The Dangerous Type

Oh you nasty man, taking your love on the easy plan
Here and there and where you can
Oh you nasty man.
You ain’t fooling me, you’re just as bad as bad can be
But you’re darn good company
Oh you big bad man.
When you be that nasty
I know what’s on your mind
You’re so full of fancy
You make me sizzle and then you chisel.
Oh you nasty man, I’ve never met anyone who can
Be as bad or better than you
You nasty man.

Ray Noble & His Orchestra : You Nasty Man (1934)

There it goes again. The goddamned song. Don’t matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to get it out of my head.
‘She’s a lot like you, the dangerous type
Ooohh she’s a lot like you, come on and hold me tight’.

In the distance somewhere across the tracks I can see the faint flickering of a neon sign belonging to a two bit roadhouse cum juke joint name of Crazy Al’s and from an open window, drifting across the dusty expanse, the mournful sound of a cheap pedal steel guitar, its sad twisted notes falling like chrome teardrops on the hard stony ground.
Well they’re sure keen on dancing I thought bitterly as the sun set low on the misty horizon, throwing mad shadows across the lens of my mirrored Ray Bans, while I couldn’t help but notice how those Hollywood kids always seemed like they had it made, although somewhere down the line somebody else was sure as hell gonna have to pick up the tab. I dusted off the uniform, straightened up the name badge, fixed my regulation issue Stetson, and walked across the hot iron towards the swing doors. If I could learn to love her would she learn to love me, I mused from behind the shades, trying to tie a name on the Catholic shame, acknowledging that lust, although a powerful driving force, was only going to take you so far down the highway of life.
So much for the city, just tell me that you’ll dance to the end she’d said the day we split the high life and took the dirt road home to Morrow Bay, the steadiness of the security guards job at Pacific Gas & Electric, and the gentle tranquillity of San Luis Obisbo County that we mistakenly believed would be the making of us both. How I’d wanted so much to believe her, buy the promises, drowning in the elixir of her youthful lust for life, willing to laugh off the lies and consign the past to the trash can of history, although I figured there and then that she’d send me to an early grave, although I’d have never have guessed that it would be via my own hand.
‘She’s a lot like you, the dangerous type……’

On the wall by the main entrance there’s a handwritten sign advertising some long forgotten gig, and although the thick black magic marker, like the memories of the punters who had attended that evening, had long since faded, I could just about make out the letters TONIGHT FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY – DAVE VINCENT & THE INVADERS : ROCK ‘N’ ROLL FOR THE SPACE AGE ! BRING YOUR HONEY AND SPEND YOUR MONEY ! Admission was $2 and the first drink was half price, but only on beers and straight shots. Strictly no mixers or chasers. Designed to lure in the younger crowd, maybe short on cash but high on hash, all dressed up and nowhere to go, eager for some bright lights and low rent glamour to make them forget the daily grind, and the stifling conformity of the lives that awaited them a few short years down the line.
I passed the empty ticket booth, eased on down the dusty red carpeted corridor and gently pushed the double doors, which creaked arthritically under my touch, and trod gingerly on to the once polished dancefoor, now little more than a creaking boardwalk, which made me think that only thing that would be doing any jitterbugging around these parts would be the termites. Above my head the mirror ball, devoid of the life-giving spotlight, hung forlornly on a rusted chain, as if waiting for the good times to return.
‘Ooohh, she’s a lot like you, come on and hold me tight……’

It wasn’t hard to spot her. After all, she was the only one there, and had been for the last thirty-five years. She was exactly as I remembered her; red dress, matching heels, and her long blonde hair hanging high in a ponytail. She looked like a character in some long forgotten 60’s sitcom, which, if you think about it, was exactly what she was. Only this soap opera had run its course. The plug had been pulled, the suits at the network had called time, and it was my job to haul her home.
‘Hi, Jeff” she purred in that come to bed voice. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up and a weakness shiver through my knees. Just like the old days when we came here every Friday, hot to trot and in search of kicks, in the days before she fell out of love with the dream and decided that she needed to get away, as to where to she hadn’t a clue, although she promised to mail me a card when she got there. “Strange to see you back here after all these years”.
“She’s a lot like you, the dangerous type…..”

Strange indeed, for although I’d never forgotten her, it was unusual for one such as me to return to the scene of my crimes, although I still can’t bring myself to acknowledge it as such. The crime, that is. In fact, I never thought that what I did was wrong, although I’m afraid she’d never seen it that way, preferring as usual to set her own agenda. But that had always been the style, which had marked her out from the other High School girls. Not for her the hubby, house and Martini before dinner. She was always so much better than that and, although I’m too proud to say it, that is what had drawn me to her in the first place, although in hindsight that was my big mistake. After all, The Elders were never going to allow her to get away with it, setting as it would a precedent which would open the floodgates, allowing The Earthly Ones to subvert the commandments, highlight the flaws and, perhaps most importantly, expose the hypocrisy of the whole damn system. After all, we’d been sent here to infiltrate and ultimately convert them. And a damn good job we’d been making of it too. My own sales figures for the last quarter were up twenty three percent, and I was due for a big bonus, and a reduction by three years of my present tour of duty. Which is why I’d had to come for her; to take her back with me, and try for a fresh start. But it was evident she had no intention of going without a struggle.
‘Ooohh, she’s a lot like you, come on and hold me tight. Tonight….’

“I can’t let you do this, Jeff”, she’d cried, burying her head in her hands.
“You know we have no choice”. My, how those words sounded empty and hollow, and I knew that she knew it. “I’m under strict instructions. I have no option”.
A thin smile crossed her lips as a tear emerged from the corner of her eye. I felt so sorry for her that I almost broke up myself and, if the truth be told, I wished I were dead. Problem is, down here on Earth, I was. I existed in what the humans called the spirit world, and if they’d seen me as I really was five’ll get you ten they’d have reached for that book of lies their whole stupid civilisation was built on and invested meaning in my actions that simply weren’t there. Never had been and never will, no matter what their so-called prophets said. Her crime was that she had wanted to become one of them. She’d got way too close for her own good, and had paid the price. Two thousand years ago another one of our operatives had done the same, and boy, had that caused some problems. He’d ended up with a dozen fanatics who followed his every move and some heavy shit coming down from The Holy Roman Empire. They’d long gone, but he was still around, much to the consternation of our masters. So it was decreed from on high that her life here should been terminated, and I’d been the one who had drawn the short straw. But you can’t kill a ghost, which is why I was here. I had to convince her that ultimately it was the right move.
“We can be together again, make a fresh start”, I offered, somewhat apologetically.
“It’s no good, Jeff. The moment has passed. I always loved you, but there was so much more here than you could ever offer”.
Boy, did that one hurt, although I put a brave face on it. After all, what’s done is done, and you can’t put your arms around a memory, although God, or whatever it is these primitive people down here call him, knows there were many who had died trying.
“I know you mean well Jeff, but I just want to be left alone. I know it’ll make things difficult for you, but if you truly love me as much as you say you do, then you’ll turn around and walk right out of here”.
Ever had that said to you by a beautiful girl? No? Well let me tell you it fairly rips your insides out. You’ve got to be a pretty cold-hearted son of a bitch not to be moved by a plea like that. Especially when it’s put to you by a girl such as her.
“Goodbye, Jeff. Give my love to your momma. I want you to know that I always loved you and nothing will ever change that. It’s just that I can’t go back with you. I’m trapped, Jeff, and I don’t want to be saved. Not by you or anybody else. You were good to me but good ain’t what I want. I’m bad, Jeff. Bad to the bone. And it just so happens that the men down here are exactly the same. Nasty men. Real dogs. You killed me once but you’ll never do it again. Now go. Your train’s waiting and you don’t want to be missing it. Ain’t one comes around these parts for a long, long time, and you know as well as I do that even ghosts can get tired of waiting”.
‘She’s a lot like you, the dangerous type….’

So here I am, alone in this carriage with that half forgotten tune playing over and over in my head, watching out of the corner of my eye as the elderly ticket collector picks at his teeth with a dirty fingernail. He’d punched my ticket and gave me the kind of look that said boy, are you in for an ear bending when you get back. There was a look in his eye that suggesting that it wasn’t just my ticket that was going to get a good hammering.