Herb took the offered sheet of paper and drew back a step into the safer shadows of the entryway. His guilt grew razor-sharp talons that ripped and rummaged around in his chest cavity until they found his heart and proceeded to squeeze. Crayons and Photoshop had been artfully employed to make a Have you seen Lady? We miss her. She’s so special and she’s lost and we really want her to come home flyer. The photo was of both girls hugging the small pug, faces lit with the joy only children with a puppy can know.
Herb’s hand shook. “Gosh Jerry. That’s awful. But I... um. I’m sure Lady’s just running around the woods. Dogs do that, I suppose. But I’m sure,” his voice broke. Clearing his throat, he pushed on. “I’m sure she’ll, um. Well, she’ll be back in no time.”
“God, I hope so. You haven’t seen any coyotes around, have you? Or maybe heard a wolf? I dunno, but Pam’s got this idea that a wild animal got Lady. Gus lost a goat and a cow a few days back, can you believe that? I guess there was a lot of blood near the fence on his property line not far from here. But coyotes don’t usually go for cows, right?” Jerry’s hand fidgeted with the strap on his backpack. “Anyway, like I said if you see or hear anything, just let me know. It’d mean the world to the girls if we could get that dog back.”
“Of course,” Herb managed past the pug-sized lump in his throat. “I’ll be on the lookout,” he trailed off, leaving an uncomfortable silence hanging between the two men.
“Yeah, ok. Thanks Herb. I appreciate it. You have a good day. Sorry again for waking you. Guess you’re doing nights at the diner now, huh.”
Herb stared blankly for a moment before picking up on Jerry’s assumption. “Oh, yeah. Um. New schedule. Yup. Working nights. It’s ok, though.” Herb waved as he started to close the door on the blinding sunlight of the outside world. Before the dwindling gap closed for good, Herb stopped and spoke one last time.
“Oh, and Jerry?”
Already a couple of steps toward his parked sedan, Jerry looked back toward the door. “Yeah Herb?”
“I’m sorry about Lady. Really sorry.” And with that, Herb closed and locked the door.
Chapter 22
“And why in the seven hell’s would you think you have a job here, much less the ability to switch shifts? I don’t care if you were abducted by Stanley’s aliens and anal-probed with a popsicle. I have people here that need to eat, and I didn’t have a cook. Bill and Hector stretched their hours to cover your shift and fortunately, fortunately,” Ronnie took a dramatic breath before resuming his rant, “we were able to serve. Do you understand that, Herb? Serving your fellow man? The offering of yourself for the benefit of others? Is that concept so foreign to your pea-sized, beer-soaked brain? When the aliens abducted you and Hoovered out your common sense through your fat ass, did they leave a shred of decency or responsibility? One iota of loyalty? Or did they just leave a selfish, self-absorbed, good for nothing piece of cud?”
Herb didn’t really have answers to any of Ronnie’s questions. Stanley had once called them rhetorical questions. Maybe Stanley was right, whatever rhetorical meant. Herb had called in sick three days in a row, so he supposed Ronnie was entitled to ask a few rhetorical questions or whatever. Fortunately, Ronnie had been laying into him for about twelve minutes already, so another three or four minutes and Herb should be in the clear again. While Ronnie could certainly offer up a good ass-chewing, he favored intensity over duration, and was usually spent after about fifteen minutes.
“I’ll bet you haven’t even talked to the other cooks or preps about switching shifts, have you? Oh no! Not King Herbert the Third! Not His Royal Herbness! You just decree that you need to work nights instead of days and the rest of us are just supposed to scurry into line and make it happen. Oh Your Majesty! Of course we’ll be able to accommodate your request. We exist to make everything work for you! That’s all we live for!” Ronnie snorted into the phone, his disdain a palpable thing oozing through the plastic receiver. “Of course you haven’t checked. A pea-brain like you wouldn’t ever consider that somebody else might be adversely affected by your whims.”
Ronnie’s silence was a challenge, one that Herb had historically met with meek apologies and placating gestures. This time, though, Herb was ready.
“Actually, I made some calls since I was, um, home sick and all. Anyway, I talked to all the guys and the prep cooks and I think we’ve got it sorted out pretty good. Bill was getting a little tired of working the overnights, so he’s fine with going to mornings. The other guys are plenty happy about having a set schedule instead of rotating hours, too. And the prep guys will hardly have to change a thing.” A threatening silence roared from the other end of the line. Taking a deep breath, Herb forged ahead.
“Bill’s also gonna take over stock orders since he’s on Wednesdays. He’s pretty excited about it, and is having his mom set up an Excel spreadsheet to keep track of everything. I also set up a call-list with a rotating back-up for every shift. That way, if someone ever isn’t able to work their shift, there’s a go-to guy for coverage. I even put the preps into the rotation in case a head cook can’t be in for a full shift, and they were completely cool with it. Actually, the preps like that it gives them a chance to work toward a promotion.” Herb took one last deep breath. “So you have standard daily shifts with 24-7 coverage, overlapping prep shifts to cover the busy times, a designated backup for every shift so you’re never left short-staffed, and a career path for your preps.”
After the torrent of words, Herb fell silent and listed to the steady breathing of Ronnie on the other end of the line. Ronnie breathed for what seemed like a very long time, while Herb tried not to squirm.
“You re-did the schedule?”
Gulp. “Yes.”
“And all the shifts are covered, with everyone’s consent?”
“Yes.”
“And the preps are on-board with this too?”
“Uh huh. Pretty excited actually.”
“And this magical schedule, where exactly would I find it?”
“Actually, I was feeling pretty ok early this morning, so I swung by and put a copy in an envelope on your desk. Manila. Envelope. It’s kind-of a dark yellowy color...”
Ronnie cut Herb off with a sharp, “I know what color manila is. Hold on.”
There was a sharp clack as Ronnie slapped the phone down. Herb, sank back into his couch, wondering if he had maybe over-stepped his bounds a little. When Jerry had said he assumed Herb was working nights since he was asleep during the day, it seemed like the most natural solution to a lot of problems. Being a vamp was cool and getting cooler every day, but he was house-bound from sunup until sundown, and still needed to pay the bills.
The night after Jerry had come by looking for Lady, Herb dug up the crumpled copy of his work schedule and smoothed it out on the kitchen table. Ronnie put it together every month and it was always a bit of a nightmare. Names were crossed off and added almost at random. Some shifts were two or three hours, others were ten hours plus. As Herb considered the schedule, pieces just started falling into place. Pulling out a bent-up notebook and a pen, Herb had set about making some changes. Most importantly, Herb only had night shifts.
“Son of a bitch, Herb. You did this?” Ronnie was back and actually sounded not pissed.
“Ah, well. Yes. I mean, I had to check with the guys, but yeah. I pretty much mapped it out and put it together,” Herb offered, a rare spark of pride kindling in his chest.
Ronnie gave a slow whistle. “Herbert, maybe all these years I’ve underestimated you. Probably not... but just maybe. Truth be told, this is a fine schedule. A damn fine schedule.” Ronnie chuckled. He actually chuckled. “I guess someone that can put together such a well-oiled schedule maybe does have a slight understanding of the importance of our work here. And I think this could work...” Ronnie suddenly and loudly cleared his throat before continuing. “Of course, I’ll need to make a few adjustments, just to make sure we have the coverage we need. The pieces gotta fit you kn
ow...”
“Oh they fit! Um, I mean. I, well. I think they fit pretty good. But you’re right. Um. Sure, I mean. Yes, you should definitely tweak it a little. I mean,” inspiration struck, “I just learned scheduling from watching you all these years. You always did such a good job, I thought I’d maybe see if I could figure out how you did it. So. Um... Yeah. Do I still have a job?”
Herb fell silent again as Ronnie breathed. Finally, Ronnie grunted into the phone. “You guarantee, you swear that you’ll be on time for these new shifts of yours, and not miss any shifts anymore, back-ups and call lists be damned?”
“Absolutely! Sir. Um. Ronnie. Sir. I definitely guarantee and swear and promise.” Herb had launched off the couch to his feet with excitement.
“Well then, I guess that’s that. We’ll see you on Sunday. And if we don’t, you’re a dead man.” And with that, Ronnie ended the call.
Chapter 23
Herb sat back on the sofa and dropped the receiver beside him. He was ungodly tired, but had forced himself to stay awake until he could talk to Ronnie. After calling in sick all week, Ronnie had been pretty pissed at Herb. This new truce was tenuous at best, but at least Herb still had a job. He had enough problems without having to worry about how to pay his bills.
Since Helen, the cravings for blood had slowly taken over his every waking thought. Tuesday night, the whispers had been a distraction, but one that he could still push aside, like a sore ankle you favor but still walk on. He had worked on the schedule for Ronnie’s, watched some late-night infomercials, and dressed up his dirt bed in the cellar with some green and gold sheets and his favorite pillow. If that was where he was going to be sleeping, he might as well be comfy. When he woke Wednesday night, the whispers clamored like metal pails full of rusty bolts being swung around the inside of his skull, and his intestines curled into knots. Desperation pushed him outside, where he tried hunting in the woods again. Quickly nabbing a grouse, he bit, sucked in a feathery mouthful, and immediately spat the blood out. Like curdled half and half, a mealy apple, cold cheese curds, it would’ve been edible, but not pleasant. Apparently his farmhouse buffet was a dietary exception, not a rule. Now that he’d fed on human blood, the thought of drinking an animal was revolting.
Herb stomped back to his little home in the woods, slamming the door behind him. He was hungry, but there was no way he’d be able to stomach the same meal that had satiated him just a few nights before. He wanted human blood. After some careful thought, Herb realized that planning a meal was now considerably more challenging than just dialing up a pizza. He wasn’t about to start stalking locals into dark corners and drink their blood. That just seemed rude. No, Herb might be famished and half-crazed with the whispers, but he would have rules. Sure he was hungry, but he’d learned from Helen that he didn’t have to kill anyone. He could just take what he needed and then put the whammy on them. No harm, no foul, no awkward missing person pictures on milk cartons.
A plan started to rise up and take shape. It had to be someplace secluded. Even if he could whammy his dinner, he didn’t think he could whammy a room full of people. And it should be someone from out of town, or at the very least someone he didn’t really know that well from Trappersville. Which would be tough, since Trappersville wasn’t exactly a megapolis. So, a stranger would be best. But where to find an easy-to-bite stranger? There wasn’t really a section in the classifieds for that.
Herb started to make a list of places people might be on a Friday night where he could get in and out without drawing too much attention. Someplace that would appeal to a tourist, or folks with actual places to go that had the misfortune of getting stuck in town for a night. He grabbed a notepad and pencil and started jotting down some options. Stein’s and the Bay City Bowlers were definitely off limits. Too many people knew him and he couldn’t risk bumping into Dallas or Stanley. If something went awry, he needed to be anonymous and able to make a quick getaway. The grocery store? Closed. Same for pretty much all the places down on Main Street. There were those cabins a ways down the highway on the outskirts of town. But this time of year, folks with cabins were doing daytime stuff. Fishing, tubing, hiking and whatnot. If anyone was out and about at this hour, they’d be sitting by a campfire. Kinda hard to creep up on a group sitting around a campfire, bite someone’s neck and make a clean getaway. But there was that little roadside bar out past the cabins. What was it called? Weasel’s? He’d been there once or twice when Steinknockers was too busy and they couldn’t get a stool, but it was a little too far outside of town to be convenient, especially when the usual drive home was under the influence. But Weasel’s had potential. Dark, small, set back from the highway and only a handful of yards from the woods that bordered the back.
Herb settled back into his chair, face screwed up in thought. It could work. He could go out old Route 2, leave the Pinto parked in the tree line a mile or so from the bar. He knew that he could easily run that far in a short couple of minutes, especially with a belly full of blood. So he’d park, cut through the woods, find a place to lurk...
Lurk? Really? I have to lurk? Herb was feeling bad enough about planning the whole excursion. Realizing that there was lurking involved just about pushed him back into the woods to look for a rabbit. But the gritty dirt and feather taste of grouse was still in his mouth. If getting some honest to goodness human blood meant he had to lurk, so be it.
And so it was that Herb found himself on his first hunt. After creeping to the edge of the tree line near the back of Weasel’s, he’d nearly leapt from the bushes ooga-booga style multiple times, only to be driven back into hiding by self-consciousness more than fear. What if he screwed up? What if they laughed? What if he couldn’t find a vein and had to bite someone three or four times?
Finally, after a couple of pep talks and whacking his own forehead to try and quiet the whispers a bit, Herb made his move. The unsuspecting meal-to-be was a middle aged man. He looked like a pleasant fellow, not too tough, not too wimpy. As his first real victim, Herb wanted to make a good impression. For whom, exactly he wasn’t sure, but he felt it was important to make a good choice. Herb watched closely from the shadows as the man stepped out the back door of the bar, lit a cigarette and moved to the edge of the light pushing half-heartedly against the dark. He inhaled, exhaled, sending twin plume of smoke of out his nostrils. Inhale, exhale.
“Um, hiya.”
The man jumped back and coughed out a lungful of smoke in surprise. Herb gave an embarrassed smile. “Oh, sorry about that. So, um...”
Shocked by his own speed, Herb struck, grabbed the man’s shoulders, stared straight into his eyes and concentrated.
“Don’t scream. Don’t panic. Just, um. Relax. Nothing to worry about, ok den?”
Face gone slack, the man’s head dipped, rose in sluggish assent.
“Oh. Well, that’s good. Very good. So I’m, ah. Well. Gonna bite ya, ok? But not hard. Well, I mean I guess kinda hard, but I’ll be careful. And I’m just gonna take a little. Just a sip, really. Then I’ll like heal your neck right up and whammy you and you’ll be a-ok.”
The man’s brow creased, like he was thinking about something exceptionally complex. Slowly, eyes still trapped by Herb’s stare, his head shook minutely from side to side.
“Whadaya mean no? I’m hungry!” Herb implored with a bit of a whine. Glancing around quickly to make sure they were still alone, he pressed on. “Seriously, this is gonna happen. And you got nothing to worry about. Look,” Herb opened his mouth to proudly display his fangs. “See? They’re really sharp, so you won’t even feel a thing. Heck, Helen... Oh, you probably don’t know Helen. Well, maybe. You been to Steinknockers? Or maybe Nekked’s?” A slack, vacant gaze gave no indication one way or the other, so Herb assumed he probably hadn’t.
“Well, she’s the first person I. Um. Ate. Drank? Anyway, she actually kinda liked it. Sorta like a really intense hickey. Not like it’d be like that with us. I mean, this isn’t. That was... wow. But I’m not. I�
�m just really hungry is all. But you’ll be fine, I promise. I don’t kill people. At least, I haven’t yet.” The vacant eyes refocused slightly on Herb’s and a thin sheen of sweat broke out on the man’s forehead. Herb could feel the man’s shoulders tremble in his unyielding grip.
“Oh crap. I’m not doing this right.” Herb took a deep, calming breath, and the man inhaled. Herb slowly exhaled and the man did too. “OK. You just relax and this’ll be over in no time.”
Herb looked deep into the man’s eyes and willed him to stay calm, stay quiet and felt the tremors subside. He leaned in, tilted his head. The man didn’t move, completely enthralled by Herb’s whammy. Herb pulled back, tilted his head to the other side, leaned in. Still not able to get a good angle, he settled back. “You aren’t gonna make this easy, are you fella. So, um. Could you like tilt your head to the side a little? Like this?” Herb demonstrated, tilting his head to the side, ear toward shoulder. Like a marionette, the man’s head mirrored Herb’s. Satisfied he’d be able to get a good bite in, Herb politely reminded his meal to stay put until he was done. Stretching his mouth wide, Herb leaned in, applied a little pressure, felt his fangs pierce skin, go deeper into the vein. Quickly sealing his lips around the flow of warm blood, he drank, swallowing faster and faster to keep up with the steady pumping of blood. The warmth coursing through him made him realize suddenly and fiercely how cold he’d been. But now, fire raged through his veins. Raw power sparked in his throat, burned through to his toenails. He wanted more, wanted it all.
A faint grunt brought him back to the moment. The man was starting to sag and Herb realized he should probably stop. Should definitely stop. Should pull his fangs out and stop. Right. Now.
And he stopped. As he stood panting, rivulets of delicious blood dripping down his chin, Herb thought stopping a runaway semi with his bare hands and a pair of flip-flops would’ve been easier. But barely heard over the roar of the whispers clamoring for him to feast, rend, tear, devour was Herb’s promise to the man. He promised the man that he would be ok. Promised he wouldn’t hurt him, and definitely wouldn’t kill him. He had promised. Shifting his weight back, he slid his fangs out, pulled his head back. A quiver ran through him from the crown of his scalp to the tips of his toes. “Whoah, that was good.” Herb suppressed another shiver as he fought to contain the hurricane inside.
Monsters in the Midwest ( Book 1): Wisconsin Vamp Page 12
