by AnonYMous
‘Actually, this man is more than qualified. Firstly, he knows about the vampires in Santa Mondega, so there’s no issues with breach of confidentiality, because this guy has seen the undead in action with his own eyes.’
‘Okay.’ Swann sounded as unconvinced as he felt.
‘And secondly, as well as being a total moron, our research shows that he’s almost completely fearless, if only because he’s too fucking witless to realize when he’s in danger.’ He paused a moment. ‘Thirdly, he’s got an incentive. I have with me a tape of a film made by the Santa Mondega Police Department. It’s a short re-enactment of the shootout in a bar called the Tapioca during last year’s eclipse, using actors. The bartender, Sanchez, gave an eyewitness account of the events as they happened, and a short film was compiled in order to try to track down the culprits. The footage shows Dante Vittori dressed as the Terminator, shooting up the place with a monk in a Cobra Kai outfit, and that well-known serial killer the Bourbon Kid. The three of them will probably all get the chair if they ever get caught alive. Here, watch.’
Mr E turned around and pointed a remote control at the Warden’s portable television, which stood on a small table in a corner of the office. The screen fizzled on and after a few seconds the picture became lighter, and Robert Swann realized he was watching what was probably a fairly accurate reconstruction of the Tapioca eclipse massacre. Mr E began to narrate the action as he pointed at the TV. On screen was a scene filmed inside the bar. There were a number of mannequins scattered around the floor of the barroom, representing the vast number of corpses that had been revealed when the eclipse ended and daylight returned.
‘You will see at the bottom of the screen here –’ he pointed – ‘as the eclipse ends, that Dante Vittori, dressed in his Terminator outfit, comes charging out of the toilets and joins in the action.’ Mr E paused the tape for a moment. ‘Now you’ll see there’s a young Hubal monk – here – aiming a gun at the Bourbon Kid, and there’s a girl on the ground – here – who’s barely alive.’
Swann was fascinated. Catching just a glimpse of some of this exciting footage was a real privilege. Since being imprisoned he had been lucky to watch any television at all, and what he had seen had all been family viewing. Mr E continued the video playback and carried on with his narration.
‘Now you’ll see that instead of aiming his shotgun at the Bourbon Kid, who’s just killed about a hundred people, our man Vittori instead points it at the back of the monk’s head. This is the first clue we have that he’s an idiot. The monk then discusses something with our man before retreating out through a back entrance. Then comes the second clue that our man Dante is a total meathead. Instead of killing the Bourbon Kid, he next turns his gun on the dying girl on the floor. The Kid joins in, and the pair of them blow her pretty much to bits.’
The two men watched the footage in silence for a few moments before Mr E picked up his commentary again.
‘After that it gets a bit crap. The bartender Sanchez, who’s meant to be the guy – there – dressed as Batman, jumps over the bar and beats the Bourbon Kid in a fist fight and the Kid runs away like a coward.’
‘No shit?’
‘Yeah, but no one believes that part. Apparently this Sanchez guy swears it’s true and wasn’t willing to cooperate with the video unless it was kept in.’
‘Jerk.’
‘Quite.’
‘So what actually happened to this Dante guy after the shootout?’
‘Well, he got away and probably thinks no one knows he was involved. But he was in the bar with this broad.’ Mr E slid a six-by-four-inch blowup of a very pretty, dark-haired young woman’s passport headshot over the desk to Swann. ‘Her name is Kacy Fellangi, and our guy Dante will do anything for her. So all we gotta do, is find Dante, find his girlfriend, and bingo! – we got ourselves an undercover vampire.’
Swann still wasn’t convinced. He didn’t think he was ever going to be, either.
‘Yeah yeah. But if this guy is such a moron, surely the vampires will see through him straight away?’
‘Sure, there’s a good chance of that, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take. You just find me Dante Vittori and Kacy Fellangi. Once we make him an offer he can’t refuse and give him the impression his girlfriend will suffer if he doesn’t do as we ask, then he’ll be right on board.’
‘Okay. Any idea where I’m gonna start looking for this guy?’
‘It’s not gonna be too hard, in fact. I’ve had surveillance guys tracing him for some time, just waiting for him to stick his head above the parapet and pop up on our radar.’ He paused briefly, then asked, ‘Now, you know how I said he’s a total moron?’
Swann sensed that Mr E was placing a little more emphasis on the fact that Dante was a moron than was really necessary. The point had been established, so why keep bringing it up?
‘Yeah?’ he asked sceptically, intrigued in spite of himself as to what his would-be new employer was about to reveal.
‘Well, we know that he and Kacy left Santa Mondega right after the eclipse. And we think they moved to Florida, which is a pretty sensible thing to do if you know that Santa Mondega is rife with the undead. Right? But guess what? Two days ago he called the Santa Mondega International Hotel and booked the honeymoon suite for a week at the end of this month.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘Nope. Turns out he’s planning on marrying the girl Kacy and sweeping her off for a surprise honeymoon in Santa Mondega.’
Swann shook his head. ‘What a fuckin’ loser.’
‘That same thought had occurred to me’
The two men finally shared a smile. An understanding had been reached after all. Mr E knew that Swann was smart enough to work out what was required from here on, and provided him just one more titbit of information.
‘In those files is what I believe to be the current address where Vittori and Fellangi are staying. We traced it from Vittori’s credit-card details. Now I want you to go and get the pair of them. Once you’ve got them on board, issue the guy with this mission.’
Instead of studying the paper with the mission details on it that he had pulled from the brown envelope, Swann picked up the photo of Kacy and took a closer look at it.
‘This is the girl, huh?’ he asked, knowing perfectly well that it was.
‘Yes.’
He looked back up at Mr E. ‘And you’re gonna want them both killed when the mission’s done, right?’
‘I don’t recall having said that.’
‘But that’s the truth of it, ain’t it?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s right.’
‘Shame,’ said Swann, tutting. ‘I could really enjoy ruinin’ this chick.’
Mr E got up from the desk and turned his back on Swann, preferring to stare at the painting of the Warden between the two windows.
‘So fuck her before you kill her,’ he said without emotion. ‘Or … kill her … then fuck her. I don’t care which. Just make sure they’re both dead when the mission is over. Whether it’s successful or not.’ He pulled a small white envelope from the inside pocket of his grey suit and held it out to Swann. ‘That’s your pardon. Dated today, and signed by the President. Don’t lose it – such things are not easy to come by.’
Swann took it, popped it and the photo of the girl into the brown envelope with the details of the mission and of Vittori, and got up to leave.
‘Sure thing, boss.’ He raised an eyebrow and smiled to himself. ‘Consider it done. All of it.’
Sixteen
It was no great secret that Dante didn’t like fortune tellers. Yet here he was again, sitting at a round table opposite some mad old crone with his gorgeous sweetheart Kacy beside him.
The premises were nothing too special this time, either. The three of them were in a tent, albeit a fairly spacious one, but it was just about the crummiest joint of any of the numerous fortune tellers they had visited. In fairness, the tent was one of many at a travelling fairground, so not
much should have been expected really. ‘Madame Sangria’ was the name of the psychic in question. An elderly lady in a shapeless black dress, she wore her hair in a red bandanna, and affected huge gold rings in her ear lobes and at least five cheap multi-coloured beaded necklaces hanging down over her bosom.
Today was Dante and Kacy’s fifth ‘anniversary’, and Dante had promised his girlfriend that he had a big surprise in store for her. Kacy was well aware that they weren’t about to head out for a fancy meal at an expensive restaurant. If that had been the case, Dante would surely have insisted she wore something more appropriate than the blue jeans and baggy grey sweatshirt she had picked out for the day. He too would probably have made more of an effort, rather than choosing a pair of ripped jeans and a dirty white T-shirt with a picture of Foghorn Leghorn on the front.
Since Kacy knew Dante’s mind better than anyone, she was fully prepared for the great surprise to be crap. And this is crap, she thought. They had been to many fortune tellers in the past because she enjoyed the whole experience, but that didn’t mean she wanted to go to another one as a special treat to celebrate the five years they had been together. The only comfort she took from this outing was that she knew Dante had probably racked his brain for weeks before coming up with the idea. So, grateful for the fact that he had at least put some thought into it, she was happy, sort of. After all, Dante may not have been particularly sharp, but he had a really good heart, and even if what he believed was a bit of creative genius – taking her to yet another fortune teller – was actually totally lame, it didn’t matter. The important thing was that he loved her enough to make the effort.
Dante had paid Madame Sangria twenty dollars to read the Tarot for Kacy. The woman had dealt out cards on to the round table in front of her. It was a small table with a dirty red-and-white checked tablecloth draped over it. After laying the cards face down on it in a line she slowly turned them over one at a time. In an attempt to create some suspense she said nothing as she did this. She allowed the cards themselves to do the talking.
Card One – The Lovers
Card Two – The Fool
Card Three – The Ace of Cups
Card Four – The Devil
Card Five – Death
And Card Six …
When Kacy saw the sixth card her heart leapt into her throat. This was no normal tarot card. This one was special. There was no other card like it in all the different sets of tarot cards in the whole world. It had no picture on it, just writing, and it said:
Kacy I love you with all my heart. Will you marry me?
She turned to look at Dante and immediately grabbed hold of his hand to steady herself. He had stolen her breath away. This man she loved, this well-renowned moron with half a brain cell, had taken her completely by surprise. She was all his.
‘Yes,’ she mumbled, her eyes welling up. ‘I love you too, you muppet.’
‘Cool,’ said Dante, leaning over and kissing her full on the lips. ‘Now let’s get the fuck outta here and go get drunk.’
‘You bet.’
Dante winked at the old fortune teller on the other side of the table, muttered a quick Thanks under his breath, and led Kacy out of the tent. Once they were back in the open air he pulled her tightly to him and they kissed as passionately as they had ever done. Kacy didn’t want to let him go. Her heart was bursting as though it was ready to flee her chest, such was her happiness.
‘I’m gonna make you so happy,’ she whispered to her new fiancé.
‘You already did,’ he whispered back. ‘You said “Yes”.’
A third voice, a man’s, interrupted them.
‘Dante Vittori, you’re under arrest.’
As statements go, it brought Dante and Kacy crashing back to earth in an instant. Dante spoke aloud for both of them.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake!’
Standing in front of them were two burly men in smart black suits with grey ties and very dark sunglasses. Dante pulled away from Kacy and faced up to the pair.
‘So what have I done now?’
Behind the two men, a number of families and odd-looking carnival folk were wandering around the fairground, oblivious to Dante’s predicament. There were a hundred more exciting things to catch their attention, like coconut shies and merry-go-rounds. Two men in suits speaking to a scruffy young couple was low on anyone’s list of Things to See and Do.
The man who had spoken first, a big, heavily moustached character with an Arabic look to him, held up and then flipped open a wallet to reveal an ID card with his picture on it tucked inside. He didn’t give Dante and Kacy enough time to read what was on the card before he flicked the wallet shut again.
‘I’m Special Agent Baez, and this is Special Agent Johnson,’ he said, indicating the other man. ‘You’re wanted in connection with a series of murders in Santa Mondega. It is in your best interests to come quietly. If you choose to struggle we’ll be forced to restrain you with whatever force may be necessary. Don’t test me on this.’
Madame Sangria popped her head out of the tent entrance to see what was going on.
Dante threw her an icy glare. ‘Some fuckin’ fortune teller you are,’ he complained. ‘Gimme my Goddam twenty bucks back, you useless old hag.’
The old woman smiled at him. ‘I guess that fool card was you, then?’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Dante, turning back to face the smartly dressed figure of Agent Baez. ‘Look at that.’ He pointed to the sky behind the agent.
‘I’m not falling for that old trick,’ Baez sighed, shaking his head.
‘You already did,’ said Dante.
Special Agent Baez looked confused for perhaps a tenth of a second, which was all the time Dante needed to lunge forward and headbutt him in the face. There was a loud crack as the man’s nose broke, followed by a soft thudding noise as Dante kicked him in the balls. As the agent doubled over in pain with blood spurting from his nose, Dante grabbed him by the back of the head and brought his knee up full into his face. Baez collapsed in a heap on the ground and began to vomit as he did his best to squeeze his stomach down and force his balls back out from wherever they were now situated.
Dante whirled round, looking to deal with the other guy. But the second agent was way ahead of him. As soon as he had seen Dante attack his colleague, Johnson had pulled a gun from inside his jacket and pointed it at Kacy’s head.
‘One more clever move from you, friend, and your girlfriend’s gonna feel my pain,’ he warned.
Dante recoiled. This was a fight that couldn’t be won. ‘Yeah, bite me, dickhead,’ he said bitterly.
A third man suddenly materialized from behind Dante. Before Kacy could warn him, the new arrival (who happened to be Special Agent Robert Swann) had knocked the young man unconscious with a single swift blow to the back of the neck.
‘This is definitely our guy,’ he said, looking down at Dante’s crumpled, unmoving form. Then he looked over at Kacy and grinned. ‘Hello, missy. My, you sure are a pretty little thing, ain’t you?’
Seventeen
Dante and Kacy had spent an extremely unpleasant evening travelling in the back of a security van. Both of them had suffered the indignity of having their wrists handcuffed behind their backs and black cloth bags placed over their heads and tied at the neck. When the van had eventually come to a stop, the young lovers had been taken out and separated. Dante had no idea what had become of Kacy, and her welfare was paramount in his thoughts when, after what seemed like an interminable walk guided by at least one agent, the bag he was wearing was finally removed.
He looked around and discovered he was sitting in front of a desk in a smart oval-shaped office. It had no windows, but the royal blue carpet, bright white walls and smart mahogany furniture gave the impression that it was the office or meeting room of someone who earned a lot of money. That person was most probably the guy sitting opposite him. The smooth-headed, smartly suited, sunglasses-wearing Mr E.
‘Is this the White H
ouse?’ Dante asked.
‘Yes, it is,’ Mr E said, without any expression on his face. ‘And I’m the real President of the United States. That guy you see on TV? He’s just an actor.’
Dante wasn’t totally convinced.
‘Is that right?’ he asked warily.
‘No.’ Mr E shook his head. This guy Dante Vittori didn’t disappoint. He was living up to his billing. The perfect fall guy. ‘Have you any idea why you’re here?’
Dante shrugged. ‘Is it anythin’ to do with sellin’ pirate videos?’
Mr E rubbed his forehead with his left hand. It had not taken long for him to realize that talking to Dante was going to be frustrating; indeed, merely sitting opposite someone of such low intelligence was beginning to irritate him already. Mr E prided himself on his own high intelligence. He didn’t want it sullied.
Standing behind Dante’s left shoulder was Robert Swann. Mr E gestured to him with his other hand. Swann immediately twisted Dante’s head around to the left a little to face a giant plasma TV screen on the wall. Then he flicked a button on a remote control in his hand and barked an order.
‘Watch this. It should answer that “How much shit am I in?” question you’ve been asking yourself.’
Dante watched the videotape re-enactment of events in the Tapioca during and after the eclipse. The actor playing his part looked nothing like him, but watching and recollecting the events as they unfolded on the screen caused him to smile and nod to himself in approval of his character’s handiwork with a gun. The actor did a pretty good job of blowing holes in Jessica the Vampire Queen.
‘Pretty cool, huh?’ He smiled smugly as the film ended.
‘Not so much,’ said Mr E, shaking his head again. ‘That’ll get you the electric chair, my friend. There’s a hundred dead bodies there. So far no killer has been tried, let alone sentenced for their murders.’
Recognizing an opportunity to be annoying, Dante grabbed it with both hands. ‘They sure don’t look like no dead bodies to me. Look more like mannequins. I don’t reckon it’s a crime to kill a mannequin, is it?’