It wasn’t a case so much of being on the wrong side of the tracks as it was of being right next to the tracks. Located on the deserted western edge of town, from a distance the Old Tannery Building looked abandoned. Up close though, one could see life, or at least lights, on the top floor.
A passing freight train, long and loud, allowed Bulldog Armstrong to enter the Tannery and ascend a wide metal staircase unnoticed. This led to a loft that took up the whole of the buildings top floor. The loft contrasted sharply with the drab grey exterior. Inside, lights hung from the ceiling to illuminate exposed brick walls and polished hardwood flooring. Along the walls rested painting of different sizes in various states of completion. They were done in the manner of Picasso and Van Gogh, Matisse and Monet, Hopper and Kandinsky. Well, not so much in the manner of, but more like duplicates. Forgeries to be exact. Scattered throughout the loft were easels as well as more conventional furnishings, such as sofas and coffee tables. In the middle of it all, a vampire stood strangling a young woman.
Rolf, tall and lean, held his victim, Molly Kwiat, off the ground with one hand around her throat. He was in the midst of indecision, unsure of whether to snap her neck and feed her body to the pack of rabid Dobermans he kept in a kennel behind the building, or to simply drain Molly of her blood and then feed her to the dogs. Decisions, decisions. It wasn’t always easy being a vampire. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but a point did have to be made to this fragile little normal who had tried to kill him. Stangulation or dinner, either way she was going to die.
“Good golly, Miss Molly!” Armstrong proclaimed as he stood at the top of the stairway. “You sure do seem to be in a world of trouble.”
Molly and Rolf both turned their heads in the direction of the federal agent so quickly they risked whiplash.
“What are you doing here?” Rolf snarled. He was angry, not just at this feeble thing who pulled a knife on him, but now at this G-man who was interrupting him. Lowering his head with the intent of looking more menacing, Rolf exposed his fangs slightly, and his eyes burned red.
“First of all, Rolfie boy, you need to put that young lady down and let her catch her breath. She’s beginning to turn blue.”
Rolf didn’t move, other than to say, “This is none of your concern. I’m acting in self defense. She pulled out a knife and tried to kill me. Now I need to teach her a lesson.”
A slight grin appeared as Armstrong looked at Molly. “Found yourself another blade, did you, Miss Molly?”
“You know her?” Rolf asked. He shook his head as if to remove cobwebs. “Doesn’t matter. You have no beef with me, so just go away.” His grip on Molly loosened, then he lowered her, allowing her feet to touch the floor while still keeping his hand around her neck.
“No beef? The federal government has a big beef with art forgers. You know very well they frown upon that sort of activitiy. We’ve talked about this before. You promised you weren’t going to do that anymore, and now here you are playing with paints again.”
“Doesn’t mean you can just waltz in here anytime you like. Vampires have rights too you know.”
“True, I guess, although I don’t remember vampires being mentioned in the Constitution.” This drew a derisive snort from Rolf. Armstrong continued, “Whatever. I felt compelled to enter the premises. There was person here in danger.”
Rolf dropped his hand from Molly’s neck and faced the agent squarely. “I really think you should leave, Bulldog.” He paused, shook his head again. “What a silly name for a human. You don’t look at all like a bulldog. You’re nowhere near as handsome.”
“Bite me.”
Rolf snorted, rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, that’s original. Got any other brilliant bon mots?”
With no warning, not a twitch of the eye or a change of expression, the vampire lunged at Armstrong. Before his feet were even an inch off the ground, Bulldog fired one shot from the weapon he had been holding in his right hand. The vampire’s heart exploded through his back and flew through the air. With a loud smack it hit a reproduction of Picasso’s The Old Guitarist that was resting against the wall. Leaving a bloody trail on the canvas in it’s wake, the heart slithered to the floor. Rolf fell in a lifeless heap.
“Wowie zowie!” Molly shouted, wide eyed, smiling, seemingly recovered from her near death experience. “I need me one of them.”
Armstrong gave her a look of sympathy mixed with confusion. “Young miss, you need no such thing. You should be back home with your parents, whoopin’ it up on Saturday nights at the local honky tonk and asking the Lord’s forgiveness on Sunday mornings. You don’t belong out here, chasing blood sucking vermin and thinking you’re going to win a fight with them. Where would you be now if I hadn’t arrived when I did?”
“I would have thought of something.”
“Yeah, well, you were running out of time to do any thinking at all. Hard to think straight when your airway is cut off, isn’t it? That’s the arrogance of youth, you think you can get out of any jam.” He holstered his gun.
“Is that a Glock?” Molly asked. “Looks kind of like a Glock, but different.”
Armstrong nudged the vampires head with the tip of his shoe. “Definitely dead,” he said, then he looked up at Molly again. “The gun is a special design. Normal size, but extra strength. Meant to blow the heart clean out of a vampires body. Only way to kill them, remove the heart. But you already knew that, didn’t you?” He had a mischievous look on his face. “The name Patrick Alpin mean anything to you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Molly put on her best innocent expression, making her blue eyes round and puppy-like. “And how do you know my name? I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
He laughed. “My jaw still hurts from our last meeting. Quite a punch you landed. I think you may have loosened up some teeth. Good thing we still have a dental plan.”
“Just who are you anyway? Are you with the FBI?”
“FBI? Hardly. Vampire Investigation Unit. We keep tabs on the bloodsuckers, make sure they don’t get out of line and hurt the general public.”
Molly got the impression Armstrong liked to talk about what he did, at least to her. She decided to quiz him. “So, how do you find out my name?”
“You did leave a murder weapon behind at the scene of the crime. Remember that Apeninne fellow? The one you stuck a knife into? That was good work. We in the Unit don’t really mind seeing a vampire get whacked, but we also are a little leary of vigilantes. They tend to get sloppy and end up dead. So we discourage it. Sometimes we arrest people like you and put them on trial. Secretly, of course. The general populace is not ready to deal with the existence of vampires. Hell, half the nation peed it’s pants when a black guy got elected president. How do you think they’d react knowing there were human beings out there who drank blood to survive? Things would not go well.”
A look of concern crossed Molly’s face. “Did you talk to my parents?”
“Nope. I was able to trace you without bothering them. I have to ask though, don’t you think they worry about you?”
“I call them every day.”
“And how do those conversation go? ‘Hi, Mom and Dad, shot another vampire today. Love ya!’” He paused momentarily to chuckle at his little bit of sarcasm. “So what did you do with Patrick’s body, Molly? We keep tabs on creeps like him, and he was a creep, but he is totally off our radar now. You did a good job getting rid of him, because he is gone, gone, gone.”
The thought of Patrick Alpin being eaten by the hogs on her farm brought a smile to her face. Her thoughts were of bloody revenge, but her smile was sweetness and sunlight. “I still have no idea what you’re talking about, Agent...Armstrong, is it?”
“Yes,” he said softly, “but you can call me Bulldog.”
She thought that was a silly nickname for an adult. “How about we just stick with Agent Armstrong. I was taught to respect my elders that way.”
“Elders?” The reality of his age hit him, slapping him back down to earth. “I guess I am a bit older than you.”
“So now what, Agent Armstrong?”
His tone became more business, less personal. “Well, we have a safe house in the next county. I’m going to take you there for questioning and if I deem you’re not a threat to society, I’ll release you, by which I mean I will personally escort you back home to Pine Springs and insist that you not chase vampires anymore unless you want to wind up in solitary confinement in an undisclosed location.”
“I see. Do I have any choice in the matter?”
His tone was soft again. “No, Miss Molly, I’m afraid not.” He stood close to her. “You really are an impressive person. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to handcuff you. I play by the rules. It’s best that way.” He gently turned her around, then guided her hands behind her back, and placed the manacles around her wrists.
She turned to face him. “It’s okay. I understand. Rules are rules.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, Miss Molly.”
Armstrong stood close to her, closer than any agent would normally stand to a suspect in custody. Playing by the rules was temporarily forgotten. He was enraptured by her, lost in the placid lake blue of eyes and the wildflower scent of her perfume. The nearness of Molly was a great distraction, so Armstrong was caught quite unaware when she kneed him in his groin, swift and hard.
The lovestruck agent grunted. At the instant he began to double over in pain, Molly gave him a head butt that sent him reeling, dazed. Relying on her mixed martial arts training (Daddy insisted on this as he wanted his little girl to defend herself against unwanted advances), Molly sprang at Bulldog, landing a foot squarely on his chest. He stumbled backwards, tripping over a box of oil paints. His head made a sickening thud as it hit the floor. Bulldog Armstrong was once again made unconscious by Molly Kwiat.
She knelt by his side. Awkwardly, and with great effort, as her hands were restrained behind her back, she searched his suit coat for keys to the handcuffs. Coming up empty she moved to his pants pockets. Accidentally she brushed up against the little Bulldog. Glancing at him, she said, “Impressive, but not what I’m looking for right now.” She found the keys, withdrew them and managed to free her hands.
Molly looked around the loft. She wanted to delay Armstrong’s leaving for as long as she could. She dragged his body so that it lay next to Rolf’s, then handcuffed them together. He wasn’t going to like that when he came to, but she hoped he would forgive her eventually. He seems like such a nice old man, she thought, I don’t want to upset him too much.
Having fetched her purse, she relieved the agent of his weapon. “Sorry,” she said to the sleeping Bulldog, “I know it’s not right to steal, so let’s just say I’m borrowing it. Besides, I need this more than you do, and I figure you can always get another one. It’s not like I can go to the sporting goods store and ask for one of those guns that blows the heart out of a vampire.” She looked at the dead blood suckers heart that still lay on the floor by the fake Picasso. “That was so cool.”
Downstairs, on the way to her car, Molly used her trusty Bowie knife to slash the tires on Agent Armstong’s car. Upstairs, Bulldog began to snore.
A passing freight train, long and loud, allowed Bulldog Armstrong to enter the Tannery and ascend a wide metal staircase unnoticed. This led to a loft that took up the whole of the buildings top floor. The loft contrasted sharply with the drab grey exterior. Inside, lights hung from the ceiling to illuminate exposed brick walls and polished hardwood flooring. Along the walls rested painting of different sizes in various states of completion. They were done in the manner of Picasso and Van Gogh, Matisse and Monet, Hopper and Kandinsky. Well, not so much in the manner of, but more like duplicates. Forgeries to be exact. Scattered throughout the loft were easels as well as more conventional furnishings, such as sofas and coffee tables. In the middle of it all, a vampire stood strangling a young woman.
Rolf, tall and lean, held his victim, Molly Kwiat, off the ground with one hand around her throat. He was in the midst of indecision, unsure of whether to snap her neck and feed her body to the pack of rabid Dobermans he kept in a kennel behind the building, or to simply drain Molly of her blood and then feed her to the dogs. Decisions, decisions. It wasn’t always easy being a vampire. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but a point did have to be made to this fragile little normal who had tried to kill him. Stangulation or dinner, either way she was going to die.
“Good golly, Miss Molly!” Armstrong proclaimed as he stood at the top of the stairway. “You sure do seem to be in a world of trouble.”
Molly and Rolf both turned their heads in the direction of the federal agent so quickly they risked whiplash.
“What are you doing here?” Rolf snarled. He was angry, not just at this feeble thing who pulled a knife on him, but now at this G-man who was interrupting him. Lowering his head with the intent of looking more menacing, Rolf exposed his fangs slightly, and his eyes burned red.
“First of all, Rolfie boy, you need to put that young lady down and let her catch her breath. She’s beginning to turn blue.”
Rolf didn’t move, other than to say, “This is none of your concern. I’m acting in self defense. She pulled out a knife and tried to kill me. Now I need to teach her a lesson.”
A slight grin appeared as Armstrong looked at Molly. “Found yourself another blade, did you, Miss Molly?”
“You know her?” Rolf asked. He shook his head as if to remove cobwebs. “Doesn’t matter. You have no beef with me, so just go away.” His grip on Molly loosened, then he lowered her, allowing her feet to touch the floor while still keeping his hand around her neck.
“No beef? The federal government has a big beef with art forgers. You know very well they frown upon that sort of activitiy. We’ve talked about this before. You promised you weren’t going to do that anymore, and now here you are playing with paints again.”
“Doesn’t mean you can just waltz in here anytime you like. Vampires have rights too you know.”
“True, I guess, although I don’t remember vampires being mentioned in the Constitution.” This drew a derisive snort from Rolf. Armstrong continued, “Whatever. I felt compelled to enter the premises. There was person here in danger.”
Rolf dropped his hand from Molly’s neck and faced the agent squarely. “I really think you should leave, Bulldog.” He paused, shook his head again. “What a silly name for a human. You don’t look at all like a bulldog. You’re nowhere near as handsome.”
“Bite me.”
Rolf snorted, rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, that’s original. Got any other brilliant bon mots?”
With no warning, not a twitch of the eye or a change of expression, the vampire lunged at Armstrong. Before his feet were even an inch off the ground, Bulldog fired one shot from the weapon he had been holding in his right hand. The vampire’s heart exploded through his back and flew through the air. With a loud smack it hit a reproduction of Picasso’s The Old Guitarist that was resting against the wall. Leaving a bloody trail on the canvas in it’s wake, the heart slithered to the floor. Rolf fell in a lifeless heap.
“Wowie zowie!” Molly shouted, wide eyed, smiling, seemingly recovered from her near death experience. “I need me one of them.”
Armstrong gave her a look of sympathy mixed with confusion. “Young miss, you need no such thing. You should be back home with your parents, whoopin’ it up on Saturday nights at the local honky tonk and asking the Lord’s forgiveness on Sunday mornings. You don’t belong out here, chasing blood sucking vermin and thinking you’re going to win a fight with them. Where would you be now if I hadn’t arrived when I did?”
“I would have thought of something.”
“Yeah, well, you were running out of time to do any thinking at all. Hard to think straight when your airway is cut off, isn’t it? That’s the arrogance of youth, you think you can get out of any jam.” He holstered his gun.
“Is that a Glock?” Molly asked. “Looks kind of like a Glock, but different.”
Armstrong nudged the vampires head with the tip of his shoe. “Definitely dead,” he said, then he looked up at Molly again. “The gun is a special design. Normal size, but extra strength. Meant to blow the heart clean out of a vampires body. Only way to kill them, remove the heart. But you already knew that, didn’t you?” He had a mischievous look on his face. “The name Patrick Alpin mean anything to you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Molly put on her best innocent expression, making her blue eyes round and puppy-like. “And how do you know my name? I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
He laughed. “My jaw still hurts from our last meeting. Quite a punch you landed. I think you may have loosened up some teeth. Good thing we still have a dental plan.”
“Just who are you anyway? Are you with the FBI?”
“FBI? Hardly. Vampire Investigation Unit. We keep tabs on the bloodsuckers, make sure they don’t get out of line and hurt the general public.”
Molly got the impression Armstrong liked to talk about what he did, at least to her. She decided to quiz him. “So, how do you find out my name?”
“You did leave a murder weapon behind at the scene of the crime. Remember that Apeninne fellow? The one you stuck a knife into? That was good work. We in the Unit don’t really mind seeing a vampire get whacked, but we also are a little leary of vigilantes. They tend to get sloppy and end up dead. So we discourage it. Sometimes we arrest people like you and put them on trial. Secretly, of course. The general populace is not ready to deal with the existence of vampires. Hell, half the nation peed it’s pants when a black guy got elected president. How do you think they’d react knowing there were human beings out there who drank blood to survive? Things would not go well.”
A look of concern crossed Molly’s face. “Did you talk to my parents?”
“Nope. I was able to trace you without bothering them. I have to ask though, don’t you think they worry about you?”
“I call them every day.”
“And how do those conversation go? ‘Hi, Mom and Dad, shot another vampire today. Love ya!’” He paused momentarily to chuckle at his little bit of sarcasm. “So what did you do with Patrick’s body, Molly? We keep tabs on creeps like him, and he was a creep, but he is totally off our radar now. You did a good job getting rid of him, because he is gone, gone, gone.”
The thought of Patrick Alpin being eaten by the hogs on her farm brought a smile to her face. Her thoughts were of bloody revenge, but her smile was sweetness and sunlight. “I still have no idea what you’re talking about, Agent...Armstrong, is it?”
“Yes,” he said softly, “but you can call me Bulldog.”
She thought that was a silly nickname for an adult. “How about we just stick with Agent Armstrong. I was taught to respect my elders that way.”
“Elders?” The reality of his age hit him, slapping him back down to earth. “I guess I am a bit older than you.”
“So now what, Agent Armstrong?”
His tone became more business, less personal. “Well, we have a safe house in the next county. I’m going to take you there for questioning and if I deem you’re not a threat to society, I’ll release you, by which I mean I will personally escort you back home to Pine Springs and insist that you not chase vampires anymore unless you want to wind up in solitary confinement in an undisclosed location.”
“I see. Do I have any choice in the matter?”
His tone was soft again. “No, Miss Molly, I’m afraid not.” He stood close to her. “You really are an impressive person. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to handcuff you. I play by the rules. It’s best that way.” He gently turned her around, then guided her hands behind her back, and placed the manacles around her wrists.
She turned to face him. “It’s okay. I understand. Rules are rules.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, Miss Molly.”
Armstrong stood close to her, closer than any agent would normally stand to a suspect in custody. Playing by the rules was temporarily forgotten. He was enraptured by her, lost in the placid lake blue of eyes and the wildflower scent of her perfume. The nearness of Molly was a great distraction, so Armstrong was caught quite unaware when she kneed him in his groin, swift and hard.
The lovestruck agent grunted. At the instant he began to double over in pain, Molly gave him a head butt that sent him reeling, dazed. Relying on her mixed martial arts training (Daddy insisted on this as he wanted his little girl to defend herself against unwanted advances), Molly sprang at Bulldog, landing a foot squarely on his chest. He stumbled backwards, tripping over a box of oil paints. His head made a sickening thud as it hit the floor. Bulldog Armstrong was once again made unconscious by Molly Kwiat.
She knelt by his side. Awkwardly, and with great effort, as her hands were restrained behind her back, she searched his suit coat for keys to the handcuffs. Coming up empty she moved to his pants pockets. Accidentally she brushed up against the little Bulldog. Glancing at him, she said, “Impressive, but not what I’m looking for right now.” She found the keys, withdrew them and managed to free her hands.
Molly looked around the loft. She wanted to delay Armstrong’s leaving for as long as she could. She dragged his body so that it lay next to Rolf’s, then handcuffed them together. He wasn’t going to like that when he came to, but she hoped he would forgive her eventually. He seems like such a nice old man, she thought, I don’t want to upset him too much.
Having fetched her purse, she relieved the agent of his weapon. “Sorry,” she said to the sleeping Bulldog, “I know it’s not right to steal, so let’s just say I’m borrowing it. Besides, I need this more than you do, and I figure you can always get another one. It’s not like I can go to the sporting goods store and ask for one of those guns that blows the heart out of a vampire.” She looked at the dead blood suckers heart that still lay on the floor by the fake Picasso. “That was so cool.”
Downstairs, on the way to her car, Molly used her trusty Bowie knife to slash the tires on Agent Armstong’s car. Upstairs, Bulldog began to snore.
No comments:
Post a Comment