Red cheeked, sweating, and exhausted, the two women were completely worked over by Maven, deep into the night. The man seemed to be bottomless with lust, pushing both women further and longer than they ever thought possible.
And then… they woke up.
The first thing on both of their minds was the incredible dream they had last night, and whether or not they would tell the other about it. Then, simultaneously and like mirror images of each other, they looked around the room. Sex toys lay scattered on the bed and floor. The room was trashed, and to top it all off, both of them were still wearing bondage tape, pretty damning evidence.
Both women were speechless until Kat thought of something to say.
”Any good dreams last night?”
They both laughed, sheepishly. Ashley had another look around, took the kind of relaxed breath that can only follow a night of intense and endless sex, then for lack of any better words as a host, asked, “Some wine?”
Chapter 10
Most people called him Rusty Dick, though the name his mother gave him was actually Richey Rusty. Rusty was a lanky, long-haired twenty-something, covered in tattoos. He was also the manager at Demons, Ink. It took a lot to knock Rusty off mental balance, so when he opened the door to Maven’s office with a shaken look on his face, Maven knew something was up.
“Uhhh, boss? This guy wants to see you.”
Rusty left in a hurry, and his place was immediately taken by none other than Aubrey Fiddlesworth, the arch-demon Gazrog’s attorney. Maven knew him well.
He was a tall, rail-thin man. His face placed him in his mid fifties, yet his skin was clear, white, and unlined, other than the veins that could be seen creeping beneath. The man was impeccably dressed, wearing a long business suit circa 1700 topped off with dark, round sunglasses, which hid his black eyes.
Aubrey’s hair, streaked with black and grey, was neatly tied in a lengthy ponytail that flowed out beneath his high-fashion top hat. His bright red lips only served to emphasize is bright smile and its perfect white teeth. Perfect, accept for one, which was jagged, yellow, and razor sharp. Clutched within his thin and boney fingers, with their red fingernails, was his white birch cane, which was covered in ancient markings, and carvings of horrified faces.
Never leave home without it, Maven thought.
“Tea?” The monstrosity of fashion and twisted features asked. Not asked, offered, as a mug magically appeared in his hand. He presented the drink as an opening offering to sit down and talk business, which Maven accepted gratefully, taking a sip right away.
“Go ahead,” Aubrey said, his British accent coming out even in those couple short words. “Drink. Lots of healing agents in there.”
“I appreciate that, Aubrey.” At least, Maven would have if he thought it was true. The attorney was constantly putting on the appearance that he empathized with Maven, but both men knew that the guy couldn’t care less. He was simply Gazrog’s mouthpiece, sent to make Maven miserable in one way or another.
“Maven, you know I hate to get straight to business.”
No you don’t. You’re a lawyer, Maven thought, but he chose his spoken words more carefully. “Business is fine, I haven’t gotten a chance to ink someone in a while. Been busy. I just gave a client a nice Grateful Dead tattoo, maybe you were looking for something along those lines?”
The attorney gave a curt, polite, one-sided grin.
“Not your business, I’m afraid. Mine. There’s no sense standing on circumstance, and I suppose I’ll have to come right out and say it, no two ways about it.”
Brits, Maven thought. Even when they’re being direct they have to be wordy about it.
“It’s rather regrettable, really, but of all the demons out there, some have been behaving, shall we say, a little unruly.” With that last word, the Attorney looked deep into Maven’s eyes, unflinching. “Dreadful news, really. A pity, but, well... You’re going to have to kill Dionis.”
“I’m going to—” Maven wasn’t even sure where to begin. “Kill Dionis?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. You see, she’s been upsetting Gazrog, and Gazrog has deemed you worthy of the slaying.”
“Have you ever tried killing a succubus, Mister Fiddlesworth?”
The attorney waved his hand in the air. “Tut, tut, tut. Details will be sorted out. The church down the street, ah, Trinity Church, is it? Yes, well there’s a certain secret archive down in its basement. Did you know about it?”
Maven groaned, still hung up on step number one of the whole affair. “Heard of it, yeah.”
“In said archive, you’ll find a blessed dagger. It should do the job. Do it well, I should say. Now...” Aubrey produced and unrolled a large, ancient parchment from thin air, then pulled his pen out of his front jacket. Even the man’s pen told of misery. It was formed in the shape of a mass of bones and filled with, of course, human blood.
Maven took the pen, casually, not wanting to show his anger. As he dashed the pen across the contract, he asked Aubrey a question, so quietly that it was almost telepathically, “Penny for your thoughts?”
Aubery seemed to take the meaning right away. He spent a lot of time watching Maven, and Maven knew it. There was a case to be solved. Aubrey gave a slow, knowing nod. “I so love a murder mystery, but I’m afraid this one isn’t much of a mystery for me. You see, I know your killer, Maven.” With the contract signed, Aubrey rolled up the paper, made it disappear, and pocketed his pen.
“And while I’m talking,” he said. “So do you.” Before Maven could ask for any more details, Aubrey tipped his hat and said, “Good day, Maven. I must take my leave. Business to attend to and such!”
He was gone, and keeping up with their “switcheroo” act, Rusty Dick returned right away.
“You ok, boss?”
“No, Rusty. No I am very not ok.” Maven chuckled, offering no further information but a please leave now glare. Rusty did as urged, and shut the door nervously behind him.
Chapter 11
Maven typically preferred to plunge right into the fun, but with regards to this new “job,” he thought it better to do a few laps and scope out the Trinity Church from the outside before making his move. The mood was fitting of an undercover operation, until it was broken by the grumbling of a skateboard on concrete, mixed with the perky sound of a curious teenager’s voice.
“Out for a s-s-s-stroll, Mister Drake?” Converse Billy was performing the daring act of carrying a pizza while rolling down the sidewalk. Billy's nervous stutter told Maven something was up tonight. Billy's tricked out board was covered in stickers of rock bands and symbols of good and evil. His skateboard was no ordinary board. It almost seemed to ride itself and was seemingly connected to Billy's mind. Maven wondered how many other tricks were hidden beneath the beat up piece of hickory and four massive bright orange wheels, which suddenly came to a stop right next to Maven.
“Got to love that fresh air. What’s new with you?” Maven tilted his head towards the pizza box. “Looks like you got a customer on your hands.”
“Extra s-s-s-ausage and p-p-p-pepperoni here.” He held it out, tauntingly, grinning. The expression was somehow a contrast to his long disheveled dirty blond hair. “You want a slice?”
“I’ll pass.” As much as Maven wanted to pass on the whole conversation as well, he knew it wouldn’t be right. Converse Billy was an orphan of murder. The kid had been crying over his mother’s gravestone when Maven met him. After that, a quick stint of life on the streets and an encounter with a vampire named Victor Von Stowvich, Billy had become an immortal bloodsucker. Now he carried a "lucky" switchblade, a variety of pizzas, and the weight of trying to find his mother’s killer.
“How are things, Billy? Any progress on your investigation?”
The vampire kid turned somber. “Not y-y-y-yet, but I’ve been asking around a bit. Sometimes it’s hard since I’m still getting used to this nighttime only thing… real pain in the b-b-butt.” He rested the pizza against his hip to g
ive his arm a nervous scratch, revealing the many tattoos of his mother at different stages of her life, tattoos given within the walls of Demon, Ink.
Maven tried not to stare at his own work. “Has Victor done any digging for you?”
“He tells me he will help in due time. You know...” Bill shrugged. “V-v-v-vampires…”
Maven gave a commiserating shrug, almost wanting to add, “fathers,” which was essentially what Victor was to Billy, now. Then he caught a glimpse of Billy’s shoes.
“Oh, Green Chuck Taylors, tonight? What’s the significance? I know what happens when you wear red.”
Billy dodged the seemingly simple question. “Yeah, I wore r-r-r-red the night w-w-w-when I saw one of Charlie’s girls outside of B-b-b-blue B-b-b-awlers. You know that dancer at Charlie’s called D-D-Double D?” Billy asked, sheepishly.
Mavin raised an eyebrow and gave a quiet, knowing nod, encouraging Billy to continue.
“I was out hanging around as usual and I saw her after one of her sh-sh-shifts. Damn, that girl looked good. Vamps get turned on by a babe just like the rest of the w-w-w-world, Mister Drake.”
Maven rolled his eyes, then steered the conversation in a reluctant direction.
“Okay, Billy. What happened with Double D? She’s been missing, as you probably know.”
Billy smiled. “W-W-Well, Mister Drake. As you know, I have these ur-ur-urges sometimes and that night I had a hu-hu-huge one. I tried to stop it but couldn’t. That woman is h-h-hot! I started talking to her and giving her my sob story, and—”
“Oh, Billy. Did you cry for her?”
“Genuine tears, man. Anyway, I asked her to w-w-w-walk me home and of course she did. Then I asked her to walk me inside so my dad could see…”
“Your dad? Say no more, Billy. I think I know where this is going.”
“Yeah, you do. My dad took a liking to her too and now she’s turning vamp, but technically, also, m-m-my…”
“Mother?” Maven finished, swiping a hand over his face, trying to rub away the stain of this whole mess. “It’s like some kind of fucked up reality show. I’ve been searching all over for her, Billy. And now you tell me she’s a vampire, one of Victor's wives, and your mother? She’s barely twenty-one, for Christ’s sake,” Maven said with a level of frustration that surprised even him. “I need to speak to her about Stanley Belman. She was the last to see him alive, Billy.”
“Y-y-y-y-yeh, I know. I heard y-y-y-you were l-l-l-looking for her. I wanted to tell you sooner, but you know how th-th-things are,” Billy said with his usual lack of finesse. “This s-s-stuff is all new to me, too.”
“Tell your honorary father to expect to see me later.”
“Victor doesn’t really like to be bothered by guests,” Billy said, showing his nerves.
“Tell him to prepare to be bothered,” Maven shot back. “Now I have a walk to finish and you’ve got a pizza to deliver. I’ll catch you later, alright?”
Billy stepped onto his skateboard for departure, but froze for a moment.
”Uh, Mister Drake? Is there any way you might be able to help me find my m-m-m-mother’s killer, too?” The way he asked, the tone in his voice, made it clear to Maven that physiological changes that occur to vampires had yet to reach the kid’s emotions.
“Sure, Billy,” Maven said, quickly pivoting to adjust the topic and mood. “Right after you tell me what your green Chuck Taylor’s mean.” He smiled.
Billy didn’t return the smile. “Loss, Mister Drake. Loss. My mother’s favorite color was green. Fresh spring grass in the park. I went to visit her grave tonight.”
The image of their first meeting from five years prior flashed across Maven’s mind. Billy had been kneeling there screaming out to whatever god would listen. Seeing anyone in a state like that is enough to bring out a torrent of empathy. Even when merely recalled five years later, the image had the same effect.
“I’ll help you, Billy. As soon as I can. I have a few things I need to clean up first”
The answer went unheard, as Billy was caught up in his own memories.
“Her favorite pizza was sausage and pepperoni.” He lifted the box slightly as if to say, “See? Just like this one.”
That gesture brought a close to their interaction, as Billy turned, jumped onto his board and rolled away without putting foot to ground. The wheels rolled effortlessly, as Billy's long hair flew in the light breeze, leaving Maven to his own problems.
Chapter 12
After completing his roundabout, Maven came to a stop before the gothic, double doors of Trinity church. The lights were on inside, and a salesman like, deep southern voice was creeping out of the building. A preacher.
“What the fuck have I got myself into?” Maven asked, under his breath. With that, he forced one foot in front of the other, and approached the holy house against his better judgment.
There was small group gathered at the front pews, praying together with a handsome, young preacher. The holy man and source of the deep voice spotted Maven walking in and paused to make it clear that he was annoyed by the interruption.
“Great,” Maven said, still under his own breath. “Another preacher looking to cash in.” He gave a hushed chuckle and took a seat at the back pew. There was a nun in the prayer group, which sent Maven flashing back to Sister Esperanza, her erect nipples, her trembling moans.
Re-focusing on his mission, Maven cased the room, searching for a way down to the basement, preparing for a future break-in.
“Hey, mon.”
The accent was distinctly Jamaican, but the location of the source was unknown. Maven looked left and right first, then up, where he saw an old, dark-skinned man with very scraggly, silverfish-white streaked dreadlocks. He was peeking over the balcony, tucked away in the loft space at the back of the church. “How are you, mon?”
Maven was immediately certain that he had never met the man, because he wouldn’t have been able to forget him if he had. The old man had massive rings on his fingers, along with piercings on his face that were large enough to be called trinkets.
Looking back to the prayer group, Maven confirmed that he had entered yet another supernatural interaction. They showed no sign of hearing the man.
“You need a confession, mon,” the man said, plainly. “Lot’s of sinning, mon. Lots of sinning.”
“Seems like you know me,” Maven said. “So how about we drop the ‘mon’ and enter a friendly first-name basis.”
“You need a confession, mon,” the man said, more sternly this time. He flicked his gaze to the small, isolated confessional box on the church’s far wall.
“Ok, old man. I’ll bite.” As Maven made his way to the confessional, the preacher halted his prayer, causing his group of bible buddies to turn to look at Maven with annoyance.
“What?” Maven asked, innocently. “Is walking a sin now, too?”
“I believe the church is closed tonight, sir,” the preacher said. “No confessions. Father O’Cahey will be in tomorrow.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Maven responded. “Do you mind if I give myself one? A confession to God? I’ve got a few things I need to discuss with the Almighty.” Maven smiled and looked up. ”I’m a detective. Just looking to piece together a few things. This place helps me think. It’s like a library, full of old ideas and fiction.” Maven smiled politely as he whipped out his badge. “I just need a minute of solace if you don’t mind. I won’t be long. Would you mind keeping it down out here in the mean time?” He didn’t wait for authorization.
“Please be quick, son,” said the preacher, who certainly was not old enough to call Maven son. “If your interested in Bible Study, please make an appointment tomorrow and I’ll be happy to talk with you.”
Maven laughed inside, wondering if Dionis had a go ‘round with this particular holy douchebag. Before entering the confessional, he took a fleeting glance over his shoulder and noticed the nun’s head turning quickly away. She had been watching him, but wasn’t quite
brave enough for eye contact. Maven brushed it off, and walked into the confessional, closing the door behind him. He knelt down.
“If only Gazrog could see me now.” Then, he wondered if he could.
The slide to the attached room opened suddenly and the Jamaican “mon” appeared. His face was inches from Maven’s in those close-quarters, and seemingly even more wrinkled than it was a minute earlier. His eyes were black and he had strange tattoos encircling both of his eyes, creating the appearance of a mask. Maven hadn’t noticed that before, either. The mysterious man’s earlobes were stretched wide, gauged with plugs in the shape of strange crosses. Several necklaces laced with tiny bones and religious symbols lined his neck. The scar tissue on his face made it clear that the piercings were very old. When he spoke, it revealed that his teeth were marked with dark yellow stain, off-putting even to Maven. His breath smelled of old curry.
“Welcome, to your purification.” His accent turned the last syllable into an emphasized “Shahn.” Maven couldn’t be sure, but the words also seemed riddled with sarcasm.
“You have information for me, old man?”
“More than you know, mon.”
“What’s your name?”
“King JuJu, mon.” His eyes seemed to whirl and change in misty colors. “I’m here to warn you. Be careful. There are things (tings) going on around you that you are not aware of, Maven, son.”
“Why does everyone think I’m their son today?” A thought struck him, sending him to a more serious frame of mind. “How do you know my name?”
“Ahh, I’ve known you for a long time, mon. You just never met me until now. I’m here to warn you, mon. Watch your back. Those closest to you might not be who you think they are, mon. Good and evil all around. All around.” King JuJu paused, then said, “Your mom. Your mom, mon, was…was. Wuh—”
The Incubus Detective Page 5