by Bo Luellen
A sharp-looking, dark-haired lawyer held up a finger, “Incorrect. The UCC gives all the leads to the police that they received on a daily basis. If your department doesn’t have the resources to follow up on all of them in a timely manner, then the UCC has a moral responsibility to do so. General Utterson has the full backing of the church, Eastland College, and Governor Greyson Dunn.”
The Captain narrowed his eyes, “Governor Elect Dunn. He isn’t in office yet, and Governor Hill doesn’t see it that way.”
A grey-haired lawyer plopped down a document on the desk, “It is perfectly legal. Each member of the Project: Trust, but Verify teams are licensed private detectives and have concealed carry permits. If you attempt to pursue this ridiculous accusation against our client or Eastland, Governor Dunn has authorized us to sue the City of Tulsa for wrongful prosecution. We will then sue every member of the department who slanders the good name of the United Christian Crusaders, or their members. Captain Andino, the church will aggressively defend its position and good name. Do not test its resolve.”
John noticed his old Captain’s voice raise, as he once again buckled under political pressure, “Right… well, I’ll concede those points for now. What I find suspicious is how you knew this was the Crimson Brotherhood? You just magically divined the answer from what? God?”
John locked eyes with the man, “It’s called intuition. Good cops develop it.”
Andino tilted his head at the insult. “Well, let me use some of my intuition. Moss Vickers, a known drug dealer on the north side, tells his fiancé that he’s going for a drive in the middle of the night. She thinks he’s going to do a drug deal, but no. He travels to little Ms. Powell’s house and gets into a gunfight in the yard.”
John stayed silent as the Captain paused, then continued, “No one’s buying that shit! I can’t prove it, but Moss Vickers has been on your payroll since before you OD’d your last partner. Hell, he was an informant of David’s years before he introduced you to him! Just like Nancy Bell, your paid snitches seem to keep showing up dead, and you keep walking away looking like the hero!”
The black-haired attorney cleared his throat, “Captain, it is late. The city is in chaos, and General Utterson has a long night of organizing cleanup crews and patrols to the streets.”
Andino chuckled, “Oh, General Utterson. That’s a shiny title, John. Worth the price you paid by stabbing every good cop in the back.”
The lawyer leaned in and made eye contact, “Captain, I’m becoming concerned. You’re starting to treat him like a suspect instead of the hero he is. Dozens, if not hundreds of lives, were saved because of his intervention. Lest we forget, if it was left up to your department, Ms. Powell would likely be dead, and that explosive might have found its intended target. Now, if he isn’t being charged with anything, then we are leaving.”
Andino launched out of his chair. “John, you used to be a decent cop. I’m asking you, is there anything else that happened or that you saw that can help us out?”
The grey-haired lawyer pushed John out of the door as the other reminded the captain, “Everything is in the report, Captain. Contact my offices if you need anything additional.”
Andino yelled at him as he made his way through the squad room, “Terry Johnston is still on the Crimson Brotherhood task force. Are you going to turn your back on him too?”
The UCC attorneys were everything he used to hate as a detective, but having them on his side of the interrogation table proved invaluable. They walked him out of the station, and each took turns, reminding him not to talk to anyone about the incident unless they were present. He agreed to meet them again before the next morning’s press conference at Eastland to address the bombing.
As he lowered himself in the car, he reached for the glove box and pulled out the paper sack that Moss had given him. He popped a few Oxys into his mouth and swallowed them dry. He looked at the empty passenger seat and remembered the blasted away face of his friend.
He headed for his old trailer and called Chloe, “What do you have?”
She bypassed his question and asked, “Was that explosion I heard earlier the same one that is all over the TV?”
John gripped the wheel in pain from his ankle, and frustration showed in his voice, “Yes! Now, did you get the information?”
Chloe clacked away at her keyboard, “Jesus, John! I don’t even want to know what you’ve got into. My name better not come up anywhere!”
He turned onto the highway, “It won’t.”
She sighed and continued, “Hoondo Limited Manufacturing is a massive company. They have diversified by holding interests in mining, real estate, chemicals, and energy around the globe. They even have their own mining operations. Not to mention seven large side companies that dip into health and nutrition, inorganic materials, performance polymers, coatings, and additives. The company has an annual profit of 684 million dollars from the United States alone. Their global net worth is 16.7 billion dollars.”
John shifted his weight off his ribs, “Look, that’s fascinating, but where were those chemicals going?”
Chloe tapped a few more keys and responded, “According to the label you sent me, it was delivered to DeSoto, Kansas. I tracked down the address, and it’s a vacant lot. The signature of the person who signed it is illegible. The driver is one Jordan Watts. I called his house and his very upset wife, who thought I was a mistress, told me he was working on the road.”
He felt the pain killers start to sink in, “Who paid for it?”
She responded, “I couldn’t find a name, but I was able to determine it was paid for by an offshore account. Getting specific billing information would take a subpoena, and you’re not a cop anymore. At least from what I hear.”
John punched the steering wheel, “Damnit! Where is the company’s home office?”
The woman typed some more, “It’s in Salem, Oregon. John, I had some extra time while you were messing around with the cops. Hold onto your seat. Hoondo Limited Manufacturing is owned by Jake Trevino, Aidan Nolan, Delinda Carducci, Lyubimov Artem Zakharovich, and one newly appointed owner and shareholder, Richard Enfield.”
John sobered up, “What?”
Chloe’s voice went up an octave, “Your new UCC boss, and Lieutenant Governor-Elect, Richard Enfield.”
He pulled the car over to the shoulder, “How’s that possible? He’s a lawyer from Tulsa. How would someone get a seat at a table like that?”
She let out a chuckled, “I asked myself that same question, so I did some digging. Samuel Howard was shot and killed by a mugger in downtown Tulsa. When he died, Richard Enfield was named his successor in Hoondo Manufacturing and inherited his mansion, money, and assets. Overnight this guy became a multimillionaire.”
John opened up the notebook he lifted from Wicked. The book still smelled like gunpowder, and the blood had dried on the leather binding. He turned the overhead car light on and popped it open. He scanned down the page that looked to be a list of gun shipments. On the left, he saw the initials, RE.
He slammed the book down in disgust as Chloe asked, “Now, are you ready for me to really impress you?”
He shut his eyes tight in anger, “I’m not sure at this point.”
The private detective paused before revealing, “Samuel Howard is survived by a single relative. One Amy Howard, of the Tulsa Medical Examiner’s office.”
John threw the phone into the dashboard and screamed, “Fuck!”
Chapter 11: David II
Muskogee, Oklahoma – Tuesday, November 13th, 2018 – 4:28 p.m. CST
David Keller sped down the road towards Fort Gibson with Thomas Booth still snoring in the passenger seat. The empty cup of coffee in his lap had done little to keep him alert, and the exhaustion of the last eight days was taking its toll. Between the nightmare-filled PTSD dreams and taking his nightly shifts watching over their vampire prisoner, he couldn’t remember what a normal life looked like anymore.
Thomas let out a pr
olonged fart in his sleep, and David slapped his face, “Hey! Wake up!”
The Druid snorted awake, “Are we there?”
He rolled down the window to avoid the gaseous assault, “Almost. I need you to keep me awake.”
A loud banging came from the bed of his blue Ford pickup. Thomas grumbled and put on his thick glasses. David dodged out of the way, as he grabbed the cattle prod from the floorboard and swung it around. Opening the cabs sliding rear window, the druid stuck the business end of the device through a hole in the side of the crossover aluminum toolbox. A quick series of shocks delivered to the occupant elicited an echoing scream from within the small prison.
Thomas yelled into the hole, “Shut up!”
He slammed the window shut and spun around to his seat, “Eight days with that thing in my house. Eight days with us doing twelve-hour shifts watching that thing crawl around a protective circle in my basement. Eight days and no help from that wrinkled scrotum sack.”
David saw the sun setting, “At least you got to sleep during the day. I hated lying to Uncle Enrich about where I’ve been spending my time. I’ve never lied to him in my life!”
Thomas’s greasy, unwashed face grinned, “I bet that Nazi’s seen some shit in his days! I bet if you told him what we were doing, he’d goosestep right over and help.”
He gripped the wheel in frustration, “For the last time, being German doesn’t make you a Nazi, you bigot!”
The druid took out the window, “That’s exactly what a Nazi would say.”
David rubbed his face to stay awake, “If you don’t want to walk back to Muskogee…”
Thomas turned in the seat towards him, “What’s keeping you from sleeping?”
He looked perplexed at the sudden change in topic, “What the hell do you think? Who could get sleep watching that vamp?”
The man shook his head, “For someone opposed to lying, you’re doing a great job right now. What’s keeping you from sleeping? We both know that thing can’t get out of the protections Basten gave us, and Marcus can’t track her down when she is inside it. I sleep like a baby on my shifts.”
David looked shocked, “You idiot! You sleep on your guard shifts! What if she got out and attacked you?
Thomas freed his pasty white leg from the cloak and put it up on the dashboard. His thick body hair was the only splash of color to his complexion. He leaned back into the corner of the cab, pushed his robe to one side, and let his crotch air out.
David nearly gagged, “Jesus Christ, man! Do you have to do that when I’m so close! Put that away!”
The druid shook his head, “First, you don’t tell me how to live. Second, it goes away when you start telling the truth. What’s keeping you from sleeping? Every day you look worse. Your uncle sleeps all the time. You can’t tell me you can’t find time to rest when you’re at home.”
He tucked his shoulder towards the driver’s side door to create as much distance as possible from Thomas’s offending member, “Holy shit, fine! Put that away first. It’s like it’s staring at me from a gopher hole.”
Thomas dramatically snapped the robe back over his bushy nest, “It can come back at any time. So, only the truth.”
David felt the anxiety build up in his chest, “I’ve never had panic attacks until after the fight at the Preserve.”
The druid remained silent until David continued, “I was responsible for killing several people that night. I realize that they were torturing folks, and it needed to be done. It doesn’t make it any easier. And then, there was her.”
The smelly passenger pushed his glasses up on his face, “The superwoman that you and Amanda spoke about?”
He felt the skin start to crawl and felt the elephant on his chest, “Yeah. No woman could ever be that strong.”
Thomas mocked, “Now who’s a bigot?”
Shortness of breath came over him, and the attack hit suddenly. His friend held the wheel until he could get the truck pulled over to the curb. He flung open the door and rushed to the grassy shoulder of the US-62 highway. Passing cars zoomed by as David threw up the hotdogs they had purchased from QuikTrip. He fell to his knees onto the cold ground, as Thomas applied a wet rag to the back of his neck.
Streams of mucus dripped off his face as he wept, “You don’t know, man. She tossed me around like a sack of oats. I saw her pick up a full-grown man by the throat. She was barely one-hundred pounds, and the woman shrugged off my best shot. They didn’t catch her, and that means she’s still out there. I worry so much about my Uncle. What have I got us into? I’d rather deal with a vampire. At least that makes some God damn sense.”
Thomas gripped his arm, “That woman was the epiphany of a new world view. No one wants to be dragged from the safe and secure system that our leaders have for us. We watch our phones instead of the stars in the sky. We work like dogs in our youth so we can gamble on having a few years of freedom at the end of our lives. We put our faith in books written by men instead of seeking out the divine with ourselves. Our fake world is designed to keep us slaves. You’ve just had the chains ripped off you. I had mine taken off long ago. Welcome to the real world, David Keller.”
Fort Gibson, Oklahoma – Tuesday, November 13th, 2018 – 4:51 p.m. CST
David Keller pulled down the long dirt drive that led to an old red barn that sat as the only building on the sixty-acre spread. The timber had rotted away in some places, and the paint had chipped in large sections. The tin roof overhead was rusted and was barely hanging on from repeated battles with the Oklahoma weather.
Basten was sitting on an upside-down 5-gallon bucket in front of the large open double doors. Inside, Nicolaas was nailing new 2x4’s to reinforce the sections of the walls that had seen better days. In the center of the dirt floor, a black tarp was covering something large and round.
David parked his car under a maple tree and rolled down his window, “Is this it?”
Basten nodded, “Did you bring her?”
Thomas yelled from the passenger seat, “No. We forgot to bring the undead girl you left in my basement. What the hell took so long for you to call us?”
David grabbed several Wal-Mart bags from the bed of the truck, as the elder Van Helsing replied, “Sauce for the goose, Mr. Booth. The girl has been out of Marcus’s vision for eight days. That gave me time to find an adequate location for the coming battle with evil.”
Thomas slammed the truck door, “Congratulations, it looks like you’ve discovered all the tetanus.”
Basten groaned as he stood up, “Don’t let looks fool you. Nicolaas and I have been preparing defenses.”
The old man picked up the bucket and turned the label towards the pair. The white label read, “WT-103 CLEAR COAT FIRE RETARDANT - 5 GALLON”. He then pointed to a pile of empty buckets that had a set of worn-out paint rollers.”
David had a realization, “That will keep them from setting fire to the building.”
Basten grinned, “Precisely, Mr. Keller. The barn is barren as well. Nothing to burn. I mixed the coconut oil solution in with the chemicals, so even touching the walls will cause them pain.”
David sat down the bags, “I’m guessing the owner didn’t mind?”
Nicolaas yelled from inside the barn, “You’re looking at the new owners. Grandpa bought it and the land three days ago. For a vampire to be barred from entering a home, you have to own it first.”
Thomas walked up to the wall and ran a finger down the sticky solution, “I’ve used this fire retardant stuff before. It isn’t cheap. The barn is worn out, but the acreage is good pasture land. I’m guessing all of this was between one-hundred and fifty to two-hundred thousand dollars. All of that cash for one vampire hunt? For a woman you’ve never met before. How’d you pay for all of this?”
Basten leaned on his silver-tipped cane, “The Van Helsing family has earned the appreciation of several wealthy nobles over the centuries. You see, vampires tend to have more aristocratic tastes. My ancestors liberated their fair shar
e of the wealthy elite.” He pointed his cane at his grandson, “We’ve invested that money well, and secured our ability to do battle with the forces of darkness well past my kleinzoon’s time.”
Thomas walked in the barn and tapped his gnarled staff against the mysterious object hidden by the tarp, “Jacuzzi?”
Nicolaas pulled the tarp off to reveal a sizeable blue tank with the top cut off, “An industrial above-ground water tank. We just had it delivered yesterday.”
Thomas peeked inside and sniffed the water, “What the hell is in here?
The young Van Helsing stuck his hand in the fluid and pulled it out, “1500 gallons of 4/5th’s regular H2O, and the rest is a mixture of coconut water and palm oil.”
Basten motioned to David, “The sun is setting, and she has been out of the protection circle all day. That means Marcus and his clan knows where she is. They will be coming. Drive your truck inside the barn so we can prepare.”
Fort Gibson, Oklahoma – Tuesday, November 13th, 2018 – 8:42 p.m. CST
The vampiric girl screamed in a strange language, as her skin sizzled in the coconut water. She was bound in rope and being suspended from the rafters by a pully. The creature floated in the liquid and burned until she no longer moved. Nicolaas and David pulled her body up until it cleared the tank by a foot. The emaciated Adze Vampire looked like a corpse. The rope webbing hung loose on its body, and its skin pressed against its bones. The coconut water and palm oil did its job in seconds. Still, it took progressively longer for the undead to fully regenerate. The features of her face were gone, leaving only a thin layer of skin over the skeletal structure.
Thomas sighed, “Look, I’m all for staking these things, but why make this thing suffer?”
Nicolaas fired up a generator, and a string of interior lights came to life as Basten replied, “Bait is better when it is still alive, Mr. Booth. Do not mistake this creature for some defenseless child. It is a pure born beast. A vampire child of two vampires. It has never known humanity.”
