand… have them on his show?? He hadn’t heard them perform yet. Who knew whether they were even any good? Not to mention that spending even one more minute with these three struck him as being extremely hazardous to his health, to say the least.

Meredith clapped her hands. “I got an idea. Happy medium for all of us. Let’s us drive Craig back to L.A. That way we’re all going in the same direction, and when we get there… let’s see what happens next. I mean that’s the logical thing to do, don’t you think? Don’t we owe him that? Kay?” She glanced pointedly at Kay. “Violette, what do you say? Is that cool with you?”

Violette had never broken her gaze with Craig once. “That’s cool with me,” she agreed. “Is that cool with you, Craig?”

Craig sighed, giving in to fate. “That’s cool,” he agreed. He sneezed vehemently.

“Geshundeit,” all three girls chimed in.

Me and Elvis like our leather jackets black
We ride up and down the freeway in our brand new Cadillac
Me and Elvis
Elvis and I…

So after stopping at the Plaza to get Craig’s luggage and check him out, the three girls and Craig set out in the van. “I was sick of Bruce anyway,” said Kay. “He wouldn’t even ride with us, he always had to take his own van!”

“Yeah,” Violette nodded. She affected a whiny tone. “‘Eww, my drum set doesn’t fit with all the wheelchair stuff!’… well, boo-fucking-hoo. I shoulda canned him months ago. Except-- now we can’t do any gigs, until we get a new drummer.”

Meredith grinned suddenly. “Hey-- didn’t you used to be a drummer, Craig? Huh? How’d you like to beat the skins for us, baby?” She laughed evilly.

“Oh, anything to keep you from breaking the drum set over my head, darling,” Craig quipped back dryly, his voice congested by his impending cold. He was seated in the back, next to Violette’s wheelchair, which was strapped to the van floor to prevent rolling. He belted out another tremendous sneeze.

“Geshundeit,” Violette and Kay and Meredith harmonized.

It was a long long ride from Nashville to Los Angeles. Kay and Meredith took turns behind the wheel. Violette couldn’t drive, and none of them quite trusted Craig not to drop them off at the nearest police station. For all intents and purposes, he was still their hostage. So when Meredith slept, Kay drove, and vice versa. Craig, still exhausted from five days of performing (first on stage, then in bed), extricating himself from an icy grave and beleaguered by his cold, slept fitfully in the back, his head resting in Violette’s lap more often than not. Kay joked that she wanted to use Craig as a pillow when she slept, to which Violette pointed out that there wasn’t enough room for three in the back of the van. At one point, the girls pulled the van off the road at a scenic overlook near the Grand Canyon, and performed an acoustic “audition” for Craig right there in the desert. The punk sound was compromised somewhat by the absence of drums and electricity, but the gist was conveyed. Certainly the impromptu session was the stuff of punk; with Kay vaulting to the top of the rusty van, screaming her guts out while Violette throttled her guitar and Meredith her bass, as the vultures circled them.

When they finally crashed to a halt, Craig jumped up, clapping exuberantly. “That was fucking awesome!” he applauded the HellBelles. He stepped toward Violette, zeroing in on her. “You’re amazing! Do you know that? Fucking amazing!” He dropped down on the dusty red dirt next to her throne, crossing his legs, looking utterly flabbergasted by what he’d heard.

Kay was giddy. “Did you hear that? Two ‘fucks’!” she giggled. “He really likes us!”

“I really fuckin’ do!” Craig grinned at her. He gazed at Violette. “How long have you been playing like that?”

“I took it up after this happened.” Violette’s black fingernails tapped the chrome metal of her throne. And then Violette and Craig engaged in a long conversation about punk rock, their favorite bands, how the HellBelles got started (they had all met online), her influences, and the challenges of playing guitar so vigorously when her mobility was, to be discreet, compromised.

“Fuck compromised,” Violette said flatly. “If I don’t play, I die. This is what’s keeping me alive now; not medicines, not anything else. If I stopped playing, that’d be the end. What would I do, sit in this chair and stare out the fucking window all day? No way.”

Craig looked unfathomably impressed by her stubborn will. “You’re my heroine right now, do you know that?” he said to her.

Kay and Meredith, also seated on the dusty dirt, grinned. “I think Craig’s coming down with Stockholm Syndrome!” Kay teased. But Violette smiled, glowing at the honest praise that Craig was heaping on her.

They got back in the van and took off down the freeway again. At last they crossed the desert, and entered the great state of California. As they neared the Los Angeles metro area, Meredith’s virtual ears seemed to perk up as she stared into the rearview mirror. “Are those cops following us?”

They certainly were. Several cop cars were zeroing in on the van—within seconds a veritable convoy was chasing them. “Don’t you think you ought to stop?” called Craig from the back.

Meredith uttered a laugh. “Are you serious? This van’s totally uninsured; we’ve got syringes and needles by the caseload which technically counts as drug paraphernalia-- not to mention we got a kidnapped TV star in the back!”

“What if they start shooting?!” Kay was hysterical.

Violette shook her head. “They won’t do that. They didn’t shoot at O.J. They know we have Craig. They won’t risk Craig’s safety.”

Now Craig was the one laughing. “You really overestimate how much CBS cares about me!” he joked.

But somebody out there had cared enough to call out the infantry to chase the girls’ van up and down the busy freeways of L.A. Meredith darted the van easily between the cars and semis, swooping from one lane to another. And she for one was loving every second of the high-speed car chase. Her head was thrown back, she was cackling as she weaved in and out of traffic. “Meredith, we’re ALL gonna end up in wheelchairs if you keep this up!” Violette called out.

“Where the hell’s the studio??” Meredith asked. “If we drop him there, they gotta let us go! No hostage, no kidnapping, right?”

Craig crawled to the front of the van. He peered out the windshield. “Exit 6-- take that one! That’s Cromartie Boulevard; we can get onto Hollywood from there!”

Kay giggled. “Familiar with Hollywood Boulevard, aren’t ya Craig??”

He chuckled. “Oh, it’s a second home to me, love.” He pointed suddenly, directing Meredith. “There lass-- turn left there—”

The van screeched to a halt. As is often the case in L.A., the entire street had been targeted for construction with absolutely no advance notice. It was totally blocked off with orange cones and cement railings.

“SHIT!!” everyone in the van burst out.

With a howl of sirens, the cop cars swooped down on their only way out. Like clowns from a hundred clown cars L.A.’s finest swarmed, drawing their weapons and getting the van in their sights. “This is the Los Angeles city police!” bellowed a megaphone. “Get out of the van and get up against the wall! Right now!!”

Resignedly Kay, Meredith, and Craig filed slowly out of the van, hands raised. “Excuse me!” hollered Craig. “You don’t seem to recognize me! I’m TV’s Craig Ferguson!”

“I don’t give a damn if you’re the Queen of England!!” the cop on the megaphone yelled back.

“Well, I… am, actually!” Craig quipped back.

“He’s also the Prince of Wales!” called Kay.

“And Michael Caine!” volunteered Meredith.

Megaphone Cop was not amused. “Put your hands up against the van and spread your legs!” he demanded.

Craig glanced around at the full metal unit as they swarmed in to frisk him and the two HellBelles. “Look, we’re not criminals, we don’t have any guns!—hey, watch where you’re placing that hand, buster! This isn’t Hollywood Boulevard!”

“We’ve got our lead singer in a wheelchair in the back of our van!” Meredith told them. “Can we bring her out?”

The cop frisking her considered. “All right. You come with me, open the back.”

Meredith obeyed, leading the cop to the rear door. She unlocked the door and undid Violette’s wheel straps. Lowering the ramp, she climbed in the van and gripped the handles of Violette’s throne. The cop steadied the ramp, helping Meredith carefully wheel Violette down the ramp and safely onto the pavement. “Do you need medical assistance?” the cop asked them.

Violette shook her head. “I’m on a ventilator. It’s a chronic condition. I don’t need to go to the hospital. I’m fine.”

“Mr. Ferguson, step away from the girls please!” A second cop approached, hooking a hand under the talk show host’s arm.

Craig glanced back at the HellBelles. “Boy, haven’t heard a cop say that to me in a while.” He looked to the cop holding him. “What are you going to do with them?”

“There’s been a report filed on you as missing and possibly endangered! The Opry Plaza in Nashville Tennessee says several eyewitnesses saw you getting into a van answering to this license number two days ago!” Megaphone glared angrily at the girls. “Are these the punks who kidnapped you?”

Craig rolled his eyes. “No, they didn’t kidnap me… I was… scouting for acts to have on my show! I missed my flight and these ladies kindly offered to drive me to L.A! Who filed this missing persons report on me anyway?”

The cops looked at each other. “One Delbert Mortenstein, attorney at law,” offered Megaphone after checking his notepad.

Craig made a face. “Ugh, God, my alimony lawyer. Might’ve guessed it was him.” He sighed, putting up his hands. “Look—I have NOT been kidnapped. These ladies did me a tremendous favor by driving me here after I missed my flight. I’m tired, I’m hungry, I’ve got a fucker of a head cold-- I’m late for my own rehearsals—can we just go already?!”

The cops all looked disappointed that they wouldn’t get to arrest or brutalize anybody today. “Are you sure you don’t want to press charges?” asked Megaphone.

“I’ll press charges,” Violette offered. “Against the L.A.P.D. There’s three oxygen tanks in that van. If you’d started shooting you could have killed all four of us.”

“You could have avoided all this by pulling over when we started chasing you!” Megaphone snapped back irritably.

“We were trying to get Craig to his show on time!” Meredith shot back. “I wanna press charges for mental anguish! You know he’s got a sleeping sickness-- he drops dead if you stress him out too much!”

“Yeah, I’ll press charges too!” That was Kay. “You’re just hasslin’ us ‘cuz we’re punk rock, man! The establishment can’t handle the revolution, man!”

The Megaphone Cop cringed at Kay’s voice. He was clearly not keen on the idea of another lawsuit filed against the L.A.P.D.

Craig leered cheekily at the police. “Well officers… the age-old battle between law and celebrity.” He made an exaggerated show of rubbing his chin, as if deep in thought. “Hm--I WONDER who is going to win this round?…”

+++++

They were able to talk the cops into giving them an escort to CBS studios. Meredith parked at the front door, and the three HellBelles watched mutely as Craig jumped out of the van with no small amount of haste. He looked about to sprint up the neatly trimmed walk and through the glossy front studio door. Then he stopped short. He looked back at the rusty, graffiti-covered van surrounded by angry flashing cop cars, all of whom were all too ready to bust the girls for parking illegally or something. He looked at the HellBelles-- all three of whom he knew now in the biblical sense. All three of whom he had promised—perhaps not in so many words, but at least implied—that they would get a spot on his show in exchange for driving him to L.A. Of course he didn’t owe them anything, did he? After what they’d done—kidnapped him; hell, almost BURIED him—they should consider themselves lucky. Anyone else would have had them all arrested by now. Of course he didn’t need to follow through with any so-called promises they thought he’d made, did he?

Of course he did.

Craig turned back, walking slowly toward the van, his head hung. He stuffed his hands in his pants, looking off to the side furtively. He stopped before the open door, where Violette sat in her chair, gazing solidly at him. He could avoid the stares of the other two. He couldn’t avoid her eyes.

“Guests of the show park around the side of the building,” he told them. “Hurry, now… I’ll have the interns meet you.”

All three girls’ faces lit up. Smiling at them, Craig reached out and shut the door he’d left open. He watched the rusty van take off around the corner of the CBS building. Then he continued on his way into the building, to get ready for the show.

+++++

“Ladies and gentlemen, my next guests are a ferociously talented punk band I had the pleasure of… performing with…over the weekend.” Craig was obliged to pause; a sudden, dirty giggle overtaking him. “They’re three awesome punk rockers, three incredibly sexy women, and they are gonna kick your ass. Please welcome-- the HellBelles, everybody!” He made a sweeping motion to the stage as the crowd broke into wild, raucous cheers.

The cameras zoomed in to where the girls were set up-- Violette seated in the middle, with Kay and Meredith flanking her on either side. Behind them, hidden in shadow, was a studio-supplied drumset. They didn’t need it yet—Violette’s searing guitar exploded in sync with the lights, while Meredith’s grungy bass provided a thumping rhythm comparable to any drumbeat. As Kay uttered a bloodchilling howl, Violette ripped into the opening chords of Killed By Death. Kay yelped out Lemmy’s lyrics while Meredith harmonized in her low evil growl. And the crowd loved them. The sheer energy of the girls, especially the stubborn vigor and superior skill of Violette on her guitar solo during the bridge, won the crowd’s hearts.

Then came the climax: after Meredith had cackled the song’s title sinisterly into her mike, with a sudden blast of light the drum set was suddenly lit up, revealing none other than Craig sitting on the drums—pounding away, accompanying Violette’s vengeful licks and Meredith’s thriving bass beats. As Kay and Meredith continued to squeal the name of the song over and over, and Violette furiously clawed at her guitar, Craig enthusiastically drove all three of them to new heights; providing the thrusting rhythm to their separate siren songs.

The HellBelles ended up moving out to L.A., after GoogolDeth Records saw them on Craig’s show and signed them to their label. They lived happily in a Hollywood mansion throwing wild parties for all their new rock star friends. And every weekend they invited Craig out to the house, tied him up, and enjoyed playing out every kinky fantasy they could think of with him.

The End.

More fiction