“He did at that,” Jenner said. Not smiling. The man never seemed to smile.
“You’ll be there again, yes?” Lemonzeo asked. “At the Pub, during the meeting?”
“As always, sir.”
Lemonzeo didn’t like it when Jenner called him ‘sir’. He’d been trying to correct it for some time now, preferring that the man call him Lemonzeo, or even Bud. But nothing had changed, and he’d given up trying.
“Okay then,” Lemonzeo said. “I’ll get dressed.”
Thirty minutes later Lemonzeo and Jenner entered the Pub from the rear entrance.
Lemonzeo took his normal seat at the back booth while Jenner went behind the bar to make a pot of coffee.
Soon the coffee was made and Lemonzeo sat sipping at a hot mug as Jenner retired to the back room. Unlike yesterday morning, rock music played loudly from the Pubs sound system.
Lemonzeo loved rock music. Bands with flash. The bright colors, the screeching guitars. Bands with ripped up jeans, leather, spandex, and wild times.
Hair bands. That’s what they were called nowadays. Back then, when they were top of the charts, they were just called heavy metal. Sure, maybe glam metal. But hair bands? He found the term offensive.
He’d kept the music off yesterday out of respect. It was the first meeting with the vampires. He didn’t know what music they liked.
Now… well, what did he care now? They were either going to kill him or they weren’t.
If they were, he might as well have some of his favorite songs bouncing through his head when he went.
The Pub had two obvious cameras mounted in the ceiling. One to catch people as they came in and out of the front door, and the other to capture those sitting at the bar. The other eight cameras were so cleverly blended in with the decor that they were nearly invisible. Much more so for the four that were pointing at that back booth.
The back booth was also wired for sound. Whenever Lemonzeo held a meeting in that booth, Jenner could sit in the back room and watch and listen. Regardless of how loud the music from the stereo was, Jenner was able to hear every word spoken in that one booth.
Of course, Jenner didn’t actually record anything, only a fool would do so, but he’d watch, listen, and wait. He was there to provide advice, maybe step in if things got too hot. Lemonzeo hoped that wouldn’t be necessary. Jenner had shown in prison that he could handle himself. In fact, after some of what he’d borne witness to, Lemonzeo knew no more dangerous a man. But then, they weren’t dealing with men today.
Lemonzeo had worked through half of his coffee when the vampires walked in. Alexander and Thomas. The twins. That was good. Had Brone sent anyone else, or come himself, Lemonzeo would be worried. He hoped that by sending the twins again, Brone was showing that he wanted their relationship to continue.
That or he wanted to give the two vampires the opportunity to kill him themselves. Lemonzeo tried to relax. Like the old commercial used to say, never let them see you sweat.
“Does the music need to be so loud?” Alexander said as the two sat. Thomas didn’t speak. He only scowled.
“Yes,” Lemonzeo said. “Yes it does. Think of it this way. If anyone comes in, they won’t be able to hear our conversation. Besides, I like it.”
“Do not play us for fools, Lemonzeo,” Alexander said. “We know your man Jenner is listening to our conversation in the other room.”
“Hey,” Lemonzeo said, spreading his hands and shrugging his shoulders. “A guy has to protect himself. Surely you understand that.”
“We do,” Alexander said. “Which is the only reason we allow you to do so.”
“How generous of you,” Lemonzeo said, failing to mask the sarcasm.
“You will walk softly around us, Lemonzeo,” Alexander said. “Now turn the music off.”
Lemonzeo frowned. Still, he produced a small remote from his pocket, clicked a button, and silenced the music.
“You failed to kill Norman Oklahoma,” Alexander said. “Brone is displeased.”
“Oh, come on,” Lemonzeo said, leaning back, his arms spread out on the back of the booth. “How was I supposed to know that the Walrus wasn’t up to the task? He’s the real deal, even you admitted to that.”
The two vampires looked at each other, then back to Lemonzeo.
“Yes,” Alexander said. “It is true that we were taken aback by the creature’s failure. But no matter, Brone has decided to leave Oklahoma alive for now.”
“What?” Lemonzeo leaned forward. “Alive? But—”
“Oklahoma is now aware that vampires dwell in his town,” Alexander cut him off. “If more attempts are made on the human’s life, and he survives, he will look into the matter, and the last thing we want is him snooping around.”
“So our partnership is dissolved then?” Lemonzeo asked.
“Not at all, Mr. Lemonzeo. You are still of use to us.”
“So you’re still going to back me,” Lemonzeo leaned back again. “Help me get my stuff back?”
“Of course. As we said yesterday, helping you helps us.”
“Good,” Lemonzeo said. “I’ve already started making plans.”
“Tell us about them.”
Lemonzeo told the two vampires about the bookie in Desoto, the gambling den.
“You do not disappoint,” Alexander said. “That is a good plan. A good first strike. You hurt Klein and make more money. We approve.”
“Peachy,” said Lemonzeo.
“More than that,” said Alexander. “We can also offer you assistance.”
“Assistance? How?”
“My brother will accompany you on this endeavor,” said Alexander.
A look of surprise flashed across his brother’s face which then dissolved into an even deeper scowl than the one he’d been previously projecting.
Lemonzeo tried not to smile.
“I don’t think your brother likes that idea,” Lemonzeo said.
“Do not think to speak for me, human,” Thomas said.
“Thomas will accompany you, though he will take no part in the actual job. Not unless he needs to.”
“So he’ll be there just to make sure I do what I’m told?” Lemonzeo said.
“Yes.”
“Well,” said Lemonzeo. “I can appreciate the honesty, truly I do. But I am a man of my word. Without your word, you got nothing.”
The vampires just stared at him.
“I’ve given you my word,” Lemonzeo continued. “I’ve taken your deal, I don’t need a babysitter. No offense,” he said, looking at Thomas.
“My brother goes,” Alexander said.
“No,” Lemonzeo said, tired of being pushed around. “He’s not wanted.”
Before Lemonzeo could say any more, the table that had been between himself and the two vampires was suddenly missing. It was sailing off to the left, and then Thomas was there in the space that the table had occupied just moments before. Thomas growled and opened his mouth to reveal a set of needle-sharp fangs. He took Lemonzeo by the lapels and pulled him close.
But Thomas hadn’t been able to move Lemonzeo more than an inch or two before Jenner was there behind him. Jenner took Thomas’s shoulder in one hand and tugged as if he was simply opening a door.
Thomas flew backwards, landing hard on a table in the middle of the room.
Alexander was up like a shot, but one look from Jenner gave him pause.
“You,” Alexander said with a rasp. “You’re a—”
“You will return the table back to where it was,” Jenner said, cutting him off. He spoke softly, as if he was bored.
Thomas rose, his face like storm clouds. Yet, he retrieved the table, lifting it in one hand, and placed it gently back between the two booth benches.
“Now,” Jenner said. “Sit.”
The two vampires sat. Jenner, however, remained standing.
“We will honor our side of the deal,” Jenner said. “And we will do it alone. As has already been said, Mr. Lemonzeo is a man of
his word. Your Mr. Brone would be displeased by your disrespect. Were he to learn of what you tried to do here today—”
“No,” Lemonzeo said. “It’s okay.”
After what he’d just witnessed, seeing the vampires put in their place, gave Lemonzeo an idea.
“I’m beginning to think that maybe we should take Thomas along with us. I mean, having a vampire in my back pocket might just come in handy.”
Lemonzeo smiled and took the small remote from his pocket and, with just a couple of clicks, returned the music to its former volume. The two brothers could only frown.
29
GRANDMA PAT
“RAST UTH DE RONDA.”
It was the dream again. This time I had been tied to an ancient set of rust-coated box springs. They had been stood up on their short end and propped back against a graffiti-covered wall. I was in a wide room with high ceilings, like an abandoned ballroom in a forgotten hotel.
The air was damp and water trickled from the ceiling. The two blood-splattered doctors in gas masks from my previous dreams stood over me. They each clutched a gleaming scalpel.
“Alto con vite ban stiltomen,” one was saying in a language I’d only heard before in another dream.
“Kalt,” said the other. “Bar salto con falegrutten.”
I woke before they could start cutting, which happens once in a while.
I was back in the same jail cell, alone again on the cell block. But I wasn’t being held, not this time. This time I was here of my own free will.
After loading the three ogre corpses into the back of the patrol car — no easy feat for just two people, and one with broken ribs — we were, frankly, at a loss of what to do next.
The tunnel idea had been a total bust and it was, to be honest, my only real lead. Knowing, however, that the psychotropic spray that Maggie’s fiancé had been soaked in would wear off by this afternoon, I figured our best bet was to go back to the station and wait.
Besides, I still had three or four broken ribs to mend, and I heal faster when I’m still and calm. So, while Diana went off to do some paperwork and figure out what to do with the ogre corpses, I came down to the cell block for a bit of a rest.
I yawned and sat up. That’s when I discovered that I was not, in fact, alone in the cell block.
A little girl of about nine or ten stood on the other side of the bars looking in at me.
“Are you a criminal?” she asked.
“I am not,” I said.
“Good,” she replied. “Because your door is open. If you were a criminal you could get out.”
“Well, I’m not a criminal.” I yawned again. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Before school but after breakfast.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I chose to say nothing, hoping that the girl would get bored and move on. But after a moment or two I realized that she wasn’t going anywhere.
So I stood and then groaned a bit as I stretched. No pain. My ribs appeared to be fully healed.
My gun belt, coat, and hat sat atop one another on the cot on the other side of the cell. I began to put them on.
“Your clothes are all dirty,” the girl said.
I ignored her and belted on my guns. I was still covered in mud from earlier, though it had all, by now, dried.
“Why are they so dirty?”
I continued to ignore her, pulling on my coat and placing my hat on my head.
“I would change my clothes if I were that dirty,” she said. “Or take a bath or something.”
“Look,” I said. “Who are you?”
“What are you doing down here?” said a voice from the door at the front of the cell block. It was Pat.
“What did I tell you about wandering off?” Pat said.
“You said to stay close and to not go wandering off,” the girl said.
“And this is close?” Pat said, walking into the room.
“No,” the girl said, her lower lip sticking out in a pout.
“Okay then. So what do you have to say to me?” Pat said, walking up to the girl and looking down at her.
The girl, her eyes glued to the floor, mumbled something unintelligible.
Pat reached down and placed a gentle hand under the girl’s chin, lifting it so that the girl was looking up at Pat.
“What was that?” Pat said.
“I’m sorry, Grandma,” the girl said.
“Grandma!?” I said.
“That’s right, Norman. I’d like you to meet my granddaughter, Susie.”
My surprise left me momentarily speechless.
“Susie,” Pat turned to the girl. “This is Norman Oklahoma; he’s an old friend of mine.”
The girl giggled. “That’s a funny sounding name,” she said. “Oklahoma is a state. We learned that from our geography book.”
“That’s all you have to say to Mr. Oklahoma?” Pat said. “That his name sounds funny?”
The girl looked up at me, another giggle hiding behind her eyes.
“Hello, Mr. Oklahoma,” she said. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
I tipped my hat and said simply, “Ma’am.”
Susie giggled again.
“Okay, why don’t you go get your bag and wait for me in my office. I’ll be up in a bit to take you to school.”
“Okay, Grandma,” Susie said. “Goodbye, Mr. Oklahoma.”
Again, I tipped my hat and said, “Ma’am.”
Susie giggled as she ran up the stairs.
“A grandmother, Pat?” I said. “Since when?”
“Oh, about nine years now, Norman,” she said. “You know, for a detective you sure don’t pay a lot of attention to things.”
“Well,” I felt shame creep into my face. “I’ve been busy. I mean, I knew you had a daughter, I just never…”
I let that hang there between us, hoping she wouldn’t notice my embarrassment.
“Has Maggie’s fiancé said anything useful yet?” I asked, needing to say something.
“His name is Anthony, and he’s originally from New York City. Beyond that it’s been much of the same.”
“Has he opened his hand yet?”
“Nope. If he’s holding on to something, he’s keeping it clutched tight.”
“Well, there ain’t much I can do from here,” I said. “Maybe I’ll go to the office, have a shower, then stop over at the Pub.”
“It’s a little early for a drink.”
“Is it?” I said. “What time is it?”
She consulted her watch. “Almost eight.”
“Regardless, whoever or whatever took Maggie has both goblins and ogres working for them, or it... That’s going to get annoying.”
“It is,” Pat agreed.
“Anyway, that’s not an easy thing to make happen. Now, I ain’t saying that Abner’s involved, but if anyone in this town is gonna know anything it’s gonna be him.”
Pat sighed. “Just be careful, Norman. Keep your head clear. It was only yesterday that you shot up the place.”
“My life is rather exiting, ain’t it.” I smiled.
My ride was still at the office, left there yesterday when the Walrus stuffed me in the trunk of his car so that he could kill me in the privacy of my own home. From there I went straight to jail in the back of a patrol car.
This only meant that I was forced to walk.
Luckily it was only three blocks from the Police Station to my office. And to tell the truth, I needed the air.
I passed by the Pub on the way. It’s located just down the street and across from my office. Though it was early, I could hear rock music coming from the building, so I knew that Abner would be there. But first, a shower and a change of clothes.
I arrived to find a woman sitting in a utility truck at the curb on the Seventh Street side.
“You Norman Oklahoma?” She said through the open truck window as I approached the building.
“Who’s asking?”
“Ja
cqueline Murphy,” she said. “Murphy’s Glass.” She got out of the truck. “You can call me Jack.”
Jack Murphy was a big woman. And I mean like akin to a giant. She wasn’t overweight or one of them thick-headed body building types. She was just, well, she was big. She had at least eighteen inches on me. And she was wide too, like a linebacker in full pads. Standing before her I understood how those barbarian raiders must have felt when they encountered the Great Wall of China for the first time.
“What can I do for you, Jacqueline Murphy, Murphy’s Glass?” I said as the big woman approached. I had to fight the urge not to open my coat and put a hand on one of my revolvers.
“I’m here to fix your window,” she said. “And call me Jack.”
Yesterday I was thrown out of my office window by a walrus.
We talked about that already.
It was a mutant walrus-man, created in a lab by a group of scientists for pure whimsy, was sent to kill me.
He didn’t.
“Yes, it’s true that I got a busted window up there,” I said, pointing up to my office. “But I don’t recall calling anyone about it.”
“Well, I got a call,” she said and then starting fishing around in a pocket of her coveralls. She pulled free a sheet of paper and studied it for a moment. “I got the work order right here. Says to bill Pat McCrea.”
Once I thought about it I did recall Pat saying last night that she’d called someone about the window.
“I suppose if Patsy’s paying then I’ll show you the way.”
Jacqueline “Jack” Murphy grabbed a tool box from her truck and I led her into the building and up the steps.
“You one of those impersonators?” she asked as we reached top of the steps and the door to my office on the second floor.
I turned to her. “What?”
“The way you dress,” she said. “You look like Elliot Ness or something. I thought maybe you were one of those celebrity impersonators.”
“Is there a lot of call for an Elliot Ness impersonator?”
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“I’m a private investigator,” I said and pointed at the door. Painted on the glass of the door where the words:
NORMAN OKLAHOMA
The Adventures of Norman Oklahoma Volume One Page 16
