The Last Living Detective

  The Last Living Detective

  Bruce S Levine

  To my wife Joan, who I can’t thank enough for putting up with me.

  Book 1 – And the Band Slayed On

  Chapter 1

  It was a beautiful sunny day in LA so as usual the streets were deserted. Occasionally I’d pass a down on his luck vampire or demon peering hungrily from the shadows of a dark alleyway, but none dared venture into the sunlight. Being undead can seriously limit your dining options.

  Now me, I’m alive. It’s not that I haven’t had offers mind you, but I prefer breathing to placing a bet on the postmortem roulette wheel. Immortality’s not so enticing when you may end up with the lifestyle of a ghoul or zombie. I tell you the day the earth opened up and spewed out the Gas, uncertainty hit an all-time high

  Walking down the street, the only thing distinguishing the pink stucco building I entered from the other pink stucco buildings on the block was the number above the front entrance. As I climbed the four flights of creaking steps, I prayed my landlord would finally find a still living elevator mechanic. Let’s face it, the place was a giant rat trap but low rent can be very seductive. I took a short breather before opening a peeling door marked:

  Elmer Jones

  The Last Living Detective

  Yeah, I know about that sleazebag Rex Milner in Tarzana, but I set up shop years before him so I kept the tagline. I was last first.

  It’s only a gimmick but a gimmick that works. Why hire a mortal? you ask. For one thing, we can work the daylight hours the undead can’t. And money means more to us, so you get better service. Besides all those rich vampires love telling their liberal friends how they employed an underprivileged pink.

  Being basically lazy, the décor of the office was same beige on beige motif it sported when I first rented the place. Only now it was clean and spotless. I hired a squad of mite men to come in from Torrance once a week. Say what you will about those repulsive buggers, they did an amazing job of keeping down the dust. Valerie looked up from her computer at the reception desk and zeroed in on the paper bags in my hand. “One of those better be for me.”

  “Would I forget my favorite employee?” I threw her one of the bags and it clucked angrily as it hit the desktop. “Lunch ala McKluski’s.”

  She smiled so sweetly one could almost overlook the set of gleaming fangs. “I’m your only employee. And you should have gone to O’Toole’s. Their chickens have bigger veins. “

  Val’s a good kid. At least I think she’s a kid. It’s hard to tell with vampires. I remember when she first showed up at my office wearing worn out clothes and a complexion several shades paler than the one she sports today. I’m not normally a big fan of bloodsuckers but I just didn’t have the heart to send her away. So, I took her out for a pint of goat’s blood, bought her a new outfit, and gave her a job on thirty days’ probation. Turned out to be the best investment I’ve ever made. I didn’t believe her at the time, but she really was a primo hacker in her previous life. Ask her anything, she’d go to her computer and by hook or crook find the answer in a matter of minutes. And she works cheap too. I think she’s just grateful for a place to stay out of the sun during daylight hours.

  “What’s in the other bag?” she asked.

  “Just a Reuben for me.”

  Val sighed as she adjusted her blouse. “You know I miss sandwiches the most.”

  “Should have thought of that before you offed yourself.”

  “And not be young and pretty forever? Maybe you should have thought about it yourself. You must have been young once.” Val glanced up from the desk. “Though I doubt you were ever pretty.”

  “Way to suck up to the boss.”

  Suddenly there was a nibbling sensation on my leg. Looking down I saw an undead goldfish floating upside down and attacking my ankle. The rotting flesh exposed yellowed bones as he unsuccessfully tried to penetrate my sock. “Oscar!” I screamed as I kicked him away.

  Oscar’s Val’s pet or used to be. Once her pride and joy, he swam in his bowl at a place of honor on her desk. I still remember the day I came in and found Val crying behind her computer. I never realized vampire tears could be so bloody. Then I noticed Oscar floating belly up in his bowl. “We all have to go sometime,” I told her. Boy, was I ever wrong.

  Anyway, she was too broken up to perform the mandatory burial at sea, so I volunteered in her place. Now I know it’s rare for animals to undergo Change, but I guess Oscar never got the memo. Moments after flushing the toilet, the zombie goldfish came flying out of the bowl and swam through the room in his trademark upside down position. He quickly sailed past the restroom door and disappeared somewhere in the front office. He comes out of hiding every once in a while, and tries to eat me or some visitor. Possessing no teeth, the attacks are more annoying then dangerous. We tried several times to trap him, but the damn fish proved too elusive.

  “One of these days I’m going to catch that rotting devil.”

  “And then what?” Val asked.

  I shrugged. “Return him to the wild, I guess.”

  “He’s undead. He has no wild.”

  “Well, there must be someplace he fits in,” I stuttered. “It certainly isn’t here.” With the Oscar back in hiding, I came behind the desk and scanned the headlines on the screen. “Anything new and exciting?”

  “Yes, the Bone Gnawers and the Lords of Shambling had it out in downtown last night.”

  “Ghouls and zombies eating each other! Hell, I’d pay to see that.”

  “The Police Commissioner sent a dragon squad to break it up. As for the survivors…” She squinted at the screen. “Oops, there were no survivors.”

  “Werewolves have no sense of humor.” I patted her on the shoulder. She was so cold to the touch I feared getting frostbite. “Any appointments?”

  “In weather like this?” Val pointed at the sunny view outside the smog tinted window. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Well I’ll be in my office if anything comes up.”

  “I’ll be sure to wake you if it does.” Val took the chicken out of the bag, sat it in her lap, and gently petted it until it stopped clucking.

  “You know you could wait till I’m out of the room before doing that?”

  “I know,” she said then sank her teeth into its neck.

  My office is my home away from home. Actually, nowadays it’s my home. I used to rent an apartment, but I spent so little time there I finally gave it up. The upholstered couch and padded desk chair alternate as substitute beds and I moved in a small fridge and microwave. I now have everything I need. Well everything but company but that’s another story for another day. The walls are festooned with pictures of past friends and lovers I’d be better off forgetting and awards from obscure trade organizations I once made the mistake of joining. The final touch is the large oak desk separating the room into client and owner zones.

  No, I’m not a recluse or anything but agreeable people are getting harder and harder to find these days. The undead tend to look down their noses at mortals. What about family? you ask. Val’s the closest thing I’ve got to family and I like it that way. Jeez, I guess I am a recluse.

  I settled into my chair, propped both feet on the desk, and remembered back to the time before the Gas Changed everything. Odorless, colorless, nobody but a few geologists even noticed it at first, but its impact was soon hard to ignore. Oh, it’s not like the cemeteries emptied out or anything; those guys stayed dead. No, it first showed up at the hospitals. Fresh corpses were suddenly walking out of the morgue as an assortment of vampires, zombies, ghouls and other mythical creatures. There was even a news story about a doctor who performed an assisted suicide and got eaten by his patient for his troubles. Just goes to show no good deed goes unpunished.

  At first the public was terrified, demanding answers from their equally terrified leaders. Studies with monkeys quickly revealed the Gas to be the culprit but no antidote was ever found. And living forever does have its appeal. As the epidemic raged on and more and more undead appeared on TV proselytizing the benefits of Change, there was less and less interest in a solution. The researchers quickly switched tracks to finding a way to control the Change but to no avail. Dying would certainly give you immortality but you never knew as what. And of course, you never got to see the sun again.

  Despite the drawbacks, dead soon became the new black. Suicide clubs popped up everywhere and it became chic to off yourself on your twenty first birthday. They’d hold big parties for the soon to be departed and placed bets on what kind of creature they’d come back as. Gun, tranquilizer, and pesticide sales soared to all-time highs. It was almost embarrassing to remain mortal.

  Me, I was just an average PI at the time, scratching out a living handling divorce and embezzlement cases. Then the Gas came and quickly ate away my business. People were too busy enjoying their newfound personas to worry about such trivial things as marriage or bank accounts. I was just about to throw in the towel when the undead suddenly started reappearing at my door. It should come as no surprise that being deceased didn’t make anybody a better person. Nor did it protect you from the heartbreaks of adultery or theft. And a live detective was novelty they couldn’t resist.

  I drifted off and found myself dreaming about that succubus client who paid in more than cash when the intercom rudely interrupted me mid-coitus. “Mr. Jones, I have a client to see you,” Val announced.

  “Give me a minute.” I hurriedly wiped the sleep from my ey
es, brushed down my sports jacket, and clipped on a tie. “Send ‘em in, Val.”

  A three-foot figure in a black sun protection burka gracefully walked through my door. Reaching the desk, it shed its covering to reveal a full-fledged elfin maiden. This was a bit of a surprise; you don’t see too many elves these days. They usually kept to themselves, disappearing into their own pocket universes. It’s been said all elven maidens were knockouts and this one certainly didn’t disappoint. Her green tunic drenched in delicate silver filigree not only accentuated her slim figure but spoke of big money. And there was that much talked about elven aura that made the room seem several degrees hotter than it actually was. But as gorgeous as she was, her stern emotionless greenish-silver face would give the even the most ardent admirer pause.

  I introduced myself “What can I do for you Ms.…?”

  “Alvyra. Just call me Alvyra.” I doubt that was the name she was born with, but it wasn’t my place to judge “Mr. Jones, I need your help finding my husband.”

  I began my standard lecture. “Listen Alvyra, even if I find your husband, there’s no guarantee he’ll come back with me. Before you invest a lot of time, money, and heartbreak in this, maybe you should consult a good divorce attorney…”

  “Oh please, I don’t want him back. But he took something of mine when he left.” She produced a photo from her leather pouch. It was a gold wedding band indistinguishable from any other gold wedding band including the one on the elf’s finger. Some weird engravings in a foreign alphabet were visible on the inside. Didn’t look elvish to me but what do I know. “It has great sentimental value.”

  Somehow, I suspected this cold-hearted elf never had a sentimental feeling in her life. “Why haven’t you gone to the police?”

  “I did. Useless. Those smelly werewolves couldn’t find a bone if you unburied it for them.”

  Grabbing a yellow notepad, I took down the usual who’s, what’s, and where’s. She gave me a swanky Beverly Hills address as her contact. “Got any photos of your husband?” I asked.

  “Oh, you’re not allowed take pictures of Gorm. He’s a god.”

  Finally, something interesting. “A god? Forgive my asking but how did a nice elf like you get mixed up with a god?”

  “Let’s just say I was young and foolish and leave it at that.” She took a cigarette out from her neck pouch and lit it.

  “That’ll stunt your growth you know.”

  Alvyra gave me a look that would freeze any man in his tracts. “Do you want the case or not?”

  I went into my spiel about a retainer, out of pocket expenses, per diem fees, and overtime. She didn’t even blink as she produced a checkbook, signed it, then slid the whole thing across the desk to me. Maybe it’s time to raise my fees.

  Nothing about this passed the sniff test but a job’s a job. I made a show of tearing out the check as I read the hand-written register above it. One name was repeated several times: The Strigoi Foundation. “Thank you Alvyra. I’ll get on this right away. My assistant Valerie will keep you up to date on our progress.”

  The elfin maiden threw on her black burka and left without a further word. A few minutes later I went up front to Val’s desk.

  “Anything interesting, Boss?” she asked as she cleared the last of the feathers from her desktop.

  “Just some jewelry recovery from a dumped husband.” Val made an exaggerated yawn. “But there’s something not quite right about this. Just for giggles check out the Strigoi Foundation for me. Ms. Alvyra’s dropped a serious amount of dough on them lately.”

  Val’s fingers flew across the keyboard for a minute. She glared at the screen until a satisfied grin came across her face. “It says here they’re some kind of vampire think tank. Research, welfare, yada yada. Funny, I’ve never heard of them.”

  I shrugged. “Why in hell would an elf be interested in vampire welfare? Check the directors roster for the names Alvyra or Gorm. Nobody dumps that much cash on a charity without at least getting a seat on the board.”

  Val did her magic then shook her head. “Sorry, no hits. But wait.” She squinted closer at the screen. “This is a pretty new page. Let’s hope they didn’t erase the old ones yet.” Her fingers did their flying act again until she sat back and smiled. “You’re right as usual, Boss. Up to two months ago they were both proud members of the Board of Directors. They must have done something pretty nasty to get their names erased that fast.”

  “Hard copy me the address.” I opened the closet to gather my coat and supplies. “And while you’re at it, see if you track can down the locale of a god named Gorm.”

  “I went out with a god once.” Val said. “What a prick. The only thing he was good for was turning oregano into pot. The problem was he constantly smoked the results.”

  About now you’re probably wondering why I never made a play for Val. Not that I haven’t fantasized about it, mind you. It’s just that I worry about it messing up our employer/employee relationship such as it is. Besides, it’s said vampiresses eat their boyfriends when they don’t sexually satisfy them.

  Some more furious typing and Val announced, “That was easy. He’s got a setup in Temple Town by Sepulveda. He must be doing okay; got four stars on Yelp.”

  I looked at the sunshine outside the window and sighed. “Well, it’s such a nice day out, I think I’ll walk. The Foundation’s on the way to Temple Town so I’ll stop there first. Wish me luck.”

  Val flashed me a look of concern. “You do realize it’ll be dark soon?”

  “Don’t worry, I can handle myself. I’m loaded to bear with crosses, amulets, and holy water. Any undead that tries to tangle with me is going to die to regret it.”

  Right about now you’re probably wondering why I never pack a gun. A: I rarely if ever need one and B: with my aim I’d probably end up shooting the wrong person. Why ask for more trouble than you already got?

  I flashed Val a wink. “I didn’t know you cared.”

  “I don’t. I‘d just hate to look for a new job.” It’s hard to tell with vampires but I think she was blushing as she turned her attention back to the computer screen.

  Chapter 2

  It was getting past four and the streets of the downtown were filling with businessmen and women in black burkas carrying briefcases. Flying carpets, unicorn drawn carriages, mounted prehistoric beasts, and even an old-fashioned car or two poured out of the surrounding parking structures. Driverless taxis and limos sent by Uber wizards patrolled the district looking to ferry office workers to their favorite nightspots. Beneath my feet, passenger worms rumbled through the subway tunnels on their journey to the far suburbs. I checked the addresses on the building fronts and soon found myself standing before a modern looking glass and steel edifice bearing the legend:

  The Strigoi Foundation

  Working for a Bloodier Tomorrow

  The lobby was a study in gleaming marble and glass, its walls covered in heraldic family crests and oil portraits of important looking bloodsuckers attired in Armani. A large photo of a long line of empty suits holding an oversized check graced the place of honor at the front of the room. Vampires don’t photograph well.

  I was wondering if the staff had taken off for the night when a tall well-groomed vamp in business attire suddenly appeared in front of me. “Can I help you?”

  About now, I should tell you the most notable thing about me is that I’m amazingly average: average height, average weight, average features. In most walks of life, looking nondescript is considered a handicap. But in my profession, it’s an invaluable asset. You could go anywhere and pass yourself off as just about anything you needed to be. With luck, they might not remember you were ever there.

  For now, I figured ignorance mode was best. I don’t know what it says about me, but it was the easiest mode to don. I blinked with exaggeration to signal nervousness. “Err-I heard about your foundation and decided to check it out for myself.”

  He gave me a disdainful look. “You’re a little old for the breeding program.”

  Breeding program? “No, I recently received an unexpected windfall and I’m looking for a worthy cause to support. What exactly is it you do here, Mr.…?”