Blake Byron: Paranormal Investigator

by Andrew Beymer

  Sure Johnson didn’t know his way around a My First Chemistry Set for kids, let alone the totally unnecessary and ridiculously expensive crime scene stuff the university bought, but he was good people.

  The ghost of a smile played across my face as I thought of the CSI debacle. Some administrator got the bright idea to buy all the stuff so they could advertise all the cutting edge technology the campus police department used, and then they were promptly shitcanned when an administrator even higher up the food chain got a whiff of the idea and realized how bad it would look if the university went around advertising there was any crime on campus that needed fighting, let alone the kind that required a state of the art crime lab to track down.

  “You think you were a hero tonight?” the Chief asked, his voice going quiet.

  Quiet was never good. When the Chief ran out of yelling to do it was time to run. Then the struggle of using his indoor voice got to be too much for the Chief and he let loose an explosion that would make Krakatoa look like a firecracker.

  “Because from where I'm sitting it looks like you've created a hell of a clusterfuck and a lot of paperwork for me!”

  Now that was something I could sympathize with. I might not like the old man, especially with his habit of keeping odd hours in the middle of the night which fucked up my big plans for screwing around and getting paid to do as little as possible, but being averse to doing paperwork was something I could get behind.

  "Look Chief…"

  The Chief took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. He shook his head and I felt real worry for the first time since this conversation started.

  The Chief looked like he was about to do something he had to do but didn't want to. Like taking the shotgun back to where he had Yeller locked up. Or firing the newbie who’d fucked up. Maybe even arresting and pressing charges against the newbie who’d fucked up.

  Not that I was too worried on that count. I knew the charges wouldn’t stick, and my best friend Mike from elementary school had grown up to be a shark of a lawyer.

  No body. No crime. They sure as fuck weren’t going to find a body this time around. Unless they went rummaging through whatever bag Johnson had been using with his dustpan.

  Still, I didn't like it when more senior people looked like they were about to do something they didn't want to do. Especially when they had that "I don't want to do this" look coupled with a twinkle in their eyes that said they were more than looking forward to doing it.

  "I hate to have to do this Byron," he said. "You were promising, but…"

  “Now hold on just a damn minute Chief…" I replied.

  I was about to launch into an impassioned defense of my job, but I was interrupted once more by that damn door swinging open.

  I glared at the door. If I was going to get an ass chewing then I’d rather get it over with. And it wasn't going to get over with if it kept getting interrupted.

  The glare froze in place when I got a good look at the two men standing at the door. I knew intel pukes, and these guys had “intel puke” written all over them. It didn't hurt that they were both wearing ridiculous government issued black suits with matching red ties.

  Great. Just what I needed on top of everything else. Someone coming in from another jurisdiction because of the incident tonight.

  The Chief looked royally pissed off when he turned around. Like more pissed off than he should've been about a couple of FBI guys, or whatever the fuck alphabet soup organization they represented, coming in to bother him while he was getting ready to lay into me with everything he had.

  The guys didn't seem perturbed by the old man's anger. They stared implacably with all the casually bored authority of men who were so used to being the highest ranking law enforcement in the room that they didn’t even consider getting in a pissing contest over jurisdiction.

  Yeah, I knew the type. Their jurisdiction was wherever the fuck they said it was, and fuck anyone who said otherwise. The real bitch was they were always unfailingly polite about it too.

  Why get worked up when they knew what the end result was going to be?

  "Is this Mr. Byron?" the one on the left asked.

  It was difficult to tell them apart aside from one was on the left and one was on the right. They both had identical government issue haircuts straight out of the sixties. One was maybe a little taller than the other with brown hair instead of black.

  "It is," the Chief said.

  The one on the right broke into a huge grin. "Good. Mr. Byron, we'd like to talk to you about what happened tonight."

  He glanced at the Chief. “Alone.”

  Then the fireworks really started.

  11

  Intel Pukes

  Mr. Byron," one of the agents said.

  I fought the urge to laugh. The guy sounded for all the world like an agent from those Matrix movies. I remembered watching those with my friends back in school and thinking how awesome they were.

  That was before I’d met real-life government agent types and decided I didn't care for interacting with them. No, I didn't care for interacting with them one bit.

  It was the crap icing on the shit sundae that was this evening that I was finishing it out with a chat with some government types. I’d almost rather go back and face down a vampire again. At least the vampire was honest about trying to suck your blood.

  "Could we cut the bullshit gentlemen?" I asked.

  The two men turned to look at one another warily. Then the one on the left split into a huge smile. "I told you he wasn't going to fall for the intimidation routine. A guy with his record isn’t afraid of anything!”

  The second guy shrugged and pulled out his wallet. Grabbed a few bills and handed them over to the agent on the left. The one with the darker hair.

  "Okay, so you win this one," the one on the right with the lighter hair said.

  The one on the left turned back to me and smiled. Reached a hand over to shake mine.

  “I’m special agent Anderson and my friend to my left and your right is special agent Hooks."

  I left his hand hanging. I stared at it as though it was some sort of venomous snake that might reach out and bite me if I allowed it to get too close. The guy let his hand hang for a moment longer before he shrugged and pulled it back.

  "Okay then," Anderson said. "I get it. You're not the handshaking type. That's fine."

  "So do you guys want to tell me what the hell you're doing here?" I asked. "For that matter, do you want to tell me who the hell you are that the Chief will get up and leave when you tell him to?"

  Not that he’d gone quietly. There’d been a fair bit of shouting, but in the end the government types had won.

  They always won. Clearly the Chief had been working the small time long enough that he’d forgotten that lesson, though I’d seen a picture on his desk in black and white that looked like it was from Korea or something that told the story of a time when he’d probably learned firsthand just how good Uncle Sam was at extracting his pound of flesh when he wanted it.

  Though this time I figured both parties got something they wanted out of it. The Chief got to yell at someone and Anderson and Hooks got rid of the Chief. It was a win-win for all involved.

  Everyone but me, that is. I figured my ass was getting chewed out tonight whether it was the Chief or Uncle Sam’s personal representatives.

  "We work for a government organization Mr. Byron," agent Anderson said. "That's all you need to know."

  I rolled my eyes. "Are you really going to pull that government secrecy bullshit with me? I have a clearance you know," I said. “Probably higher than yours.”

  Agent Hooks pulled a briefcase up on the table and flipped some pretty heavy-duty looking locks on the front.

  "Oh yes Mr. Byron," he said. "We know all about your clearance and your record. All about your time overseas. Some of that stuff looks like it got pretty hairy."

  I narrowed my eyes and looked down at the material the guy had produced. I didn'
t like it when people knew more about me than they should. I especially didn't like it when it was an intelligence puke who knew more about me than he should.

  Though I knew from annoying personal experience that was exactly what they did to try and freak you out. Show up with a folder full of information including sworn statements from your kindergarten teacher about what a naughty young man you were even though she'd been dead for the better part of a decade.

  "So do you guys maybe want to cut the intimidation routine?” I asked. “You found some papers. Good for you.”

  Anderson and Hooks looked at one another and then looked back at me. Finally Hooks spoke. "What kind of intimidation routine are you talking about?"

  "I'm talking about the whole thing you’re doing right now. You come in and show me a bunch of papers that show you can do research, then that doesn’t work and you act like you're my friends or something. Eventually you’ll get down to what you really want from me. I've been here for awhile, and I figure it will help me get on to my administrative leave faster if you guys go ahead and tell me whatever the hell it is you want from me now and save us all some time.”

  They both smiled.

  "But that's the thing Mr. Byron," Anderson said. "If you talk with us then you're not going to go on administrative leave at all. Paid or otherwise."

  "I'm sure you're quite eager to get back to your job, aren't you?" Hooks asked.

  "What are you guys talking about?" I asked. "The way the Chief was getting ready to ream me out it sounded like I was going to be lucky if I didn't get fired when he was through with me."

  "Don't worry about that Mr. Byron,” Anderson said. "I can assure you when we’re done talking with your Chief he most definitely won't be gunning for your job."

  "What the fuck agency did you guys say you work for?"

  "Nothing important," Hooks said. “The only thing you need to know is we’re the magical fairies who are going to wave our wands and make sure you still have a job when you come in for work tomorrow."

  "Come on Mr. Byron," Anderson said. "Think about it. You like this job. You get a fancy university car that you get to take home…"

  I snorted. Obviously they'd never been inside one of the University department’s squad cars. Otherwise they wouldn't be talking about how fancy they were, but I could see that these guys were trying to schmooze me, and they were guys from an alphabet soup agency who were promising to do something other than chew my ass out so I figured the very least I owed them was hearing them out.

  I could always tell them to go fuck themselves if I didn't like what they had to say.

  That didn’t stop me from eying both intelligence pukes with equal amounts of suspicion. They were offering to do something nice for me. In my long experience working with intelligence pukes they never did something nice unless they wanted something in return.

  There were sort of like a teenage boy taking their girlfriend out to a lobster dinner they couldn't afford in that respect.

  "So when are you guys going to cut the bullshit and tell me what you want? You have to know what happened tonight. Otherwise you wouldn't here. So what's going on here?"

  Anderson opened a file from his briefcase. Flipped through papers. I recognized my old service photo. God I looked so young back then with a serious look on my face because I’d thought that's how you were supposed to look when you went into the military.

  I’d been so stupid. There were times when I wished I could invent a time machine and go back and slap my old self around a couple of times, but of course if I did that and prevented the future from happening then I wouldn't wind up with my wife or daughter so I wouldn't do anything even if I did have the goddamn time machine.

  Fucking time travel.

  "You have a pretty impressive record here Mr. Byron," Anderson said. "A clearance higher than mine or Hooks. Work in a special forces unit so off the books that we had to call in some favors to even get your file in the first place, and even then it was heavily redacted."

  He looked down at a report for something I’d done in some caves in Afghanistan. I’d recognize that report anywhere even if half of it was covered in the ol’ black highlighter.

  I rolled my eyes. At the time I’d wondered what the fuck I was doing humping it in the caves of Afghanistan years after “victory” was declared, but when Uncle Sam told you to go somewhere you didn't ask why. You just did it, and a lot of people had died because Uncle Sam wanted me in those caves at that particular moment.

  I wasn't exactly proud of some of the things I’d done, I didn't try to bullshit myself that what I did was necessary to protect my country from a bunch of yokels in the mountains halfway across the world, but I’d had a job to do and I did it.

  "If you're fishing for information about what I did then you guys can go fuck yourselves," I said. "That's what they told me to tell anyone who came sniffing around, by the way, so please don't try to pull any tough cop routine on me or anything. I can assure you the person who told me to say that outranks you and is a hell of a lot scarier than anything you could do to me.”

  "Oh we wouldn't imagine trying to intimidate a man with your record Mr. Byron," Anderson said. "We just want to know more about what happened tonight. And I have a feeling your background is part of the reason why you’re even alive to tell us about what happened tonight."

  Anderson slammed the file shut. He looked up and his eyes bored into mine. Cute trick, that, but I wasn’t lying when I said that people far scarier than Anderson wanted me to keep my mouth shut and they’d had far more intimidating versions of that look.

  "So why don't you start from the beginning and tell us exactly what happened out there tonight Mr. Byron?”

  "We know all about the vampire," Hooks said. "All we want to know is how you killed the motherfucker."

  I leaned back in my seat. It creaked under me precariously, but a fall from a crappy old folding chair was the least of the worries I’d faced down tonight.

  I was far more interested in what the agents just said. They were the first official investigators to breathe the “v word” and not make it sound like a joke. If they believed me…

  Well, if they believed me then I was suddenly in a talking mood. Even if I had trouble believing they actually believed me. My eyes narrowed and I searched their faces for any sign of bullshit, but they were impassive as ever.

  Government pukes. I swear they picked people who’d had that look drilled into them from the day they were born.

  "You guys believe me about the vampire?"

  12

  Debriefing

  They exchanged another one of those looks. Looked back at me and nodded in unison. It was creepy when they pulled that, but I’d seen so many creepy things tonight that one more wasn’t going to bother me too much.

  “So you know about vampires. You boys want to tell me any more about what you're doing here?"

  Again they looked at each other. Again they looked back at me. Again they shook their heads in unison. I sighed. That was the answer I expected, but it never hurt to ask an intel puke for more information.

  Even if, in my experience, it had never actually resulted in any good information.

  "Fine," I said. "I spill my guts and you guys save my job and maybe go out and do something about that vampire’s friends?”

  “Does the vampire have friends we should be doing something about?” Hooks asked.

  I sneered. There was a limit to my tolerance of your average suited intelligence asshole, after all. Especially when they played dumb to try and pump me for more info.

  Although these guys were probably FBI or something like that and they’d swear up and down they weren’t intel pukes.

  Not that it mattered to me. In my experience being an intel asshole was more a state of mind than it was a label. It didn’t matter what agency they worked for. An intel puke was an intel puke was an intel puke.

  "The vamp I dusted tonight talked about how they were going to cover up everything
. I'm assuming you guys are here working on taking care of that cover-up?"

  "You might say something like that Mr. Byron," Anderson said. "So what exactly did you talk to the vampire about?”

  I shrugged. "I don't know that I’d call it much of a conversation. Really it was him taunting me because he thought he was going to kill me."

  "But he didn't," Hooks said. "You survived a surprise encounter with a vampire where it got the drop on you."

  "You talk about that like it's not a normal thing or something," I said slowly.

  I was starting to get a creepy vibe. And not from the agents so much as because of what they were saying. More precisely how they were saying it.

  "That is a big deal," Anderson said.

  “A really fucking big deal," Hooks continued.

  I blinked. I’d never known an intel type to swear. Or to be this truthful for that matter. They were always so buttoned up with an obvious stick up their ass.

  "So you wanted to talk to me because…"

  "Because there is no reason you should be alive right now, Mr. Byron," Anderson said. "If that vampire went up against any other man but you it would've killed them. Any other cop in this operation where you're wasting your potential would have found himself getting his blood forcibly sucked out of his neck."

  I exhaled slowly at that frank assessment of my coworkers and decided to ignore the jab about wasting my potential. Focusing on my family wasn’t wasting potential.

  That assessment of my comrades on the force? It was brutal, but it was an assessment I was inclined to agree with.

  "To be perfectly honest the guy wasn't all that difficult to take down. He was kind of a bitch when we got down to it. Squealed like a stuck pig when he went over the railing.”

  It was difficult to read any sort of emotion on either agent’s face. I figured agents like them had to practice their poker face from the very first day they started at whatever academy they had to go through.