by Angela Allen
Two minutes later Quick pulls up in his squad car. With him is Pete Escobar, a rookie who thinks he knows more than he does. Shelly is sitting in the backseat. Shelly hops out of the car and looks at the entrance. There are about ten people waiting in line.
“They’re still letting folks in, so the game must not have started yet,” she says. “Come on! Let’s get some good seats.”
Pete follows her, admiring her backside as she walks, after a quick peek back at his partner. But Quick’s mind is clearly elsewhere. He’s sniffing the air like he’s smelling something foul.
“Hey, Partner,” Pete calls. “You coming? Quick? Hey, you alright?”
But Quick has picked up a dangerous scent. Vampires. And they smell oddly familiar, like a word that’s on the tip of your tongue but you just can’t remember it.
“I’m straight,” Quick says. “But I got a hunch something’s about to go down. Watch your back, okay?”
The two men follow Shelly inside, Quick still scanning the crowd for that telltale scent he recognizes.
The two teams are warming up, stretching and shooting free throws. Ricky waves at a pretty girl walking to her seat. Malika looks as innocent as apple pie. But her tight jeans don’t leave much to the imagination and her push-up bra looks illegal. She blows Ricky a kiss, drawing cheers from his watching team-mates.
Nate glances over to the stands and sees the source of Ricky’s distraction. He dribbles over and stage-whispers loud enough for the whole team to hear: “You could play the best game of your life and you still wouldn’t get none of that!”
Ricky laughs at his uncle and shoves Nate away. He gives Malika one last smile and a wink, and goes back to practicing.
As Pete and Shelly find seats, Quick waves Nate over. “Yo, you made it,” Nate says. But the joke he’s about to share dies on his lips. Quick has his nightstick out. He ain’t playing: somebody’s getting ready to get hurt. “Hope that ain’t meant for me,” Nate jokes, not wanting to ask questions while anyone can overhear.
“They’re here,” Quick says, eyes darting around the gym.
“Who?” asks Nate.
“Nigga! Don’t you smell them?” Quick taps his nose. Nate inhales.
“Oh, shit, you’re right,” he says, the basketball clutched in his hands.
“Daddy in here?” Quick asks.
“No, he said he was going over to Doc’s.” On alert now, Nate scans the packed house. A vampire attack would likely cause a stampede that was sure to leave plenty of folks hurt, maybe even a few trampled to death. “What’s the plan?” he asks Quick.
Quick points to the announcer at the scorer’s table. “For now just keep an eye on Ricky,” he says. “I got Pete helping me with Shelly. If you see anything or smell anything, I want you to grab that fool’s mike and holla. Got it?”
Nate nods. Nightstick in hand, Quick heads off in the direction of the bleachers to look for Shelly and Pete. “Be safe,” Nate hollers to his brother, then dribbles back over to where his team is huddled, waiting for the start of the game.
Quick works his way through the crowd. He finds Pete sitting alone. Rookies! They never do what you tell them to do.
“Where’s Shelly?” Quick barks.
“Oh, she went to get some popcorn,” Pete says casually, never looking up from the program guide. “She said she had to go now because once the game started she wasn’t moving.”
“Shit,” Quick bites out. “If I’m not back in five minutes, find me.” When Pete looks up, Quick is already gone. He sees his partner turn the corner, swimming against a tidal wave of cheering fans.
The scent of vampires is stronger with each frantic step Quick takes. He finally catches sight of his sister. She’s standing in line at the concession stand, counting her change.
By Shelly’s count, she has just enough for a hot dog and a drink. Now if only the damn line would move. She looks around. People slip into and out of the line. A man bumps into her. He doesn’t say excuse me. Shelly thinks she sees a familiar face but it’s hidden by the crowd. The two men blocking her view move, and the face is revealed. Lou.
Shelly drops her change. More people move. The crowd shifts. The face is gone. Still stunned, Shelly reaches the counter. She turns to place her order. Behind the counter she finds a monster.
“How may I help you?” Lou smiles. “Are you thirsty? Me, too.” He grabs the concession girl and brutally slams his fangs into her. Those close enough to see run screaming in all directions. Lou tosses the dead girl away and walks toward his wife. Shelly is frozen. She’s like a deer caught in a car’s headlights. She sees the danger. She knows she has to get away. But she just can’t move.
“I missed you, girl,” Lou croons. “You miss me, baby? Come here. Give Daddy some.”
Shelly feels her feet take a step toward Lou. She tries to scream. But nothing comes out. She takes another unwilling step.
Lou is concentrating on Shelly so hard he almost doesn’t feel the tap on his shoulder. That damn Mace! Before the night is over I’m going to shoot him for sure. He turns with a snarl, and comes face-to-face with Quick’s service revolver.
“Hey, Lou…” Quick says. “Catch.”
The force of the shot knocks Lou backward. Quick rushes over to Shelly. He shakes her hard and gives one command: “Run!”
Lou is already back on his feet. And running after them. He’s closing fast. He grabs Quick by the throat, lifting the big man off his feet. Quick lashes out with a roundhouse kick that would make Bruce Lee proud. Lou flinches but doesn’t loosen his grip.
“My turn,” Lou says, his powerful punch sending Quick sailing clear across the now-deserted room.
“Remember your vows, baby,” he tells his wife. “For better or worse. For richer or poorer. Till death do us, well, we might have to work on that one.”
Quick is laid out cold. Shelly frantically tries to revive him. No! No! No! Smokey killed him. He’s dead. This can’t be happening!
“He can’t help you, baby.” Lou laughs. He walks away from Shelly and heads back to the soda fountain.
“I know it’s hard for you to believe right now, but I’m thinking we can start fresh, you know,” Lou says, pouring a soda. “I’m gonna bite you. You’ll be my slave. We won’t ever fight again. Damn, you just gave me a new business idea: vampire marriage counseling. One bite and everything’s alright!” He grins.
Pete runs in, gun drawn. He aims. Fires. Soda spills down Lou’s leather, baby-blue, double-breasted suit. Even undead he dresses like a cheap pimp.
Lou grabs a paper towel and wipes off the dripping soda. Nice and slow. He’s in no rush. He has all the time in the world. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to fuck you up for that one, Officer,” Lou says calmly.
He levitates over the counter and makes his way toward Pete, snarling to flash his fangs. Pete is frozen in shock. Lou reaches him, wraps a hand around Pete’s throat and starts to squeeze the life out of him.
A blow from behind knocks Lou’s hand away. The man-size wolf roars and slashes a ribbon of red across Lou’s baby-blue suit. “Get Nate. Go!” yells the wolf in Quick’s voice.
Lou grabs for Pete again, trying to get a stranglehold. Quick barrels into Lou’s chest, knocking the rookie cop loose from the vampire’s grip. Both vampire and werewolf regain their feet in a flash. They come together with a crash. Both know that one of them’s going to die tonight.
Pete looks on in amazement, rubbing his abused throat. Gasping for air, he tries to make sense out of the snarling shadow attacking Lou. What had happened? And where was Quick? And how the hell was he going to explain this to headquarters? Werewolves and vampires? They’d lock him up for sure.
Shelly hears a crash and a long, loud wolf’s howl. A huge wolf appears beside her. It’s Smokey.
“Shelly, you and Pete get out of here,” Smokey says. “I got it covered.” As Shelly and Pete run out, the wolf turns toward the still-grappling Lou and Quick. Quick is bleeding badly.
�
�Welcome back to the land of the living, Lou,” Smokey says, “Hope you enjoyed your time in hell, ’cause I’m sending you right back.”
Lou gives Quick a vicious blow. He looks up at Smokey and smiles. He reaches for his gun with the silver bullets, but before he can pull it out, Smokey rams into his chest, sending both of them careening across the room, smashing through chairs and tables. Lou is fast, but Smokey is faster. He has both age and experience. The wolf lands on top, snarling and snapping for a lethal blow. Lou gets his feet under him and tosses Smokey off. But the wolf is back on the attack in an eye-blink. Quick rejoins the fight. The two wolves tag-team the vampire, hammering him down. The battle is coming to a close and Lou is losing. Badly.
Smokey smells her before she steps out of the shadows. Smokey stops. Sniffs. It has been thirty years, but he will never forget that scent. The smell of the creature that killed his wife. Malika.
She’s holding a gun to his grandson Ricky’s head.
Lou takes advantage of Smokey’s distraction and hits him with a sucker punch. He tosses Quick off with a kick. Smokey lands against two soda machines, toppling the heavy metal machines to the floor. The older wolf tries to rise but falls back and reverts from wolf back to man, then doubles over and vomits.
“Not now, damn it! Not now!” he prays, trying to fight the effects of the brain tumor to force the change and failing.
Quick, still in wolf form, staggers to his feet. He is covered with blood. One eye is swollen shut like the loser in a fight with Mike Tyson.
“Daddy, what’s wrong?” he calls, ignoring Lou.
Lou begins to move in for the kill, circling toward Smokey, but Malika pulls him back and shoves Ricky toward him. She wants this kill. She points her gun at Smokey. Aims.
“That’s right. I killed your wife, Smokey,” Malika purrs. “And a few minutes ago, I killed your son Nate. Silver bullet to the head. It was fast. Oh, yeah, then I slapped around your daughter and stuck my gun in her gut. And here’s the best part. Later on tonight, I’m going to kill your grandson, grind up his bones and snort him up my nose.”
“Buh-bye.” She fires twice.
For Smokey, time seems to stretch out like molasses. Death always takes its time. He sees that both bullets are silver. He sees Quick, all four legs pumping, running toward those bullets and launching himself into the air. One well-timed paw swats away the first bullet. But by stretching for the first bullet, he puts his chest directly in front of the second bullet. Both father and son scream as the second bullet finds its target. Quick lands with a thud at his father’s feet, a silver bullet through the heart. Quick reverts back to human. Smokey screams in anguish.
“Aw, don’t cry, Smokey,” says Malika. “I got love for ya. Silver bullet love.”
“Hey!” Pete yells, running into the room. Both Malika and Lou turn. They recoil as one at the sight of the gold cross in his hands. The cross is shining, giving off a white glow, the bright light causing Malika to throw up her hands and drop her gun.
“Get out, you unholy bitch!” Pete screams. “And take that fucking tooth fairy with you.”
“Oh, you got jokes now,” Lou snarls, one arm shielding his eyes while his other is locked around Ricky’s throat. He twists the boy’s body so that it shields him from the direct glare of the cross. “You got jokes but I’m the one with the gun.” Lou fires in the direction of Pete’s voice. The young cop dives for cover behind the overturned soda machines.
The room grows quiet. After a few minutes, Pete ducks his head out. The two vampires are gone. Smokey is cradling the body of his dead son. His heart racing, he quickly scans the room again. The vampires have taken Ricky with them.
“This one’s still alive!” The words ring through Smokey’s head as he sits in the hospital waiting room. See, he’s a man of faith. Strong faith. He knows his prayers will be answered. His daughter will make it through surgery. His grandson will be found. Born into a bloodline of supernatural beings, Smokey has never had any doubt that there is a heaven and a hell. He knows the tumor in his brain is terminal and he’s willing to meet his maker and be judged. He just prays that before that final Judgment Day he can take a few vampires with him.
“You want sugar with that?” Pete asks as he hands Smokey a cup of coffee. Smokey declines with a silent shake of his head. The two men, bonded by tragedy, sit in the hard, straight-backed chairs, each not knowing what to say to the other. Pete breaks the silence.
“Whether she makes it or not, we gotta get back the kid,” he says. “I just don’t understand. Why do they want him so bad? He’s just a kid.”
“Something you need to know. But before I tell you, you got to promise me to keep all this to yourself,” Smokey says.
“Deal,” Pete answers. No one’s going to believe this shit anyway. “What you got?”
“Red Snow,” Smokey answers. “It’s a drug that’s made from the bones of a virgin werewolf. There was a time in the late twenties when a group of vampires camped out in Alaska. Alaska’s got long winters. It’s dark for months at a time. Legend has it that thirteen of the vampires were also witches. They worked out a deal with the Devil. If they could get him high, they’d win back their immortal souls. These vampires trapped werewolves, skinned them alive, drained their blood and ground up the bones into a fine powder. You get a man’s bones and his blood and you pretty much got the essence of what he is,” finishes Smokey.
“His soul?” Pete ventures, disbelief on his face.
“Pretty damn close,” Smokey replies. “So close that not only did Satan get high, he got hooked. Back in the eighteen hundreds, about one out of every ten thousand men was a werewolf. Now you got maybe a hundred nationwide. Most got hunted down to feed the Devil’s addiction. The survivors converted to Christianity and pledged their lives to working for the Lord by hunting down those who worked for the Devil. Vampires. It took ten years to do it, but the werewolves banded together and shut ’em down. But legend has it that one of the original thirteen got away.”
“The teenage girl with the gun,” Pete says.
“Yeah, she’s the one,” Smokey confirms. “When Shelly was just a baby, me and my sons got a false tip about where we might find her. While we were out looking for her she came to the house and killed my wife.”
Smokey’s not a man to cry easily. But tonight, his eyes burn with both anger and loss. Pete puts a hand on the old warrior’s shoulder, offering silent strength.
“Why didn’t she kill the baby?” he asks.
“That’s a question I’ve asked myself over and over again,” says Smokey. “My best guess, it was because of the birthmark on Shelly’s neck. It’s a cross.”
“A cross? I never saw any cross on her neck,” says Pete.
“I know. She got so many questions about it over the years, she started to hide it with makeup,” Smokey says.
A doctor enters the room. The conversation stops. The doctor wearily pours a cup of coffee. He leaves the room after a few moments.
“If they gave Satan what he wanted, why are they still vampires? If he gave them their souls back, wouldn’t that make them human again?” says Pete.
“The Devil’s a liar and the truth ain’t in him,” says Smokey flatly. “I’m guessing that he didn’t make good on his part of the deal. The only one who can win you back your soul is Jesus Christ and ain’t no vampire looking to meet him. Satan probably offered the vampires something else in exchange for the drugs. Maybe power or special spells. Witches love secrets.”
“And they recruited drug dealers to drum up more business?” Pete ventures. “Or maybe he’s bringing in some competition to keep his current supplier on her toes.”
Before Smokey can respond, the waiting room doors swing open. A surgeon pops his head in. “Which one of you is Smokey James?” he asks. Smokey stands and nods.
“Your daughter’s going to be alright. She lost a lot of blood, but we got her in time. It’s the damnedest thing, when the medic found her somehow the bullet she
was shot with was in her hand. It’s like she pulled the bullet out of herself.”
A few miles away from the hospital, Smokey’s best friend, Doc Goldberg, is getting a good laugh reading an Idiot’s Guide to Werewolves. Flipping through the book, Doc mutters to himself, “Wrong, wrong, hmmmm…gonna have to ask Smoke about that one.” He hears his wife yell. He hauls himself out of the chair and waddles out the room and up the stairs. Sylvia loves to watch TV late at night. She’s probably scared herself again watching some silly horror movie. Or the Jerry Springer show.
“Sylvia!” Doc calls out. “You okay in there? Honey?” He notices that the bedroom door is ajar. That’s odd. Sylvia is always complaining about the house being drafty. She always closes the door when she crawls into bed. Just as he reaches the door and puts a hand to the knob, it opens. He is snatched inside.
Doc sees his wife in Mace’s grip (or rather in his one good arm, Nate having chewed off the other one). She is feebly struggling to break free even as Mace drains the last drops of blood out of her. He makes a slurping sound as he drinks.
“Losing your wife is fucked up, ain’t it, Doc?” Lou teases, pinning the smaller man to the wall with one hand.
Doc watches helplessly as Mace tosses Sylvia to the floor. She lies there like an empty soda can. Drained and empty.
“Oh no. No!” Doc sobs. Mace grins at him. The fresh blood flowing through his veins regenerates his lost limb. In minutes the new limb is complete. Mace flexes it, twirling it like a pitcher doing a windup. Then belches, noisily. He smiles sheepishly, like a dinner guest with bad table manners.
“You monster!” Doc hisses at them. “She never hurt you! She never hurt anybody!
“And you!” he spits at Lou. “She was a mother to your wife. Anything Shelly needed she gave her. Food, money, a ride to the hospital after you beat her—”
“Shut up!” Lou growls viciously.
“Monster!” Doc curses. “That’s what you are. That’s all you’ll ever be.”
Lou bares his fangs. The two men glare at each other. “You piece of shit,” Doc says. “What are you gonna do now? Kill me, too? Get it over with then. I’m not afraid of death!”