The Last Living Detective Read online

  The vampire’s face lightened. “Alucard. Vlad Alucard” The Gas could radically change a person’s appearance but did nothing to improve their imagination when it came to choosing names. “I’m the Assistant Secretary of the Strigoi Foundation. Let’s go someplace more comfortable and I’ll tell you about the good work we do.” He pointed to a door off the foyer.

  Vlad’s office was decorated in early junior executive. The customary ersatz wood desk and even cheaper looking laminated bookshelves half filled with dusty unread volumes were making their mandatory appearance while meaningless award plaques and inspirational posters were plastered across the walls. A photo of a bat dangling from a cave ceiling bearing the moto: HANG IN THERE, BABY graced the coveted spot behind the desktop. We took seats on our respective sides of the desk.

  “I must say it’s nice to see a pink-err forgive me, mortal-taking an interest in averting the upcoming global catastrophe.”

  “Global Warming?” I said. “I thought that went away when the Gas arrived.”

  “No something much worse.” Vlad’s face took on an expression so intense, I unconsciously fished the cross out of my shirt. Leaning over to an easel beside the desk, the vampire flipped the first card, revealing a downward trending graph. “Global famine. It’s all the fault of you mortals really. Your birth rate is down and with the growing popularity of early suicide, your numbers are predicted to dwindle below critical mass in the next decade. Why even now, do you realize how many vampires in this country go to bed hungry every morning?”

  “Can’t you just drink animals. My assistant does that and seems okay.”

  “Glad you asked.” Vlad flipped the chart again and uncovered a graphic showing a wide variety of food animals. “Oh sure, there are a few species whose blood will sustain us short term. Even gods, succubus’s, elves, and fairies will do in a fix if you can catch one. But it’s only the wholesome red corpuscles of living humans that can provide us with complete and balanced nutrition. Sure, we have blood banks contributing expired product, off the street donations, local hospitals sending red bag waste, and even host a suicide club every Friday but these are only stop gap measures at best. It’s urgent we establish a more reliable source of nourishment before it’s too late.”

  I was afraid to ask but did anyway. “So, what’s the solution?”

  He flipped the chart again to reveal a drawing of a human couple holding hands with a small child between them. “The only real answer is breeding. We hire mortals to procreate and then collect the offspring.”

  I pinched myself to make sure I was awake. “You don’t seriously expect people to hand their children over to you?”

  “Why not?” He flipped the chart again to reveal a drawing of a happy looking adolescent with a red tube trailing from his neck. “We’ll pay them well throughout pregnancy and the child’s growth period then harvest the offspring in late adolescence. After we’ve humanely drained them, they’ll be released into the world as one of the undead. And the benefits don’t just end there. In accordance with the International Species Conservation Treaty, we’ll set a harvesting limit of only one child per couple. Afterwards, they’re free to have as many progenies as they want. Not only do we secure a reliable food supply but help save the mortal race from extinction. It’s a win-win scenario for everybody.”

  I fought hard to keep down my nausea. “How far have you gotten with this project?”

  “For now, it’s only a work on paper but I feel with time and the proper funding, we can have a viable colony of mortals in as little as five years.”

  Five years? That scheme wouldn’t work in a thousand. Thankfully it was time to change the subject. “Oh, I almost forgot. Gorm and Alvyra told me to say hello if I came by.”

  Vlad shot straight up from his desk chair. “Gorm and Alvyra? A lot of nerve those two have after what they’ve done.”

  Now we’re getting somewhere. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen them, and they spoke so highly of your foundation.”

  Vlad’s eyes narrowed. “You know vampires have a keen sense of smell and right now you seriously reek of bullshit. I understand those two split up and I doubt either one has anything nice to say about us. You’re not a werewolf so you’re probably not with the police. Who are you really?”

  As the saying goes: when all else fails, try honesty. I produced a business card and handed it to Vlad. “Sorry about that. The name’s Elmer Jones and I’m a private investigator. “

  Vlad carefully inspected the card. “Private dick, eh? Who sent you and what do they want from us?”

  “Professional ethics forbids me from revealing my client’s identity, but I’ve been hired to recover a missing item.”

  Vlad sadly shook his head. “This missing item, it wouldn’t be a gold ring, would it?” I nodded, and he leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands up in the air. “Why not? We’ve already tried the police without results. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

  I pulled a notebook and pen from my jacket pocket. “First tell me about Alvyra and Gorm.”

  “Well, I know it’s odd for a god and an elf to care about vampires but when they first came to us they seemed sincerely touched by our cause. And yes, it was strange we never saw the two of them together, but they were friendly enough and their checks didn’t bounce when we cashed them. Eventually we put them on the Board. I guess it was all an act to uncover the location of our vault. We discovered the robbery a few weeks later.”

  “A robbery? How do you know it was them?”

  “We can’t prove anything but who else but a god could rip an eight-inch solid steel door off its hinges? And they haven’t been seen or heard from since the break-in.”

  “What else did they make off with?”

  “That’s the crazy part.” Vlad poured himself a shot of blood from a crimson decanter on his desk. “The vault holds an extensive collection of priceless relics--medieval armor, ceremonial weapons, ancient venipuncture devices and such--but they weren’t even touched. All they took was that damn ring.” He had an imploring look as he slid his business card across the desk. “If you find the ring please return it to us, Mr. Jones. Monetarily, it’s not worth much but I’m sure we could arrange a small compensatory reward for its recovery. It has great sentimental value.”

  LA was getting awfully sentimental lately. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  As I was leaving I could feel Alucard’s watchful eyes on me, so I peeled off a couple of bills and stuffed them into the collection canister by the door on my way out.

  It was getting dark by the time I reached Temple Town and the sidewalks were crowded with every known variety of undead tourist. Along the curb, kiosks manned by translucent poltergeists hawked everything from Official Temple Town Souvenir Snow Globes to t-shirts bearing the likenesses and mottos of the more popular gods to golden pastries stuffed with a choice variety of ground body parts. I watched as a zombie tried to lift a wallet from a passing golem only to leave his dismembered hand dangling from his victim’s back pocket. No matter who you are, there’s always something you suck at.

  Circling overhead, werewolves in police uniforms mounting flying dragons kept the district from turning into a giant food fight. It wasn’t that long ago the dragons sued the city for equal pay and civil rights. They easily won the pay hike, but they still couldn’t get those hairy bastards off their backs.

  Temples of every conceivable size, shape, and hue lined both sides of the street. Someone once tried to pass an ordinance to bring some uniformity to the district, but the Supreme Court struck it down on First Amendment grounds. Worship of every flavor was welcome here, from the dwindling devotees at the Church of the Crucified God to the chattering hordes in the pagoda dedicated to the Monkey King. Gas or no Gas, religion was still big business especially when the gods themselves were present to pass the collection plate. It was a short two blocks before I found myself standing before the Temple of the One and Only True God Gorm.

  The usual gang of tentacle-heads were picketing the sidewalk outside with signs bearing slogans like GORM BLESSES BUT CTHULHU DEVOURS! OPEN THE COSMIC GATE AND LET THE REAL GODS IN! and WORSHIP THE WINGED OCTOPUS WHILE YOU STILL CAN! I quickly pushed through the protesters to the shrine’s entrance. While the outside of the temple was little more than a plain adobe cube, the inside was a flamboyant smorgasbord of pre-Gas chaos. A host of colored lights and lasers flashed constantly, reflecting off walls covered with free form aluminum sculptures, old license plates, outdated art exhibit posters, various guns and armaments, gleaming torture implements, and anything else that struck its designer’s fancy. On the chapel floor below me, frenzied worshippers adorned in outlandish outfits that would probably go out of style tomorrow danced with abandon to a loud and overpowering techno beat. Following the rope line to its end I was greeted by a large, grim faced gargoyle in a tux. I slipped him a few bucks and he silently unhooked a satin cord to let me pass.

  On my way to the dance floor, a young witch stepped into my path and met me with an agreeable smile. She would have been quite a looker if it weren’t for all those warts on her face. “How about some Ecstasy?” she asked. She waved her hand in the air and suddenly I was filled with a sensation of utter happiness and euphoria. A second later it dissipated. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

  “I’ll pass,” I told her and moved on.

  Once on the chapel floor, I scanned the room for Gorm. He wasn’t hard to find. The deity sat at the back of the chapel on a golden throne atop a dais, gulping from an enormous silver goblet and waving encouragement to the dancing worshippers. With his garish oversized Hawaiian shirt, cut down shorts, and spreading middle aged midriff, he looked exactly like any other slob you’d see on the street with one
exception. The god was about five times bigger than any human being could ever be. For a moment, I tried to imagine Alvyra’s and Gorm’s love life but gave up quickly in disgust. A crown of laurel leaves encircling his brow, Gorm was the very picture of a happy deity in his home environment.

  Threading my way through the throngs of frenzied worshippers, I finally stood before the Throne of Gorm. I called out his name several times, but he just ignored me, laughing and chatting with the blue robed priest beside him. No surprise there. In my experience, gods were usually self-important narcissistic assholes. This one certainly did nothing to change my opinion. The only thing beings like him respected was a dose of over the top chutzpah. Exasperated, I shouted, “Hey, big guy. Your wife sent me to talk to you.”

  The god suddenly glared down and scowled. Raising his hand, the music and dancing came to an abrupt halt and the crowd of worshippers nervously moved away from me on all sides. “What’s the little bitch want this time?”

  I didn’t know what powers Gorm possessed but from his breath he might well be the patron god of alcoholics. “She says you have a piece of jewelry that belongs to her.” I pointed to a gold ring encircling his finger. “That one. She hired me to collect it.”

  Gorm laughed and took a deep quaff from his silver goblet. “Well, you can tell her to go fuck herself. It’s mine and she can’t have it”

  I could see this was going to be a long and difficult negotiation. “You mean you stole it fair and square?”

  Gorm’s face reddened and he awkwardly stood up from his throne. Ominously pointing his finger at me, his voice took on that deep gravelly tone that has long become a standard among deities who want to make an impression. “YOU DARE MOCK YOUR GOD? KNEEL DOWN BEFORE ME, MORTAL OR FACE THE WRATH OF GORM.”

  I was expecting this. Armed with a variety of protective amulets, I knew I could handle just about anything the god threw at me. “Sorry, kneeling’s hard on my knees.”

  Gorm’s features reddened even more. He tilted back his head and let out an ear-piercing howl. Then silence ruled the room.

  At first it started as a faint buzzing from afar. It then grew in loudness and pitch until every beam and drywall of the temple reverberated in synchrony. Whatever was coming there were certainly a lot of them. I’d have to chant fast, I told myself as I waited to see which mantras I needed to activate the appropriate amulet.

  I wasn’t kept in suspense for long. Suddenly I was immersed in a whirling cloud of brown grasshoppers. Covering my nose and mouth for protection, I stood my ground while the enraged insects buffeted me from every direction. The world turned black with locust for what seemed an eternity as I waited for the god’s wrath to subside. After I don’t know how long, it ended as abruptly as it began. Patting myself down, I found I was intact and unharmed. “That’s it?” I asked laughing. “You’re the god of locusts?”

  ‘TREMBLE BEFORE ME, MORTAL.”

  “Why? Do I look like a shaft of wheat to you?”

  The god shook his head and clumsily sat back down. After signaling for the music and dancers to resume, he motioned me to stand beside his throne then whispered, “Look, I understand you’ve got a job to do but seriously, do you have to cast shade on my gig?”

  I flashed Gorm a sardonic grin. “Just give me the ring and I’ll be out of your hair forever.”

  “Would that I could.” He absently searched in vain for his goblet. “You don’t understand what this little bauble means to me. Alvyra’s got her own; why does she need mine? “

  It was then I noticed a trio of wendigos across the chapel making their way up the rope line. With their camouflage outfits, short cut fur, cadenced gait, and military style clipped and sharpened antlers, everything about them screamed mercenary. Their wolfish features looked every bit as unfriendly as the automatic assault rifles slung from their shoulders.

  “Get down!” I shouted to the giant god, but it was too late. In unison, the wendigos leaped the rope line and opened fire on the worshipers on the chapel floor. But the one thing the mercenaries didn’t factor into their military planning was that gargoyles and several other types of undead were pretty much bulletproof. The stone bouncer quickly pinned one of the attackers to the floor while another disappeared beneath an angry mob of equally indestructible vampires and zombies. Managing to slip past the defenders, the remaining wendigo raced across the chapel floor, spraying ordinance as he went. He leaped onto the dais and fired a short round pointblank at the bewildered god’s head. Gorm fell from the throne with a resounding thud.

  The mercenary bent down and unceremoniously yanked the ring from the god’s bloodied hand. With a sadistic smile, he turned toward me and said, “Nothing personal buddy, but our employer demands a clean operation. Good luck in your next life.” As he raised his rifle I regretted there was no such thing as a protection amulet against bullets.

  I felt sure I was about to embrace Gas when out of nowhere a well-dressed vamp leapt onto the wendigo’s back and sank his teeth deep into his neck. The ring clattered to the dais as the mercenary flailed wildly against his attacker. But the vampire held fast and drank deeply from the wendigo. As the embattled duo sank to the floor, I caught a glimpse of my savior’s face. It was Vlad Alucard! I gathered up the ring and raced for the rear exit. As I passed the late, great Gorm, I noticed the god’s body had inexplicably shrunk.

  “You can’t hide from me, Jones,” Vlad hissed as I ran out the backdoor into the darkness. “I know where you work.”

  Chapter 3

  Fleeing Gorm’s Temple, I noticed a peculiar soft buzzing sound following me. Maybe one of the god’s locust took a shine to me. It’s a good thing the Gas didn’t affect insects or we’d all be goners by now. Anyway, I had bigger things to worry about than amorous grasshoppers.

  I was well away from Temple Town when I stopped and took a break on a wooden bench beneath a street light. Pulling the ring from my shirt pocket, I examined it closely. What was it about this nondescript trinket that people were willing to lie, steal, and even kill to possess? Aside from the indecipherable glyphs on the inside, nothing distinguished it from the millions of other gold wedding bands making the rounds. And if was those mysterious markings that made this bauble so irresistible, why not just copy them down and be done with it? I promised myself I would get to the bottom of this before handing it over to Alvyra or anyone else.

  It wouldn’t be long before dawn and Val would be at her desk, so I decided to go back to the office. Even if Vlad made good on his threat, I doubt he and my assistant would see eye to eye on drinking her boss. Besides, if anyone could crack those cryptic markings it would be the once infamous Valerie the Cyber Queen.

  I was approaching La Cienega when I notices a set of footsteps joining the buzzing behind me. Turning, I came chest to face with a bearded midget clad entirely in green. He tilted an emerald top hat bedecked with a brass buckle at me then stuck a worn wooden pipe in his mouth. “Ye wouldn’t have light for an old and weary sod, would you now?”

  Now I know leprechauns are supposed to be an ancient venerable people but asking for a light had to be a ruse far older than the race itself. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, I answered, “Sorry, I don’t smoke.” I turned away to find myself surrounded by three more of the emerald tricksters. They smiled viciously as they pounded their palms with their shillelaghs.

  The first leprechaun laughed “Now that you met me boyos, perhaps we be moving our business to somewhere more private like.” Poking and prodding me with their wooden clubs, the emerald midgets merrily chatted as they guided me down a narrow alley between a mortuary-restaurant for ghouls and a marijuana dispensary. They unceremoniously pushed me against a brick wall and held me there.

  I don’t have time for this, I told myself. Figuring the best course was to go along with my muggers, I removed the wallet from my back pocket and opened the billfold.

  The leprechaun with the pipe just chuckled and shook his head. “Now what would we proud Sons O’ the Shamrock be doing with that? Ye know what we be after, don’t ye?”

  “Lucky Charms? “

  One of the other leprechauns suddenly raised his shillelagh and shouted, “You unbelievable racist whanker…”