She went down on her knees next to Chang, holstering her pistol. Seeing the stake still embedded in his stomach, she pulled the offending sliver of wood from his wound and tossed it aside. “Tell me, who did this?”
“J-Jack.”
Anger and hate welled up within her. She immediately stood up and walked out the door, telling Chang she would be back soon. She walked out of the House and down the driveway to join Father.
“You may not want to go in there, Father. It’s a mess. But Chang needs our help.”
Father insisted that he be allowed entry into his own House, so Elizabeth escorted him to the scene of blood and death.
“Oh no,” Father said upon seeing the Samoan’s remains. “He was of all humans the most loyal. He did not even ask to be turned. He did not deserve this fate.”
“No one does, Father,” Elizabeth said. “Chang’s in the boardroom. He’s not well.”
Her understatement did not prepare Father for the sight of his friend and confidant lying there in his own gore, his left arm and leg both missing. Father bent his knee, not caring that the blood would stain his pants.
“I-I failed…you,” Chang said.
“Nonsense, my brother. We will get you some blood and some fresh limbs. Then you will be well again. Which is more than we can do for the Samoan.”
Chang nodded. Father stood and faced Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth, get this man some blood. And make arrangements for suitable replacement limbs. And then…you know what must be done.”
“Yes. Kill Jack.”
CHAPTER 31
“Lord, I hate this part of the job,” Mason said to Lieutenant Mike Johansen.
They were sitting in the lieutenant’s office, Johansen behind his desk, his heavy, gray-haired face betraying a weariness beyond his age and experience. Mason sat on the other side of the desk. On Johansen’s desk was a large official-looking envelope upon which the lieutenant drummed his fingers.
“Yeah, I know,” Mike Johansen said. “She’s a good cop. It’s a damn shame. I guess even the best of us have our issues.”
There was a brief knock on the door. Grace opened it and stood in the doorway. “Lieutenant? You wanted to talk?”
“Yeah, please, Grace, come on in and shut the door.”
She did so and took the other available seat. “Sergeant, Lieutenant, what did you need to discuss with me?”
“Well, first,” the lieutenant said, “I’d wish you a happy Halloween, but that probably wouldn’t be appropriate, given the subject matter.” Johansen pushed the envelope across the desk to Grace. “As you know, it’s part of the job of the sheriff’s department to serve civil process. And so, I get to serve you this.”
“What’s this?”
“This is a restraining order. Against you. Filed this morning in the county court. It restricts you from being within one hundred feet of Scott Campbell or his property. It further restricts you from following or observing Mr. Campbell.”
“Campbell…”
“Further, Mr. Campbell’s attorney has filed an official grievance with the sheriff’s office. Against you.”
Grace shook her head. “Damn that…man.”
“IA is going to be conducting a hearing into this matter, at which you can, and probably should, have your union representative present, and your attorney, if you so desire. But until then, I’m going to have to ask for your badge. You are hereby suspended with pay pending the outcome of this investigation.”
Grace removed the silver star from her belt and placed it on the lieutenant’s desk. She rose from her seat and headed to the door of the office. “You know,” she said, “this is not going to stop Campbell. One day, something terrible will happen. Just wait. You’ll see I was right.”
She then went back to the detective’s squad room, where she collected her purse and placed her Glock in a drawer, taking care to securely lock it. Kevin was sitting across from her, watching the sad process.
“Just…don’t,” Grace warned him, tears in her eyes as she stormed out of the office.
That son of a bitch Campbell. If he thinks this is going to stop me from protecting the public from him, he’s got another think coming. Whatever he wants to do to me, he can bring it on, Grace fumed to herself as she left the sheriff’s office. She got in her car and drove away as the rains began again that Halloween morning.
As previously agreed, Scott picked Jeremiah up at the dojo and then took him to the Wood Village home of Tim and Ellen O’Neill. Cars were parked all around the place, causing Scott to park further down the street. He did not mind walking in the rain, nor did Jeremiah. Besides, the rain wasn’t terribly heavy, and Scott thought that the two vampires walking down the dark, rain-slicked street looked cool. Or at least he thought Jeremiah looked cool, anyway.
Tim was waiting at the door, dressed in a cowboy outfit, with a cheap hat, jeans, vest, gun belt, toy revolver, neckerchief, and some fairly nice brown cow-leather Western boots. Ellen was dressed as a medieval/Ren Faire wench (“Maiden,” she called it. “You ain’t no maiden,” Tim said). Jeremiah wore no costume, of course, since vampires don’t do Halloween; Scott followed his lead and wore no costume either, just a nice medium-blue T-shirt, black jeans, and his black leather jacket. He stepped inside the house. Tim greeting him with a smile and one of his typical insults.
“Don’t you track any of that water into my house,” Tim said. “It’s bad enough when Gunnar does it. Don’t you do it, too!”
“Ah, cowboy!” Scott said, pointing his finger at him and pretending to shoot. “Nice! And Ellen! You’re a medieval tavern wench! Which is the same costume you wore last year, and the year before that—”
Ellen gasped. “It is not!”
“It is too!” Tim said. “My wife is the cheapest and least imaginative female I—”
“Shut up! I’m going to check on the other guests. At least they appreciate my sense of style.”
“Yeah, well, they’re all idiots. And you can tell them all I said that!” Tim turned back to Scott. “And what’s this costume? What are you supposed to be?”
“Um…vampire.”
“Oh, I get it!” Tim clapped his hands together. “One of those modern emo vampires, so disturbed by your fate!”
“Something like that.”
“At least you don’t sparkle. You don’t sparkle, do you?”
“Me? I…hope not. Oh, Tim, this is Jeremiah. He’s a friend.”
Jeremiah stood out on the front porch, not able to cross the threshold, waiting patiently. “Happy Halloween,” he greeted Tim.
“Why are you just standing out there?” Tim asked. “Why is he just standing out there?”
“You have to invite him in. It’s a cultural thing.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I don’t want to be accused of cultural insensitivity. Please, come in! My house is…well, it’s my house. But you can visit!”
Jeremiah stepped across the threshold and shook Tim’s hand.
“Wow, that’s some grip,” Tim said, rubbing his hand. “Man. So, you guys are friends?”
“Coworkers, rather,” Jeremiah replied.
Tim engaged Jeremiah in a pointless but pleasant discussion about nothing in particular as Scott entered the house, looking about and recognizing a few people. Some from church, others mutual friends of himself and Tim. And Laura. She was wearing a white lab coat. And she was not alone. Russ stood by her side, dressed as…oh geez…Dracula. Black cape, cravat, white dress shirt, fake fangs, and all. Scott finally understood what Jeremiah had told him before: That costume is kind of silly. More than silly: insulting. I mean, no one’s here in blackface or dressed as any other type of cultural stereotype, so why should they be stereotyping vampires? Hmmpf.
Laura waved from across the room to Scott. He told himself that he had better be really nice to her since the last couple times they had met up, it hadn’t turned out well. Except for the sex that last time, although that had ended badly, too. Scott just hoped that
he would mind his manners and not be a total jerk. He walked over to Laura and shook her hand—gently, of course. “Laura, what are you doing here?” he asked.
“We were invited!” she said. Russ offered his hand, cautiously, as he remembered Scott’s grip the last time. Scott made sure he didn’t apply as much pressure. Russ seemed pleased about that.
“Russ? Hey, I’m sorry about the last time we met—you know, me being in a mood and all.”
“Hey, it’s all good, my man! You did just die, you know!”
God, Scott said to himself, he’s so pleasant that it’s annoying. “Yeah, well, there’s no excuse for bad behavior. I’m sorry. Hey, I get the whole Dracula thing, but what are you supposed to be, Laura?”
“Marie Curie,” she answered just as Jeremiah joined the party. “And who is this?”
Jeremiah politely shook Laura’s hand and then Russ’s. “I am Jeremiah,” he said.
“Jeremiah…what?” Russ asked.
Jeremiah briefly glanced across the room, taking advantage of his vampire vision to find a suitable surname. He found it on an appropriately labeled bottle of bourbon he spied on the far kitchen counter. “Weed. Jeremiah Weed,” he replied.
Scott looked at Jeremiah as though his face had just melted. At least it seemed that no one else had caught the connection.
“Mr. Weed? I’m Laura Saarinen, Scott’s ex, and this is Russ Bentley. Where do you guys know each other from?”
Scott answered, “Hobbies,” while Jeremiah simultaneously answered, “Work.”
“Well, work, and we share mutual hobbies,” Scott said.
“So, Jeremiah, what do you do at the college?” Laura asked.
Vampires can do many things quickly, but making reasonable-sounding excuses does not seem to be one of the powers they are invested with. Scott looked over at the buffet table.
“Hey, look!” Scott cried. “Shrimp cocktail! Let’s all get some shrimp cocktail!” He dragged Jeremiah over to the table and away from his ex-wife.
“She seems to be a lovely person,” Jeremiah said.
“Yeah, well, you weren’t married to her. But seriously? Jeremiah Weed? What the hell?”
“It seemed an obvious choice.”
Scott calmed himself and even laughed a bit. “I guess we have to practice our cover stories next time, don’t we?”
“Yes. The cover story. The lie that conceals the terrible truth. I have had many such covers in my life. What I would give to simply live freely, and I don’t mean the freedom to kill and destroy. I mean the freedom simply to be. To be honest about who I am, about what I am. But that cannot happen.”
“Yeah, man. I know what you mean. But you know, I wasn’t ever really free. I always hid behind my fear, wanting people to accept me, to like me. It’s like the prison was always there. It’s just a lot weirder now.” Scott picked up a single shrimp from the cocktail tray. “Man, I used to love shrimp cocktail, and now…” He bit into the sauced seafood, “Yeah, it’s shrimp, all right.”
“I, too, miss good food.”
“Yeah, I miss those meatballs, and the hummus, and the cheese plate. They have provolone, swiss, havarti…”
“Okay, Scott, I get your point. Maybe instead we should be sociable? I mean, isn’t that what one does at a party?”
Scott agreed, just as Tim bellowed out, “Bobbing for apples! Everybody! Down in the garage! Prizes to the winners!”
“What’s the prize?” one of the partygoers asked.
“The apple, of course! Now come on down!”
Scott tapped Jeremiah on the shoulder. “Bobbing for apples? Dude! You and me? Ringers!”
“No, I do not think we should use our vampire fangs to help us succeed at apple bobbing, Scott!” Jeremiah said, laughing.
The dining room of Goalz! Restaurant closed at nine o’clock that night, as it usually did on Thursday nights. The lounge area remained active, filled with Halloween revelers. The lounge had a separate entrance from the restaurant proper, so there was little chance of bleed-over from the bar onto the dining room floor. There was also a separate service entrance for employees, even though both ventures shared the same kitchen and receiving areas. As usual, the work of cleaning tables and floors continued well after the nine o’clock closing time, with kitchen staff cleaning and sanitizing surfaces and wait staff cleaning tables and floors. Most employees started leaving by ten o’clock, the rest trickling out afterward.
The restaurant manager, Todd, was not much help. He would have hid out in the lounge, but he wasn’t welcome there. The owners knew Todd had a bit of a drinking problem; besides, he did not get along with Stacy, the lounge manager, who considered Todd a lazy wannabe frat boy. Todd did not like Stacy because she refused to comp his alcohol. Dawn, who was something of a de facto manager, remained well after most of the wait and kitchen staff had left, under the watchful (sometimes too watchful) eyes of Todd, as her work ethic would not allow her to leave until all tasks were completed.
Finally, around eleven o’clock, after all the other restaurant staff left for whatever was left of their Halloween, Dawn headed out the restaurant service entrance, which led to the darkest part of the parking lot, right next to the Dumpster. Todd, dressed as Dracula, followed her out. She had not worn a costume but was dressed in her hostess uniform, which Todd had designed.
“Thanks for walking me to my car, Todd,” she said. She was still unaware of Todd’s true motives and thought that maybe he was just trying to be a nice person.
“It’s my pleasure, Dawn,” he said. “You know, I’ve talked with Gary, the owner, and I think he agrees with me. We think you should be my assistant.”
“Assistant manager? Wow, that’s such an honor—”
“No, I was thinking more of a personal assistant. You know, we could discuss the matter in detail over some drinks.”
“Oh no, thank you, Todd. That’s sweet of you, but I don’t drink.”
“Coffee, then?”
“Todd, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Right then, a long black Lincoln came racing through the lot and then pulled up to the service entrance right in front of Dawn and Todd. A black mid-’90s Chevy Caprice followed the Lincoln through the lot and stopped immediately behind it. Two men in dark suits got out of the Caprice; two other men got out of the Lincoln. One of the men was a large, biker-looking tough with graying muttonchops and a leather motorcycle jacket; the other was young and handsome, with a long leather jacket and long black hair. The four men surrounded Todd and Dawn.
“Why, happy Halloween!” the handsome man said. “You must be Dawn Rhinebeck, am I right? I’m so glad to meet you. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Jack, and you will be joining me tonight.”
“No, I don’t even know you, Jack.”
“Ah. You thought I was inviting you. Make no mistake: this is not an invitation.”
Jack motioned for the big man with the muttonchops to grab Dawn. Todd tried to protest, but the two dark-suited vampires from the Caprice grabbed him, one of them cupping Todd’s mouth with his hand. The tough guy dragged Dawn, who struggled all the way, to the left passenger door of the Lincoln. He shoved her into the car, where she was received by another vampire, a large, middle-aged African American woman in a dark pantsuit. Muttonchops took the driver’s seat.
“Why, hi there, sweetie,” the black woman said to the frightened young woman next to her. “Don’t you worry yourself none, but you’re goin’ for a little ride.”
Jack headed to the shotgun seat when one of the other vampires who was helping restrain Todd called after him, “Hey, boss, what should we do with this chump?”
Jack looked the building over. “It’s a restaurant. What do you do at restaurants?”
He got into the Lincoln and ordered the tough guy to drive. They pulled away into the wet night, leaving Todd to a horrific fate.
“Who are you? What do you want with me?” Dawn demanded.
“Now, darlin’, everything will b
e explained, won’t it, Sheila?” Jack said.
“That’s right, honey,” Sheila said.
“Oh, Sheila, you forgot to bag the poor thing. How could you forget?” Jack said.
Sheila reached under the seat and pulled out a canvas bag that she placed over Dawn’s head, much to her protest. Dawn attempted to remove the bag, but Sheila easily subdued her and then looped a flex tie around her wrists.
“Ow!” Dawn cried. “That’s cutting off my circulation!”
“Now, Dawn, be a good girl and shut up,” Jack said. He then noticed a stenciled logo on the bag. He was able to read it, even upside down. “Organic Grocers? Really?”
“Hey, I used to shop there all the time.”
Jack nodded. “I guess it’s apropos. What do you think of our little girlfriend here?”
“Oh, she’s a skinny little thing. Skinny like a cigarette. I’d suck on that!”
“What?” Dawn exclaimed, “Are you guys perverts? Oh no, I’ve been kidnapped by perverts! Please. Don’t—”
Jack turned in his seat. “Did you forget the mickey? Slip her the mickey, if you’d be so kind.”
“My bad,” Sheila apologized as she reached into her jacket and pulled out a syringe. She removed the cap and tapped the contents and then jabbed the needle into Dawn’s neck.
“Ow! What was that?” Dawn cried.
“That was nighty night, darlin’,” Jack said as Dawn slipped out of consciousness.
The O’Neills’ party was a success, and Scott actually enjoyed what should have been an extraordinarily awkward time. He did notice Laura paying too much attention to Jeremiah, even commenting to Scott about how strikingly handsome the large, fit African man was. Russ seemed completely oblivious to his girlfriend’s two-faced flirtations with the newcomer. Jeremiah took it in stride, simply being pleasant, but finding the attentions of Scott’s ex-wife to be somewhat uncomfortable. Scott agreed to meet Laura and Russ for lunch or dinner sometime; he thought it a mature move in order to show both that he harbored no ill will. (He may have actually done so in his heart, but he didn’t want them to know that.)
Suburban Vampire: A Tale of the Human Condition—With Vampires Page 30
