I again say nothing.
“And it’s taken a drunken, cynical, foul-mouthed barbarian like yourself to make me realize just how pathetic I really am,” Dr. Simonhoffer says quietly. “A sarcastic, warped, insensitive brute who could never understand a pain like mine … you, Inspector, have shoved a fistful of ugly little ticks in my face, forcing me to acknowledge my own feckless insignificance.”
I am again watching the gun.
She raises it.
“And for that, you must pay,” she says.
And fires.
I dive out of my chair with only half a second to spare, as the .38 discharges its deadly wrath. I am on the floor rolling, reaching for my own .357.
Dr. Simonhoffer fires at me again, but her aim is pretty poor.
“You must die!” she screams at me in a shrill voice that makes my nad-hairs curl.
She continues to fire. Though she is in my sights, I do not want to shoot her. I fight for options, as I crawl behind a nearby sofa. Bullets rip through throw-pillows. Suddenly, the door to Dr. Simonhoffer’s opens, and half a dozen Monster Vice officers have weapons pulled, and are firing at my poor, delusional therapist.
Her body twitches horribly, as bullets slam into her chest and stomach, and one even takes off half of her head. Officers converge upon me, inquiring as to my well-being.
I stand, shaken to the core, now sobered up in the worst possible way.
I look at Dr. Simonhoffer’s corpse, now a pathetic ruin and feel utterly demoralized. That I had something to do with this poor woman’s misery … that I was the catalyst somehow, by way of proxy storytelling of my love affair with a vampire.
I came here looking for solace.
I now leave heartbroken and torn asunder.
I walk out of Dr. Simonhoffer’s office without a word and I consider it a blessing that none of my brothers and sisters in Monster Vice intrudes upon my own personal roller-coaster ride into the emotional and spiritual abyss.
* * *
“She was out of her fucking mind!” Zelig snaps at me over my cell phone.
“He,” I correct my captain. “He was out of his mind. Well, wait a minute. He already had the surgery, so … I guess you could refer to him as her, or her as him. Not to split hairs.”
“Oh, Christ, whatever. I knew there was something about him, or her. Something I couldn’t put my finger on.”
“Probably his cock, since he had it cut off,” I say without a trace of humor.
“Listen, Dick, I’m sorry you had to go through that. You’ve had the worst week of anyone I know. I’m going to recommend that you take a six month leave, effective immediately.”
“No, thanks, Captain. I’d go crazy. Besides, you forget. We have a Grand Master out there, and it’s very likely he’s mobilizing an army of monsters throughout all of Los Angeles County.”
“Yeah. Yeah, reports seem to bear that out. We’ve had more wolf and fang infestations in the past 24 hours than this old police dog has ever seen.”
“Speaking of dogs, Birney found me. He’s fine. Do you want me to send him back to HQ?”
“ASAP. We’re going to need him. We also have to train him not to piss all over the cars.”
“He’s kind of new to the whole canine thing, Zelig,” I defend Birney. “He’s probably also upset about his wife. That … and dying.”
“Yeah, yeah. Where are you off to now?”
“I’m going to pick up my cat. I assume my apartment is clear now?”
“As a whistle. All your neighbors were out, so the fangs did minimal damage. You’re dripping holy water and garlic. You think your cat made it?”
“Little Prick will survive the apocalypse,” I say, checking my watch. It’s now almost nightfall.
“Stay in touch with me, Dick,” Zelig says, leaving his gruff voice in the dust for a few seconds. “And let me know if you need that time off.”
“Thanks,” is all I say, then disengage the cell.
I drive the Esplanade up Melrose, now aware of a numbing headache settling in, probably brought on by a combination of Jack Daniels, Samantha’s revelation, and let’s see, what else … oh, yeah. My transgender therapist trying to execute me in her office.
I turn a corner, and park the Esplanade right in front of my apartment complex.
I do not have to wonder about my cat’s whereabouts. Little Prick is sitting in the window sill, staring at me, yowling. He’s pissed, and he’s letting me know up front that I am far from forgiven for abandoning him for the past two days.
I enter the apartment building and then my unit.
Little Prick walks toward me slowly, giving me ‘that look.’
“Yeah, I know. You hate my guts,” I say.
Suddenly, Little Prick’s ears straighten, and he gives out a wild yowl as he looks at me. And just as suddenly, I fall against the door, and sink to my knees, as sound and a flurry of images invade my mind.
The screams are from Samantha.
And from Jennifer.
I stare at Little Prick, who crouches on all fours, frozen in a fixed state.
I close my eyes.
I see werewolves. And vampires.
They are converging on Father Gastroni’s house.
I see blood. I see weapons being discharged.
I hear Jennifer screaming again.
And then all is quiet.
I open my eyes.
I realize that my new ‘family’ is under attack.
I am hyperventilating, trying to calm myself. I look to Little Prick.
“Let’s go, cat. Now.”
I turn, open the door, and move out of my apartment.
Little Prick follows me without complaint, as I beeline for the Esplanade parked outside.
I realize that I have very little time.
Correction … my friends have very little time.
The Grand Master has taken the initiative and brought the battlefield to us. I do not know how I know this – or how these images of combat have been transmitted to me, or how I have been able to tap into an ongoing and unfolding scenario of violence.
All this is secondary.
Primary is getting back to the house. To Jennifer, Dracula, and the others.
And to Samantha.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I do not need to break through the front door.
The door rests on hinges that have been forced.
There is blood everywhere.
First thing I step over is the decapitated corpse of what I recognize to be young Father Ivory. His head hangs from a pull-chain from the chandelier above me.
I scream out.
“Samantha! Jennifer!”
Of course, there is no answer. I didn’t expect one.
The place has been torn asunder. Furniture, lights, rugs, all shredded. And the blood … the place is covered in blood.
Yet the only body I’ve found thus far is that of Father Ivory. I deduce that the blood belongs to the attackers for the most part – no doubt Colonel Kellog, Father Gastroni, my little Jennifer and Samantha put up an awesome struggle.
My deduction is confirmed as I see pieces of several werewolves dismembered all over the place. Further, I hear hissing of melting vampire.
A door to a closet slowly opens behind me.
I turn, two guns out, one my Baretta, the other the .357. I’m ready to kill.
Birney the German Shepherd barely crawls out of the small closet. His ears are ripped, one is almost completely severed. His muzzle is bloodied and virtually all of his fur is covered in what appears to be animal tissue – werewolf flesh, would be my guess.
“Hey, Dick. Trick or treat,” He barks, and whines, all in one statement.
I move quickly to him, on one knee, and pet his head gently.
“You stay quiet, Birney. I’ll have a medi-vac here from MV in five minutes.”
“Don’t worry … about me, Dick,” Birney barks plaintively. “You don’t have the time.”
He cough
s and wines, and blinks painfully.
“They took all of them. My new little friend, too.”
“Jennifer,” I nod.
“Yeah. The likkers. And about a thousand vampires. And one huge fang I can’t begin to describe.”
“The Grand Master.”
“Yeah, sounds about right. He just strolled through here while his army went to work. Killed that poor young priest right off.”
“I know. Birney –“
“Dodger Stadium,” Birney whines. “That’s where he’s taken them.”
“How do you know?”
“He told me to tell you that,” Birney barks softly. “Said he’s waiting for you.”
“I’ll alert tactical. We’ll bring down the MV army so hard on this bastard --“
“He says come alone, or everyone dies,” Birney coughs. “And it will be the females, he said, who will die the most painfully.”
I swallow hard. Fucked again by blackmail.
“Birney, I can’t leave you like this.”
“Dick, my tail is broken, a few ribs, too. I feel pretty busted up inside, but I don’t think I’m paws-up yet. I’ll make it back to HQ. But you gotta get your cavalry moving, pardner. I got a feeling there isn’t much time.”
I take a breath, and shake my head.
Birney again barks softly.
“By the way – I know that Curadel is Dracula. He somehow put that in my brain. Don’t worry, I’ll keep that our secret.”
“I can’t beat the Grand Master, Birney. If Dracula and Sam couldn’t … I can’t, either.”
“Dracula said you could.”
Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?
“He’s crazy.”
“He’s Dracula,” Birney coughs, and spits up some blood. “If he says you can beat this Grand Master, I wouldn’t piss that one into the wind.”
This is all madness, of course. Tonight I will die trying to save my friends. Ah, well. It’s not a bad way to go.
I pet Birney again.
“Okay. If you feel too weak, just stay put. I’ll be back.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“I said I’d be back.”
Birney looks at me with pained eyes. He licks my hand and stares at me sadly.
“I wish I could believe that, Dick.”
“How about barking something comforting,” I jest.
“I don’t think you have long to live. But, hey. Look at the bright side. If you come back as a dog, we’ll go out ass-sniffing the cute poodles in Echo Park.”
“Thanks, Birney. I can hardly wait.”
“Little canine humor, Dick. Sorry.”
“I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Right. And my new name is Fifi. Good luck, pal.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Dodger Stadiums is a large outdoor baseball field located adjacent to downtown Los Angeles. It was privately financed at a cost of $23 million dollars back on September 17, 1959. It has a capacity to hold 56,000 fans, with an attendant parking lot that can support 16,000 cars. Some notable events that took place include Pope John Paul II holding a Mass there in 1987, the Three Tensors singing a concert in 1994, and the Rolling Stones and the Beatles performing a few decades earlier.
It was also the site of one of the greatest mass murders ever to take place on American soil.
Nine months after the Popov Meteor Event, during the first baseball game of the season (Los Angeles Dodgers meeting the New York Mets), a swarm of vampires numbering in the several thousands descended on the full stadium and began killing fans. Because the attack was so sudden, and because panic prevented an organized evacuation, the casualties numbered in the thousands. Many more died due to being crushed by a hysterical multitude, and more thereafter were staked due to ‘bite contamination.’ Since that time, Dodger Stadium has remained abandoned and locked up, never to be used again as a viable playing field for America’s Favorite Pass-time. It stands merely as a memorial to tragedy, a great, silent coliseum inhabited only by ghosts.
Monster Vice is aware that it is festooned with supernatural horrors of every like and description, but much like the Santa Monica Airport, and other unfortunate locations long abandoned and unsupervised, the stadium is categorized as a ‘no-patrol zone.’ There was talk one day of demolishing the structure as a whole, but various zoning complications and city ordinances, coupled with a generally ineffective metropolitan beaurocracy pretty much stymied the whole blow-it-to-fuck factor.
And so, it is into this arena of phantoms and tragic occurrences of times long past that I now find myself about to enter.
I am armed to the teeth.
I enter through right-center field, just near the foul poles and the bullpen. The lights suddenly come on, one at a time. I look to the pitcher’s mound and think suddenly that once, so very long ago, great players like Sandy Koufax, Don Drysdale, Don Sutton, Fernando Valenzuela, Orel Hershiser and others graced that small hill. Now, one figure stands upon it. Smug, defiant, and staring at me.
And though far from being a great player, he is nevertheless, arguably, the most powerful vampire the world has ever seen.
The Grand Master.
“Greetings, Inspector Pitts,” the Grand Master calls out, his eerie voice echoing through the empty park.
I give a quick 360 gander to the stadium, but see no one else around.
And no sooner do I turn back to the mound than the Grand Master is standing before me.
“Hi.”
And then, like so many times before, I am airborne. Easily a good fifty feet, toward the pitcher’s mound. Amazingly, I find myself able to land on my feet, and this is completely armed to the tune of 70 pounds of fang-killing shit-hardware. I am, I assume, becoming more spry in the autumn of my years. Or simply accustomed to being thrown around like a rag doll by vampires and werewolves alike, thus kinda getting the hang of landing on my own two stems.
“Very graceful,” the Grand Master speaks, though he is not yelling – his voice seems to naturally resonate.
“Where are they, blood-freak?” I taunt the Master with a childish piece of name-calling.
He whistles, long and shrill.
Silence for a moment, and then I see the tragedy of things slowly unfold.
Dozens of children – new turnovers – begin to fall out into the stands of Dodger Stadium. I should not be able to see their eyes, but I do, from this distance. All are possessed of that red, hypnotic fury of the plasma-starved. Dozens turn into several dozens, and as I turn on myself, a complete 360, I see that the stadium is filling up to the tune of hundreds, then thousands. All kids. All baby vampires.
Then through the left-field bullpen area, from within one of the stadium’s vehicle entry tunnels, I see a large cart being pulled by several horses. It is followed by yet another cart, likewise being towed by Los Caballos.
But most disturbing of all is that within the front cart, tied to huge cross-beams that resemble the cross Jesus Christ died upon – are Dracula and Samantha. They look nearly comatose from here.
In the cart behind my vampire friends, Father Gastroni and Colonel Kellog are likewise bound, though they are alert, albeit covered with blood and the residue of battle.
I turn back to the Grand Master.
And see the most disturbing sight of all.
Suddenly, little Jennifer is at his side. She stares at me. Her eyes are red, feral, vampiric.
“Oh, god, no,” I groan to myself. “No, please, Jesus, not her.”
“She was downright yummy, Inspector,” the Grand Master whispers tauntingly, and amazingly, I hear him even some fifty yards away. I’m sure he has made sure of this, utilizing whatever infernal technique he can for communicating to me in hushed tones.
“You bastard,” I growl, and my teeth are clenched so hard together my jaw begins to ache.
And then I hear a voice in my head.
Fight them.
I recognize the voice to be that of Dracula.
; I turn slowly, and look at Dracula, hanging from the ad hoc cross, eyes half-open. His lips are not moving as I hear the voice again.
You can win.
And then another voice.
Samantha. Fight them, darling.
For a moment I think that I have finally done some very serious damage to myself from too much Jack Daniels imbibing. But then I remember what Father Gastroni said about vampires being possessed of very real psychic power.
I shake my head to my friends. “It’s impossible. I can’t defeat them. There are too many.” I look at the six Masters in attendance to my four friends, holding ropes around their respective necks. One Master alone killed my entire platoon just days earlier. How could I defeat six of them? And please … let’s not forget about the Grand Master only fifty yards away, holding my Jennifer in his power.
Come closer.
Hurry, Dick, I hear Samantha’s voice as well.
I turn quickly to see the Grand Master walking casually toward me.
Alright, fuck me. I’ll listen to my friends.
I move toward the carts and the Masters immediately release their hold on the ropes. I fully expect them to charge me en masse.
Yet they hold their positions.
The Grand Master whistles behind me.
“Try this, Inspector,” he says, and removes a sword from within his long coat. “I really want to see how your friends are going to be able to help you through this.”
He throws the sword into the air, directly for me.
I don’t know what compels me to do such a stupid thing, but I reach up – and am able to grab it, by the hilt. As if by fucking magic.
For the first time, I see the Grand Master’s smile wither a bit. I find the expression odd … given his seemingly endless power, and obvious advantage over this pathetically ill-equipped officer of Monster Vice.
“Nice catch,” he says neutrally.
Jennifer hisses at me. My heart again sinks a bit. She’s running out of time. I sense that she has only recently been contaminated by the Grand Master. There is still hope.
Hope, that is, if God decides to deliver a miracle.
Kill the Masters, Dick.
“Oh, sure, sorry, pardner. Right, I knew there was something on my to-do list. Pay the bills, feed the cat, and oh, yeah – kill the Masters.” I’m sputtering out of annoyance and disbelief.
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