Bite of the Night

Posted on Sun Nov 2nd, 2025 @ 3:29pm by Josiah Martin & Narrator

1,434 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Episode 7: Pathogens and Contagions
Location: Coney Island, New York City
Timeline: March 3, 1992

The hotdog stand stood in an area of the midway where foot traffic never seemed to slow. Its faded red-and-yellow awning flapped in the cold evening breeze, bleached by decades in the sun while the grill constantly hissed, spitting smoke and the sharp, salty scent of sizzling meat into the air. Grease glistened on every surface and stained the vendor’s apron, which hadn’t seen a wash in a while. A tip jar sat front and center, labeled “FOR MY PAROLE,” filled with crumpled bills and questionable coins.

The man ran the stand like a one-man sideshow. Tall, wiry, with a sunken face that had seen too many rough nights. His teeth were uneven—some gold, some missing—and his eyes darted more than they blinked. Greasy hair slicked back, sweat beading on his forehead, and fingers yellowed from cigarettes. He talks fast and always with a half-smirk like he knows something you don’t and wouldn’t tell you even if you begged.

“Extra onions? That’ll cost ya a secret,” he says to a customer, winking in a way that doesn’t feel friendly.

The line never shortens, though. People come for the dogs, but they stay for the spectacle—or maybe out of morbid curiosity and despite the less than desirable setting and appearance of the hot dog vendor, no one can dispute how good the food is. It is unsettlingly good.

Taking his place in the long line in front of the stand, Joey listens to a few of the other customers' conversations while they wait.

“My brother says he escaped from an asylum and that he eats all the moths that collect in the lights at the end of the night.” A teenager with a fade and flashy jacket said with a chuckle while watching the hot dog vendor work.

“Renfield?” His friend said with a laugh while gesturing to the hot dog stand with his thumb. “He looks exactly the same as when my dad came here as a kid. He drinks the hot dog grease, that’s what keeps him young.”

“Gross.” The girl sandwiched between the two boys replied as she stuck her tongue out. “I think I’ll skip a hot dog, thanks.”

The young mutant quirked his head at the conversation. "Wait," he said, laughing a bit. "This guy's name is Renfield? Like the crazy guy who Dracula enslaves?" He continued, cutting into the conversation. "With a name like that, he might as well act insane."

“Who?” The teenager looked at Joey like he had just cited Shakespeare to them. “I dunno what you’re talking about, man.”

“Maybe he eats moths like our friend Renfield?” The other teenager chimed in as he sized up Joey before laughing off his strange comment.

“Gross.” The girl repeated once more but the comment was now directed at Joey.

“HEY!” Renfield barked through the open window of his hot dog stand while smacking his tongs on the flat surface. “Pay attention and move the line forward. What do you want?”

“Oh! Shit,” The first teenager with the fade realized it was his turn to order. “Three dogs, man.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a few wrinkled bills that he placed on the counter.

Renfield leered at him for a moment before taking the money and getting back to work. He moved with speed and irritation, quickly filling the order in a way that told the teenagers to leave as soon as they were handed their food.

“NEXT!” Renfield shouted into Joey’s face.”

Joey rolled his eyes. "Literacy is as lost in New York as it is in Arizona it seems," he grumbled as he moved to Renfield. "Fourteen hot dogs and seven waters," he said before going back to attempting creative information gathering. "And eating moths? What self-respecting blood-sucker or cannibal goes for moths? Oh and can I get two of those no bun?"

“Fourteen and cups of water.” Renfield looked at Joey with skeptical confirmation of the number of items he wished to purchase. “Thirty bucks before I start that order.” He grumbled while the grill sizzled behind him. As he waited for Joey to pay up he seemed a bit intrigued by his comments. “Life is life regardless of the size of the vessel, if you want to be worthy of consuming it in its raw state you need to work up towards bigger things… unlike the cooked lips and assholes found in hot dogs.”

Joey dug his wallet out to pay the requisite amount, making a mental note to complain about his teammates being expensive dates later as he put it down. "I'm good for it," he said. "And, I suppose so, although consuming cooked lips and assholes is more socially acceptable than hunting down and consuming raw meat around here," he added thinking about how to play off. He had the distinct feeling he had attracted the man's attention, and he needed to keep it. "Sorry, just thinking about it because I overheard the news this morning. Apparently, they found the punk guy on the posters, and he was going on about drinking blood."

Renfield ruffled from Joey’s comment as a fluster of emotion and outrage took him over and made his lips loose. “Those shitheads don’t know anything about the art of drinking blood,” he hissed and whispered the words as he continued to seethe over the subject. “The idiots around here, they don’t know what they’re doing. They’re getting cocky and sloppy because of it. The Master could stand to show them a thing or two.”

Joey blinked, slightly taken aback. He didn't really expect to elicit that level of looseness in ranting. The man was not even trying to pretend. He thought for a moment. "Mayhaps he should. It was pretty wild. Man burned to ash in front of a whole crowd. I would guess getting that kind of attention would not be something the master would want."

“Stupid fucks.” Renfield shook his head as he spat out the words while placing greasy hot dog after greasy hot dog into buns. “Master wouldn’t dare come down to these slums, he sends people like me… if anything, his watch dogs will clean up this mess.”

Renfield’s tired, watery eyes finally looked up from his work and rested on Joey. There was a long pause as he examined the teenager, sizing up the information he had just divulged. “Burned up in the sun, huh? In front of a whole crowd?” He glanced down at the massive amount of food that Joey had ordered and dots began to connect in his mind. “That really is something else, isn't it? Something that you probably shouldn’t talk about with other people. Anyone who saw something like that and started talking about it might sound crazy or they might find themselves in a mess of trouble.”

There is was, a thinly veiled threat against Joey and what he was sharing. That maybe the information Renfield had shared wasn’t just frustrated venting but was his way of probing to see how much Joey believed or rather what Joey actually knew.

Shoving his order through the window, Renfield kept his eyes locked on Joey. “Here’s your order, you and your friends have fun here at Coney Island.”

Joey took the food. "They just might at that, although we also live in a world of telepaths and people who shoot laser beams out of their eyes so crazy is a relative term," he said. He nodded to the man, "Thanks for everything, Mr. Renfield. Let's hope lips and assholes are the only thing eaten tonight," he said as he moved off looking to rejoin the game players before checking in on the bathroom crew. He paused for a moment to send a spare thought into the void towards Jean Grey, on the odd off chance she was listening in.

~* ‘Understood, thank you Joey. I will amp up security at the mansion just to be safe.’ *~ Jean’s telepathic voice whispered through his mind, her tone was soft and was a reminder of the distance between them. ~* ‘It appears your teammates have been busy as well, they will meet you momentarily, please be careful. I cannot read the thoughts of the vampires so I cannot provide you with any more details but they have details to share.’ *~

As if on cue, the rest of the Alternate Class returned to Joey in the heart of the midway. Their faces somber with the information they had collected.

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