Phil Wembley, holding a cup of coffee that steamed in the night air, stood in the doorway of the Arbor Woods police station. He had always loved watching storms roll in. Squinting as raindrops hit his face, this particular storm gave him an ominous feeling deep down inside. The station house’s lights flickered, then fizzled out. The storm was intense but brief. Just as quickly as it arrived, the wind died away and the thunder quieted. There was not a flash of lightning to be seen anywhere in the now clear skies. Behind him, the lights flickered back to life.
“You know, I think it’s a human rights violation making a man smell those cookies baking but denying him access to them.”
Phil turned around slowly, leaned up against the door frame, then looked Bulldog Armstrong up and down, just to make sure he wasn’t armed. “I see you’ve gotten out of your cell,” he said with a smile.
“When the storm knocked out the electricity, it must have unlocked the cell door,” Bulldog said.
“Nah, it was never locked in the first place.” Phil took a sip of coffee. “Lock broke years ago but I never bothered to fix it. I forgot to tell you, I was holding you here on the honor system.”
Bulldog shook his head in disbelief. “That’s no way to run a railroad.”
“This ain’t no railroad,” Phil said, “it’s a cop house in a town where very few people ever get arrested, and fewer still spend the night. Care for a cup of coffee? Just made a fresh pot. You still don’t get a cookie though.”
The two walked back to the kitchen area and Phil poured his guest a cup of black java. “You don’t look like the kind of guy who takes cream or sugar,” he said as pushed the cup across the table to where Armstrong sat.
“You are correct, Officer Wembley,” he said. “You’re a good judge of men and their caffeine habits.” He took a tentative sip. “Well, it’s certainly hot, that’s for sure.”
Phil rested his backside against the kitchen counter and looked down at Bulldog without saying anything more.
“Hell of a storm we just had,” Bulldog said. “Blew through here quick, too. Rose up and died down all in the matter of a minute or two. Kind of unusual.”
“Yep.”
From underneath his salt and pepper eyebrows, Bulldog looked up at Phil. “You know, I don’t remember you wearing that gun before. In fact, I don’t recall you carrying a gun at all. Storms must make you nervous.”
Silent, motionless, Phil just kept on looking at Bulldog.
“Frankly, Phil,” Bulldog paused a moment before continuing, “can I call you Phil? I realize it’s informal, but this seems to be an informal police department you’re running.”
Phil nodded.
“Frankly, Phil, that’s an awfully big damn gun for a cop in a town that seems strangely devoid of crime. Why the sudden desire for such extreme firepower? Is there a lot of looting in Arbor Woods after big storms? Or are you expecting some terrorists to come blazing through town?” Bulldog paused again, for what he hoped was dramatic effect. “Or is it something worse?”
Phil put on his best expressionless cop face for Bulldog. “Nothing special about this gun. Just like to put it on once in a while. Makes me feel like a real cop.”
“Nothing special, huh?” Bulldog leaned back in his chair. “My friend, you and I both know that gun was manufactured in a secret factory located in the side of a cave, deep in a forest, and that neither cave nor forest are on any maps. Only special agents who do a very specific type of work for the federal government are issued that particular weapon. It’s designed to be very powerful and very accurate. Even someone not trained to use that revolver could easily put a bullet directly through the heart of, well, the heart of the creature he’s aiming at.”
Phil’s eyes narrowed, ever so slightly.
“The only other law enforcement officials who would have a gun like that would be highly trained local lawmen who work in an area with a very particular type of resident, the kind of resident that would scare the bejesus out of the general populace if he decided he no longer wanted to play by the rules of normal society.”
Phil finished his coffee, placed the cup on the table. “Well, well, maybe you are who you said you are. Or maybe you’re just a nut job who reads a lot of stupid stuff on the Internet.”
“I vote for being who I said I was. Phil, you’re worried about this storm because it means trouble for you, trouble you’ve apparently had before. The storm had unique characteristics. The suddenness, the brevity, the incredible intensity of it, it all means only one thing. This town has a very, very powerful vampire living here and he is very, very pissed off about something. Now it’s just it’s a matter of finding this blood sucker and figuring out why he’s so angry. Then we can decide what to do about him.”
“We?” Phil asked.
“Yes, we. You know I can help you. I’ve got tons of experience and I really, really need to get back in the game. I’d also like to find the vigilante I was hunting down before things went a little haywire for me. In fact, if we find her, we may very well find the reason this vampire is so upset.”
Phil pondered all that for a moment before he spoke. “I see. You know what I think?”
“Nope.”
“I think you can have a cookie now.”
“You know, I think it’s a human rights violation making a man smell those cookies baking but denying him access to them.”
Phil turned around slowly, leaned up against the door frame, then looked Bulldog Armstrong up and down, just to make sure he wasn’t armed. “I see you’ve gotten out of your cell,” he said with a smile.
“When the storm knocked out the electricity, it must have unlocked the cell door,” Bulldog said.
“Nah, it was never locked in the first place.” Phil took a sip of coffee. “Lock broke years ago but I never bothered to fix it. I forgot to tell you, I was holding you here on the honor system.”
Bulldog shook his head in disbelief. “That’s no way to run a railroad.”
“This ain’t no railroad,” Phil said, “it’s a cop house in a town where very few people ever get arrested, and fewer still spend the night. Care for a cup of coffee? Just made a fresh pot. You still don’t get a cookie though.”
The two walked back to the kitchen area and Phil poured his guest a cup of black java. “You don’t look like the kind of guy who takes cream or sugar,” he said as pushed the cup across the table to where Armstrong sat.
“You are correct, Officer Wembley,” he said. “You’re a good judge of men and their caffeine habits.” He took a tentative sip. “Well, it’s certainly hot, that’s for sure.”
Phil rested his backside against the kitchen counter and looked down at Bulldog without saying anything more.
“Hell of a storm we just had,” Bulldog said. “Blew through here quick, too. Rose up and died down all in the matter of a minute or two. Kind of unusual.”
“Yep.”
From underneath his salt and pepper eyebrows, Bulldog looked up at Phil. “You know, I don’t remember you wearing that gun before. In fact, I don’t recall you carrying a gun at all. Storms must make you nervous.”
Silent, motionless, Phil just kept on looking at Bulldog.
“Frankly, Phil,” Bulldog paused a moment before continuing, “can I call you Phil? I realize it’s informal, but this seems to be an informal police department you’re running.”
Phil nodded.
“Frankly, Phil, that’s an awfully big damn gun for a cop in a town that seems strangely devoid of crime. Why the sudden desire for such extreme firepower? Is there a lot of looting in Arbor Woods after big storms? Or are you expecting some terrorists to come blazing through town?” Bulldog paused again, for what he hoped was dramatic effect. “Or is it something worse?”
Phil put on his best expressionless cop face for Bulldog. “Nothing special about this gun. Just like to put it on once in a while. Makes me feel like a real cop.”
“Nothing special, huh?” Bulldog leaned back in his chair. “My friend, you and I both know that gun was manufactured in a secret factory located in the side of a cave, deep in a forest, and that neither cave nor forest are on any maps. Only special agents who do a very specific type of work for the federal government are issued that particular weapon. It’s designed to be very powerful and very accurate. Even someone not trained to use that revolver could easily put a bullet directly through the heart of, well, the heart of the creature he’s aiming at.”
Phil’s eyes narrowed, ever so slightly.
“The only other law enforcement officials who would have a gun like that would be highly trained local lawmen who work in an area with a very particular type of resident, the kind of resident that would scare the bejesus out of the general populace if he decided he no longer wanted to play by the rules of normal society.”
Phil finished his coffee, placed the cup on the table. “Well, well, maybe you are who you said you are. Or maybe you’re just a nut job who reads a lot of stupid stuff on the Internet.”
“I vote for being who I said I was. Phil, you’re worried about this storm because it means trouble for you, trouble you’ve apparently had before. The storm had unique characteristics. The suddenness, the brevity, the incredible intensity of it, it all means only one thing. This town has a very, very powerful vampire living here and he is very, very pissed off about something. Now it’s just it’s a matter of finding this blood sucker and figuring out why he’s so angry. Then we can decide what to do about him.”
“We?” Phil asked.
“Yes, we. You know I can help you. I’ve got tons of experience and I really, really need to get back in the game. I’d also like to find the vigilante I was hunting down before things went a little haywire for me. In fact, if we find her, we may very well find the reason this vampire is so upset.”
Phil pondered all that for a moment before he spoke. “I see. You know what I think?”
“Nope.”
“I think you can have a cookie now.”
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