Eville's Most Wanted

by Holand Peterson

  “Investigating . It’s rather what I do, Mr. Mayor. Since the victim will not be of much use in interrogation, I must content myself to physical evidence. To be more specific, I am particularly interested in the cause of death.”

  “I beg your pardon, but…well… isn’t it obvious? This poor fellow was murdered by a vampire. Bitten right on the jugular. What could you possibly learn from examining the puncture marks that you don’t already know?”

  “If I relied solely on the obvious, sir, I would only be as competent in my job as you are in yours.” Hammett glanced back at the Mayor with a wry smirk. But before the insulted mayor, whose face was now turning red in offense, could respond, , the inspector whistled loudly, holding the cotton swab aloft. The end that had been inserted into the wound was now glowing a soft blue. “Interesting…though not entirely unexpected. And they say dead men tale no tales.”

  “And what precisely does that indicate?” Turner asked, his tone clearly showing he still stung from Hammett’s jab, but his curiosity for the proceedings outweighed his anger.

  “Tell me, how much do you know about vampires, Mr. Mayor?”

  “A fair amount, I should say. More than eight hundred of this town’s population identified themselves as vampire in our last census. They certainly make up a meaningful portion of the community, so it behooves me to be somewhat familiar with their customs. Why?”

  “Curious creatures, vampires. As with all living things, their biology is much influenced by the particulars of their individual diets.”

  “All vampires require blood for sustenance, inspector. That is the entirety of their diet, and quite common knowledge.”

  “Ah, but blood from what source?” Hammett asked, standing up, still holding the glowing blue end of the swab up for effect. “As you are no doubt well aware, there are some of their kind who have refused to adopt the edicts of the UEL, those who feel that theirs is the superior race, that they are above adapting their ways so as to fit in with society. The “inferior” races of our world are therefore obliged to serve as but livestock or slaves, whichever suits their need. These particular vampires do not “degrade” themselves to feast on the blood of the beasts of the field, but rather demand the vastly superior life force of human beings.”

  “I believe you refer to the members of the Cosa Nosferatu.”

  “I do indeed.”

  “Surely you don’t believe this man’s death is connected to the Cosa Nosferatu? All the way out here in Eville?”

  “Back to my point: When a vampire feasts solely on human blood for a sufficient period of time, subtle changes occur within their body. It permeates their own blood, their skin, their hair…even their saliva. Imagine it akin to the vampire equivalent of blood alcohol content. Now, this particular concoction I have in this bottle always glows a pleasant blue color when making contact with the saliva or blood of such a vampire. Stephen Leary was not attacked by just any vampire, and we have the proof of that statement right here.” Having made his point, Hammett casually tossed the sticky swab into the Mayor’s fumbling hand.

  Turner groaned, flicked the swab onto the floor, and ran his fingers through his hair nervously. “So they must know…somehow…word of what truly happened the other night has reached the CN.”

  “I would have supposed their involvement based on circumstantial evidence alone, Mr. Mayor. This was not the coincidental carnage of a rogue, hungry vampire. Yes, they knew. They knew what Necrosia had accomplished. They knew precisely where to seek information on the mysterious Alex Hobbs, and likely Necrosia as well. And now…I rightly expect they have a damned fine idea where to look for them, which places us at a sizeable disadvantage.”

  “How could this be? This is…this is…dear Lord, if the Necrosia device were to fall into their hands…”

  “Quite,” Hammett nodded grimly. “No need to concern yourself with re-elections then, eh, Mr. Mayor?”

  “I don’t understand,” Mayor Turner shook his head. “How…how the hell could a member of the CN get here…so quickly...much less receive word in the first place?”

  “In all likelihood, I’d wager that the murderer has been here for quite some time, living peaceably amongst the rest of Eville’s citizens, silently watching on behalf of their lords beyond the sea. That would easily explain both questions.”

  “But the Cosa Nosferatu? We’ve never had troubles with the local vampires. I know a good many of them personally…decent folks, all of them. I simply can’t imagine it.”

  “They may all appear to be model citizens, Mr. Mayor, but as a man of politics you as well as any should know that looks can be deceiving. The CN are everywhere and have their fingers in nearly every facet of our society in one fashion or another, whether you want to believe it or not. The vast majority of vampires may indeed be honorable and law abiding. But you cannot claim to know who among them might sneak off to the ‘other side’ on a quiet night to feed according to their creed, ensnaring a vagrant or runaway youth. You cannot account for all articles traveling in and out of your town, or keep tabs on every communication and correspondence. No, at least one, if not several of their number, reside in your town. I bet my life on it.”

  “What now? We search for Stephen’s killer?”

  “No,” Hammett replied calmly, walking past the mayor and down the hallway.

  “What? No?”

  “You heard me the first time, Turner. I don’t make it a habit of repeating myself unnecessarily.” Hammett walked up to Vega who was mulling over a pile of jumbled papers in the living room.

  “You…you can’t be serious!” Turner stomped after Hammett in a huff, raising his voice with authority. “A murdered citizen is lying on the floor in the next room, the killer — likely a member of the Cosa Nosferatu — is hiding within the borders of my town…and you…you plan on doing nothing about it? Damn it, man! What manner of lawman are you?”

  “I am not here to search for the late Mr. Leary’s killer, a pity though his death may be. My task is to apprehend Necrosia and her associates and bring them to justice before the CN, or some other faction, get their filthy hands on powers that could tear this entire world apart.”

  “What about my people?! What…what if there’s another murder?”

  “Highly unlikely. Once the killer, or killers, as is likely, obtained what they were looking for, I imagine they left town immediately in pursuit of Necrosia and Hobbs. The good people of Eville should be just fine and dandy under your watchful eye, Mr. Mayor.”

  “What if you’re wrong, inspector? This could be a tremendous threat to the community!”

  “If I am wrong, and that is an astoundingly rare occurrence, I would say you and your local law enforcement shall have your hands full.” Hammett turned back to the mayor and smiled with his singular eyebrow raised high, and then focused his attention on Vega. “What have you got? Any luck?”

  The Spaniard held up a pile of papers with a frown, then cast his eyes in the direction of a small computer-like device set upon a short desk in the corner. Vega looked Hammett straight in the eye for several moments, all the while subtle motions of his eyebrows, eyelids and eyes could be observed, and finally shook his head in the negative before returning his attention to the documents.

  “Figures,” Hammett grunted. “Hand me the papers, will you?”

  “What do you have there? Any information on Necrosia or Hobbs?” Turner asked hopefully.

  “Unfortunately not,” he replied quietly, flipping through the pages. “Whatever the late Stephen Leary had on either one of them is now securely in our enemy’s hands, I’m afraid. I do, however, have in my possession an especially fascinating read on your extracurricular activities, Mr. Mayor.”

  “You what?” he asked, taking the papers from the inspector. “Oh…oh my God…” The Mayor’s face turned as white as a sheet as he scanned the page’s contents.

  “It appears our recently deceased friend enjoyed collecting a wide array of interesting information on a
ll sorts of people in your community. I’m beginning to believe he was a rather naughty fellow, this one. Don’t worry, Turner, I’ve no interest in dragging any of your rotting skeletons from the closet. I have much more important matters to attend to.”

  “I…I appreciate your…professionalism, Inspector Hammett.”

  “Fascinating little community you have here,” the Cyclops chuckled, flipping through a new set of loose pages handed to him by Vega. “Oh, really? Ha, ha! Now that’s something you don’t hear of every day. My, my.” He shook his head and snickered, then tossed the papers carelessly on the floor. “Anyway, to make matters worse, Vega informs me that all data has been deleted from Mr. Leary’s electronic storage devices. Our Cosa Nosferatu friends appear to be selfish little children, unwilling to share in the hunt with others. Quite rude, don’t you think?” Hammett grinned widely as he turned to the Mayor, entirely undaunted and obviously enjoying this new challenge set before him. Turner replied only with a confused look and nervous half smile, while he quickly crammed the incriminating papers into his front pocket. “We’ll see who has the last laugh. Have you established a connection yet?” Hammett asked his partner. Vega nodded in the affirmative, and then tossed the Cyclops a small circular tablet with a brightly shining screen set in the center. Hammett pulled a small earpiece from the device’s back side and placed it into his right ear. “This is Chief UEL Inspector Daniel Hammett. Who am I speaking with?” The Cyclops tapped several buttons on the device and studied the information displayed on the screen as he spoke. “I don’t know you, and I don’t wish to speak with you. Connect me with Evans. You heard me. No, I won’t hold. You will connect me this instant, or I’ll see to it that you find yourself cleaning latrines with your tongue quicker than you can say ’demoted’.”

  “You have a marvelous way with people, Mr. Hammett,” the mayor said.

  Hammett winked his giant eye in response playfully, not in the least offended. “Evans? Hammett. Never you mind. I need to know if we have caught any significant movement or communications spikes within the CN organization, specifically during the past two hours. Yes. Of special interest to me is the North American continent, the closer to Eville the better. Doesn’t matter. Anything unusual? Anything at all? Really? You’re certain? How many? Don’t go anywhere, Evans. I may need to get in touch with you later.” Without so much as a basic closing courtesy, Hammett shut off the device, removed the earpiece, and tossed the items into his partner’s open hands. “UEL Headquarters has been getting reports from our agents in the field that large numbers of known and suspected CN members are converging on New Brasov, with mobilizations of many more in surrounding areas all heading in that same direction. All of this, mind, within the last hour and half. Now you tell me that’s coincidence.”

  Vega nodded with an excited grin, and quickly walked back down the hall toward the bedroom, returning a few moments later carrying Hammett’s bag. As the Spaniard handed the satchel to the Cyclops, he shifted his eyes across the living room.

  “No,” Hammett said. “We don’t have a moment to spare and I doubt there’s anything else that would help us. What we’re looking for we’ll find in New Brasov, no question. Well, it’s been a pleasure, Mayor Turner. Do try and stay out of trouble, eh?” he added with a nod at the crumbled papers sticking out of the mayor’s pants pocket. Then, without another word, Hammett rushed out the door toward the parked vehicle.

  “Hey! Wait!” Turner called out, rushing onto the porch. “That’s it? What about me? You’re not honestly thinking of leaving me here are you?”

  “No time to take you back to your office. I’m sure someone in town would be willing to come pick you up. Until next time, then.” With that Hammett slammed his door shut, and with reckless speed he backed the car out of the driveway and sped down the road, leaving a thick trail of dust behind.

  Turner stood with his mouth wide open on the porch of Stephen’s home, shocked, bewildered, and more than a little uneasy surrounded by the ominous darkness of the crime scene. He watched sheepishly as the vehicle’s headlights vanished into the darkness, half expecting a terrible shadow to leap out and snatch his life away at any given moment.

  Chapter 7- Departure

  The friends gathered at Thistle and Eugene’s home stayed up late into the night laughing, drinking and conversing. Through these merry hours Serene excessively enjoyed the opportunity to relay a particularly liberal account of what she believed actually happened with her egg-shaped device and the following events, while Alex and Moody interrupted frequently to correct the inventor’s constant embellishments. Once exhaustion had overcome them all and the festivities died down, Moody and Serene were shown to the guest bedroom, while Thistle procured several comfortable blankets and pillows for Alex to make use of on the couch. Warm, relaxed, and feeling unusually secure, Alex slept soundly that night, with Dante taking his favorite position near the exhausted man’s head.

  Eugene was the first to rise the next morning, and Thistle followed shortly thereafter, right along with the rising of the sun. The gracious hosts didn’t intentionally set out to disturb their guests, but with all of the banging about in the kitchen as the couple brewed their morning coffee, talked, and began the day’s typical busy schedule, Alex couldn’t force himself to sleep any longer through the racket. Sleepily, with a blanket wrapped close about him, Alex hobbled into the kitchen to have a cup of coffee with his hosts. He felt right at home amongst his new friends, who were so welcoming and down to earth that he felt as though he’d known them his entire life. After a fine visit over the steaming, sugar-laden caffeine brew, Eugene excused himself and proceeded to make his way outside, followed by a cacophony of metallic thrashing noises in the yard. It didn’t take long before Moody and Serene stumbled into the kitchen as well, eyes both bloodshot and sleepy, and aiming evil looks in the direction of Eugene’s early labors.

  With the entire clan up and awake, Thistle set about preparing a hot, greasy breakfast large enough for an army of ogres, and after a short while all were gathered around the table once more. Unlike dinner the night before, however, the proceedings were significantly more somber for this meal. While the company and food were just as good, everyone at the table couldn’t help but reflect on the sad notion in the back of their minds that Serene, Moody and Alex would be leaving soon, and the opportunity to be reunited, enjoying such company, might be far into the distant future- , if at all.

  Following the hearty meal, Serene led Alex and Moody out to the barn positioned near the farm house. Alex had never actually stepped foot in a barn before, but the inside was exactly as he imagined it would be: dusty dirt flooring, the air thick with the strong smell of horse and manure, plenty of stacked hay, and a great number of tools and other implements stored along the walls and corners. The fat, hairy horse Alex had seen when they first arrived was also inside at this time, its head buried contentedly in a feed bag.

  “This is neat and all,” Alex began, scratching the horse behind the ear, “but you said we were getting ready to go. I thought we didn’t have time to look around the farm and all that.”

  “Unfortunately we don’t,” Serene replied. “The grand tour shall have to wait for another occasion. And as much as he may enjoy the attention, I did not bring you in here to love on Cicero,” she added with a kindly nod to the horse. The inventor now walked up to one of the barn’s walls, reached for an ordinary looking hammer hanging amidst a large number of other tools, and with a grunt pulled it forward, rotated it a full clockwise circle, and then pushed it back into the wall. Immediately , a loud metallic clang was heard below their feet, and a few seconds later a section of ground in one of the corners slid inward, revealing a staircase descending into thick darkness. “Come along, you two,” Serene called out as she began the downward descent.

  Serene flipped a switch as soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs, sweeping the darkness away in a flash, revealing a large, sterile laboratory with walls, ceiling and floor of concre
te, with several large vents attached to the ceiling so as to filter out whatever noxious fumes the crazy woman might produce. Stepping in, Alex felt very much like he was back in Serene’s old lab at her mansion, with a familiar collection of odd contraptions stacked about and messy piles of books, papers, and odds and ends littering almost every surface generously. Obviously comfortable in her element, Serene breathed deeply the stale air and ran her hand across a stack of electronic components with a happy expression. Even more so than the farm house, this was clearly her home and dear to her heart.

  “Anything stashed down here that will help save our butts?” Alex asked, leaning over an odd device covered in tin foil, Christmas lights and cocktail toothpicks.

  “No, most of this equipment was designed strictly for agricultural purposes,” Serene explained. “In fact, I was standing in front of this very table…right here, to be precise…when I discovered the secret to my Varlic plant. It seems so long ago now,” she said to herself in a low, thoughtful voice. “I can still remember the first time Richard brought me down here to the laboratory. It was his wedding present, you see. It looks nearly identical. Hasn’t changed in the least. And yet…so many other facets of life have seen so much change… ” she trailed off sadly.

  “Well, at least I don’t see any of your damned Death Eggs lying around,” Alex replied jokingly, hoping to lighten the mood. “So, uh… you brought us down here because…?” he asked, accidentally dislodging a toothpick from Serene’s contraption.

  “Ah, yes. I need your signature. Well, not your signature, actually. To be more precise, I require the signature for your new identity, coming from your own hand.”

  “My new what?”

  “Never you mind. It’s not important. Just be a good lad and sign here,” Serene added dismissively, handing Alex a rectangular electronic tablet with an attached stylus. “Sign ’Ludwig Bloch,’ preferably in a distinctive manner. I always admire a handsome signature, as it says so much about a man’s character. But choose a style that you can easily replicate and which comes naturally, as you’re likely to be doing this for...well, possibly the remainder of your life. We’ll just have to see how things turn out, eh?” she finished with gusto.