Special Features: A Deacon Chalk Short Story Collection (Deacon Chalk Occult Bounty Hunter)

by James R Tuck

  “I can help with that.”

  The stool under me fell back with a bang. My hand darted to my empty holster. Dammit. My gun was still upstairs, probably trapped under 500 pounds of dead ogre. I looked around for the source of the voice that had spoken. It had the strangled, buzzy sound of someone who had been huffing helium.

  A tiny fairy stood bow-legged on the counter.

  He was a weird looking little bastard. About eight inches tall and eight inches wide in a round ball of obesity. A tiny fur fez that sat atop a bald head, over beady eyes and a button nose that sank into fat cheeks and jowls. It grinned up at me with a mouth that wrapped halfway around its head, its smile filled with a triple row of sharp teeth like a shark. Pudgy arms and legs were wrapped in strips of reddish gray and white. It took me a second to realize that it had on a suit of rotting meat and fat. It looked like a shaved badger wrapped in bacon.

  And it stunk.

  Like a pot roast gone bad. The sticky, carrion sweet of spoiled meat.

  “What the fuck are you?”

  The little fairy stuck his chest out wide, thumping it with a little fist. “I'm Pamarindo. Name's Bicuspid.”

  Keeping my eye on the wee fella I leaned down and picked up the crowbar. He didn't move, just watched me. I didn't raise the iron bar, but I felt better holding it. “I'm about done with fairies today. You need to explain what you're doing here.”

  Reaching up he pulled the fur fez off his round head. His mouth opened, voice spilling out in a sing-song. His teeth clacked against each syllable. “In accordance with the decree of Her Highness, the Queen of Air and Darkness, Maeve from the time of the Narrow War until the time of the Curled Midnight the Pamarindo are forbidden to kill by their own hand. They may only eat the husk and the hindmost of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. Should anything other than found meat pass their teeth they shall be warded from the world and wiped from all memory. So it is spoken, so mote it be.”

  The tiny creature shook itself head to toe as if coming out of the cold. Jowls shaking, he worked his mouth around and spat on the counter.

  He looked up. “So that's the deal, boss. It's a bullshit rap, but whatcha gonna do? Now, you interested in ditchin these dead guys or what?”

  “Hold up munchkin, let me get this straight. You're offering to get rid of these two assholes for me, is that what I'm hearing?”

  “Them ears aworkin'? That's what I said.”

  My eyes narrowed as I looked at him. “You can't kill anything?” He shook his head side to side. “What are you going to do with them?”

  He didn't say anything. A gurgle rose from him, echoing hollowly from his swollen stomach.

  “There's an ogre upstairs the size of a whole cow. I don't have a month to wait for you to finish up.”

  “Don't you worry about it, boss. I'm just the point man, the negotiator. I got my brothers and sisters waiting for the word. You say it and we'll get this cleaned up in about fifteen minutes.”

  This sounded too good to be true, but I didn't see a catch.

  “Alright Snacky Smurf, but I want every scrap and every bit taken care of. Nothing left.” I pointed the crowbar at him. “If you let me down I'm gonna make a shish-kabob out of you.

  He nodded. “We'll suck the blood out of the carpet, boss. Leave it to us.”

  “Let us clear out before you begin.” I did not want to watch this go down.

  He nodded again. I motioned to Dolly and we stepped out of the kitchen and into the hallway. By the second step it sounded like a hotdog eating championship was happening in the kitchen behind us.

  Dolly faltered. My hand clamped on her arm, pulling her down the hallway, away from the noises. “Let's find your dog.”

  She nodded, straightened, and walked beside me.

  * * *

  The door was locked and Dolly didn't have a key. Didn't matter much, since I had a big ass crowbar. I wedged the end of it into the doorjamb by the deadbolt as far in as I could and then just leaned against it. I didn't even have to push to get the bolt to pop out of the receiver. With a sharp crack! the door swung open a few inches.

  Nails clicking on hardwood floors, Mrs. Penelope Prissypants trotted through the gap. She was cute . . . if you like bug-eyed dustmops. Her little furry head tilted up at me with a look that said 'what the hell took you so long?'.

  Yep, that little dog was an asshole.

  Dolly scooped her up with a squeal and a series of high-pitched baby words that I tuned out. My hand pushed against the door, swinging it open all the way.

  The dog had been locked in the room, easy to find because she'd been barking up a storm. I stepped into the room and flicked on the light, curious as to what the elven ex would keep behind locked doors.

  “Ummm Dolly, you should come in here.”

  “What is it?” The leggy blonde stepped into the room.

  And dropped Mrs Penelope Prissypants to the floor.

  In the center of the room stood a table stacked with Elvish gold. The table bowed in the center from the weight, making piles of coins and bars slip into a jumble. The overhead light beamed down, reflecting off the treasure in a warm, buttery glow.

  Dolly looked like I had just slapped her, mouth open, eyes crazy. “That son of a bitch! I busted my ass for months so we could have a place to live and have food on the table while he sat around all day and got high off cocaine I bought by shaking my ass, doing double shifts four days a week and he had all of this the whole time? If he wasn't dead I'd strangle him!”

  I stepped back out into the hallway, stuck my fingers in my mouth, and blasted a whistle down the hall. “Bicuspid! Get your ass down here.”

  It wasn't even 10 seconds when the little fae strode into the room like he owned it munching on what looked like a fingerbone. Dolly gasped when she spotted it. Then she swallowed a gag and turned away.

  “Whatcha need . . . Holy shit! That's a lot of gold, boss!”

  “Get rid of that thing and then I need you answer some questions.”

  It wasn't bothering me, but Dolly still turned away, hand to her mouth, white as a sheet. The little fairy braced himself, splaying his feet wide and arching his back, making his low-slung belly stick out. Mouth open, he jerked his neck and flipped the top half of his skull back. It opened up like it was hinged, like some obscene little Pez dispenser full of teeth. His chubby arm flashed up and the fingerbone spun in the air lazily making an arc up and then down into Bicuspid's open gullet. The knobby end jutted over his bottom jaw, sticking in the air above his row of teeth. The top of his head snapped back down and the bone disappeared completely. The little faerie bobbed back and forth for a second and shoved his belly around with his hands, working the bone into place. Finally situated, he let out a long drawn-out belch.

  His hands went out to his side. “Tah-freakin-daah. Now what can I do for ya, boss? I'm missing out on all the good parts upstairs.”

  “Tell me about this gold. Is it real or some kinda faerie bullshit that turns into leaves when you try to spend it?”

  “Don't take any gold in the land of Faerie, but if it's out in the world of Man then it's real gold.”

  “Is anybody gonna come try to claim this?”

  He waved a chubby hand. “Nahh, you killed him, it's yours. Right of the conqueror.”

  He seemed sincere. What could his game be to lie?

  “Alright, that'll do. Go finish up.” The chubby faerie turned to go. I thought of something. “Wait.” He stopped and turned again. “Are you going to be around every time I have to drop one of your people?”

  “Tell you what boss, you need another dead faerie disposed of you just say my name and I'll come running.”

  I nodded and the little fella waddled out. I could still see the outline of the finger bone through the skin of his belly.

  Once he was gone I turned to the tall blonde. “I'm going to go upstairs and get my gun. I'll make sure the wee folks finish their clean up and then I'll get out of your hair.”

 
Her hand reached out and grabbed my arm. “Deacon, wait.”

  I stopped.

  “What are you going to do to with the gold?”

  “It's not mine. Do with as you please.”

  “But . . . what? I don't understand. It's your gold.”

  “No. It's not.”

  “But . . .”

  I turned to face her fully. “Look, Dolly, I don't want it. You've put up with whole pile of shit from your ex. I wrecked your upstairs and it's going to cost a ton to fix. Take the gold. Start a new life.”

  Her hand stayed firm on my arm when I went to leave. “Take part of it then. As payment.”

  “No.”

  Her eyebrows slammed together. “What's your damn problem? You earned it. Plus, I can see that you're broke. Your office is a shithole and your car is on empty.” She leaned in close. “Don't be prideful. There's more gold here than either of us can spend.”

  “You have no idea how much it costs to hunt monsters. It would run out eventually.” I shook my head. “Better to not rely on it.”

  “Then take some of it and make it a little further.” Tiny white teeth bit into her bottom lip. “Or, we could do something that would give you an income and me a new life.”

  My voice came out harsher than I meant. “I'm not training you to be an occult bounty-hunter.”

  “Do you think I'm crazy?” She laughed. “I don't know what you do normally, but if this is any indication then there is no way in hell I could do it.” I didn't answer that. “No, I'm thinking of a business we are both familiar with that I can run while you do what you do. We can be partners.”

  “A club? You're talking about a strip club?”

  “Yes! Think about it.” Her eyes were wide and bright. “They make money hand over fist and you can come and go at all hours of the night and no one will think anything of it. It's perfect!” She threw her arms around my neck in a hug that nearly smothered me in cleavage. “I even have the perfect name for it.” She pulled back and planted a big wet kiss on the side of my face.

  “What do you think of Polecats?”

  An opportunity came up to create a trailer for the series, to make what is basically a short film that would sum up the essence and be awesome enough to make people want to try it.

  Well that fell through as things do in such an uncertain industry as publishing.

  But not before I wrote this script.

  BLOOD AND BULLETS TRAILER SCRIPT

  CUE MUSIC: (driving rock or blues song)

  FADE IN: Man sitting at table. Dark room. Close in. Pan camera down from head to hands. Table in front of him has a Colt .45, a .44 revolver, a sawed-off pump shotgun, various bullets, knives, rosaries and crosses. He loads .45 magazine, slaps it home, lifts gun to face, and jacks slide

  Camera tight on man's face but in shadows and hands with gun.

  CUT TO: black screen white writing

  (words can even come up like typed on screen)

  THIS IS DEACON CHALK

  OCCULT BOUNTY HUNTER

  CUT TO: hands loading .44 revolver. Spin chamber when full, flick it closed.

  CUT TO: black screen white writing

  HE'S ALREADY FACED DOWN A HORDE OF SCREAMING BLOODSUCKERS,

  CUT TO: Deacon loading shotgun. Jacking slide

  CUT TO: black screen white writing

  UNDEAD STRIPPERS,

  CUT TO: hand picking up rosaries. Let one fall in fingers to hang down.

  CUT TO: black screen white writing

  AND A 600 YEAR OLD, DRUG-DEALING VAMPIRE PIECE OF SHIT

  CUT TO: black screen white writing

  NOW HE'S ABOUT TO FACE THE MOST POWERFUL HELL-BITCH HE HAS EVER RUN ACROSS

  CUT TO: Deacon putting his guns into holsters, putting his coat on, and picking up his keys

  CUT TO: black screen white writing

  IT'S GONNA BE A HELLUVA NIGHT

  CUT TO: black screen

  F/X: book flies against screen. red writing appears

  BLOOD AND BULLETS

  A DEACON CHALK: OCCULT BOUNTY HUNTER NOVEL

  AVAILABLE EVERYWHERE FEBRUARY 7 2012

  FROM KENSINGTON

  F/X: pepper the screen with bullet holes and blood spatter

  Jen over at the cool blog Not Now I'm Reading did this interview with our favorite chain-smoking Catholic Priest Father Mulcahy and Deacon's sister Kat. It's a good glimpse at the characters during the time of BLOOD AND BULLETS.

  FATHER MULCAHY AND KAT INTERVIEW

  I’m super stoked to have a couple of members from Deacon’s team here today for a joint interview. If you’ve stopped by to visit the blog over the last couple of days, I’m guessing you’ve figured out that I really enjoyed James R. Tuck’s prequel novella and book 1 in his Deacon Chalk: Occult Bounty Hunter series. I couldn’t resist asking James to let me borrow some of his characters for a Q&A session. So without further ado, I’d like to introduce you to Kat, Deacon’s multitasking, tech wiz, organization/research guru (a girl after my own heart) and Father Mulcahy, his chain-smoking, coffee-swilling, foul-mouthed Catholic priest mentor.

  Jen: Thanks so much for stopping by. So, what's it like working with Deacon?

  Kat: Well, I am mostly the back end of the operation. I don't really do much fieldwork. I'm the one who makes sure he has enough silver bullets. I'm the one who makes sure the club stays open so we can afford those silver bullets. Basically, I do all the office work that goes into Deacon's mission. Before I came along he didn't even have a cell phone! Now he has a way to contact us if he needs back up and I handle dealing with our police connection to keep us out of the limelight. Father Mulcahy is the one who is out on the front lines with him.

  Father Mulcahy: (lights a cigarette) I'm out there when he lets me. The boy is stubborn. He tries to do it all. He knows his limitations, but is always trying to push them. Then again, you have to realize why. After what he went through with his family dying he is more than a little...what's the word I am looking for?

  Kat: Relentless?

  Father Mulcahy: He is, but that's not the word.

  Kat: Driven?

  Father Mulcahy: Driven is a good word. That one will work.

  Kat: He is highly-motivated. But there's monsters. Somebody has to do it.

  Father Mulcahy: Yes. But he doesn't have to do it all. Can't tell him that though.

  Jen: I know a few people like that. They can be, uh, interesting to deal with. What 3 words would you use to best describe him?

  Kat: Dangerous, damaged, and kind. I know the man, he's like my brother, but there are times he is really scary. He has done some really, really terrible things while fighting monsters, just things that are so far over the edge. But as harsh as he has been I have never seen him be cruel.

  Father Mulcahy: Those are good ones. He is indeed rough, but noble in his own way. He doesn't see it, but he is. Self-sacrificing. Those would cover it.

  Jen: What's your favorite thing about him?

  Kat: Like I said earlier, I have seen and heard about him doing things that would make a normal person lose their minds but no matter how far over the edge he goes he doesn't hold on to it. He lets it go and keeps moving.

  Father Mulcahy: It still bothers him though. The boy isn't heartless.

  Kat: No! He absolutely isn't heartless. In fact his life would be so much easier if he was.

  Father Mulcahy: True. My favorite thing about Deacon is that he holds to his faith. It is a hard road the Lord has called him to walk and he does. One foot in front of the other. A lot has been required of him and he continues to give it.

  Jen: Looks to me like he’s an incredibly strong person to be able to continue on that path. I don’t know of too many people who could fill those shoes. What would be your least favorite thing about him?

  Kat: He is a stubborn SOB. That man can be the most hard-headed person I know.

  Father Mulcahy: (lights another cigarette) I completely agree with that. And Kat, you don't know the half of it. You should be
on a hunt with him. It's his way or the highway almost all the time.

  Kat: I can imagine! Remember I'm the one who has to clean up the aftermath of a hunt with the bystanders, civilians, and law enforcement. When he's hatched some plan for taking out a monster that is the most dangerous and violent way it can be done then I am the one who gets to tuck it away from public view. I'm like: “Surely there was a less conspicuous way to handle this.” It's even harder when he's right about it.

  Father Mulcahy: He is right most of the time isn't he?

  Kat: Yep, unfortunately.

  Jen: It’s hard to argue with someone who’s usually right. *sigh* Okay so I’ve been dying to know the answer to this next question. Does he ever let you guys borrow his car?

  Kat: (bursts into laughter) You have got to be kidding, right? No way. He loves that car.

  Father Mulcahy: I've driven it. Of course, Deacon was bleeding in the backseat from being gored by a minotaur, but I did get to drive it. It's a nice car.

  Kat: Oh, it's gorgeous. 1966 Mercury Comet fully restored and hot-rodded. She's a beauty. He keeps her in top condition too. Always tuning it up, polishing it, doing something to it.

  Father Mulcahy: The only thing he takes better care of are his guns.

  Jen: *gulp* Gored by a minotaur?! *shivers* I think I’ll save that question for the next interview. Okay Father Mulcahy this one’s for you. What's your weapon of choice?

  Father Mulcahy: Besides the Word of God and the Holy Rosary I like a well-made shotgun. It's simple and effective.

  Jen: I’m a huge fan of simplicity and efficiency. Okay Kat you’re next. What's your gadget of choice?

  Kat: As long as it has web access I can make it work. Smart phone, tablet, PC, whatever. You can't get attached to an electronic device, the things get outdated so quickly.

  Father Mulcahy: There is no classic computer like there is a classic car or a classic shotgun.

  Kat: Exactly.

  You both make excellent points. Thanks again for stopping by to answer some questions and a HUGE THANKS to James for letting me borrow the two of you the interview! And now it's time for some Rafflecopter action...