The Summoning

by Bentley Little

  He stood next to his cruiser in the Basha's parking lot, looking out over the forked intersection of 370 and 95. The afternoon was hot, and the highways were crowded, the gas stations and the parking lot of the Circle K filled with campers and motorcycles, boat and jet ski trailers. People from the Valley. Weekend warriors. Most of them would be off-roading. A few might even decide to stay in the area and spend the day at the river.

  With a sinking feeling, he tried to imagine what would happen if a man or woman or, worse yet, a child from Mesa or Tempe or Phoenix, was found lying in the brush, drained of blood.

  Robert stared at the mini-traffic jam on Highway 370 immediately in front of the shopping center. He felt as though things were out of control, and he was at the whim of events he could not influence. There was no way in hell that his men could keep tabs on everyone. They could only hope that there were no attacks. No deaths.

  He'd ordered all policemen on duty today, Saturday, and Sunday to eschew the usual ticketing of minor violations and concentrate instead on preventative law enforcement: making sure that high-risk areas of the town and surrounding desert were adequately patrolled, keeping track of anyone or anything suspicious. Rossiter had told him that attempting to keep tabs on recreationers was a fool's errand, but despite what the FBI agent said, Robert felt obligated to try. This was his town, goddammit, and he couldn't be expected to stand around and wait for someone else to get killed without trying to do something,

  Earlier in the week, he'd told his men to cooperate with the feds, but his manner must have spoken louder than his words because that cooperation had been grudging at best. He was sure that someone, somewhere down the line, was going to piss and moan about his attitude, and as he stared at a line of brake lights and listened to the sound of angry car horns, he wondered if there would be repercussions. His job certainly wasn't in danger--the town's police force and the FBI ran on different tracks in regard to personnel matters--but he had no doubt that Rossiter, could drown him in a shit storm of bureaucracy. Hell, maybe he would be better off if his job was taken away. It would force him to get out of this town and do something with his life.

  Robert waved to Mona Payne, who passed by on her three-wheeled bike.

  Once again, he thought of the rtunor a few years back that satanists had been meeting by the river. He'd heard the story from Garden Teague, not the world's most reliable source, and he'd put the old man's account of robed figures, bonfires, and ritualistic chanting down to the DTs. If Garden had seen anything, he reasoned, it had been some high school football players trying to score with their dates around a campfire, and it was only his inebriated mind that had cast it in such a

  Now he was not so sure.

  He knew that the rumors had never entirely gone away, and that people other than Garden Teague believed them. On slow nights, he and Frank Teller had made occasional trips out to the river, just to check out the situation. They'd never found anything, had never even come across the smoldering remains of a campfire, but he found him serf wondering now if perhaps Garden had really seen something. Maybe there were a group of satanists in Rio Verde who were into human sacrifice and blood drinking. It was certainly more plausible than the idea that a vampire was running around loose.

  Vampire? ..... Robert ran a hand through his thinning hair, took another look at the traffic, then got into his cruiser, started the engine, and waited for a break between vehicles to speed across the highway. He cut through the dirt alley on the side of the Dairy Queen and turned right on Copperhead, pulling into the parking lot of the public library.

  As usual, the place was empty. Mrs. Church, the librarian and the only other person in the building, was sitting behind the front desk reading a Sue Grafton novel. The only noise was the faint sound of an air conditioner.

  People in Rio Verde didn't read much, Robert knew. They weren't illiterate, Mrs. Church had told him once, they were post literate They knew how to read--but books simply were not part of their lives.

  Robert wasn't sure he agreed with her, but the fact remained that aside from a core group of senior citizens, the only people who consistently used the library were students with report deadlines.

  It had been a while since he'd been in here himself, but when he opened the door and stepped inside, it was like stepping into a familiar home---his grandparents' perhaps so strong were the emotional echoes and sense of belonging. As always, the comforting odor of books was mixed with that faint lemony scent of furniture polish he'd never encountered anywhere else. On the walls were posters for the library's summer reading program, the Reading Olympics. The same posters had been used for the past thirty years. He remembered winning a bronze medal in the summer before sixth grade for his vacation yea ding efforts. Rich had won a gold medal. "It's been a while, Robert Carter."

  He looked up at Mrs. Church, who had put down her novel and was smiling at him. He nodded sheepishly, feeling like a ten-year-old in the presence of the old librarian. "You haven't been in here in quite some time."

  "I've been buying my books," he said to defend himself.

  She laughed, and her laugh wasn't intimidating at all. "I wasn't criticizing you, Robert. I know you and your brother both read."

  He stepped across the shiny waxed floor to the front desk, boots echoing on the tile.

  The librarian stood. "You want some books on vampires, don't you?"

  That was one thing he'd never gotten used to: Mrs. Church's ability to know, before you asked, why you'd come in here and what you wanted. As children, he and Rich had speculated on that subject. Rich's theory had always been that their mother called ahead and told the librarian what books the two of them were interested in that week. But, Robert had argued, why would their mother go to such lengths? It made no sense. He'd thought it was some form of ESP.

  "Yes," he said. "Vampires."

  "It's a popular subject this week. I'm not sure we have any books left. Why don't you check that middle aisle in back of the card catalogue. Top shelf, right side. We have our nonfiction volumes there. I assume you're looking for nonfiction?"

  "Yes."

  "Check there."

  In all of his visits to the library over the years, Robert could not remember ever having used the card catalogue. Each time he had wanted a book on a particular subject, or even a specific work, Mrs. Church had always told him exactly where to go.

  He walked around the dark wood of the catalogue and stepped into the middle aisle. Sure enough, all of the volumes were gone, only an empty space where they should have been. He quickly scanned the adjoining shelves, on the off chance that the books had been put back incorrectly, then poked his head around the corner of the aisle. "Do you have anything else on vampires?"

  "There is general information in encyclopedias and reference books, and we do have a few overviews of the supernatural that would no doubt have information on the subject. Hold on a minute. Let me check. Maybe one of those books has been returned. I haven't looked in the bin this morning."

  He walked back around to the front desk, and Mrs.

  Church emerged from the back room beaming, four books in her hand.

  "Here we go. Because of the popularity of this subject right now, I've given these books a three day checkout time instead of the usual two weeks."

  Robert grinned. "You expect me to bring these back in three days?"

  "You'll be fined if you don't, Robert Carter."

  His grin withered under her stern gaze. "Sorry," he said meekly. "I was just joking."

  She smiled. "So was I. You havea two-day grace period." She winked at him. "You think I don't know you by now?"

  Robert glanced at the titles of the books: The Vampire: His Kith and Kin by Montague Summers; The Vampire in Legend, Fact and Art by Basil Copper; The Book of Vampires by Dudley Wright; The Vampire: Monster and Metaphor by Eugenia de Sprague He handed Mrs. Church his library card. She stamped two date cards, placed them in the pockets of the books, and handed everything back to him. "Is this s
udden interest in vampires personal?" she asked.

  "Or professional?"

  Personal. I guess."

  "But it might be both?"

  He nodded. "It might be both."

  She smiled at him, but there was a hint of worry in her smile this time. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

  "I hope so, too," he said.

  On his way back to the station, Robert stopped by the newspaper office.

  Rich was in the paste up room, carefully placing black border tape around an ad at the bottom of one of the pages.

  "Another big issue," Robert said, glancing at the layout, of the front page on the nearest light table. "Let's hope it's the last." Rich cut the border tape with an X-acto knife. "Anything new I should know about? We don't put the paper to bed until Wednesday. There's still time to rearrange the front page,"

  "We'll see what tonight brings." Robert sat down in the metal folding chair next to the waxer. "Who's the babe?" Rich frowned. "The babe?"

  "The Oriental chick at Corrie's desk." Robert leaned back until his head was against the wall and the chair was resting on two legs.

  Rich shook his head. "That's Sue Wing. I just hired her on as a production assistant and part-time reporter. Her family owns the Chinese restaurant."

  Robert grinned. "Anything going on here that I should know about2"

  "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response." "I just thought that since she'd taken over Corrie'sjob here at the paper, she might be taking over some of her other duties too."

  "Jesus, sometimes you can be a real asshole."

  Robert laughed, setting the front legs of his chair back on the ground.

  "Hit a nerve, huh?"

  "No. She's a nice girl, and I don't want you talking behind her back.

  You're the police chief, for God's sake. Haven't you ever heard of sexual harassment?"

  "Heard of it." You'll hear more of it... Robert stood. Seriously.

  Aren't you going to introduce

  US?

  Rich put down the X-acto knife. "If you can behave yourself and pretend to be a human being."

  "I'll try." He followed his brother out into the newsroom. Sue looked up as they approached. She was pretty, Robert thought. In their younger days, they both might're made a play for her.

  "Sue?" Rich said. "This is Robert, my brother, our esteemed chief of police."

  She smiled shyly. "Hello."

  Hh Robert said.

  "Sue, our reporter-slashphotographerslash-production assistant, was the lone student in my aborted journalism class."

  "Whatever happened with that?" Robert asked. "Did Pueblo ever pay you? What's the deal?"

  "We worked out an arrangement. The class was canceled, but technically Sue's still enrolled because she's earning credits for her work experience here. So, technically, I'm still her teacher."

  Robert chuckled. "Fill out an application at Taco Bell," he said to Sue. "You'll make a heck of a lot more than you will as a reporter."

  She smiled at him. "I'm in it for fame, not fortune."

  "You'll get more notice at Taco Bell too. And more respect." "He's just jealous," Rich told her. "Ignore him." He turned to his brother, motioned toward his desk. "Come on, let her get back to work, have a seat over here."

  "I have to get a move on myself." Robert nodded at Sue. "Nice meeting you."

  Rich followed his brother around the partition, past Carole's desk, through the front door. "That's what you stopped by for?"

  "Actually, I've been getting quite a few complaints the past couple days about Wheeler's church. People there on Arrow say they don't like all that hammering and racket going on all hours of the night." "That's understandable."

  "I talked to the man, gave him a friendly warning, but it was like talking to a wall. He had that damn phony smile plastered on his face, and he kept nodding and agreeing with me, but he didn't listen to a single thing I said."

  "What do you want me to do, write an article about it? I'll tell you right now, I'm not taking on a church."

  "No, that's not it."

  "You want my advice? Get him on noise violations. Throw his butt in jail." .

  "Rio Verde has no municipal codes coveting noise, hard as that may be to believe. When there's a loud party or something, we usually just issue a warning and things quiet down. If the situation gets too rowdy, we can usually crack down and cite other violations. But Wheeler knows his laws. I suspect he's skirted enough of them in his time to know where the borders lie. He can build all night if he wants to, hammer from dusk to dawn, and he knows it."

  "So?" "

  "So, to tell you the truth, I thought maybe you could get Corrie to talk to him.,"

  "You can forget about that right now."

  "He won't listen to her?"

  "She won't listen to me."

  Robert sighed. "I thought I'd give it a shot. With everything else collapsing around my damn ears, I thought maybe I could take the easy way out and solve the problem with a minimum of hassle. I don't want all those fanatics picketing the station because Jesus told them to build their church, and I told them to keep it quiet after dark."

  "Well, I could try to talk to Corrie"

  He shook his head. "Thanks anyway, but don't bother.

  I'll just try to bully the jerk. Maybe he'll cave."

  "I doubt it."

  "I doubt it, too."

  "Listen, you want to come by for dinner tonight after work?"

  "Can't. I'm busy."I "We'll eat late."

  Robert looked at his brother. "How come you never come over to my house? How come I always have to go over to yours?"

  "Okay, forget it, then.

  "No, I'm serious. Why?"

  Rich shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other,

  "We're closer to town." +=

  "That's not it and you know it."

  "You ever thought of getting a dog or a cat? Something to keep you company?"

  + "Stop changing the subject."

  "That is the subject. It' always seems so so lonely out at Mom's place.

  "My place."

  "Your place. See? Even after all this time, I still think of it as Mom's." "You two used to come over when Julie was there."

  Rich forced himself to smile. "We'll come over sometime this month, all right? We'll have a barbecue." "I'm not trying to force you."

  "Let's not start that crap."

  Robert smiled tiredly. "Okay, okay. We'll talk about it later." He opened his car door. "I'd better get back, check in, see who else has been murdered."

  "That's not funny."

  "No, it's not." i "Have you gone by Billy's garage sale lately?"

  "You know I avoid that eyesore like the plague."

  "You ought to check out what he's selling."

  Robert ran a hand through his hair. Billy Gurdy had had a garage sale every weekend for the past twenty years. The rows of tables set up on the dirt in front of the ramshackle hut he called home were permanent, and although everyone knew that referring to his open-air thrift store as a "garage sale" was just a way to get out of paying for a business license, no one ever called him on it. He was poor enough as it was---and as old as God to boot and if it made him happy to circumvent county statutes by hawking his wares in front of his house each Saturday and Sunday, well, what was the harm in that?

  Rich had always liked Billy, although Robert couldn't stand him. Rich claimed that it was because the old man had caught Robert stealing prickly pears off his cactus back when he was in junior high, and Robert had to admit that there might be something to that.

  "I'll bite," Robert said. "What's he selling?"

  "Vampire kits."

  "Vampire kits?"

  "Shoeboxes filled with cloves of garlic and popsicle stick crosses."

  "Jesus." 91.1

  "He told me he's sold over thirty of them already."

  "You going to do a story on it?"

  "You're the one who thinks there's a mo
nster out there."

  "Oh, it's my fault Billy's an opportunistic con artist."

  "That's not what I said, and you know

  "Okay, I'll go by and talk to him,"

  "I think you should."

  Robert got in the cruiser, closed the door, and rolled down the window.

  He looked up at his brother. "You want to do an editorial for me on unwanted federal intervention in local law enforcement?"

  "No, but you're free to write a letter."

  "That's what I thought." He started the engine.

  "Later"

  "See you."

  He backed out of the newspaper office's parking lot and headed toward the highway.

  Corrie pulled up in front of the church, turned off the ignition, and sat for a moment in the ear, watching the other parishioners file in.

  Rich had refused to let Anna her today, and while she'd been angry and accompany argued with him, a part of hera deep maternal part of her was also relieved, and she had not pressed the point as strongly as she could have. She was mad at Rich, but in a roundabout way, she was grateful to him for having taken the responsibility away from her.

  She watched as Whit Stasson's family entered the church together. The crowd had thinned from a flood to a trickle, so Corrie exited the car and hurried into the church, afraid that she might be late, that she might miss part of the sermon.

  The services were getting more crowded. More people were attending each week.

  Maybe the Pastor Clan Wheeler had put the fear of God into them.

  Wheeler emerged from the vestibule only seconds after she'd found a seat, and, without preface, he began speaking. As always the smooth oratorical tones of his melodious voice filled the church. Gorrie heard the words, understood their meaning, but at the same time was lulled by the voice.

  " "Now could I drink hot blood," " the pastor quoted. "That's what Jesus said after throwing the moneylenders from the temple. "Now could I drink hot blood. And do such bitter business as the day would quake to look on." "