Bloodlust -by Just Another Soul and Amigodude

Disclaimer: Black Lagoon and its characters © Rei Hiroe

Texas Chainsaw Massacre and its characters © Vortex, Tobe Hooper, director.

Rating: M for mature

Chapter 1 - "How do you Like Texas?"

- Some time ago...

On a pitch black, starless evening, a solitary figure stumbled through a bare plain, an endless field long since harvested. The girl who called herself Revy was barely able to feel out the frozen ground beneath her feet, each fatigued step was dangerous. The wind blew in great gusts, upsetting her balance so she lurched between the endless rows.

Both her hands were dug deep in the pockets of the leather jacket, the handle of the small bag looped around the forearm so the bag swung ceaselessly against her hip. The girl was numb and raw from the sharp cold, teetering on the edge of hypothermia as her clothing was soaked through from the irregular rainfall. The cloth high-top sneakers were coming apart at the seams.

Behind, miles back, the flashing blue and red lights were a fading flicker on the horizon, the police cars clustered on the highway. For five days and nights Revy had been pursued relentlessly. A botched burglary of a house in Austin had turned out to be the residence of no less than the chief of the Texas Rangers. A massive hunt had ensued. Somehow, and beyond belief, she had evaded the pursuers.

The eventual and expected stumble finally came and she tumbled into a ditch. The girl rolled over panting and lay sprawled on the cold ground. She could feel the last of her body heat slipping away. Up until now the weather had been mild and the outdoors tolerable, but a cold front had swept in from the north.

With an effort she crawled up the slope, wincing as the wind struck at her exposed face. Squinting ahead she could see in the distance the faint glow of lights. Her teeth were chattering so hard the jaw muscles hurt. Dimly the girl realized that she would not survive the long night if shelter wasn't found soon.

It took about fifteen minutes before she trudged up a slight incline towards the building. Situated at the crossroads, the roadhouse was brightly illuminated, a rundown building with a green metal roof and a gaudy neon sign. The parking lot to the side was filled with pickup trucks and lines of motorbikes. A low and constant thumping emanated from within.

There were no police cars and once sure of her security, and without any further hesitation, Revy made for the front door. Going in the entrance she was immediately engulfed in a miasma of cigarette smoke and flashing lights. The din was overwhelming. Through the smoke and the crowd of men, she could see a hard faced woman rolling slowly off a pole on the plywood stage.

She sighed gratefully. Regardless of the seedy atmosphere, at least the roadhouse was warm.

"Where's the manager? I got an appointment" she forced a shout at the door man who came over looking for the cover charge. A few heads turned, the usual mix of rough men checking out the new arrival.

It was a lie, but the door man jerked his heard towards the rear and went back to contemplating the wad of bills in his hand. Revy pushed her way through the press, her shoes sticking on the beer soaked floor. Someone attempted to grope her and she twisted away.

The office was narrow and cramped, mismatched shelves jutted from the walls overloaded with receipts and boxes. The window at the rear covered over with brown plastic and duct tape. A fat man with a paper thin mustache above his lip was squeezed at the desk and looked up in irritation, his greasy complexion glistening under the fluorescent light.

"I need a job," Revy stated without introduction. "I can start now."

The man spat into a cup. He was chewing tobacco and a strand of brown colored phlegm wobbled on his chins.

"Sure," he said, the tone surprisingly high pitched. "We're short tonight. Let's see what you got. Don't close the door and don't bother dancing."

Without showing any emotion, Revy let the bag fall to the floor, and pulled off the leather jacket. The hoodie and t-shirt went next. The fingers were stiff and she fumbled briefly at her pants before they fell around her ankles. For a moment she had deceived herself into thinking she could do table busing or cleaning for a few dollars. She knew better. A zombie-like numbness settled in. Outside was the cold, the rain, the hunger, the police.

The man spit again, his eyes flickered as he looked over "Damn, you're a skinny thing. Well, we could use someone in the back hall. What do you think Gunny Tom?"

The door of the office creaked as it swung shut and the room became noticeably quieter. The skin along Revy's spine all the way up to the nape of the neck prickled as she felt another man standing close behind, but she refused to turn.

"Hey Sam, this one smells somethin' awful," a laconic voice drawled – the southern accent played up as an affection. "It don't matter, those bikers out there will think she's wearing some fancy perfume. Check it out, China girl's got history."

Sam swiveled in his overloaded chair, the expanse of the stomach sagging below his thighs. A stack of greenbacks were brushed off and fell on the floor He gawked at the swirling tattoos covering the girl's shoulder and upper chest, even up onto her neck. "We got ourselves a little gook gang-banger – fresh meat up from Port Arthur aren't you?"

"I'm not a gook," grated Revy.

"Sure you aren't," said Gunny Tom. He breathed out and his whiskey soaked breath enveloped Revy. The tips of his fingers prodded her lower back, at the scars. "These look like exit wounds from bullets. What the hell you been up to girl?"

"They're birthmarks," said Revy. She swayed briefly. "Am I hired?"

Sam leered and contemplated the scattered money, "You won't be dancing. The girls got a room behind the stage for their stuff. That girl Jasmin... she just got in? Good. Do what she does and you'll do fine. Oh, and don't bother getting dressed."

Revy gathered up her clothing and bag. Turning, she looked Gunny Tom up and down. He was a short little bantam cock of a man, probably in his early twenties with a mullet of stringy, black hair. His chin was rather pointed, marked by a jagged scar. A cigarette hung loosely from a toothy grin; there was an unnatural gleam to his stare. But the girl's focus went past Gunny Tom to the dusty police radio scanner on the shelving unit to the right of his head. The red light flickered. The scanner was on.

"See ya in a bit, pussycat," chuckled Gunny Tom.

"I'm Jasmin. I'm seventeen," the blonde said. She was only a year older than Revy. She waved a half eaten sandwich frantically about. "You're not from around here are you hon? How do you like Texas?"

"Thought it'd be warmer," said Revy. She was transfixed by the sandwich and couldn't stop staring.

"Hon, it's January," said Jasmin. "Here, you need this more than me. You look absolutely starved and that shivering isn't going to attract the cockroaches. You're not a crack head are you?"

"Thank you," said Revy astounded. After a wary pause she took the stale sandwich gratefully. She shook her head to the question, too busy trying to eat the offered sandwich; she almost choked on the first attempt to swallow. "Is there anything to drink?"

Jasmin pulled a flask out of the bag she used as a purse and passed it over. "My secret stash. Underage drinking ain't somethin' were going to be hassled about. Don't let anyone give shit to you by the way, don't be nobody's freak. The rest of the girls here are messed up big-time. You can practically see their skin crawl."

The dressing room was not much more than a closet. Revy finished the makeshift meal and licked her fingers desperately. She tilted the flask back and took several deep swallows of rum, felt the liquid burn a path down her parched throat. The rum would stop for a moment the insistent feeling of emptiness, the desperate craving for more food.

"Wow, you're a fright." Jasmin sighed and took out a brush and smacked it against the palm of her hand. "Let me work on your hair before we go degrade ourselves for a few lousy bucks. First things first newbie: pick up that beer bottle over there."

Revy obliged as Jasmin ran the brush through her hair. "Okay, hold out the bottle, don't spill! Now hold out your hand and stick out your fingers. Good. Pretend that's a guys prick."

Revy snorted. Jasmin pulled the brush vigorously, her brow creased. "No really – I'm going somewhere with this. Prick, bottle – they're just things. Let me repeat – they're just things. Ya' gotta toss away whatever you think things mean or you're going to crawl down a dark, dirty crack and stay there. Put a mask on and don't try to feel, remember or experience shit cause it's nothing but cockroaches out there tonight. But when the work's done, take the damn mask off and come back up. We ain't here to be goody-goodies. Okay?"

"Okay," Revy nodded. Jasmin looked pathetically pleased with her proffered advice. There was no point in Revy telling the other girl she'd fallen down the dark, dirty crack long ago.

The clock hands were at 3:00. Revy slumped to the floor of the dressing room and struggled with her pants. The shirt was pulled back on with slow movements. Everything felt... dirty. She wanted to scrub herself with a brillo pad till her skin bled. No matter how many times she rinsed and spit in the sink it wasn't enough. She wanted to curl up and let sleep wash this life away.

There had been one adrenalin pumped instance when two police officers had marched in, purposefully ignoring the multiple violations around as they went straight to Sam's office. On their way out, minutes later the two had walked right by the naked girl hiding in plain sight as she entertained a faceless weekend cowboy.

Her head wobbled, and she snapped back into awareness. Jasmin was taking too long. When the other girl had found out Revy had no place to go, Jasmin had immediately insisted that Revy go with her. ".. it's just a crappy trailer and my drunk Uncle. We can share my bed if you don't mind. I mean for sleep, I'm not that kinda girl, but we could if you wanted to, when we're not so tired..." and she giggled nervously and blinked.

"How much did we make?" mumbled Revy. Jasmin made a face.

"Not much," she said. "But its cash, I'm off to see Sam." That was five minutes ago.

With the shoelaces tied, Revy shrugged on the scuffed leather jacket, stood up and went out into the hallway. There were still a straggler or two at the bar, the stereo system had been turned off and the roadhouse was quiet. The door to Sam's office was open a crack. She came up close and listened.

"I'm not going to leave without her," protested Jasmin heatedly. "I know what you're thinkin', what d'you say your name was? Mr. Sawyer – but it's not happen... oww...hey! What the fuck?"

A sound of a slap and Revy heard Jasmin being pushed up against the shelves.

"Listen up bitch hog," sneered Gunny Tom. "China girl's none of your business, so get your skanky whore ass back to that trailer park you call home..."

Revy hissed. Spinning on her heel she went back to the dressing room. She knelt down and pulled the gun from the bag. The slide was open. For a moment she hesitated, then she released the magazine catch.

The door crashed open and Revy stormed in.

Sam had managed to get up out of his chair and had his thick, round fingers buried in Jasmin's hair, her head was pulled back. Gunny Tom had one hand on the Jasmin's throat and with the other was cuffing her repeatedly. Her cheeks were red. All three looked over in surprise at Revy's entrance.

"Fuckers," snarled Revy, eyes gleaming, "Fuckers, fuckers, motherfuckers! Back up or I'll blow your fuckin' eyeballs out the back of your heads."

Sam minced back, eyes wide and stumbled over his chair. "Oh shit Gunny! You're right! It is the little Chink they been talkin' about on the police scanner."

Gunny Tom slid back from Jasmin raising his hands in front, a grin spreading across his sallow face. "Hot damn! I was right, cops thought you was a boy - but I knew it the second you moseyed in here. You know how to use that gun, whore?"

Revy racked the action, slammed the magazine home and raised the barrel in a swift motion. The index finger curled around the trigger. Her smile matched his in ferocity. "Let's find out." she said.

"Hold on, hold on," shouted Sam looking desperate. Jasmin's head whipped back and forth, her pale green eyes wide, unsure whom to fear most. "Now let's not do something, we'll regret."

"You're right about that," said Revy. "Jasmin, grab the money on the desk. We're leaving. You won't call the cops because if you do, I'll be sure to let them know about the ten keys of Colombian brown I saw stored in the back. That way the only thing you'll need to clean up is Sam's pants."

"Well, damn! Call me a Hewitt!" laughed Gunny Tom. He was far too relaxed for Revy, "Go ahead, git on outta here."

Jasmin hesitated, then quickly grabbed the stacked money. She slid past Gunny Tom with a roll of her eyes. A couple of bills floated in her wake.

"You're fired," stuttered Sam, shaking his fist. There was a spreading blotch of piss on the front of his pants.

"Hell, we quit!" laughed Revy backing out of the doorway. To Gunny Tom, "..hey, dipshit, that accent of yours is lame!"

"Oh my god, oh my god, we're like fugitives," gasped Jasmin, gripping the steering-wheel. The car lurched out of the parking lot and they drove away. "And now I don't have a job, heck I just got my license. My uncle's going to be so mad. I had to drop out of high school – I mean there's nothing but the roadhouse since the meat packing plant closed down."

"Then let's go," suggested Revy in the passenger seat. "We got close to a grand or so, and a car. I was thinking about Las Vegas. How far away is it?"

"I think California," said Jasmin. Suddenly she swerved to the side of the road and braked abruptly bringing the car to a shuddering halt. Breathing hard she turned and stared at Revy wide eyed.

"Mr. Sawyer said you were some type of killer," she blurted out. "He told me the police have been looking for you the last five days something fierce. Please get out of my...oh.. god..."

Revy picked up the gun in her lap. Five days ago the chrome plated Comanche Special had belonged to the Texas Ranger chief. Momentarily, the thought crossed her mind to hijack the car and leave Jasmin on the side of the road. Instead she unloaded the magazine, out of force of habit racking the slide twice to prove the action was clear. Then she held up the magazine for the fearful Jasmin's inspection.

"No ammo," she said. "Wasn't sure I could fool them, but it was worth a try. Otherwise those jerks would have had new assholes in their foreheads." The gun and magazine dropped from her hands into the foot well.

"You were bluffing," Jasmin gasped.

Revy felt her lip tremble, she was totally drained and feeling lightheaded from the accumulated fatigue of the last five days. "Look, don't tell me to get out. I can't take the cold... I'm lonely and I can't do truck stops. Can't ride with the Chulas or Angels either – won't be a back-ride bitch no more. I got nothing."

"What are you?" said Jasmin. "What kind of girl can get all the Rangers more pissed off than a mound of fire ants? That Mr. Sawyer was ranting about how you're like, super-wanted."

"I'm just me," said Revy dully. She leaned forward and hugged her knees. "I'm on the fuckin' police blacklist. The second they figure out I'm a certain girl from NYC and not a random runaway, I'm dead by dawn. The autopsy will say something like I had too much junk in my system. Or I was shot resisting arrest. Some shit like that. They'll do me terminal. "

Jasmin stared ahead out of the windshield.

Doesn't it count I stopped them from hurting you?" Revy pleaded.

The other girl reached into her jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She lit one and then another and mutely offered the second one to Revy. Then her hand found Revy's and gripped it tightly. The cigarette tips glowed in the dark.

"Can you drive?" said Jasmin.

"Never had a chance to get a license," said Revy. "Can't be that hard, I can ride a motorbike."

"I don't need nothin' from home, " Jasmin decided. "My Uncle's full of shit anyway. We're friends then. Las Vegas it is, hon."

Jasmin put the lighter and cigarettes back in her pocket. She took her foot off the brake and swung the car around. Back at the crossroads she took the road going west.