Nap Lapkin’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve (Part 1 of 6)
As crazy and overwhelming as it might sound, at any point in time there is not only a singular tallest person, deepest hole or oldest tree on the planet but an endless list of other ways to measure, compare and rank every living and unliving thing.
For example; the most evil thing on the planet at the moment. You could argue that evil is a subjective term and usually I’d agree with you but in this case however you define it this particular entity takes the cake.
And that entity?
I know, I know. You’re saying two things to yourself right now. First, Dick Clark was a beloved radio and television personality. He hosted the wildly popular show American Bandstand for thirty years as well as rung in the New Year as host of Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve for another forty or so.
Everyone adored him.
Second, if you noted the words ‘was’ and ‘hosted’ in last paragraph you’re already one step ahead of me, Dick Clark died April 18, 2012.
How can someone be the most evil thing on the planet if they aren’t alive?
Exactly what Nap Lapkin was thinking as the New York skyline started to come into focus on the horizon. The chopper rattled a little as the wind off the ocean introduced itself. There was a jolt and a small amount of coffee left Nap’s cup and made its way his pant leg. Seeing this, the helicopter pilot put one hand on the door and quickly debated the merits of hurling himself out of the craft, where he could blissfully plummet to his death, rather than see an angry or disappointed look cross Mr. Napkin’s face. Nap shot him a quick “Hey, it happens” look and the pilot made a small promise to himself to attend church services for the remainder of his life.
Once Nap was deposited on the top of a large non-descript building he quickly ran down a few flights of stairs to a small file room. Therein was waiting for him a folder and therein (again) that folder were the victim’s names. A litany of one-hit wonders that for generations made up the diet of one of the most voracious vampires to ever exist.
You knew him as the “world’s oldest teenager” due to his perennial youthful appearance. An appearance that was maintained by drinking the blood of countless musicians.
Nap started to flip through the list of the missing and presumed dead.
The disappearances started in the 70s. Norman Greenbaum (Spirit in the Sky), Terry Jacks (Seasons in the Sun) and Carl Douglas (Kung Fu Fighting) all exploded into the limelight only to never be heard from again. Nap wondered how people so famous could just up and disappear. Didn’t anyone miss them?
More insidious was a British musician named Tony Burrows who had hits with five separate groups; Edison Lighthouse (Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes),White Plains (My Baby Loves Lovin), the Pipkins (Gimme Dat Ding), the First Class (Beach Baby), and Brotherhood of Man (United We Stand). None of any of the musicians making up these acts were ever heard from again after charting. It occurred to Nap that Tony might have been a vampire, perhaps the one to turn Dick Clark, but the file was too heavily redacted to draw a conclusion. It said only that he was killed by a covert CIA operation in 1974. They left out why.
For a moment Nap imagined Dick and Tony luring the poor bastards from Edison Lighthouse into a recording studio only to slaughter them and dine on them like cattle. A shudder ran through him. Then he thought about the alternative … having to play Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes for the next twenty years and realized they got off light.
My Baby Loves Lovin and Gimme Dat Ding, answering the question “What do you think the elevators in Hell play?”