Hot Blooded

by D V Wolfe

  “Well that’s a crying shame,” I said. Noah stirred and looked at me.

  “What?” He yawned.

  I nodded at the boarded-up windows. “Now where’s the mayor going to go for his tequila shooters?”

  Noah turned his head to look at the building. “It wasn’t like that when we were here last, was it?”

  I shook my head. “Nope, it looks like Prohibition Patty did a flyover.”

  As I was about to turn away, movement caught my eye. There was a bright pink piece of paper stapled to the boards over the window, fluttering in the light breeze. I guided Lucy to the curb.

  “Bane, there’s no parking here,” Noah said, nodding at a sign sticking out of the concrete sidewalk.

  “It’s a good thing we’re just passing by then,” I said. I kicked my door open and got out, not bothering to close it behind me. The paper was ripped, only the top half remaining secured to the boards. It was printed in black ink. “Come fill your cup with good works at The New Covenant Church, 667 Cypress Ave. Every evening at 7pm, Sundays at 8am and 7pm.’ There was some kind of symbol on the ripped edge of the flier. A curved line with a dot under it. I jerked it off the board to study it.

  “Uh Bane,” Noah called from the truck. I looked over at him. “We’ve got company.” Sure enough. A cop car was easing up behind Lucy.

  “Aw crap,” I sighed.

  I recognized one of the men in the car as the deputy that looked like Art Garfunkel from the last time we were here. The other was dark-haired, wearing aviator shades and a baseball cap. He curled his lip back as he looked at me.

  “Evening,” he said. “Is there something we can help you with?”

  I shifted my hand holding the flier behind my leg, while I scratched my head with my other one.

  “Just sight-seeing,” I said with a smile as I slipped the paper into my back pocket. Then I braced my hand on my lower back, trying to make it look like I was just stretching. “You know, end of the day after a long car ride. Thought I’d just pull over for a minute and stretch my legs.”

  “You’re in a No Parking zone,” Garfunkel said, his pre-post-pubescent voice cracking slightly.

  I feigned surprise. “I didn’t notice, I’m sorry officers, I’ll just be moving along now.” Something was definitely wrong. Noah, Stacks and I had busted out of the police station the last time we were here. Garfunkel had been a part of our arrest. And yet he didn’t seem to have the faintest idea of who we were. I crossed to Lucy, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, at least not at the moment, and I had my hand on Lucy’s door when the dark-haired officer spoke.

  “You really shouldn’t be hanging around a place like this anyway,” he said, nodding at The Rowdy Hole.

  I turned to look at the building, feigning innocence. “Oh really? Why’s that?”

  The man curled his lip again and took his shades off, pinning me in place with dark eyes. “It was a den of iniquity. People see you hanging around here and they might get the wrong idea,” he spat.

  “Good to know,” I said, trying to give the man a smile. I gave them a little wave and climbed back into Lucy. The men just stood next to the cop car, watching as we motored away.

  “Holy Fuck!” Noah said. I looked over at him and saw he’d buried his face in his hands.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I was sure we were going back to the slammer,” Noah said, raising his head. “I mean that one deputy was there when we were arrested the last time we were in town. How did he not recognize you?”

  I let that question hang in the air as we approached Messina Estates. A newer trailer was sitting on Stacks’ lot.

  “Nice new digs,” Noah said.

  “You should compliment Stacks on it. Especially on how it smells like a new car,” I said.

  Noah narrowed his eyes at me. “Whenever you start a sentence with ‘you should’ it’s always a trap.” Noah turned to look out at the trailer. “What’s wrong with the way it smells?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. Stacks is just neurotic.”

  “Well, I knew that.”

  I turned down the Jeep trail that led into the woods that ran parallel to Messina Estates and parked Lucy behind a stand of trees about a half-mile from the main road. Noah turned to me and raised an eyebrow.

  “No harm in being careful,” I said. “Just in case not everyone around here was struck with the same amnesia that our friend Garfunkel was.”

  Noah nodded and got out. I slid the .45 into the back of my jeans and covered it with my shirt.

  Noah rolled his eyes, watching me. “If we get arrested, I don’t know you.”

  “Again,” I said. “Just a precaution in case Stacks’ neighbors are on the demon PTA.” Noah stopped walking and I turned to look at him. “What?”

  “You think the demons are here? In Messina?” Noah asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know what’s here, Noah, but Stacks said the symbol was in Messina ‘in a big way’ and the authorities seem to be acting a little Twilight Zone-y. Better safe than sorry.” Noah was creeping along beside me and I blew out a sigh. “Ok, if we walk out of these woods looking suspicious, we’re going to be even more noticeable.”

  Noah straightened up and looked at me. “I’m not looking suspicious.”

  “Noah, you’re creeping.”

  He gave me an annoyed look. “Fine Bane, you walk in front and I’ll just copy you, how’s that?”

  I sighed. “Just act normal. Act like we were just out for a walk in the woods or something.”

  It got better after that. Noah still kept swinging his head around, trying to look in every direction at once, but at least he wasn’t hunched over and creeping along like some cartoon villain.

  We crossed the white rock gravel of the trailer park, past a dozen other trailers in various levels of upkeep, and stopped in the open space in front of Stacks’ trailer. It was a space for him to park in, if he’d had a car and if he knew how to drive.

  We surveyed the house in silence for a few seconds.

  “Well,” Noah said. “After you.”

  “Uh-uh,” I said. “We’re here as a favor to him. He can walk his happy ass out here and show us where to step and where not to. As fun as it sounds, I don’t think stepping on a landmine and being sprayed all over the county would be a good use of our day. We’re on a tight schedule.” It was only partly true. We needed to keep hunting, but I also wanted the Duke to come find me so I could shiv his ass with the sword. Then there was Sister Smile and Joel. Well, first things, first. I flipped my phone open and called Stacks. I heard it ringing somewhere in the trailer. After the sixth ring, it went to voicemail. “Maybe he’s in the can,” I said.

  Noah rolled his eyes. “Without his phone? I know you’re out of the loop on a lot of things, Bane, but people don’t go to the can without their phones these days.”

  I snorted. “What a great time to be alive.”

  “Hi, guys.”

  I jumped and my hand was at my back, reaching for the .45. Noah let out a shriek and bolted forward a few feet. He caught himself as soon as his mind reconnected with his body, realizing he was inches away from diving into Stacks’, most likely booby-trapped, front yard. I had the gun in my hand and pivoted to look off to our right. There was a stand of tall weeds that marked the edge of the wilderness from the Jeep trail creeping up on the white gravel of the lot. And hunched down in the stand of weeds, was Stacks. He was wearing army surplus fatigues and a black bandana around his head. Stacks’ black hair was slicked back and his black plastic-framed glasses were held together on the sides by electrical tape.

  “I was about to give you a new orifice for your birthday,” I spat, flicking the safety back on the .45 and returning it to my jeans. Then his outfit really sunk in. “Just coming back from a costume party?”

  Stacks narrowed his eyes at me. “No, I’m under observation.”

  “As you should be,” I said. Stacks turned away from us, and the trailer, and heade
d back towards the trees and the Jeep trail. I followed him and I heard Noah walking behind me, kicking rocks.

  Stacks led us on a trail through the trees that came out next to the dirt Jeep trail, but much closer to the road. “This way,” Stacks said. Noah and I followed him and I could hear Noah trying to suppress a chuckle behind me. We stopped about a hundred feet later behind two big evergreens. “What?” Stacks asked, looking at Noah who was almost purple, trying to hold in his laughter.

  “You look like Rambo’s dorky brother, Ronald.”

  Stacks gave him the finger. “Why were you two so close to Messina, anyway?” Stacks asked. “If you were at Rosetta’s it should have taken you longer to get here.”

  “We were on a hunt,” I said. Stacks’ eyebrows shot up his forehead and disappeared into his hairline.

  “And you left it to come here?” Stacks asked.

  I shook my head. “No, it was a rinky-dink cursed object.” I moved over to the truck and pulled out the pink fanny pack.

  “Someone cursed that thing?” Stacks asked, eyeing the pack.

  I rolled my eyes. “No, it’s what’s inside the pack. I need you to scrub it.”

  “Fine, bring it with you,” Stacks said.

  I held the fanny pack out to him. “Here, just take it for now. We’ve got other crap to carry. You can just snap it on. I’ve got a duffle bag…”

  “I’m not wearing that thing,” Stacks said. “Fanny packs are for dorks.”

  I surveyed Stacks’ Rambo-want-to-be ensemble and raised an eyebrow. He ignored me. “Fine,” I said, snapping the pack on.“Now tell us why we’re here. Where’s the symbol?” I asked.

  “Follow me,” Stacks said. He led us down a ten-foot slope and moved between two trees. He paused, bent over, and began shifting broken tree branches and brush, uncovering the opening to a drainage tunnel.

  “Uh Stacks,” I said. “Are you off your meds?”

  Stacks gave me a dirty look. “Look, there’s a camera on the top of that light pole in front of my trailer, pointed at my front door. This is the only way to get in and out now.”

  “Won’t it have just seen us?” I asked. “I mean, we were right in front of your house.”

  “Bane,” Stacks said. “It’s literally pointed at my front door. You two were about thirty feet in front of it.”

  “Why don’t you just disable it?” I asked.

  Stacks shook his head. “They’d know I was on to them. Right now, it just looks like I’m not home. As long as we can keep that charade up, they won’t come looking.”

  “Who is they?” I asked.

  “Not here,” Stacks hissed. “Now shut up and get in the pipe.”

  “So you finally took the plunge and moved into the sewers like your childhood turtle heroes?” I asked, trying to remember the name of the cartoon Stacks was obsessed with.

  “What?” Stacks said. “No, this is an old drainage pipe that wasn’t removed when they built the lot for the trailers on top of it. I’ve been excavating it for the last couple of weeks. It goes directly under my trailer.”

  We crawled along the pipe, me in front, Noah behind me, and then Stacks bringing up the rear after he re-covered the opening of the pipe. The pipe was dark and after the fifth time that I crawled through a puddle of sludge, I stopped warning Noah and Stacks behind me and instead enjoyed their sounds of disgust as they slogged through it. There was the outline of a large square cut in the top of the pipe ahead, dim light filtering in around the edges.

  “I’m guessing that’s home?” I asked Stacks.

  “Yeah,” Stacks’ voice echoed behind me. “Just push up.”

  The square lifted up and I recognized the underside of a trailer, completely enclosed on three sides. I pushed on the bottom square panel of the trailer floor and felt the trap door swing up and open. I was eye to eye with a stack of pizza boxes and I knew we were in the right place.

  “Wow,” I said once we were all sitting in Stacks’ new living room. The windows were blocked from the inside by cardboard and the single bulb he’d left in the overhead fixture was barely enough light to make out his face. The carpet was stained and the room was filled with stacks of files, paper, computer parts, take-out, and pizza boxes. “It looks like you’ve been pretty successful in breaking in the new digs,” I said. “Looks pretty much like the old place. What’s your secret?”

  “Clean living,” Stacks said, smashing a spider that was skittering across the top of the stack of pizza boxes next to him. He looked around the room. “And Craigslist.”

  “Ok,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  Stacks blew out a breath and his chest seemed to collapse a little as he leaned forward. “So about six months ago, this new preacher, Malcolm Simpson, came to town.”

  I nodded. “I think we saw him having words with Sheriff Orville when we were in the clink.”

  Stacks visibly shivered. “God, I’d forgotten about that. Yeah. That was back when I just thought he was a little zealous.” I was already hating where this was going. “He was the minister at the First Church of the Nazarene down on Maple, but I heard around town that he was really starting to piss off the oldest members of that congregation and they wanted him out. So the preacher took over the old church building down on Cypress. It had been empty for the last year or so. He got it cleaned up and gave it a new name. The town didn’t seem to mind, except that he basically split the Nazarene congregation. More than half of them moved over to his New Covenant Church. Some old members stayed at Nazarene and tried to hold it together, but they’ve been losing members to New Covenant ever since and so have all the other churches in the area. There were letters to the editor, asking the paper to pull his column. There were two city council meetings I know of, that ended with fistfights because three of the members of the city council are either members of the old Nazarene congregation or members of the New Covenant congregation.”

  I glanced over at Noah who was resting his head on his fist, staring at Stacks with his eyes out of focus. I wanted to tell Stacks to get on with it, but I knew that would only prolong his explanation. Like Nya, he was a fan of theatrics. “After that, things started getting a lot more like The Departed around here. From what I’ve been able to see, he and the other elders in that church, run it kind of like a crime family. Anyway, it all seemed psychotic, but kind of harmless, until the bodies started stacking up.”

  “Bodies?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Stacks said. “And I completely avoid going anywhere near Cypress now because the kids who live down there have all started walking around in buttoned-up polo shirts and khakis. And instead of playing at the skatepark, they’re going door to door handing out fliers and browbeating people into going to that church.”

  I pulled the ripped flier out of my back pocket and handed it over to Stacks. “Fliers like these?”

  Stacks unfolded the paper and looked it over, nodding. “Yeah, did you have a run-in with one of them already? You just hit town.”

  I shook my head. “No, we stopped by The Rowdy Hole on our way over.”

  “Yeah, that’s a damn tragedy,” Stacks said. “It was the only decent place to get a drink in this town. And from the looks of it, the owners just left town. Disappeared.”