James Axler – Bitter Fruit

“How you know I there?” Jak asked. “Know you didn’t hear me.”

“No,” Doc agreed. “And that’s how I knew you would be there, lad. Ryan, I daresay, is a tad overprotective of his little band. With Mildred already numbered among the missing, it would only stand to reason that he wouldn’t let me simply go away on my own. No matter how good they are, I’d have seen Krysty or John Barrymore. And Ryan wouldn’t have put himself away from the crux of the action or the boy.”

“Left me.”

“Precisely.” Doc moved the coins so they caught the light. “What I’d like to do, my fine, young friend, is further your education somewhat and broaden your horizons if I may.”

“Too many men in building, Doc.”

“Nonsense. It’s only for a short time. Why, the show’s probably halfway over.” Doc gestured toward the sandwich board, where another hand-lettered sign hung from a hook. Rome and Juliet was emblazoned on the second sign, in blue letters this time, but in the same crabbed style. “One of the Bard’s most poignant dramas ever written. How can you miss something like this?”

Jak looked uncomfortable already.

Doc eyed him squarely. “I am not just here on a lark, young Jak. There is a man inside I must see if I am able. Mayhap he will be able to help me locate the descendants of some dear friends. But he is a dangerous man, as well. I would appreciate your watching my back.”

Jak didn’t appear any happier with the situation, but he gave a short nod.

Throwing his arm around the youth’s shoulders, Doc headed them in the direction of the theater. The coins were more than enough to gain entry into the building. Doc didn’t like the lustful glances the greasepainted men gave him.

The stage area was in the basement of the building. The upper floors were still pretty much wreckage, filled to overflowing with garbage that looked as if it had been trucked in from other buildings.

Torches hung on the walls and threw out a weak pallor that barely illuminated the large room. Most of the three hundred or so seats available were filled, the audience sounding raucous and bold as its members called out to the actors.

Doc found five seats together in the back of the room and led Jak that way. “Sit back, boy,” Doc urged. “Let yourself get caught up in this passion play of unrequited love and familial pathos.” In terse sentences he brought Jak up to speed regarding the story line. As he did, though, he noticed there were some inconsistencies with Shakespeare’s original drama. The story progressed faster, the philosophical soliloquies were cut to bare bones and the audience roared with laughter each time one of the characters stepped to the forefront of the stage and delivered the lines.

“Women ain’t women, Doc,” Jak said.

And it was true. Doc had already noticed that, as well. “In the playwright’s day, acting wasn’t a respectable profession for a woman. Evidently these people are conforming to the spirit of those days.”

“Mebbe so,” Jak replied. “But you look around, you see mostly men in here.”

Doc did look and found the albino’s observation uncomfortably on the nose. Then the play took a very sadistic bent, becoming more and more violent. Romeo and Mercutio massacred the guards that came at them. Crimson blood spurted from the swords, covering the actors, victors and victims. The iron-based smell of the crimson liquid told Doc that the blood was real. He sat stunned as the play wound down to its conclusion, which was entirely different from Shakespeare’s version.

With flashing moves, Romeo cut the pants from Juliet, then bent the man roughly over the bed. The actor’s pale rear end jutted up. Using his free hand, Romeo whipped the man’s butt in feverish excitement.

“Enough,” Jak said, leaning back and looking away from the stage.

Doc couldn’t take any more, either. He looked away and saw the man who could be no other than Long Johnson, the pirate captain. The man stood nearly seven feet tall, and was broad across the shoulders. His full beard hung to nearly midchest, balanced by his long, flowing hair that spilled down his shoulders. The hair and beard were both glazed with oil of some type, adding a shiny luster to them that was further emphasized by the slow-burning fuses twisted up in the curls. The fuses spit and sparked from the orange coals at their centers.