THRILLVILLE: Will "the Thrill" Viharo's weird, wild world of Pulp Fiction, B Movies, & the Lounge Lizard Lifestyle.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010


This is an excerpt from my latest work of fiction, which I actually began 12 years ago, then abandoned to concentrate on Thrillville, the Parkway and my life. Now that I have all that settled, I'm determined to finish it. Dig:


by Will Viharo

For my Tiki Goddess

Chapter One

A man without a future met a woman with a past…
Blood glistened on Dolores’s gown. But she wasn’t in any pain. It wasn’t her blood.

After the initial panic settled, which really only amounted to seconds slowed down to bits of eternity, Dolores realized she wasn’t injured. One of the band members was, the sax player, Buddy. He was still breathing, though, crouched down on the stage, his saxophone by his side, screaming as he held his hand over his neck, still gushing a veritable geyser of blood. He had been playing close behind Dolores when the gun went off,  eyeballing the shapely ass he so wanted a piece of.

While leaning over to get a better look at Dolores, tottering drunkenly on his stool, Nick’s gun had slipped out of his jacket and dropped to the floor and exploded. The music stopped. It was very much a freak accident: the gun had bounced off the base of Nick’s stool, inadvertently pointing the gun upward and sideways; otherwise it would have simply shot aimlessly across the floor, probably hitting nothing, since no one was dancing or even walking around at that moment. Otherwise didn’t cut it, though. Not in the real world, anyway. Wherever that is.

This situation wasn’t anywhere near what Nick had in mind for the evening. It wasn’t on Dolores’s agenda, either. Nor was it in the plans of the sax player, now lying on his back, trembling as the life drained out of him. He didn’t even have the energy to scream anymore.

Nick’s charm alarm had been ringing before the shot had rung out, as he’d sat there figuring out a way to approach Dolores after the set. He was staring in a drunken stupor at the vintage pin-up calendar behind the bar, adding to the timeless decor of the tiki bar, especially since the calendar was fifty years old. Nick used to consult his watch when trying to remember his last sexual encounter. Now it was a calendar. But he’d had it in the past fifty years, he knew that, especially since he was only forty or so, hadn’t even reached birth when that calendar came out, much less puberty, so the calendar was of no use to him. He turned his gaze towards Dolores and bang.

Now it was all a mess. He couldn’t switch mental gears fast enough to accommodate the sudden chaos. He collided head-on with sheer madness. Before he fully realized that he’d actually wounded someone, Nick was buried beneath the crushing weight of the bouncer, Domino, a former semi-pro wrestler. Domino was normally of a gentle disposition. He was half black, half Korean, built like a brick shithouse. But very friendly. Until it was time to go to work.

Nick was repelled by the smell of Domino's sweat drenching him like dank dew. He reacted in the only way he could under the pressure of his predicament. He grabbed the gun, which had fallen on the floor nearby, within his reach, and fired again.

The second shot was as aimless as the first, though deliberately set off. It only hit a bottle of gin behind the counter, shattering it, splashing liquid and glass all over Miles, who was cowering behind the bar. Miles had witnessed the whole thing, including the gun falling accidentally from Nick’s sharkskin coat. He liked Nick, and didn’t want to press charges if he didn’t have to. He knew Nick was innocent of any real foul play, except possibly concealing a weapon, but he knew Nick didn’t have any violent intent. Miles had often encouraged Nick to visit the Midnight Lounge, and was glad to see him. None of this made any sense, Nick blowing off like a postal worker with a vendetta. It had to be an accident. But then there was that second shot, aimed right at Miles?

The third shot sent Domino jumping off of Nick, since the bullet grazed his ear, hitting the whirling fan and chipping a blade before burrowing into the ceiling. That had been Nick’s desire anyway, to be free. Then Nick jumped to his feet, his gun in his hand, and everyone held their collective breath, fearful the maniac would open fire at random once more. Domino just stood still, heaving, glaring at Nick, who was surprisingly calm under the circumstances. Then Nick felt a presence behind him. He spun around to face his aggressor. It was Dolores, there to talk him down to size, save the day.

“What can I do to convince you not to go through with this?” she asked.

“Sleep with me,” Nick said simply.

“There’s a way out through my dressing room,” Dolores whispered after a nervous pause.“We can go to my place.” All this excitement made her wet in all the right places.

“Let’s go,” Nick said, holding the gun to her head as if she were the hostage, not him. He felt more pride than shame. His dick was as hard-boiled as they come.

Sirens wailed in the background. Nick thought about his dream, the one where he turns into a monster. Ironically, it seemed like his only real escape route now.



Copyright 2010, Will Viharo, all rights reserved