Part 7 (1/2)
Ripper laughed.
Rick grinned and laughed with Ripper. Jack Ripley looked to be in his mid fifties, but obviously took great pains to hide it. His graying, light brown hair was trimmed close to the skull around his temples, long and wild along the top and the back, kind of like a punk rock Lyle Lovett. His large blue eyes turned down at the corners, giving him a sad, hound-dog look, which wasn't helped by the thick gla.s.ses. A hooked nose hung down over his upper lip, which was pulled back over the buck teeth. A patch of a goatee sprouted on what remained of his chin. His face was set in skull that appeared long and bony. His body was skeletal, complementing the rest of his bizarre features. His blue eyes radiated a warmth that ebbed like a beacon, bathing his features in a more attractive way. You couldn't help but like the guy the minute you started talking to him.
”So what's the world's greatest underground comic artist doing in a little town like Phillipsport?” Rick wondered if the answer was going to be along the lines of his own reason for moving here. What he got was quite different.
Ripper smiled. ”I ask myself that question every morning I wake up.” He sighed and drew himself down on a stool in front of the cash register. ”I used to live in Los Angeles. Moved there from Northern California in 1973. Everyone thought it was a good idea. A few movie producers were interested in making films based on my comics.”
Rick nodded. He'd gotten a few nibbles at Baron Semedi, too.
”You ever dealt with movie people?” Ripper asked. He leaned forward over the counter, his features grave.
Rick shook his head. ”Not directly. A couple of producers expressed interest in one of my novels, but that was it.”
”You're a writer?” His tone changed to sudden interest. His eyebrows raised on his bony forehead in surprise.
Rick nodded. ”Yeah. I write horror novels.”
Ripper laughed. ”Wonderful.” He smiled a mouthful of giant teeth at Rick. ”What's your name?”
”Rick Sychek.”
Recognition fluttered in Ripper's eyes. ”Rick Sychek. Yeah, I know that name. Didn't you write a book called Shadowbeast?”
Rick grinned and nodded. This was great. One of his adolescent idols recognized him.
”I liked that book. Haven't read any of the others though, but I do stock them.” He waved a hand toward the paperbacks displayed along the window. Rick followed his gaze briefly and turned back to Ripper. ”So, you have bad luck with Hollywood?”
”Not really. Like I said, a few producers expressed interest in Baron Semedei. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Ripper snorted. ”Well, be careful in the future. Most producers are crooks. The good ones mean well, but they'll f.u.c.k you over as well. Worst mistake I ever made was believing the bulls.h.i.+t some producers kept handing me about making one of my comics into a film.”
Rick frowned, concerned. He was hoping to move to Los Angeles next year and try his hand at screenplays.
”To make a long story short, this guy did make a movie out of Bird of Prey, but he stiffed me on the money.
I took him to court and won, but I still got f.u.c.ked. My lawyer took a good chunk of the settlement and by then I was in deep debt with bills and the IRS. I had to draw the Deads.h.i.+t series to get myself above water again.” He paused for a moment and Rick caught a glimmer of the bad memories pa.s.sing in his eyes. He could relate. He had been through bad times before. ”Anyway, after all that happened, I decided to find the most out-of-the-way place I could and settle down.”
”Phillipsport, Maine,” Rick said, trying to inject a little humor into his voice.
”Exactly! The gateway to nowhere.” Ripper had resumed his horsy-grin and leaned forward over the counter ”Anyway, since I knew the comic industry, I decided to open up this place. Been in business for ten years now.”
Rick nodded. ”And you do all right?”
Ripper rubbed the back of his neck with his bony hand. ”I do pretty good. I live.”
”Ever thought about getting back into ill.u.s.trating and creating again?”
Ripper shook his head. ”I'm pretty much through with that.”
”People love your work. If you came out with a new series now it would sell like crazy.”
Ripper sighed and shook his head. ”Kids don't want underground stuff these days. They want big superheroes in spandex with huge f.u.c.king guns blowing people apart. They want guys ripping people's heads off and girls with big poofy hair and big silicone t.i.ts. They want the collectible stuff with 3-D wrap-around hologram covers and trading cards...not black and white, black humor.”
”What about the small press?” Rick was going to get Ripper back into the business again if he had to stand here all day.
Ripper laughed. ”Not enough money and too much stress. I understand your enthusiasm for wanting me to get back into the field, but I really do like where I'm at now. I guess one of the reasons why I like this town is because nothing happens.” He nodded toward outside where it had briefly stopped raining. The sky was dark and ugly. It may have stopped raining momentarily, but it would start again soon. The black clouds were promising it. ”Unless you count the occasional storm.”
Rick sighed, his curiosity satiated. Somehow it felt right that Jack Ripley had really gone underground.
Ripper rummaged beneath the counter. ”While I got you here, I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”
”Sure.”
Ripper found what he wanted beneath the counter and brought it up. He bony face was broken by a huge grin. He held a tattered paperback of Shadowbeast out in front of him in one hand, with a blue ball-point pen in the other. ”Think you could autograph my copy for me?”
Rick felt giddy and proud. His face flushed. ”Of course.” He took the paperback and the pen and flipped to the t.i.tle page. ”Will you sign all my copies of Drugg Buddies for me someday?”
”You got it!” Ripper grinned.
”Great!” Rick bent over the t.i.tle page of Shadowbeast and scrawled a hasty message on the page, his mind in overdrive. He was going to have to make a drive to his place in Philly some weekend and truck his copies over for inscription. A trip that would be well worth it.
Rick finished the inscription, signed his name at the bottom and handed the book back to Ripper. Jack opened it and read it aloud. ”To the man who made me into the warped guy I am today, your number one fan, Rick Sychek.” Ripper smiled, closed the book and bowed courteously. ”I take that christening in honor, Rick.”
The lights in the store flickered briefly. Both men looked up at the florescent fixtures as they pulsated. The rain and wind picked up slightly, shaking banners outside, the force of the gusts reverberating in the store with loud clarity. The lights flickered like fireflies and then clicked back on. They remained that way as Rick and Ripper looked up at the ceiling waiting for the storm to knock them out.
Rick shook his head. ”Guess we're in for a big storm.”
Ripper nodded. ”It ain't raining now, but like they always say; *when it rains, it pours.'”
Chapter Nine.
Rick exited Ripp It Up Comics clutching a bundle of comic books wrapped in a bright yellow plastic bag. An ad for the new Robin mini-series was etched in the side. He looked up at the sky in puzzled amazement. Two minutes ago it had been pouring like a flood and now the rain had stopped. The pavement was wet and exuded the aroma of wetness. A nice, clean smell. Rick stuffed the comics into his leather jacket and zipped up tight. Just in case.
He'd bought a trade paperback consisting of reprints of the first six issues of DC's Sandman series, the first four issues of h.e.l.lblazer, and this month's issues of Nightbreed, Judge Dredd, Doom Patrol and Beautiful Stories for Ugly Children.
He wanted to rush home and dive into the four-color worlds of wonder. Discovering Ripper's store and buying the comics had changed his mind about his plans for the day. He could explore the rest of Phillipsport tomorrow. He had all winter.
He wandered out along the pier, debating on whether or not to walk along the beach or explore the pier itself. There were a number of stores that looked worth investigating. The pier was dotted with a handful of people; locals window shopping, a few old men standing at the end of the dock leaning against the railing with fis.h.i.+ng poles gripped in weathered hands. A woman was leaning against the railing at the far end, looking out over the beach. Not much action. Still, the view from the end of the pier was probably breathtaking. He might even be able to see his house from there.
He strode down the pier as the wind picked up and ruffled his hair. He would go to the end, sneak a quick peek, and head home. He wanted to get back, get a fire going in the hearth, and spend the rest of the day embroiled in fantasy-land. He deserved the time off from writing.
The fishermen were hogging up the south side of the pier. The woman was the only person on the north side, which was where he would be able to get a better glimpse of his house. He approached the weathered railing and leaned against it, marveling at the coastline. Gorgeous. Highway 1 wound like a snake up the coast and disappeared behind a grove of trees. Perched on a jutting cliff overlooking the ocean was his winter retreat. From here it looked way cool.
Rick grinned. He would have to come up here again and get a photograph of the home from this vantage point. It would make a great postcard.
He leaned against the pier for a moment, reflecting on his thoughts. The wind tousled his hair across his shoulders and he s.h.i.+vered. He glanced toward his right and noticed the woman who was occupying the north side of the pier with him. She was gorgeous.