The Wolves of Third Clan

by Matt Rogers

  Chapter 26

  The final leg of our trip was driven in relative silence because everyone was considering what Nat bestowed upon them, I say relative silence because…

  “Trudy?” I whispered to the delectable red-head sitting next to me in the back of the pickup truck.

  “Yes?”

  “What happened to Yin and Yang?”

  “We don’t really know.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No, Johnny, we don’t. After the Great Purge…”

  “The great what?”

  “The Great Purge. The time we recognize when Yang and Merri Li killed a hundred Vampires.”

  “They killed a hundred?”

  “Maybe, we don’t really know the exact number but a hundred’s a pretty good estimate.”

  “Wait a second. Didn’t you say the other Vampires offered Yang a mate in exchange for killing Merri Li?”

  “Yes and no. What I said was the Vampires in First Clan made Yang an offer they thought he couldn’t refuse and, technically, they were right.”

  “What was the offer?”

  “If he conspired with them to kill Merri Li he could have any Vampire he wished.”

  “And he agreed?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, this is where it gets a little murky because those who were present haven’t really been forthcoming with their knowledge and…”

  “Hold on.”

  “Yes?”

  “Haven’t been?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said ‘haven’t been’; it implies they’re still around.”

  “Yes.”

  “What? They’re still alive?”

  “Oh, sure, why wouldn’t they be?”

  “Because it was like two hundred years ago or something.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “There are Vampires around who were alive when Yin and Yang were around?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Quit saying that.”

  “Saying what?”

  “Saying ‘uh-huh’ like it’s an easy concept to grasp.”

  “But it is, Johnny; we Superiors live the lifespan we were designed to live.”

  “What lifespan is that?”

  “About two-thousand years, give or take a hundred.”

  “Two-thousand? Are you kidding?”

  “No, why would I?”

  “I don’t know why, but it sounds pretty incredulous.”

  “Why?”

  “Because people don’t live that long.”

  “Sure they do. Well, they don’t now but they did and still could if there were no disease.”

  “What are you talking about? People live like, what, a hundred years if they’re lucky?”

  “Yes, now they live a hundred years but it wasn’t always so. In fact, there’s written proof man can live a thousand years or at least come close to it.”

  “Huh?”

  “Abraham, he lived eight hundred years.”

  “What, the guy in the Bible?”

  “Yes.”

  “But it’s just a parable isn’t it?”

  “Johnny, ask yourself, in all the holy texts where did they ever get specific?”

  “Um, when they talked about God.”

  “No, they didn’t. They never gave any specification as to what God looks like did they? The closest any of them came was the Christians who said Jesus was made in the image of God. What’s an image, Johnny?”

  “A reflection?”

  “No. it’s a vague term used to describe something which resembles something else. It’s purposely used to emphasize what is being discussed is not, in reality, an exact representation of what it’s supposed to reflect.”

  “Huh?”

  “The Holy books are vague. They’re written as stories and parables so modern man can relate them into his life. It would be foolish for a text to be written in such a way future generations could not do so and the Holy books are not foolish.”

  “But, you just said they were vague.”

  “Yes, they were vague in order to get their point across; Follow these rules and eternal salvation can be yours.”

  “So, how does that prove man can live a thousand years?”

  “They were vague in virtually every subject of menial importance except age, Johnny, in that they were pretty specific.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Why would one write a book explaining the meaning of life and start out by describing a lifespan the readers would immediately reject as impossible?”

  “I don’t know, to prove a point, I guess?”

  “What point?”

  “That man used to live a long time?”

  “They could’ve used three hundred years. In fact, they could’ve used any number of years under the eight-hundred mark and been more readily comprehensible to the reader at the time but they didn’t, they stuck with their eight-hundred years and the readers believed them. Do you know why?”

  “No.”

  “Because they inherently know they were meant to live longer.”

  “Oh.”

  We drove along in further silence until I remembered…

  “Trudy?” I whispered.

  “Yes, Johnny?”

  “What did Abraham living eight-hundred years have to do with Yang’s decision to murder Merri Li?”

  “Nothing, it was merely a point I made to prove Humans could, and should, live longer.”

  “Oh… Trudy?”

  “Yes?”

  “What happened to Yang and Merri Li?”

  “Well, the Vampires made Yang their offer and he agreed to it. He brought Merri Li to a secluded garden and waited for the Vampire to arrive…”

  “Which Vampire?”

  “The Vampire assigned to sneak up behind Merri Li and remove her head.”

  “Oh, that Vampire.”

  “Yes, that Vampire. So anyway, Yang did as he was bidden and waited until the Vampire assassin was right behind Merri Li and then…”

  “Hello, my friends.”

  “Holy…!” I screamed.

  “Hello, Nat” the others said.

  … the floating head of Nat Hollowed appeared on the inside of the front windshield of the truck.

  Religion has always been fascinating to me because I don’t really know where I stand on the subject. Now, down there in the Lone Star State they generally follow the Judeo-Christian form of observance but it doesn’t mean they don’t allow others to practice what they preach; heck no, they let them believe whatever they want as long as it doesn’t involve cutting the heads off chickens or other kinds of foolishness except rattlesnake worship, I guess, because they’ve got themselves a downright weird set of individuals who practice some kind of snake-worshiping and every once in a while one of them gets bit which gets on the news and makes everyone look like a bunch of insane snake-herding cowboys picking up their God and poking it with a stick. I don’t know where those people got the idea a rattlesnake was anything other than an avoidable creature but they did and they make the nightly roundup every time their slithery Demon-God sticks his fangs in their skin.

  “I found the information you were looking for, Trudy” said the floating head of Nat.

  “Oh?” the lovely Vampire responded.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What did you find out?” she asked.

  “I’m guessing the very thing you suspected, Mistress.”

  “What? What did you suspect?” Phillip asked while turning his head around to get a better look at his mate.

  “I suspected we knew who Steve was the whole time.”

  “Huh?”

  “It seemed a bit of a coincidence we’d somehow let our clients get involved in a Pyramid scheme which would eventually come back to benefit us.”

  “Oh, so did we, Nat?” asked Phillip.

  “Yes, Phillip, you did. You employed Steve as a land surveyor for a few years before his Pyramid s
cheme took off.”

  “Crap” said George.

  “And did he ever survey the land for us?” asked Trudy.

  “That, I cannot tell you, Mistress.”

  “Why? It’s in our records so it should be accessible to us.”

  “Because you’re no longer in possession of your occupation, Mistress, so the information is now not readily obtainable.”

  “That’s okay, Nat, I’ve got a pretty good idea what happened.”

  “Really?” asked Phillip.

  “Yes” she responded.

  “Then could you tell me because I don’t have a clue what’s going on” I said.

  “Thank you, Johnny, because neither do I” Phillip declared.

  “Let’s play the detective game!” chirped Vivian in her utterly adorable enthusiastic manner.

  “The detective game?” I asked.

  “It’s a game we play to see if we can get our heads together, look at the clues and determine a possible outcome” said Trudy.

  “It’s a horrible game, Johnny” grumbled Phillip.

  “I love the detective game!” exclaimed Vivian.

  “Okay, what do we know so far?” asked Trudy.

  “We know the Ramos family has possession of our occupation…” said Phillip.

  “Got it!” yelled Vivian.

  “What, already?” asked Phillip.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But…? I just…” said Phillip.

  “Okay, Vivian, go ahead and tell us” said Trudy.

  “But…?” stuttered Phillip bewilderedly.

  “Okay, we’ve got two pieces of land, both with oil under them and one prison sitting on top, right?” said Vivian.

  “Yes” replied Trudy.

  “We employed Steve as a land surveyor before he built his Pyramid scheme, right?”

  “Yes”

  “Then obviously we had Steve do a land survey otherwise he wouldn’t have requested the sonar survey”

  “Um, sorry for butting in, but…?” I said.

  “Yes, Sweetie?” asked Vivian.

  “Why would it be obvious you had Steve do a land survey?”

  “Because of the sonar survey. It involves some pretty expensive equipment and you don’t request one unless you have proof there might be something underground which needs discovering.”

  “Oh, and you think Steve discovered something during his land survey?”

  “I know it, Sweetie.”

  “How?”

  “Because there’s a big prison ringed with oil wells pumping out his discovery this very minute.”

  “Oh, yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

  “Now do you know why I hate the detective game, Johnny?”

  “Yes, Phillip, I do.”

  “Okay, so he requested the sonar survey and that’s why we’re in the position we are today” the blonde Aphrodite finished.

  “Huh?” I said.

  “You see, Johnny, the game makes no sense” said Phillip.

  “Why would his requesting the sonar survey put you in the position you are today?” I asked.

  “Because of who did the sonar survey, Sweetie.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Who did the sonar survey?”

  “Can you tell us, Nat?”

  “No, Mistress, I may not.”

  “That’s okay. Nat, how many sonar survey companies are registered in that county?” asked Vivian.

  “Three, Mistress. Sonar Incorporated, Sonar-Survey Incorporated and Land Surveyors Incorporated.”

  “Oh crap” said George.

  “What, George?” I asked.

  “Land Surveyors Incorporated” he said.

  “What about them?” I replied.

  “Who’s listed as the majority owner of Land Surveyors Incorporated, Nat?”

  “There’s only one share holder, George.”

  “And that is?”

  “The Ramos family.”

  We were driving down the stretch of Interstate 35 which was now called only Interstate 35 because, I guess, Mr. or Mrs. Stemmons didn’t do enough to earn the double moniker on the whole piece of grey asphalt and it no longer carried the added extra title of Interstate 35 East because somewhere about forty-five miles south of Waxahachie, Interstate 35 East merged with interstate 35 West and became just Interstate 35. Yep, not only do the freeway-namers give one roadway two names; they also, in their infinite wisdom, give two roads one.

  “George, how fast are you going?”

  “I don’t know… ? Um, let’s see; ninety-five.”

  “What’s the speed limit?”

  “Ooh, I know” Phillip said while raising his hand.

  “We’re not in class, Phillip.”

  “So, do you want the answer, Johnny?” Phillip asked.

  “Sure.”

  “It’s seventy.”

  “Uh-huh. So why are we blowing past the number like it didn’t exist, George?”

  “Because speed limits are stupid.”

  “Seriously? That’s your answer; because speed limits are stupid?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, first of all speed limits can’t be stupid because they don’t have brains and, secondly, they were put in place to keep crazy people from killing sane people with insane driving.”

  “But there’s no one on the road?” he said while passing six cars.

  “No one…? You just passed a bunch of…?”

  “They didn’t count.”

  “What do you mean they didn’t count?”

  “They didn’t count. They were all bunched up like a school of fish or a pod of whales or something so they don’t count.”

  “What? That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “Yes it does.”

  “Phillip, did that make any sense?” I asked.

  “Um, what part , Johnny?”

  “Phillip said he didn’t think it made sense either, George.”

  “No he didn’t.”

  “Well, he would’ve after he thought about it.”

  “Then let him think about it.”

  “Think about what?” Phillip asked.

  “Never mind, Phillip. Okay, so if you just ignore speed limits then what’s to keep everyone from doing it?”

  “Engine size.”

  “Engine size?”

  “Uh-huh. Some of those vehicles out there couldn’t beat a go-cart off the line.”

  “So as long as you have a big enough engine you can just drive as fast as you want. Is that your line of reasoning?”

  “Yep.”

  “What about traffic tickets?”

  “I don’t get them.”

  “What do you mean you don’t get…?”

  And right then, as if on cue, a highway state trooper flipped on his lights and came tires a-spinning from the cozy little nook which had been his ambush-in-waiting site for impatient drivers with eight cylinders or more of dead-dinosaur burning fuel rushing through their injection ports.

  “Okay, execute Operation Ticket-Master!” George ordered.

  The vivacious Vivian slithered over the console separating the two front seats, grabbed the wheel from George and began steering at the same time George somehow managed to get his bulk off the driver’s seat to change locations with her. As soon as they’d finished both Phillip and Trudy did the exact same sequence of events leaving me sitting between two smiling behemoths while the loveliest ladies I’ve ever seen sat in front.

  “May I help you, officer?” the blonde of dreams said.

  “Do you know how fast you were driving, Ma’am?”

  “I’m sorry officer, I’m taking my two brothers and their friend home to Austin and I need to get me and my sister back to our massage parlor.”

  “Your massage parlor?” he asked while ogling the two women of seduction and charm.

  “Yes, we do Swedish massages and foot rubs and, oh, other massages I can’t seem to remember right now. I’m sorry; I get a little nervous around men in uniform.”

&
nbsp; “Please don’t be nervous.”

  “I can’t help it. I need get the boys home and us back in time to heat up the bathing pool.”

  “The bathing pool?” he asked and I swear I could hear his heart begin to race.

  “Yes, it’s something my sister thought up. You see, me and her oil up and get in the bathing pool so we’re all nice and hot then we have our customer get in so we can begin easing his tension.”

  “And does that… uh… work?” he queried with sweat flowing down his forehead.

  “It seems to officer. We haven’t tried it on a policeman yet, but… Oh! Would you like to give it a try?”

  “Yes!” he actually yelled.

  “Okay, is it all right if we go then?”

  “Yes, but where is your massage parlor? I could be there by…”

  I never heard the last of the young law enforcer’s question because before he could finish Vivian had floored the accelerator and we left him standing there, mouth agape, in the sweltering Texas heat dreaming of body rubs and bathing pools.

  “That’s why I never get speeding tickets, Johnny.”

  “Yes, I can see that, George.”

  Austin is a cool town. It’s probably the most artistic town in Texas when it comes to music and it’s known for nightclubs. Named for a great man who must’ve done great things to have the greatest state in the greatest country name their capitol after him, Austin is both eclectic and laid back, rich in tolerance and low in sensibility. It has a small-town vibe with big-city money because two very important institutions call Austin their home; the University of Texas and the money-grubbing elected officials which make up the State Legislature.

  “George, where are we going?”

  “To the University.”

  “Why?”

  “We want to find out a few things before the Judgment tonight.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, little things, like why the State would agree to place a reformatory on someone else’s land and let a private, for-profit company run the place for starters.”

  “Why don’t you ask Nat?”

  “Because what we’re looking for won’t be written down in any books.”

  “It won’t?”

  “Nope.”

  Austin is home to the greatest institution of higher learning in the entire universe; the afore mentioned University of Texas. Now, I’m sure a lot of other universities believe they have a claim to the title ‘Greatest University in the Universe’ but they’re wrong. Oh, they might have a better Law or Business Management program but, hey, what are those things really worth in the long scheme of life?

  LOT’S OF MONEY.

  That’s right, other than occupational success, not so much. But the University of Texas has what all others wished they had; the greatest college football team in the universe. Uh-huh, that’s right, the University of Texas Longhorns. Burnt orange in color, fierce on the battlefield and boasting some of the hardest warriors their high schools could artificially graduate. They’ve got pride, they’ve got tradition and they’ve got the best darn mascot who’s ever trotted out on the playing field; a big old bull of a steer they like to call Bevo. Horns ten feet wide and eyes the color of steel this massive bovine strides out of the locker room after giving his impassioned pre-game speech and takes his rightful place in the end-zone daring… JUST DARING!... the opposing team to try and put the pigskin over the line.

  “George?”

  “Yes, Johnny?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To Sixth Street.”

  “But I thought you wanted to go to the University to get information?”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “George?”

  “Yes, Johnny?”

  “You missed the exit, didn’t you.”

  “Yes, I missed the stupid exit! Are you happy? You got me all worked up over the stupid speed limits and I missed the stupid University exit!”

  “George?”

  “What, Johnny?”

  “You just missed the Sixth Street exit.”

  “Son of a…!”