Gazillions of Reptilians: A humorous paranormal novel (Freaky Florida Book 7)

by Ward Parker

  As usual, the community was buzzing with activity at 10:30 p.m., which was not the case with any human retirement village, that’s for sure. The pickleball courts were busy with doubles matches. The shuffleboard courts were occupied. Pale vampires in bathing suits crowded the pool.

  They didn’t make the slightest effort to hide their nocturnal lives. They had grown too confident they wouldn’t be discovered.

  First, Affird rang the bell at the condo of Oleg Kazmirov.

  “Good evening, Detective,” Oleg said at the door. “How can I help you?”

  “Do you have a few minutes? I have some follow-up questions about the militia.”

  The Russian vampire nodded grimly. It looked like he had wrongly believed his militia problems were behind him.

  Affird walked in and looked around. The front door had a normal locking doorknob and a simple deadbolt. A battering ram should make quick work of it.

  “Have a seat, Detective,” Oleg said as he sat in a wingback chair.

  “Thanks, but I won’t be long. Have you had any further contact with the militia?”

  “No, sir.”

  Affird made note of the master bedroom’s location. He glanced inside it to see the layout. No coffin in here, just a bed. He memorized where it was.

  The key to staking vampires was to catch them unaware. Affird and his tactical team would have to bust into the condo, without knocking, during daylight hours, race to the bedroom, and drive a stake into the creature’s heart before he had awakened enough to fight back.

  Affird had two men whom he trusted to share his secret about vampires and keep the raid secret. He seriously doubted the vampires would report it. But if they did, he would concoct a plausible cover story.

  “Did you speak to Bill Meany after the attack in Alligator Hammock?”

  “No. I was disillusioned by him. Disgusted, actually,” the vampire said in a thick Russian accent. “I only joined the militia because I shared Bill’s love of shooting, and he really wanted me to join. I didn’t want any violence. And Bill, he really lost his mind. He wouldn’t have spoken to me, anyway. He believed I betrayed him."

  Affird didn't ask why Oleg had gone to Alligator Hammock in the first place. When Affird questioned him that night, there had been a mention of a baby dragon. Affird didn’t want to talk about dragons anymore.

  Affird made note of where the vampire’s gun cabinet was in the living room. An antique cavalry sword was displayed on the wall. The vampire might have a handgun in his bedside table. Body army would be required for this raid.

  “Do you know of any future operations the militia has planned?”

  “I’m not aware of any plans,” the vampire said.

  Affird was done here. No more meaningless questions. The vampire didn’t know this yet, but the D.A. was not bringing any charges against him.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Kazmirov. Have a good evening.”

  Next, he visited Sol Felderberg. This vampire was late in answering the door. The television was turned up so loudly, it probably took a while before he heard the bell and the knocking.

  Affird had believed all vampires had superhuman hearing. Not this old geezer.

  “Come in, come in,” Sol said after he finally opened the door. “I’m binge-watching Desperate Housewives of Albuquerque. You ever watch this?”

  “No,”

  Sol plopped down on his couch. Unlike the Russian, this guy really looked like a vampire, with his deathly white bald head and pointy ears. Kind of like the one in that old movie, Nosferatu.

  Affird asked the vampire the same questions he had asked the Russian while he surveyed the condo. Same locks on the front door. The bedroom was pretty weird, though. There was no bed, no furniture at all. Just a stone crypt in the middle of the floor with its lid open.

  A paperback book and reading glasses lay on the floor next to the crypt. It was a vampire romance novel.

  Affird worried the vampire closed the stone lid of the crypt when he slept. He made a note to bring crowbars, just in case, to pop the lid open before staking the monster.

  The vampire was laughing in the living room at the television.

  “That manipulative little brat!” Mr. Felderberg said.

  While he asked more rote questions about the militia, Affird scoped out any possible weapons in the condo. He saw none, but assumed they existed. The only decoration in the place was Boston Red Sox memorabilia. A photo of Felderberg posing in historical clothing next to a horse and buggy was the only exception to the baseball theme. Pretty cocky to hang such an old picture of himself, showing guests how old he really was.

  But Sol wasn’t self-conscious about it. He continued to concentrate on the television program.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Felderberg,” Affird said as he left.

  It was time to visit the supreme leader of the vampires, the president of the HOA.

  He’d been in Agnes’ condo before. It was large and tastefully decorated. There were signs someone else lived here, as well. He asked about that.

  “Maria.”

  “Maria Cavallos? The one who was at the gun battle in Alligator Hammock?”

  Agnes nodded.

  “Is she here right now?”

  “No. She’s out doing whatever young women do these days.”

  “I see.”

  Affird figured she was out hunting. Assaulting innocent humans. She would have to be staked, as well. Two vampires in one condo presented a problem, though. They would have to be staked simultaneously, or the one not yet staked would wake up and attack Affird and his men. He would have to increase his team by at least one more member, so there would be two of them for each vampire in this residence.

  Affird asked his stock questions while he paced around the condo, trying to look like he was wandering aimlessly. Agnes wasn’t buying it. She followed him around, using her quad cane.

  “Are you looking for anything?” she asked.

  “Walking helps me think.”

  “That’s what some people say. At my age, walking only makes me hurt.”

  Affird smiled. She was a charming little lady, but a monster, nonetheless. He looked forward to staking her.

  “Detective, I’ve told you everything about the militia. I hope they disband. Oleg and Sol want nothing to do with them.”

  “That’s good to hear. But I have additional open business here at Squid Tower. Has anyone heard from the nurse, Missy Mindle?”

  “I just saw her last night. She’s doing well.”

  “Did she return the rental van that’s missing?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Was she at Alligator Hammock on the night in question?”

  “I don’t believe she was. You must have seen a different rental van.”

  “And there’s the man who was burned to death upstairs,” Affird said. “That case needs to be closed.”

  “You never picked up the ashes that his neighbor collected.”

  “I didn’t? I must have been too busy.”

  Affird believed from the start that the incinerated man had been a vampire destroyed by the sun. He hadn’t planned to waste time investigating it. The death was merely an excuse to spend more time unmasking the vampires here.

  “Are you working the overnight shift, Detective? It seems awfully late for you to come here with routine questions. I believe you’ll find the overnight shift will suit you well in the future.”

  Affird was noting the bedrooms. The master was normal-looking, though the bed was small and old-fashioned. Two guest rooms were on the opposite side of the floor plan. The one on the right was clearly being used, though the young vampire had almost no possessions.

  The condo had a security system, however. He had noticed a doorbell camera, and an alarm keypad was on the kitchen wall. They would need to raid this unit after the vampire men were staked to lessen the amount of time the alarm was sounding.

  The little old vampire kept following him around. She
was suspicious. You don’t survive as a vampire for as long as she has without being canny.

  “Detective, is there something else you need from me?”

  “Not at the moment, Mrs. Geberich. Thank you for your . . .”

  He was drawn to her eyes. They were fascinating. She had an odd expression on her face, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from hers. They were gray and beautiful, somewhat bloodshot, but still powerful. Intense. And wise, so wise.

  “Detective, you look tired,” she said. “Please sit down.”

  He sat down at the kitchen table without thinking. Sitting down was something he truly needed, wanted, to do. But why?

  The old-lady vampire spoke to him continually in a smooth, mellifluous voice, while her eyes remained locked to his. He listened carefully because what she said was so important. It was life-changing.

  She pulled a chair next to his and sat very close while her wise words rolled over him like water. No, like blood. Like a babbling brook of pure, innocent blood.

  “You’re such a large man, and I am so small,” she said, her face close to his. He never let go of her eyes. “How will I ever drink so much blood?”

  Of course, he thought, she was a vampire. What else would she do but drink my blood? He wasn’t the least bit frightened, just eager to please. He surprised himself by leaning toward her, cocking his head, and offering her the side of his neck.

  He closed his eyes.

  The fangs didn’t hurt that much. In fact, the wounds itched a bit. His heart slowed down and matched the rhythm of her steady gulps. She continued drinking without a pause, while something inside his head buzzed like a cicada, and his breaths grew shallow.

  “Are you going to kill me?” he asked.

  She paused her drinking. “You must die to be reborn to eternal life.”

  He realized this was how new vampires were made.

  “If I die, will I lose my pension?”

  “You won’t be dead. You’ll be undead.”

  The undead detective. It had a nice ring to it.

  That was his last thought before he lost consciousness.

  When he awoke, he lay on his back on the kitchen floor. Something was in his mouth. It was the skinny arm of Agnes, and he was drinking blood from it. He felt very strange. Something irrevocable had changed in him and in his life.

  He pushed the arm from his mouth.

  “What happened to me?”

  “Before I tell you, what is your age?”

  “Fifty-six.”

  “Congratulations, Detective Affird. You meet both criteria to become a resident of Squid Tower.”

  Missy stopped by Agnes’ place to say goodbye before she headed up to San Marcos to continue her investigation. That’s when she learned Agnes had turned Affird.

  It was a huge relief to know he wouldn’t be a threat anymore. But Missy found the living arrangements odd at Agnes’ condo. A ninety-something woman in body years (1,500 in actual years), lived with a twenty-six-year-old newly made vampire woman, and a newly made vampire cop who was fifty-six.

  It was like the concept for a bad television sitcom.

  “Fred will move back to his house,” Agnes said, “once he’s finished his transition. He needs a lot of supervision until then.”

  “Which I never had when I was turned,” Maria said, brooding.

  “Neither did I, dear,” Agnes said. “No one said becoming a vampire was easy.”

  Affird sat on the couch, staring at Missy with zombie eyes. He clearly had much more transitioning to do.

  “It will be so nice having a police officer who understands us and protects our interests,” Agnes said. “Right, Freddie?”

  Affird grunted

  “Maybe he’ll even sell his house and buy a place at Squid Tower. It’s a great place to spend eternity.”

  Affird grunted. Missy was sure she saw a smile crease his fang-creased lips.

  “Ocean view,” he said in a dead voice.

  18

  I’ll Have My Demon Call Yours

  The archives of the Magic Guild of San Marcos were not kept in a Gothic-inspired library of dark, polished wood. Nor were they in a dungeon keep. They were in an air-conditioned self-storage facility next to an industrial park. She followed Wendall’s car there.

  The records Missy sought were in a giant, leather-bound book. Several volumes dating back to the late fifteen hundreds chronicled important rules or decisions handed down by the Guild. They filled several metal shelves that packed the room.

  When Missy reached the section that covered the year of her birth, she scanned the entries, hand-written in elegant cursive with a fine-point fountain pen.

  The name leaped out. “Ophelia Lawthorne. Excommunicated from the Guild on the Ninth of July for activities involving black magic. Banished from the city and county on the Thirtieth of November, never to return under threat of death by stoning.”

  Oh, my. This was hardcore stuff. She flipped randomly through subsequent pages. The entries varied from the seriousness of her mother’s sentence to rules outlawing certain spells or requiring the purity of ingredients in others. Notices of members with unpaid dues. An announcement of an upcoming picnic and raffle.

  Then: “Special meeting called to discuss resurgence of black magic.” Later, a mention outlawing the organization of any subgroups studying black magic.

  The announcement of her father’s death stood out like a bloodstain: “Theodore Lawthorne, murdered by a demon. His infant daughter shall be given by adoption to the nearest kin. The infant’s mother, Ophelia Lawthorne, is forbidden to have custody of the child pursuant to the Guild’s ruling that she is unfit for motherhood.”

  It was like a smack in the face to see the unhappy tidings of her family written in black ink in such stark terms.

  The next entry stated that a demonologist commissioned by the Guild determined the demon who killed her father was Asmodeus.

  On the next pages, mixed in with the mundane listings, were mentions of other demonic activity and additional members of the Guild banished for practicing black magic.

  There was quite a wave of black magic at the time. She wondered why.

  Soon, she came upon a statement that Tommy Albinoni, working as a special investigator, cleared Ophelia Lawthorne of the accusations she was behind her husband’s murder. Who the actual culprit was remained undetermined. It referenced the full report published elsewhere.

  A few pages later, other entries grabbed her attention. Both Tommy Albinoni and Eliza-May Jenkins were excommunicated for experimenting with black magic together.

  Missy thought it odd that the two were mentioned as working together, as if they were a couple. Eliza-May had mentioned her boyfriend had been a rival to Ted. She claimed her boyfriend was dead. What if she was lying and her boyfriend was Albinoni?

  It didn’t say they were banished, however. Further down the page, it said they were taking remedial instruction to cleanse themselves of evil remnants.

  This was after Albinoni investigated Missy’s father’s death. But not long after.

  She looked up to catch Wendall staring at her, leaning against the doorway to the storage unit.

  “How do we know Tommy Albinoni wasn’t involved with black magic when he investigated my mother?” she asked.

  “We don’t know. When he investigated her, his integrity was beyond question. But when we later found out about his secret violation of the magic code, no one went back to double-check his findings.”

  “He could have been in league with my mother, or sympathetic to her, at the very least.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “So, let’s say his report was fabricated or just wrong. It still leaves me where I started: suspecting Ophelia summoned the demon but having no proof of it. Albinoni won’t tell me the truth. I don’t think my truth-telling spell would work on him.”

  “It wouldn’t,” Wendall said with a wry smile. “Not on a wizard of his level.”

  “Who else can I talk
to?”

  “The demon.”

  “What did you just say?”

  “Talk to the demon himself. Who would know better than he? How you’re going to summon Asmodeus is an open question. I can’t help you do that. No one in the Guild could. You’d probably die trying to do it.”

  Missy knew the perfect person to do it.

  Ex-Father Marco Rivera Hernandez had been known as an expert demonologist and exorcist. Unfortunately, he met his match with one demon he tried to expel from an adolescent girl. The demon left the girl but possessed the priest instead. With the demon inside him, Father Marco committed several serious gaffes, including interrupting Mass and desecrating the altar. He once rained poop on a charity golf tournament. Most of the time, the demon did relatively harmless pranks, like taking over the priest long enough for him to say offensive things, before quickly disappearing and leaving the priest to endure the humiliation.

  Ex-Father Marco’s most serious offense while under the demon’s influence was revealing evidence the bishop was embezzling funds from his diocese. For this, more so than the demon itself, Marco was defrocked and excommunicated.

  These days, he worked as a blackjack dealer at a Native American casino.

  Missy once battled a demon who had possessed the garden gnomes of Jellyfish Beach. Ex-Father Marco’s demon identified this other demon for Missy.

  It turned out, of course, that the gnome-possessing demon had been summoned by her mother for a paying client.

  “So, you want my demon to talk to Asmodeus and find out who summoned him to kill your father?” Marco asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “You do know that demons are notorious for lying, right?”

  “Lying to humans. Maybe Asmodeus would tell the truth to your demon. You know, if they hit it off.”

  “He would know the information was requested by a human.”

  “Well, it’s not a perfect plan, but it’s the only one I’ve got.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  It didn’t hurt that the former priest had the hots for her. Missy was guilty of taking advantage of that, but she never manipulated the man. She simply allowed his sinfulness to do its thing.