by James R Tuck
Deacon is not real.
He's not.
This is a piece I did for Book Monster Reviews. It falls between SPIDER'S LULLABY and BLOOD AND SILVER. It's a little bit of fun.
META
Picture if you will a coffee shop.
It's a normal coffee shop, lots of tables and uncomfortable chairs, warm aroma of expresso, giant chalkboard on one wall filled with silly answers to a silly question in multi-colored chalk, and a handful of people working on their laptops, or listening to music devices, or texting, or (gasp!) talking to each other.
In one corner sits a man, frappe drink in one tattooed hand, a book in the other. He fills the chair, straw of his drink disappearing in a thick, silver-shot goatee. At his elbow are a pad and pen.
This is James R. Tuck and he is an author.
The door opens. In strides another man, thick tattooed arms swinging at his side, booted feet clomping on the tile floor. He stops inside, scanning the room. A tension slips out of his shoulders as he sees that everyone in the room is human.
Ladies and gentlemen, meet Deacon Chalk, Occult Bounty Hunter.
He nods at the man in the corner and moves to the counter. While he orders, James shuts his book, slips it into the bag at his feet, and picks up the pen.
Deacon gets a drip coffee and makes his way over to sit.
James R. Tuck: How do Mary Sue?
Deacon Chalk: You know I hate that shit.
James: (grins) You'll be alright. You flyin' solo today?
Deacon: Yep, you just get me. How's the family?
James: Good, real good. The Missus is good, her book's coming along. The Daughter's off to college in a week. The Son's in 10th grade and still being cool. He's kosher now, so that makes the Missus happy. The dogs are still a pain in the ass.
Deacon: Good to hear.
James: You should come by, you're welcome to dinner anytime.
Deacon: (forcefully) No. (Takes a sip of coffee) I mean, thanks for the invite, but I don't think I could do that.
James: (waves his hands) Sorry. I wasn't thinking. I know it's still tough since.... well, I just should've thought before opening my mouth.
Deacon: No harm. You intended well.
James: So, how are things on your end? How's Father Mulcahy?
Deacon: Crotchety as ever. (chuckles) He's still having some trouble with his leg after that shitstorm with Appollonia, but he's doing better, still tough as hell.
James: Kat?
Deacon: She's good. Keeping the club in top shape. Truthfully I haven't seen much of her other than the club and in passing. She's been helping Larson get settled.
James: He's still around? How's that working out?
Deacon: Kat set him up in a place. He's learning to cope with the chair. I haven't really talked to him since he got out of the hospital, but she says he's doin' alright.
James: Now for the twenty thousand dollar question: How are things going with Tiff?
Deacon: What do you mean?
James: How's her training going?
Deacon: It's going well. She works at it. Sometimes she doesn't seem to take it as seriously as it should be taken, but she's coming along.
James: She doesn't take it seriously because you keep her shielded from the real dangerous stuff?
Deacon: She's not ready for the really bad shit I get to deal with.
James: Will she ever get ready if you hold her back to keep her safe?
Deacon: You're thinking too much. It's like you're a fucking writer or something.
James: (laughs) Okay, change of subject, sort of. How are things going with Tiff?
Deacon: She's a friend.
James: That's all you have to say?
Deacon: She's a good friend. And that's all I have to say.
James: Fair enough.
Deacon: Your turn. How are the book sales going? Kat said the checks from the publisher are pretty good.
James: They're doing well, folks love the stories. The publisher is pleased as hell, I'm happy, and your cut helps you keep fighting the good fight. Speaking of, (leans in with pen to pad) I can't wait to hear what the latest adventure has been.
Deacon: Well, let me tell you about this asshole named the Kensai I just had to deal with. Wait until you hear this. It's some unbelievable shit.
One of my favorite blogs: I Smell Sheep asked me for a recipe. They wanted the ingredients and cooking methods needed to create a Deacon Chalk.
They're a little odd over at I Smell Sheep but I like them.
RECIPE FOR AN OCCULT BOUNTY HUNTER
2 Cups of Southern Gentleman
1 Liter of Big Damn Hero
A GENEROUS Handful of Testosterone
Equal parts Death Wish and Devout Catholicism until Full Gallon
6 ounces of Righteous Anger finely chopped
¼ Cup of Gunpowder
100 hours of Tattoo Ink
4 heaping Tablespoons of Alpha Male
5 Shots of Bourbon
4 Quarts of Angel Blood
300 Pounds of Badass
4/3 Cup of Sarcasm
Okay, today you're cooking Southern style, so screw the apron and put on a comfy pair of jeans and a black t-shirt and turn up some good-old raw and rough Delta-style blues for a soundtrack. Got your mojo hand workin? Good for you, let's go.
Take your 2 Cups of Southern Gentleman, 4 heaping (and when we say heaping we mean let it mound up until it spills over the sides like an avalanche) Tablespoons of Alpha Male, and your 100 Hours of Tattoo Ink and pour them into the 300 Pounds of Badass.
Stir vigorously and set to the side. Mix will continue to set while you work.
Take first shot of Bourbon. (You should have bought better Bourbon.)
Take your equal parts Death Wish and Devout Catholicism and pour into large pot on HIGH heat. Cover and let simmer.
Take second shot of Bourbon. (Actually, that Bourbon's okay.)
In a pan on medium heat add the 1 Liter of Big Damn Hero. Bring to a low boil and toss in the 6 Ounces of Righteous Anger. Scatter over with the handful of Testosterone until the entire thing is cover. DO NOT STIR. Reduce heat and wait while Righteous Anger melts into nice sploogey bits and Testosterone forms a smooth crust.
Take third shot of Bourbon. (Yep, this Bourbon is just fine.)
Okay, return to the now settled 300 Pounds of Badass that you filled earlier. The mix should be set now and ready for the rest. Everything moves quickly from here. Use your oven mitts, things are gonna get hot.
Turn the pan with the Big Damn Hero/Righteous Anger/Testosterone reduction upside down over the Badass. Let it all fall out of the pan and into the mix.
Slam the fourth shot of Bourbon. (Say, you can really pick a good Bourbon!)
Fold in all 4 Quarts of Angel blood. It may crackle and pop, but that's normal at this stage, just be careful.
Using your mitts remove the Death Wish/Devout Catholicism mix from heat and pour into Badass. This mixture will never stop boiling and will permeate the entire dish.
Sprinkle liberally with Gunpowder and Sarcasm.
Take fifth shot of Bourbon and enjoy your meal! (Best Bourbon ever!)
Charlotte the Were-spider has been a huge hit. I knew the second I began to write her scene that she was something special. It's nearly impossible to not love her. She's been in two of the three novels so far and was the focus of a novella. This is an early interview with her that appeared at the blog Laurie's Thoughts And Reviews.
It's the first of two interviews with her that you will find here.
INTERVIEW WITH CHARLOTTE VALE
Q: Thank you for coming to answer our questions. We truly appreciate your time.
Charlotte Vale: It's no problem at all. I'm an open book.
Q: I understand you are settling into a new home here in Ga. How is that going?
CV: It's going well. I have a few roommates who also found themselves uprooted and left with nowhere to go after the Appollonia incident, but we have a nice h
ouse that we rent and it is becoming home.
Q: So, everyone wants to know, what is it like working with Deacon Chalk?
CV: Well, it's never dull I will tell you that! I love Deacon to pieces, but truthfully, I don't have any desire to be an occult bounty hunter like him. He can have that job. I will stick to being a school teacher so I can curl up at night with a good book and a cup of tea.
Q: What kind of books do you read?
CV: I like a nice book with a bit of humor. I just finished I FEEL BAD ABOUT MY NECK by Nora Ephron. It was terrific. Those are the kinds of books I like. And books by Joshilyn Jackson, she's marvelous.
Q: So is your tea a special kind of tea? Something only a Were-spider would drink?
CV: Oh Lord no! I eat just what you would eat, no difference. I don't crave bugs or anything just because of my other form.
Q: That's good to know. Do you change at will or only when you are angry? Does the moon have anything to do with it?
CV: I can change at will. I also am lucky that my change isn't debilitating. I have friends that shapeshift and when they do it is a terrible experience. Mine is easy and natural, really no more painful than a few small cramps. And the moon has nothing to do with my change. Most other spiders are unaffected by the moon, that seems to be a warmblooded mammal characteristic of lycanthropy.
Q: Well that's good! It must make blending into society easier. So let me get right to the gossip part of the interview, what's the story with Longinus?
CV: He's the immortal keeper of the Spear of Destiny.
Q: And?
CV: He's a very kind man, especially for one that is over two thousand years old and lives off blood.
Q: Is he a vampire?
CV: Not like you mean, no. He lives off blood because of his curse, but he's not a vampire. Him and vampires have a . . . complicated history.
Q: You were seen in his company before he left town, do I hear wedding bells?
CV: (Laughs) No, not at all. Longinus and I did become . . . close before he left, but I can't be tied down to one person.
Q: Interesting. If you can't be tied down to Longinus, then does this mean that you and Deacon . . . ?
CV: Me and Deacon? No! I love the man to pieces after what he did for me, and we are becoming good friends, but together? No, it would never happen. Besides, I wouldn't want to have to go toe to toe with Tiff over that.
Q: They do seem to be getting close.
CV: That they do. We go out sometimes as friends and the looks that pass between them . . . it's enough to make your stomach flutter.
Q: Well, thank you so much for your time Charlotte. I look forward to seeing you again.
CV: Thank you for having me. It's been fun!
This little story takes place between chapters 9 and 13 in BLOOD AND BULLETS. It's a fun piece that gives you a tour of Polecats, a bit of insight into Kat's character, and a lot more into Tiff's. Because the Deacon books are so damn first person, if Deacon doesn't know something then neither do you as a reader. This is your opportunity to “peek behind the veil” and see what happened back at the club while he was off tracking down Gregorios.
This story originally appeared at the awesome blogs Dark Faerie Tales and All Things Urban Fantasy as part of their Deadly Destinations event.
TIFF'S FIRST DAY
"Can I help you?"
The door opened just enough to show a thin strip of the woman that opened it. A girl-next-door face, a handful of crosses over a death metal band shirt, jeans, and the scuffed toe of one Doc Martens boot were all that could be seen.
"Hi. My name's Tiff. Deacon Chalk sent me over to see someone named Kathleen."
The woman in the door looked her up and down, then stepped back and motioned Tiff inside. Shutting the door behind them, the woman locked it with two deadbolts and a bar latch. Her thick ponytail swung as she worked the locks, pocketed the key to them, and turned. Her hand went out.
"I'm Kat, not Kathleen, the manager here. Deacon called and told me you'd come by." Kat looked at her. "I didn't expect you until later."
"What can I say?" Tiff smiled. She shrugged her shoulders and reached up to flick hair out of her eyes, hair dyed black with electric-blue tips. "I'm a go-getter."
Kat grunted.
She started walking into the club, leaving the foyer by the front doors. Tiff followed, watching Kat walk, not looking at her ass, but at the sleek, black gun that rode in a holster on the blonde's generous hip. Her eyes were pulled away as they stepped into the main room of the club. The lights were still down but the place looked like it had been ransacked. Chairs knocked over, small round tables pushed here and there and then elsewhere.
Glasses and bottles sat on every table, on the bar by the side wall, and around the stage that dominated the center of the room with brass poles at each end. Most of the cups were half full or more. She was used to the mess left in a club after hours, there were always a ton of bottles and cups scattered around Helletog, but this was different. This looked like there had been a room full of people who had been kicked out.
A priest with a cigarette stood beside the stage tossing the bottles into a large garbage can.
Kat walked her over. "Tiff, this is Father Mulcahy, he's our bartender. Father, this is Tiff, she's new."
The priest took a long drag on his cigarette then flicked it into the trashcan. Smoke curled out of his nostrils, framing a heavy face. He stuck out a wide hand and smiled. "Nice to meet you, lassie."
Tiff took the hand. It was hard and rough in hers, covered in callouses not gotten from praying the rosary.
"Are you a real priest?"
He chuckled. "Absolutely."
"I've never heard of a priest who tended bar in a strip club before."
"I've led an interesting life."
She eyed the shotgun that lay on the stage beside them, well within reach of the priest. "I bet."
Kat motioned with her hands. "Come on. I'll give you the nickel tour."
Tiff said goodbye to the priest. He smiled and lit another cigarette. She followed Kat as she walked toward the back of the club.
"We're not a strip club."
"Oh. I thought..."
Kat shook her head, ponytail swaying. "It's okay, a lot of people do, but we aren't. We're a bikini bar for lack of a better term. The girls dance, but don't get undressed past bathing suits. Deacon said you wouldn't be dancing."
"I could, but I haven't, not professionally at least."
“It's fine, it's not required. I don't dance.” Kat opened a door, holding it while motioning Tiff through. “Most of the girls who do used to be full-nude exotic dancers. It's what they know, it's what they're comfortable with.” She kept walking through the room. It was a long room with a few couches that looked soft and plush. A pile of 6, 7, and 8 inch heels lay jumbled by the door. There was a vanity and several bookcases filled with books. In front of the couches were electric, shiatsu foot massagers.
Kat talked as she kept moving. “This is the backstage area. The girls stay here when they aren't on the floor. They relax, read, and talk. Actually they talk most of all.”
“Where are the girls? It's early still.”
“All of them got sent home. We closed early.”
“Because of the stuff at Helletong?”
“Because of the stuff that led up to the stuff at Helletong.” They passed through another doorway to a tiled kitchen. It was small but all the equipment was modern and industrial, stainless steel and glass and chrome as far as her eye could see. “This is the kitchen. Order anything you want while you are on shift and Henry will cook it up for you. If he's not here feel free to raid the fridge. There's always plenty of food. Deacon likes to eat.”
Kat started up a set of stairs that were at the end of the kitchen. They topped the landing and kept walking. At the top of the stairs on the left was a room that held a large conference table. A windshield-sized screen was mounted on the wall. On it was a picture of her boss.
&nbs
p; Ex-boss.
“Conference room. “ Kat said as they walked by. They passed another narrow hallway on the right with two doors. “The closest one is storage for cleaning products, paper towels, trash bags and the like. The one at the end is off limits.”
Tiff nodded even though Kat wasn't looking at her.
Twenty paces further was a large room. The walls were lined with steel cabinets. Each door had black letters stenciled across them.
HOLY WATER AND CROSSES
PISTOLS
BLADES -12”
BLADES 12”-36”
CROSSBOWS
AMMUNITION
. . . and many more. A long metal table stretched from one end to the other, surrounded by chairs. Tiff stopped just inside the door, taking it all in. Kat stepped up to the table and picked something up from it. When she turned around she held a rosary in one hand and a loaded pistol in the other.
“You said your name was Tiff right?”
Tiff nodded.
Kat held up the pistol. “Do you know how to use one of these?”
“My dad used to go hunting and my brother was in the reserves.”
Kat arched an eyebrow. “I didn't ask about your father or your brother. Do you know how to use a gun?”
“I haven't shot one since I was about thirteen.”
“That's a no.” Kat laid the gun on the table and leaned against it. Her foot caught a chair and kicked it out toward Tiff. Tiff stopped its slide and sat, smoothing her plaid skirt underneath her thighs. Kat crossed her arms. “Are you comfortable with guns?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Dancing isn't required here, but knowing how to use a gun is.”
“I noticed you wear one and Father. . .McCarthy was it?”
“Mulcahy.”
“Father Mulcahy had that shotgun downstairs. And Deacon had several, but I remember he carried a gun when I first met him.”
