by D. R. Perry
Body Count
D.R. Perry
Copyright © 2018 by D.R. Perry
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction with frequent puns, bad jokes, and pop culture references. All characters depicted are my own creations even when they break the fourth wall or cuss like an amalgamation made from truckers and drunken sailors. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Don’t try any of Esther’s recipes at home. Mrs. Crispo’s are much tastier anyway.
Cover Design by: James Ruggiero
First Edition
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Something’s fishy in the state of Rhode Island.
Tino Crispo’s investigating something big and nasty in Rhode Island. Trouble is, nobody’s talking even with murder and abduction connected to rival magical families.
Tino was just sinking his fangs into unlife as a vampire and a P.I. And now Stephanie, his old and powerful vampiric sire, gets body-snatched.
With his usual crew sidelined, Tino’s help comes from unconventional sources. An old enemy, a psychic tween and her pet, and a scapegoat are the Ocean State's only hope to beat back the horror lurking beneath the bay.
Can they stop the body count from rising or will they go out with the tide?
“Get him!” I raise my voice for the first time tonight because there’s no way any of us will catch the bastard if I don’t. Unfortunately, that means the prey Scott, Esther and I are stalking gets spooked.
“Aoooo!” Scott use his words right now because he’s a six foot tall furry monster with giant clawed paws. He swings and misses. Yeah, my big scary pal is a teenage werewolf.
“Waffletwat!” Esther’s right leg goes out from under her in a shower of green sparks. She’s a magician with no four-letter word filter. And apparently a klutz.
“Fine.” I burn blood to turn on some speed.
Right now you’re wondering “burn blood? Is he a pyromaniac? What the hell does he mean by that? Who is this guy, anyway?”
I’m Valentino Cripso, PI. And also just happen to be the newest vampire in Rhode Island. So yeah, I’m using blood to boost my speed because that’s one of the things we can do with it. And it’s one of two vampiric abilities I actually have the hang of. So, I’m using my powers to finish my case. You got a problem with that? That’s what I thought. Keep reading.
Dashing past Esther and Scott is the easiest part. Pouncing on the bastard isn’t hard either. But getting a grip, man, that is damn near impossible. Because he’s one slippery customer.
But that shouldn’t have surprised me. I knew what we were getting into when we took the job. I’m speedy enough to get around and corner him so that’s what I do. He looks up at me, blinks, and starts climbing up the smooth sealed cement wall. I see my chance and take it.
Whipping off one of my gloves, I scoop the little guy up in it. "What?" you might be wondering. Or maybe, "How is that even possible?"
Said guy is a missing pet. A salamander, to be specific. And I’m holding him captive in an article of clothing that I wear to keep people from noticing that I don’t show up in mirrors. This victory wouldn’t have been possible if I were still human because nobody wears gloves in Rhode Island during the month of June.
“Case closed.”
“Nah.” Scott’s adjusting his clothes. The stuff he usually wears is stretchy, so it doesn’t shred. But it gets all out of whack when he wolfs it up. I hand the glove with the amphibian inside to him.
“Can’t a fucking lady get a goddamned hand over here?” Esther’s sitting on the floor, pounding on her right leg with her left hand.
I oblige by reaching down. She hauls herself off the flagstones. I notice that her right leg’s pretty stiff around the knee. Looking her in the eye isn’t easy but I do it, anyway. She turns her glance away, face reddening. But I smell it. Shrapnel. It’s under her skin somewhere though not in the leg she’s favoring.
“When did you serve?” Yeah, I have a bad habit of pissing powerful people off.
“Fucking-a. I don’t want to talk about it.” She practically pushes my hand away, tossing her head so her jet-black hair obscures her face.
“Okay.” It was a pretty personal question. “Shouldn’t have asked.”
“Don’t do it again, Tino, or I’m cutting the hell out. Of every god damned fucking thing you’ve got going on.”
“I said okay, Esther.” Usually I’d smile at someone while backing down. Not Esther and not after my foot’s crammed that far down my throat.
I know it seems weird for a vamp like me, even though I’m new, to make nice to what’s essentially a human with magical mixology powers while she’s cussing me out. But like I said before, Esther’s four-letter focused vocabulary is normal for her. She even does it when she’s in a good mood. I think it stops her from accidentally casting spells or whatever so I don’t mind that.
“Um.” Scott’s holding the glove up. “I think we all want to give the lizard back and get paid.”
“Kid has a fucking point.” Esther rolls her eyes. "But it's a salamander, shit for brains."
“Okay then.” I hook one thumb over my shoulder in what I think is the direction we parked. “To the, um, wolfmobile?”
We head out of the tunnel next to WaterPlace Park in downtown Providence. It’s been full dark for maybe three hours, which means it’s eleven o’clock because it’s June. This is one of the sucky parts of being a vampire. The nights are pretty short over the summer. But right now it only motivates me to get stuff done faster.
I’m wrong about where the car is. I forget other things sometimes, too. But that’s why I have a team and try to write everything down. Scott easily finds the big old rust bucket of a truck his dad lets him drive. The werewolf schnoz is a thing. They can track faster than just about any other creature on the planet.
“Fucking shotgun.” Esther means that she's called dibs on the window seat, not that she spotted somebody getting frisky with a double-barrel. The truck’s a regular cab with a bench seat, not extended. She pulls open the primer-spotted door, rolling her eyes at the imitation wood panel painted on the side.
“Joy.” I climb into the truck and put the lap belt on. What? I’m a vampire, not Superman. Besides, if we get pulled over, I don’t want Scott to get a ticket for driving without everyone buckled in.
Esther gets in and pulls the door closed behind her. Scott hands me the glove with the salamander in it and hops into the driver’s seat. They both buckle up, too. He turns the key in the ignition and then puts it in gear.
“Hold your fucking horses.” Esther holds her hand out at me then glances at the flimsy glove.
“What?”
“Little guy can’t wear a belt but he’s dead if we get in a wreck.” Scott shrugs. “I guess she wants to make something better for him.”
“Fucking a.” Esther brandishes a permanent marker.
“You owe me a new pair of gloves.” I hand it over.
Esther mumbles something about buying stock in a glove-making company while marking her alchemical symbols on my garment. The green glittery aura that always goes along with that magic surrounds her hands, the marker, and then the glove. When she hands it back, it feels like metal mesh instead of fabric and doesn’t change shape in my hand. I can hear the salamander moving inside and peek through the small hole in the top. It eyes me back.
“What’s so special about this lizard anyway, Scott?” I ask him because he’s the one who arranged this missing pet case.
“Dunno.” He turns the wheel and pulls out on to the street.
We ride along in silence until w
e’re almost to the highway. Then I realize my mistake.
“Shitballs.”
“What the fuck?” Esther blinks.
“What? I can’t cuss?” I shake my head. “Um, I forgot to uh, check in with Stephanie.”
Yeah, I’m lying and it’s possible that Scott knows it. Esther seems clueless though. My partners in private investigation and the occasional technically heroic crime know about the vamp who turned me. They don’t know that the vampires have a King I’m required to contact every time I’m in the city limits.
“Can’t you just call her?”
“Oh.” Scott’s right.
I can phone instead of drop by. That’s one of the fringe benefits of passing my Trials and becoming a full member of vampire society last month. But I don’t want to do it in the truck where they can overhear anything. I’m allowed to tell people like Esther and Scott that I’m a vampire but supposed to keep details about our ways secret from the other supernaturals.
“Um, but there’s something kinda, uh, personal that I—”
“Get the fuck out.” Esther opens the door.
“Woah, holy shit!” Scott’s usually the chillest person in any given group but even he can’t relax when the Alchemist opens the door of a moving vehicle.
The werewolf pulls over while the magician cackles like a Golden Age Silver Screen witch. I just roll my eyes. Once the vehicle stops, I unbuckle the belt and hand the glove off to Esther again. Then I climb over her lap to get out.
And there is definitely something unnatural about her right leg. Her left arm, too. They’re colder than they should be, for one thing. For another, the pulse in them is slower and stronger than the ones in her other two limbs. Does she have some cockamamie kind of magicked-together prosthetics?
I promised I wouldn’t ask her again so I let it ride and focus on getting my feet on the pavement. The phone in my pocket buzzes before I can even get it out. There’s a text from Ma but I let it sit while I dial the number at what’s essentially vampire HQ in the city of Providence. It rings three times before I hear the voice on the other end.
“Valentino.”
“Raven.” I’m glad it’s not King DeCampo himself on the other end of the line. Raven’s annoying but way less intimidating to talk to about official stuff.
“I’m, uh, in Providence.” I cup my free hand around my chin and the phone to cut down on road noise.
“Why?” I can almost see Raven arching their eyebrow. And no, the King’s Attaché isn’t two people. Whenever anyone asks what gender Raven is, the eternal answer is vampire. When we first met, I took that interaction a step further and asked for pronouns. Hey, if I can get my brain around the idea that vampires are real, accepting that one happens to be Enby is no biggie. And Raven’s at least as influential as Stephanie, the vamp who turned me. Probably more even though I think she's older. It’s a good idea to stay on Raven's good side.
“On a case,” I answer. Honesty is easier than making up a story I’ll only forget.
“Murder?”
“No. Missing, uh, person.” The last thing I want to do is admit to the vampire nobility that I chase amphibians through Providence’s old tunnels.
“Somenight I hope you’ll tell me what an uh-person is. Because even I’ve never heard of one before.”
“It’s a long story.” The last ditch utterance doesn’t spare me from Raven’s curiosity.
“We’re vampires, Valentino. We’ve got all the time in the world for that.”
The blast on the horn would have scared the piss out of me if vampires still had that bodily function. I glare back at the big blue clunker to find Scott trying to shoo Esther’s hands away from the middle of the steering wheel. She flips me both birds.
“Hurry it up, asshole! I need a fucking cheeseburger!”
“Go cheeseburger yourself!” I flip her one right back. It’s impossible to keep up with Esther’s foul language so I never bother. One-finger salutes are another story.
“Where are you again, Valentino?” Raven’s chuckling on the other end of the line. The King’s Attaché seems to enjoy my distress way too much.
“Near the Mall. By the highway exit.”
“Oh God, don’t get hit.” Raven’s tone carries more genuine concern that I expect. “People would discover what we are if you total someone’s car.” Yeah. That concern? Not for me. It figures.
“Yeah, trying not to cause wrecks. But this influential vamp I’m checking in with keeps asking me a million questions. You know how it is.”
“Fine, you’re in the clear. But so help me, if letting you off the hook ends up biting me in the ass later, you’ll owe.”
“Sure thing.”
Raven hangs up so I pocket the phone. Climbing back into the car is just as awkward as before. I have to flat-out ignore Esther’s weird left arm and right leg, which sucks because I’m one curious dude. Which is a good thing, what with me being a PI and all. Anyway, as Scott drives away, I’m relieved. We got the salamander and managed not to piss off the vampire royalty.
But I know better than to count my five-hundred dollar share of the fee before it’s paid. There’s something about this simple case that’s got my gut instinct in a twist. Staring out at the hypnotic dashes painted on the surface of I-95, I do my best to shake it off.
How much trouble can one little amphibian be?
I hope those aren’t famous last words.
I prop the door on the way in. Not only is it good for business, it’s an act of rebellion. The guys who own the building hate that and I don’t like them either. They had a hit list with my name on it after all. But I got their hitwoman to quit, rented a space in their building under an alias, and have bugs set up to make sure I can stop them if they manage to hire another one. And now, I'm breaking their petty slumlord rules like some punk kid instead of a creature of the night. Maybe that’s why I chuckle all the way up the stairs to the third floor.
We’re in the studio space that’s also our Private Investigation firm's office. Which the Caprice crime family I mentioned before knows nothing about. It’s complicated. Anyway, Scott gets on the phone dialing the client’s number who hired us to get her lizard. Instead of asking us to hang on to him she wants to come over to the office right now and pick him up.
I’m surprised but not upset. This means we get paid quicker. It also means we’re getting our first actual guest in the office. This is nerve-wracking because the decor and furniture are all junked or abandoned items we picked up during off-campus college move-outs last month. What do you want, it was free, okay? But that makes our space look and feel less than professional.
I’m pacing and wringing my hands. Esther grumbles something about amateurs and heads downstairs. I don’t bother trying to decipher her words or actions, which is why I’m surprised when she comes back up maybe a minute later.
“Get off the chair, you son of a bitch.” She’s brandishing a piece of chalk and talking to Scott, who’s sitting at his desk.
“Hey!” He stands and puts his hands on his hips. “My dad’s the werewolf, not my mom!”
“Boo fucking hoo.” Esther points her chalk at Scott’s posterior. “Move your candy-ass!”
Scott’s probably one of the most laid-back people I know despite being a dude who does a furry hulk out when things get dangerous. Or maybe he's chill because nobody likes him when he's angry. But I don’t blame him for scuttling out of the way.
We’ve seen Esther bring down literal walls with a fistful of alchemical post-it notes, wrecking her own apartment during a battle with the hunter who broke into it. I haven’t seen her place since then but she delivers epithet-laden descriptions of the contractor’s lack of progress with repairs on a regular basis. She says she won't fix it with magic because it's too much energy on a place she doesn't own.
The surly alchemist chalks out a circle on the back of the threadbare office chair and mumbles a few words sans cussing. Glittering green haze shimmers in the air around the
cast-off seat and before our eyes it changes.
I’m so busy staring at the shiny new poshness now gracing the area behind Scott’s desk I fail at watching Esther work more of this magic around the room. When she’s done, the place looks like we spent ten grand on decking it out.
Scott’s blinking. I’m standing so still my undeadness is showing. Esther’s brushing off her hands and stowing the chalk in her pocket. She looks at me, then the teenage werewolf. After that, she pulls the chalk out again and marks the glove. It turns into a fishbowl with a plastic mesh lid. I shake my head.
“What?” Esther sets the bowl on my desk. “I’m a goddamned fucking alchemist and you expect me not to do any fucking alchemy?”
“Um—” I’m about to mention my now missing glove and how I kind of need it but her narrowed eyes make me think better of saying all that. Her next statement proves my wisdom.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“Thanks!” I give Esther a big friendly smile then put my hand over my mouth because I just basically fanged out at her. It’s worse than flipping the bird because I kind of tried to eat her once. And Scott, too. I totally didn’t mean to and still feel bad about it. My friend Maya says not to worry about turning into a monster until I stop feeling sorry. So I apologize.
Esther just rolls her eyes, which is normal for her. She stalks over to the door and opens it. A kid’s standing there, fist raised, green eyes wide. Rust-colored brows dip down as she lowers her hand and scans the room. This girl can’t be a day over thirteen with a room full of particularly scary adults staring at her. But she makes a face like she just caught the ice cream truck before it left her street. Her mouth transforms from a flat line to a smiling Cupid’s bow. She only has eyes for the lizard. Salamander. Whatever.
“Sparky!” She dashes across the threshold, ducks under Scott’s arm, dodges my hand, outstretched for a handshake. “I thought you were a goner.”
The kid pulls the mesh lid off the fishbowl. Instead of scooping the little red amphibian up, she sets her hand against the glass rim and the salamander hot-tails it up and out of the container. She giggles as he climbs her arm to put one little foot on her cheek.
