by D C Young
“Certainly, Earnie. I didn’t mean to imply the contrary. What were your conclusions?”
“Whoever snatched my cattle, stole all my impregnated cows.”
“Now that’s something,” I muttered as I scribbled on my note pad. Then I looked up at Earnest Cumber’s upset face and asked, “You said the herd was unique?”
“Yes, Miss Sam, very much so.”
“How?”
“The calves these cows are carrying are a new experimental breed the joint ranches have been working on for close to a decade. Experts from Cal Tech have been helping us cross breed these cattle for generations and we all think we finally have a winner in these calves. This new Californian cattle breed is expected to be faster developing, have better muscle tone, be prolific breeders and be resistant all the known diseases and pests. Each calf is projected to be worth as much as their prize winning sires… that’s just about five thousand dollars at birth. However, if the new breed turns out to be as successful as we think and becomes established with the Cattle Ranchers Association by the end of the calves first year, each of them is going to be worth double that amount in value.”
A long whistle escaped my lips. I could now understand Mr. Cumber’s predicament. Literally, millions of dollars had walked off and evaporated into thin air somewhere between his property and the Blue Corn Ranch. I had a million questions for Earnie.
Who had done the DNA study?
Who had conducted the inseminations?
Who was in charge of the breeding cows?
Who would stand to gain the most from the herd failure?
Who would lose the most?
The whole thing wasn’t a coincidence. That much I was sure of but these questions weren’t going to be answered so easily. Or so I thought…
“From what I seen and heard so far, Miss Sam, It’s clear to me that you’re the private eye for this case.” He reached down for the leather saddle bag looking case I’d noticed him carrying earlier and pulled out a binder full of crisply printed and neatly punched paper. There were colorful tabs separating the sections of information. He placed it on the table and slid it towards me.
“The other ranch owners will take my word for it that you’ll be up to the job. I only pray you can find our cattle; it would be a huge blow to our enterprise.”
I doubt I was doing even a half decent job of hiding my excitement about the mystery. That and the chance to go upstate for a while. The Valley was such a beautiful place no matter what time of year. I’d seen it mostly at night the last few years as I flew around in my bat form surveying the land or just trying to clear my head.
I pulled the one inch binder towards me and opened the front cover. Turned out I wouldn’t have to grill Earnie for much more information; the paperwork in front of me had all the answers I could possibly need about the cattle in question and their owners, the research being conducted and by whom. In fact, there was a whole section about the Cal Tech scientists and their work on the herd.
I shut the binder and looked up at the cowboy seated across from me. With the pointed fingernail of my right index finger on the binder, I asked, “So does this mean I got the job?”
“I’d say so,” he finally replied.
For a moment we talked about my standard investigative fees and he nodded his approval. Earnie said nothing more; he just reached into his bag a second time and then slid a blank white envelope across the table at me. He sat back in the guest chair he occupied. “That there’s sort of a retainer; for your travel expenses and what not. Your full fee as we discussed will be paid when you’ve solved the case.” He paused and closed the buckles on the bag which was still resting on his lap. “I assume that’s satisfactory?”
I opened the envelope and caught myself from doing a full on jaw drop. Inside it was a banker’s check for ten thousand dollars. “Quite so!” I said.
“Find our cows, Miss Sam and whatever’s left of that money is yours as a bonus!”
Without another word, Earnest Cumber stood up indicating he was ready to leave. I quickly walked around the desk and escorted him through to the front door.
“When can we expect to see you at Blue Corn Ranch, Miss Sam?”
“Give me a couple of days to get all my ducks in a row and I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.”
“Great. Dress appropriately.”
I smiled and watched as he turned and walked down the driveway back to his huge Dodge Ram pickup truck. I shook my head as I closed the door behind me.
A cowboy in a pickup truck wearing a business suit… only in California!
Chapter Five
Ever since meeting Rennie Telfair, I’d found myself inspired to take some more care when putting myself together to leave the house for an evening of socializing. I had found the man to be an aficionado of entertaining and hospitality in general; something he took great southern pride in, apparently. In his parts of the Carolinas, you were nothing if you weren’t polite and generous and it showed in their generosity and how they welcomed guests; both the expected and unexpected alike.
I still remembered his farewell latter. The one I had received after returning from our beach vacation on Tybee Island in Georgia. We’d had the pleasure of spending a weekend with Rennie at Seagull Point…and what a weekend it had been.
I remembered our first evening there. It was after dinner and I had sent the children off to the dock with the rest of the family. Our host had been in the mood to enjoy a digestif. He’d poured himself some Drambuie and a glass of Sherry for me.
“It will aid digestion…” he began with the same quip that he’d used during our first meeting in Westminster.
“No matter what you’re digesting,” I’d said, completing the sentence.
I laughed as the memory came back to me. We’d become fast friends, Rennie and I. I looked at myself in the bedroom mirror turning slightly from side to side and thought, Mr. Telfair would surely approve. I was wearing a long patterned maxi dress Mary Lou had enticed me into buying at a party one of her friend’s had thrown. The woman was part of one of those network marketing cults; the product of choice, a clothing line emphasizing on comfort as well as trendy prints. It was made of a cotton blend material, perfect for the uncharacteristically balmy evening. Ankle length, brown and gold print and three quarter sleeves finished the garment. It was surprisingly elegant looking; clinging in the right places and flared in the others and made me look taller than I was… always a good thing. For good measure though, I stepped into a pair of brown heels.
The Mulberry Street Café had certainly become our place over the years; Kingsley’s and mine that is. We’d gone there countless times both while dating and as friends. In fact, most of my fondest memories of him had been formed at that table by the window where he would devour his food like an animal while I struggled to spoon the warm bloody juice from my rare steak into my mouth before it lost its temperature.
I remember the night we’d first gone there together. It had been raining and the sidewalk was mostly empty of pedestrians. In California, rain always had a trickle-down effect, keeping people both from their usual activities and from doing anything out of the ordinary. As a result, the restaurant had been much quieter than normal.
Pablo, the headwaiter, knew me well. He looked slyly at Kingsley, perhaps recalling that my husband was usually the man sitting across from me but he was discreet enough not to say anything. He took our drink orders and slipped away.
“I’m impressed,” said Kingsley, glancing out the window. “Whenever I come here, they seat me in the back of beyond.”
“There’s a distinct difference though; they happen to like me here.”
“Pretty girls get all the breaks.”
“So you think I’m pretty?”
“Yeah,” said Kingsley. “I do.”
Our drinks came. Chardonnay for me and bourbon and water for him. Kingsley ordered shrimp tortellini and I had the usual. Steak, rare. Very rare.
“You
can eat steak?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “But I can suck the blood out of the carcass.”
“Now that should make for an interesting show.”
“Yes, well, it’s the only way I can participate in the human dining experience.”
“Well, you’re not missing much,” said Kingsley. “Food nowadays is entirely processed, fattening and just plain horrible for you.”
“Does it still taste good?”
“Wonderful.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
He laughed. I drank some of my wine.
“Are we human, Kingsley?” I asked suddenly.
He had been raising his glass to his lips and suddenly paused about halfway. “Yes,” he said, then raised it the rest of the way and took a sip. He added, “But are we mortals? No.”
“Then what makes us immortal? Why don’t we die like everyone else? What keeps us alive?”
“I don’t know.”
“Surely you must have a theory.”
“Not really. Just a working hypothesis so far.”
“Okay, so what is it?”
“I’m beginning to think that beings like you and I hover on the brink of the natural and the supernatural. So, therefore, both sets of laws apply simultaneously. Perhaps the truth is that we are both human...and maybe even something greater.”
“Sounds a tad bit lofty.”
“Do you suspect that we’re something less then?” he asked.
I thought about that. “No. We are certainly not less.”
The waiter came by and dropped off some bread. Kingsley dug in. “You mind?” he asked.
“Knock yourself out,” I said. “So what are we, then? Some sort of supernatural evolutionary hybrid?”
He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Maybe we are super humans then.”
“Maybe. Who’s to tell?”
***
We’d been past those types of conversations for a long time. I’d known for quite a while now the things that made us inhuman, immortal, super… whatever term whichever being wanted to use to describe our unique nature. I wanted to believe that I’d come to terms with the entity inside me after the encounter I’d had with Catalina Caruso’s coven.
Sitting across from him tonight was very different than back then, Kingsley was older and had changed a lot, just as I had. We had gone passed the stage in which we could become more than friends but I think being friends had become quite enough for the both of us. Honestly, he still remained my supernatural sounding board. Whenever I was under the impression that there was more than met the eye in a case, I always talked about it with him. There was a certain insight my werewolf friend could always give that I couldn’t get from a human. For example, Detective Sherbet was an impressive detective. He could unravel even the most twisted of mysteries but he could be compelled and glamoured by a vampire in the snap of a finger and completely forget everything inhuman about the case he had just cracked wide open ten seconds before.
That had been the case at the theater where Detective Tanner had removed the memories of the gruesome scenes we had encountered in that basement just hours before.
After seeing all that carnage and then bringing Mason and his goons down, it only took that bitch, Detective Tanner a few sentences to relieve Sherbet of all his memories of the take-down. He even forgot that I’d been right by his side as we’d uncovered the gruesome scene.
***
I sat carefully watching the crime scene investigators go about their business. Once I had processed what was going on around me, I realized there was missing something there. Something wasn’t quite gelling.
Everything seemed so matter-of-fact… seamless even. There were no hysterics. And I couldn’t help but wonder why was no one interviewing me? Other than Sherbet giving me a quick update, he had taken to ignoring me, too.
It was almost as if I wasn’t there. Then I realized, I wasn’t… not to them, anyway.
Someone sat next to me. I turned, startled. It wasn’t easy to sneak up on me.
There was, of course, only one person that I knew who could pull it off.
Although Detective Hanner’s eyes were looking at me, I sensed she was also aware of all the activity going on around us, too. Her eyes always seemed to be open a little too wide, a little too alert, as if she were always in a mild state of surprise. It looked like a conscious effort, something forced by someone who was trying too hard to look like something she wasn’t… human.
She stared at me without blinking for a long time. There was a light, like fire, just behind her pupils that seemed to burn with supernatural intensity. Maybe only I and others like me could see it, I wasn’t sure. Hers were not human eyes.
I waved my hand toward the action on the stage. “Are you the one responsible for this?”
“Just as much as you are, Sam.”
“What the H- E- double hockey sticks are you talking about?”
“Don’t pretend that you don’t know. You have drunk the blood of many who were slain here, Sam.”
“You told me that came from willing donors.”
“Some were more willing than others, Sam. But I recall telling you that quite often.”
“You never told me you killed people.”
She tilted her head a little. It was not a human gesture. It was alien. “I did not kill these people, Sam. I was only a buyer. And an active supporter of the arts.”
“You covered these crimes up.”
“Of course, I did. Mason was of value to me and our kind.”
“Sherbet knows everything now though,” I said. “Even about you.”
Her eyes flared. “Are you sure? I’ve removed the memory of your conversation. As I have done with all those here tonight. They don’t suspect our involvement, or that of our kind in any of this. In fact, most of them aren’t even aware that we’re sitting here, watching them.”
“How?”
“It’s not very difficult to do, Sam. With a little training, you could do the same. Especially you.”
“What does that mean, especially me?”
“You are...gifted. You display a wide range of...abilities.”
“I thought all vampires do what I do.”
She shook her head. “Not so, Sam. Very few can do what you do, although most of us possess typical gifts.”
“Gifts?”
“The ability to influence thoughts and change minds, minor psychic sensitivity, although only a few of us can transform into something greater.”
“Can you?”
“Sadly, no. You, my dear, are a rather rare breed.”
***
I had almost gotten tired of hearing that from Spinoza, Sherbet, Hanner, Kingsley, even Fang. But when I’d met Julia Agrippina and heard it from some of the oldest immortals I’d had the pleasure of encountering, I’d begun to think differently about the sentiment. My friend Max had put it most eloquently to me one day when we had been in the Occult Reading Room at Cal State Fullerton. It was a secret room that most people seemed to walk right past without noticing. In fact, there had been a time when I had seen exactly what they see… a wall with portraits of the founders of the University.
It was the day I had brought the diamond medallion to Max… apparently my special abilities were a direct by-product of the entity that resided within me. The dark Master that provided my vampirism and immortality among many other gifts, some of which I was yet to discover.
I was angry that day and I pressed Max for more than he was obviously willing to tell me plainly and in a way, he eventually did.
“Why me? Why am I the one finding all these medallions? Why do you help me? I’m just me, no one. Just a mom who got attacked a long time ago.”
Just then, I couldn’t help but notice the Librarian’s demeanor softening. He set the medallion down on the desk, near my agitated fingers, inhaled deeply and, for the first time ever, I saw the young man who wasn’t young express real emotions.
To my surprise, that emotion was heartbreak.
I looked him in the eyes. I couldn’t read his mind, but I sensed there was something big going on here.
Suddenly, I sensed it from deep within me.
Then, I sensed it from her… The demon within.
A cold shiver ran up and down my spine. “The demon inside me...”
Chapter Six
“I’m headed to the Valley tomorrow… new case.”
“Really? I thought you were calling it for this year and taking some time to reflect and enjoy Christmas with the family.”
“That was the plan especially thinking how Christmases have generally gone since becoming a vampire…”
“Everything just gets weirder and weirder doesn’t it?”
“Only if you don’t take anything for granted,” I replied.
“That’s an occupational hazard on both our parts, Sam.”
“Truer words were never spoken.”
“So, what’s the case about?”
“Disappearing cattle.”
“What?” Kingsley cried, almost choking on a mouthful of the cabernet sauvignon he was sipping.
“I know it sounds completely out of control but from what I’ve been told by my client, the small coop of ranches he belongs to lost almost 200 pregnant cows while driving them through a stockade to their winter grazing grounds on an adjacent ranch.”
“So they just vanished?”
“Pretty much.”
“Sam, I don’t know how much you know about cattle ranching but that is literally impossible. A stockade is an enclosed corridor that they use as a sort of cow highway between fields or farms. There’s no way out except by a gate along the fence line or at either end.”
“I know that, Kingsley,” I replied lifting my glass of Sauvignon Blanc. “That’s why I’m so excited about heading out there… no ghosts or even chupacabras, just a good old fashioned whodunit.”
Just then the waiter came up looking like he was about to topple under the weight of all their dinner paraphernalia. We’d both ordered from the specials menu; Kingsley had gotten a huge porterhouse steak and three side dishes while I had gone for a sizzling carne asada platter that came with fresh corn tortillas, sliced avocado and fried plantains.
