Monster Vice

by George P. Saunders

  We’re in the Esplanade within seconds, and true to his word, Kellog guns the accelerator.

  And by the sweet baby Jesus, I do indeed feel like we’ve just taken off at light speed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Gastroni, who has been on the phone for the past minute, hangs up and looks to me.

  “They don’t have any.”

  “Fuck me,” I swear, holding Jennifer fast, as she struggles against my grip on her. “Take her, and give that to me, Father.”

  Gastroni hands the cell over, and takes Jennifer into his powerful arms. I dial quickly, and wait.

  “This is Zelig,” my captain suddenly answers.

  “Captain, it’s Dick Pitts. I’ve got an emergency ongoing.”

  “Pitts, Jesus – what the hell happened? Birney just hobbled in on all fours, and he’s a goddamned mess.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Listen, I’m rolling for County Hospital. I’m going to need some Fang anti-serum, and fast. We just called ahead, and their stock is dry.”

  “Who needs it? One of our people?”

  “No. It’s a child.”

  “Dick, I can’t just authorize a rush-shipment of serum over there for a civilian. We’re getting calls in from all points on the city compass with the same issue. Not enough serum, and inordinate attacks and turnovers.”

  “Zelig … please … this child is important,” I whisper. “She’s important to me.”

  Silence for only a second.

  “I’ll chopper over myself. Give me five minutes.” He hangs up and I blow an invisible Wet Kiss to Zelig over the either of time and space.

  Kellog drives like an insane crack-head, weaving in and out of traffic, barely missing other cars by micro-inches. Even at this mad velocity, I feel we are making slower progress than needed in the time department.

  I take Jennifer from Gastroni, and stare into her eyes – eyes that stare at me in blind hate.

  “We may be too late,” I say, my heart sinking.

  Gastroni reaches over and touches my shoulder.

  “Have faith, Dick. Have faith.”

  On those two words, I hang all hope and prayer for my little Jennifer.

  Please, Lord, please … let just one god-damned thing go right tonight.

  Amen.

  Hope someone is out there listening.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  We arrive at County Emergency just as Zelig lands in an MV chopper. He has flown it himself, and I am momentarily surprised, until I remember that was what he used to do in that ancient thing called the Iraq War.

  He exits the aircraft, a small suitcase in hand, and together with Kellog and Gastroni, myself holding Jennifer, we race into the hospital.

  We don’t wait to find an adequate space.

  The orderlies are baffled as we lay Jennifer on the floor, Kellog and Gastroni pinning her legs, and myself holding her arms.

  Zelig opens the suitcase, and produces a syringe, already fully loaded with Bioxypenicillin. He then finds an adequate vein in Jennifer’s right arm, and injects her deftly with the skill of a surgical nurse.

  Jennifer howls – a very inhuman howl at that, and spits at Zelig.

  Zelig doesn’t bother to wipe the spittle off his face. His focus is concentrated on the child’s anticipated transformation.

  “Are you sure we got her in time?” Zelig looks to me.

  I shout above Jennifer’s screams. “I don’t know.”

  Suddenly, Jennifer ceases her quite vocal protestations, and begins to shudder. Her entire body now quivers and quakes as if she were suffering from an epileptic seizure.

  “C’mon, little fighter,” I hear Kellog urge. “You can do it.”

  Father Gastroni has his eyes closed and hands folded in prayer.

  Surrounding us are doctors, nurses and orderlies, all pin-drop silent.

  “Please don’t die,” I whisper. “Please, Jenny.”

  And then … Jennifer becomes perfectly still. Her eyes are closed. Her breathing has lost the fibrillation-like panting of a wounded animal.

  She opens her eyes, blinks once, and looks up at me.

  “Hi, Dick. What’s going on?”

  I release her arms, and take her into a bear hug. I am crying openly, and by golly, if I don’t see a tear run free down the cheek of crusty old Zelig.

  Thank you, I whisper to whatever gods may be.

  Thank you for sparing my child.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Several hours later, following treatment given to Gastroni and Kellog for their wounds, we are at Monster Vice headquarters, answering questions. I do most of the talking, filling Zelig in on what happened at Dodger Stadium … and outlining how Officer Curadel and his associate, Samantha, were killed in the line of duty.

  I also make no small mention that the most powerful vampire on the planet – The Grand Master – is now vaporous pollutant commingling with good old familiar LA smog. To that end, I add that Father Gastroni and Colonel Kellog, as unofficial ‘citizens pursuing arrest’ were extremely helpful to this particular officer of Monster Vice.

  I artfully avoid telling Zelig of Dracula’s true identity. Father Gastroni and Colonel Kellog are likewise discreet by their silence.

  When I finish, and Zelig shuts down his recording device, he stares at me.

  “Alright, then. Thank you, Inspector. And thank you, Father Gastroni and Colonel Kellog. Very good work.”

  Little Prick is in my lap as I pet him absently with my hand, while Jennifer is seated beside me, my other hand in her own small paw.

  Zelig leans in and smiles at her.

  “Young lady, what are we going to do with you?”

  Jennifer looks to me.

  I grin and turn to Zelig. “She’s with me now, Captain.”

  “Aren’t you a little long in the tooth to suddenly become a daddy, Pitts? Doesn’t suit you, it seems.”

  I smile – because I have a secret.

  “People can change, Captain. Oh, yeah man, they can surely change.”

  Zelig considers that for a moment, then gives a grunt and a nod.

  That is our signal that we are all free to go.

  I stand up and shake hands with Kellog and Gastroni. “I’m afraid Father Ivory didn’t make it,” I say.

  “Yes, I know,” Gastroni says. “I’ve already made a few calls and his body is being purified even as we speak.”

  “Good.” And for a moment, no one says anything.

  It is Kellog who finally speaks.

  “Damn fine working with you, Inspector Pitts. I hope it won’t be the last time.”

  “Yes, quite so,” Gastroni agrees. “You’re an asset to the Cause, Dick. Remember that.”

  I need no reminding. Dracula and Samantha have made very clear what my responsibilities are to be.

  “Until next time,” I say, and then Kellog and Father Gastroni exit Zelig’s office.

  I look down to Jennifer.

  “Want to get something to eat?”

  “Sure. Let’s pick up something for Little Prick, too. Okay?”

  “Of course. He’d never forgive us otherwise.”

  I give a quick nod to Zelig. The latter allows himself a small smile of what I perceive to be admiration.

  I open the door and both Jennifer and myself stare out into the vast expanse of the outer sanctum adjunct to Zelig’s office.

  Staring at us – or I should say – staring at me, are a hundred officers, gathered tightly together. There is drop-dead silence.

  And then suddenly, there is a roar from my associates and a thunderous burst of applause.

  Within a second, both Jennifer and myself are on top of some shoulders, as we are escorted out of the building to the sound of cheers and shouts of adulation.

  Little Prick looks up at me with that look of his that says: You do realize, they’re all cheering for me, right?

  I laugh. And I do not stop. Not for quite awhile.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  In
the following days, Jennifer and I perform a few chores. We go out and acquire two headstones, one for Dracula and one for Samantha. And though there are no coffins beneath the stone testaments to their death, as we stand in my brother’s church staring down at the earth and the stone plates … there is a feeling that our friends are with us still.

  For a moment, as the sun hits the far wall of the church, I look up and think I see two figures – in fact, I am sure that they are Dracula and Samantha. I look to Jennifer, her little hand in mine, and see if she is privy to what I am witnessing.

  But her concentration is on the headstones – and when I look up again … the figures I imagined to be Dracula and my dearest love, have vanished.

  My imagination again, I chide myself inwardly. It was the light, nothing more. Shadows playing tricks, even with my advanced newly acquired vampire eyes. Or a desperate hope and longing on my part that they are not really gone … merely, as Dracula said of Pontius Pilate, in hiding, waiting to resurface to the world on another day from points far beyond and out of sight.

  I pray they do indeed one day return … if these things are allowed by the Powers At Be. It is a hope I will harbor and nurture for some time. It is the way I can honor Dracula – and love my Samantha from this side of the world – to the best of my ability.

  My work is far from over. The Grand Master had contaminated literally thousands of children, and while Monster Vice went into Dodger Stadium that night to Sweep, Clear and Stake as many little blood-eaters as possible – many still escaped, and are loose in the city. Moreover, some will leave the city and commute to territories outside of Los Angeles.

  The blood of these children has the mutant gene of the Grand Master running through them. Will one, or several, or many, grow into Grand Masters themselves? If so, we are then dealing with Super Vampires – as if Masters and talking werewolves weren’t enough for law enforcement to handle.

  I look down at Jennifer – my new vampire-killing daughter. I allow her to carry a small .22 pistol – it makes her feel safe, and she has proved her worthiness to bear arms. She has, after all, saved my life. In more ways than one.

  I wander over to where my brother is buried and close my eyes. I say a prayer to a God I am not sure exists, yet all my experience and my victory over the Grand Master tells me that somehow, in some form, he does. To what purpose he utilizes my destiny, I do not yet know.

  But I shall mush on.

  Like the good soldier I am.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  And so, I reconcile myself to my new family – Little Prick, myself … and Jennifer. The war feels over to me, so many have died, and I have lost what I know to be the love of my life – Samantha. I will give myself time to grieve for her, as I will grieve with respect for the memory of Dracula. They said to me that they have moved into a different plane of existence. If there is consciousness to that plane, then indeed, I would like to believe that Sam is looking over me. Perhaps we will meet again. I hope this is the case, hope being the most powerful human virtue I possess. For the time being, I shall content myself to seeing her only in my dreams.

  Beyond that, I am still a warrior for Good against Evil. Monsters still live (sort of) and breathe, and make trouble for humanity.

  I am still in the fight.

  I am Dick Pitts, Inspector to the Los Angeles Police Department, Special Taskforce, presently on a much needed leave.

  They call me the stuff of myth, the hero of tales yet to be told and regaled, a legend in a time of a perceived apocalypse.

  But I am much more than this.

  I am Man.

  I am Vampire.

  Bigger.

  Better.

  A Biter.

  I am Monster Vice.

  * * *

  [1] The aforementioned anti-vampire manna from heaven, Prolactin, is a typical neuroendocrine response originating in the cerebrocortical areas of the hypothalamus, thalamus, caudate nucleus, and inferior and superior temporal gyri.

  Brain mechanisms that control human sexual behavior in general, and ejaculation in particular, are poorly understood. Positron emission tomography was used to measure increases in regional cerebral blood flow (rCBF) during ejaculation in heterosexual male volunteers. Manual penile stimulation was performed by the volunteer's female partner. Primary activation was found in the mesodiencephalic transition zone, including the ventral tegmental area, which is involved in a wide variety of rewarding behaviors. Parallels are drawn between ejaculation and a ‘man, oh, man, am I fucked up on a cool heroin rush” kinda feeling. No one knows why.

  [2] Orgasm, in case your alien leaders have not informed you thus, is the conclusion of the plateau phase of the sexual response cycle, shared by both men and women. During orgasm, both men and women experience quick cycles of muscle contraction in the lower pelvic muscles, which surround both the anus and the primary sexual organs. Orgasms in both men and women are often associated with other involuntary actions, including vocalizations and muscular spasms in other areas of the body. Also, a generally euphoric sensation is associated with orgasm. Sometimes orgasm results in little screaming creatures called babies, whose primary function in the first year of life is to defecate on everything imaginable, and turn your fond memories of orgasm into a sublimely tortuous recollection involving a series of god-awful bad decisions for which you will pay dearly for the rest of your meaningless little life. Along those lines, orgasm can lead to divorce (preceded by marriage of course – or not), and cost some poor male his house, his financial accumulation and his sanity.

  Why the gods decided to tease Mankind with the need to ‘spooge oneself silly’ in order to survive a vampire attack and subsequent infection, is anyone’s guess. Certain police officers embrace a philosophy that perhaps god(s) is a sadistic pervert that would always like to have a guy, once bitten, continuously walk that precarious line of agony and ecstasy, just to watch him squirm like a worm in a bait box with having to remember daily to beat-off to survive and not go Tuti.

  [3] Ganoderma butt rot is a relatively new and lethal disease of Florida palm trees. The condition was first discovered in Florida in 1994 and in only a few years it has spread to infect palms throughout the state. At this time, it cannot be said with certainty that there are any palm trees resistant to Ganoderma butt rot. The ganoderma zonatum fungus most often invades a palm tree by means of a wound at the base of the tree. The fungus then begins to rapidly work its way through the tree’s butt area essentially rotting the wood. Once the fungus has worked its way through the center of the tree to the surface, it forms a fruiting body called a ‘conk’, a spongy, whitish mushroom-like growth which grows to form a horizontal disc extending out from the bark. Unfortunately, there is currently no effective treatment for Ganoderma butt rot. By the time the conk has appeared on the bark, the tree is effectively dead and must be removed. While the wood above the butt area can be safely mulched, extreme care is needed when disposing of the butt wood in order to avoid spreading the fungus to other palms. The wood should be wrapped in plastic and disposed of by incineration or taken to a landfill. All tools should be sterilized and care should also be given to clothes exposed to this deadly tree fungus. While there is no sure-fire way of preventing Ganoderma butt rot infestation, the danger can be reduced by avoiding injuring the trunks of the palm trees on one's property.

  One should be careful when using lawnmowers and other gardening implements. Should one suspect a Ganoderma butt rot infestation on one's property - and should one not be an elderly, drunken, atheist fuckstick of Ethiopian descent who has pickled himself silly with strong drink, thus jeopardizing not only snoozing old ladies but small animals as well - one would be best to consult with one’s local forestry official for information and advice.

  [4] During World War II when blood supplies were running low it was discovered that the liquid inside young coconuts could be used to substitute for blood plasma. It is considered a viable substitute for blood plasma because it is sterile, cool,
easily absorbed by the body, and does not destroy red blood cells. It is a natural isotonic beverage with an excellent level of electrolytic balance, similar to what we have in human blood.

  On another note, it has been said that there is a better chance of being killed by a falling coconut then being killed by a shark. This is not some bogus, bullshit allegation. The noted director of the Florida Museum of Natural History, George Burgess, in his International Shark Attack File was quoted “Falling coconuts kill 150 people worldwide each year, 15 times the number of fatalities attributable to sharks.” It is not clear how Mr. Burgess obtained these statistics, but such a study on palm-tree-falling related deaths, compared to say, oh, coconuts or shark attacks, might be a bloody interesting laboratory study.

  [5] In the field of parapsychology, remote viewing is a neutral term for extra-sensory perception, usually performed during experiments in which the percipient tries to describe a distant location or the environs of a distant agent. Remote viewing allows a "viewer" to use his or her intuitive abilities to gather information on a target consisting of an object, place, or person, etc., which is hidden from the physical perception of the viewer and typically separated from the viewer in space by some distance.

  Stargate Project (no relation to the popular television series) was one of a number of code names used to cover "remote viewing programs". Others included Sun Streak, Grill Flame, Center Lane by DIA and INSCOM, and SCANATE by CIA, from the 1970s, through to 1995. It was an offshoot of research done at Stanford Research Institute (SRI). The research program was launched partly because some intelligence officers believed a 'psi-gap' had emerged between America and the Soviet Union, for example the reputed abilities of Nina Kulagina.**