FINAL EPISODE - Riker's Callling

Riker Wednesdays

IT WAS TEN MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT. Heslehurst, masked as a light-skinned Latino, sat with his lap dog Amber at his side as the two watched from the inside of their rental car the streets of Hollyweird grow in freaks. This was the time of night Cenobites Cove served their most unusual of costumers, from twelve to two a.m., the Woolly Mammoth in the dog collar arriving to put in his six hours of working the front end of the shop while doubling as security.

Jules, the owner of the place, looked like a demon straight out of hell, with ink covering every inch of her body, enough piercings on her face alone to fill up a jewelry display case, and horn implants that looked like they could come bursting through the skin at any time. She’d be behind the curtain with Jaime, the two modifying body parts late into the night.

“You do what I say when I say,” Heslehurst instructed Amber, now helping her put on a backpack before sliding an empty orange juice container over the chamber of his handgun and handing it off to her. “Always watch my back, and if something goes wrong, remember, the most important thing is to get the report uploaded.” He caressed the side of her head. “It’s our work. The world is counting on us to tell them the truth.” She shook her head in agreement to her master’s words, and when he sealed it with a kiss, Amber knew she’d follow him to the depths of hell if she had to.  

Heslehurst grabbed a long duffle bag, and the two headed inside.

“What can I do you for?” the mountain of a man behind the counter asked as Heslehurst approached.

“Hey, how’s it goin’? I got some ink done about a week ago from Jaime. Looks like I need a touch-up.”

“Alright, come on back.”

But getting a better look at that big ol’ duffel bag slung over Heslehurst’s back, Woolly Mammoth had second thoughts. “What’s in the bag?”

Heslehurst laid it on the counter and unzipped it enough to show some tripods and a key light. “We’re indie filmmakers. Gonna be shootin’ some things in Hollywood tonight.”

“Alright, come on.”

The curtain was pulled back and the unsuspecting giant led the two inside the working space. Heslehurst’s heart began to beat faster at the sight of his Jaime, her fast-paced needle working on the back of a biker. He then caught sight of Jules, a more fatherly feeling coming over him, one of disgust, as she was in between the legs of some asshole, tattooing his hard-on, right there out in the open for Jaime to see.

“Hey Jaime, this guy says you gave him a tat last week, and he needs a touch-up.”

Her foot came off her pedal, and she flipped off her tattoo machine and looked up, taking in the Latin face of the guy in front of her. “Are you sure it was me? I’ve only been here a few days, and I don’t remember doing one for you.”

Heslehurst began to unbutton his white dress shirt, waiting to open it up until he got down to the last button. Eyes continually staring into Jaime’s, he then did so, revealing Darling Nikki.

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t make sense of it as her eyes darted back and forth from the tattoo of what she now knew to be her mother and the face she didn’t recognize.

Heslehurst reached up to his neck line and started to peel away skin, the brains of everyone in the room going into a scramble as he tore his face off his face. Everyone that is except for Amber, who used the perplexing moment to reach into her coat pocket for her master’s gun.

He handed the silicone mask over to Woolly Mammoth, who was still too stunned to have anything but tunnel vision, Heslehurst’s free hand now wrapping around the heavy metal Amber placed into it. He immediately brought it up and fired a hole into the giant’s head, not waiting to watch him fall before doing the same to the biker.

The guy with the inked hard-on was now cowering behind Jules’ tattoo chair, leaving her to fend for herself. A couple of seconds later and he too was put down.

“BABE!” Amber yelled just as Jaime lunged for Heslehurst, giving him the opportunity to step aside and push her to the floor. “Do that again and you’ll join ‘em.”

He pointed his barrel at Jules. Although she was an extreme example of Jaime’s art, he respected the demon chick’s dedication. “Get in the corner. Both of you get in the corner now.”

---

I WAS MAKING GOOD TIME through The Grapevine, spending it winding through the hills while trying to crack the complexity of Heslehurst’s fucked up mind. After spending half our lifetime in control of it, to a certain extent anyway, it was obvious he was now beginning to lose it. How long had he expected this game to go on? We were both getting older, physically slower, and yes, in an ever-changing world. How did he expect to end it? Murder suicide? Going underground? But he had a face recognizable to millions. How would he continue?

My phone rang. Another unlisted number, another disposable phone. It had to be him.

“What do you want?”

“Uncle Riker?”

“Jaime?! Jaime, where are you?!” I had to pull over to the side of the road. “Jaime?!”

“Do you know some of the shit they do in this place?!” Heslehurst asked. “Do you know what I caught Jules doing right in front of Jaime?!”

“What do you want? What-?”

“How far out from L.A. are you?”

“About two hours.”

“The key will be under the mat. Come alone, or you’ll never see her alive again.”

As I stepped on the gas, I never felt more hopeless, more vulnerable in my life.