WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies: Viva La Valentine Edition (22 page)

Hugo finally got the engine to shut off and
stepped up beside me. “Kenny Bunkport, the name is Rongg… Hugo
Rongg and this is Victoria… Victoria Station. We’re private eye
writers working on QT Pye’s case story.”

“I’ll help that girl any way I can. You ever
had her key lime pie? Has black ras– “

“We know about that, Doctor, or should we
call you Commander?” Hugo said scratching his chin with his
thumb.

“If you’re friends of QT’s, you can call me
Kenny. Doctor’s for up there,” jerking his thumb toward the second
floor. “Commander’s for the camp.”

Hugo tugged on his fedora. “Okay, Kenny, do
you know anybody who had a reason to kill Ginger other than QT and
you?”

“Me? What reason would I have?”

“The oldest in the world. Passion. She dumped
you.”

“Dump me? She didn’t dump me. She… reacted.”
Then his voice sounded far away. “The Social Surgery Council
demanded I demote her. Poor performance. I sure as hell didn’t want
to. Her performance was the best I ever had. I’ve missed it these
last months. But they deemed she was no longer fit to be an
officer.”

“What’s the Social Surgery Council?” Hugo
said, “And who’s on it?”

The sunglasses, nose protector, and hat
didn’t hide Kenny’s shocked reaction, like he’d let the cat out of
the bag. He tried to strike a casual note. “Oh it’s nothing.
Basically the board of directors for my corporation. Nobody
important on it.”

Hugo cut his eyes at me with a look that
showed he believed Kenny as much as he believed a politician’s
promises. “What happened at Ginger’s house this morning?”

“Was in my side yard. Putting the trashcan
away. Heard a shot. Didn’t see or hear anything else. Ran into my
house to get a weapon. Rushed to Ginger’s kitchen door. Closest
entry point. Eased the door open. A shot hit the jamb. Figured I
had the edge with the Uzi. Stepped aside. Swung the door open. Two
more shots. Peeked and saw QT. Stepped in, fired over her head. She
stopped shooting.”

“That was a brave move,” I said.

He seemed to puff up a little. “Just a
reaction. Wanted to save Ginger.”

I pressed him. “You don’t seem very upset
about Ginger’s death.”

“Don’t show my emotions. Need to get going to
the camp. Training today.”

His staccato speech pattern was annoying,
complementing his personality nicely, but Hugo had another
question. “Do you think QT killed Ginger?”

“Looks bad for her. Doesn’t seem like she’d
kill Ginger over that disagreement. But women, you never know.” He
gave me a condescending smile then looked at his watch. “Need to
run.”

He got in his Jeep and drove off in a cloud
of camouflaged dust. Could he be any more annoying? Maybe I’d come
back and see him when I had PMS.

Hugo put his arm around me. “Don’t let him
get your goat, kid. I think he knows more than he’s telling and
might even be involved in Ginger’s death. I want to give Smokey a
quick call.”

When I just stared at him, he said, “Art
Jambon, the detective who took our statements. Smokey’s his
nickname, used to be a fireman. Maybe he has info about this Social
Surgery outfit.”

“While you’re talking to him, I need to call
Granny. I meant to last night but you and I got involved in other
activities and then it was too late.”

I walked over to a shade tree next to the
parking lot and punched Granny’s speed-dial button. Her recorder
picked up and a message advertising her fortunetelling service
droned on. The third time I said
Granny, it’s me
, the
recorder shut off and I heard her familiar cackle. I gave her all
the names involved in the case story so far, including the cops and
the Social Surgery outfit, and asked her to run them through the
secret Best of Transylvania website.

She came back on the line a couple minutes
later. “Well, dearie, you’ve done it again. You’ve not only run
into another mutant group, but it’s the yin to the yang – or vice
versa, I can never keep it straight – of another mutant group
you’re familiar with.”

Migraine city was right around the corner. I
rubbed my temples. “You mean like with the Werechameleons, the
A-wares doing good and the B-wares doing evil.”

“Similar but with the Werechameleons, the
A-weres tracked the B-weres to thwart them. This new group does
good all the time even when their counterparts aren’t around but
they are deadly enemies of their counterparts.”

There was a reason Granny wasn’t naming the
groups and I was sure I wasn’t going to like it. I dug in my purse
until I found two extra-strength Excedrin and dry swallowed them.
“Don’t tell me Vampigs are involved in this.”

“I’m not sure yet, Victoria, but their
adversaries are. They’re called Hampires.”

I dry swallowed two more Excedrin. I recently
had a scary problem with Vampigs, a sect of vampires weakened by
inbreeding with mere mortals and cursed by a Powerful One, turning
them into pigs one week in every lunar cycle. They had to become
pig farmers to have a place to blend in during that week.

“Granny, Vampigs are evil and megalomanic but
that’s not unlike pure-bred, uncursed Vampires. I can’t believe
there’s a sect of do-gooders. Hampires? The anti-Vampigs?”

“Another mixture of curses. One clan of
Vampigs lived in a small town in Transylvania. A pure-bred Vampire
mother took her baby out for a moonlight walk in a stroller. I
think the mother may have stopped to snack on someone.
Nevertheless, time got away from her and the sun started to rise as
she neared her home. In her haste to get inside, she ran the
stroller off the path and the baby tumbled down a hillside.”

Granny didn’t have any short stories.

“A Vampig saw it happen and, since Vampigs
aren’t affected by sun, wrapped the baby in his cloak and yelled
for the mother to fly home. She arrived safely and a few minutes
later the Vampig brought her the baby unharmed. In gratitude the
mother tried to lift the curse and turn that Vampig clan back into
normal Vampires. But the father, who was the Powerful One
originally laying the Vampig curse, was outraged that the Vampig
had done some good even though he had saved his child’s life.”

“How could he be outraged at that?”

“Because he was a fundamentalist Vampire.
They mindlessly follow the dogma. Good was strictly
verboten
. Instead of lifting the Vampig curse, he cast a
goody-two-shoes spell on the clan. This had some interesting
effects in combination with the Vampig curse. Hampires don’t
physically change into pigs but they must work in areas associated
with pigs, literally like a slopper on a hog farm or figuratively
like a cook in a fast food restaurant. When a Hampire needs blood,
it must come from an evil mere mortal.”

As usual Granny’s story had a nightmarish
quality to it, the real nightmare being all this weird stuff was
part of my life. “So Hampires are here. How about Vampigs? Didn’t
we wipeout the Styvesants?”

“Probably most of them, dearie, but that was
just one clan. There are others. Usually where you find Hampires,
you find Vampigs although nothing you told me gave me a hit on
Vampigs.”

“What about the Hampires?”

“Don’t know anything else. Something caused
the hit. But all it did was give me a general Hampire alert and the
background info. Then the system went down. We have to get better
servers. I’ll call you as soon as we’re back on line.”

Just like a darn computer.

Hugo pulled up next to me in a cloud of
blue-black exhaust. “Hop in, baby. Smokey told me where the Social
Surgery Headquarters is located.”

I belted in, checking for falling car parts.
Hugo said, “Let’s get out there and see who shows up.”

We went west on Southern Boulevard. Hugo put
his hand on my knee. “Smokey’s a good guy, angelface, but there’s
something about him…”

As we drove farther from town, the buildings
thinned out and declined in quality. Next to a paint and body shop
that appeared to be closing for the day, we came to a rundown
flat-roofed concrete-block building. Nicked-up gray paint on the
walls and grimy opaque-glass windows gave the place a certain
je
ne sais quoi
if you’re into bunkers.

Hugo drove past it. “That’s the place,
sweetheart. He made a sudden right into the adjacent overgrown
vacant lot. He maneuvered in the shadow of some Australian pines
until we had a view of the back door and rear parking. He shut off
the engine. I shuddered at the thought of what might be in the
bumper-high weeds, probably loaded with snakes and spiders. If I
had to push the classic Yugo to get it started… I shuddered
again.

The building appeared to be empty, if not
abandoned. No cars in the lot, a forlorn feel to the place. We sat
and watched. The shadows lengthened as the afternoon passed and the
sun slid from the February sky. Borrrrinnng.

I cut my eyes at Hugo and discreetly studied
his handsome profile. I had to find a way to overcome my little
genetics problem. I didn’t want to have to worry about Hugo finding
out about it. I didn’t want to need male blood when I had PMS, very
inconvenient in addition to being very yucky. I wanted a normal
life. I wanted to grow old with Hugo, not live to a hundred and
fifty.

But Gregor, the patriarch who cast the curse,
was the only one who could lift it. I’d saved the lives of two of
his brothers, but that wasn’t quite enough. However, his Achilles
heel was his sweet tooth. Gregor’s brother had hired us to solve QT
Pye’s problems with the hope that Gregor would then lift my curse.
Of course, I couldn’t tell Hugo or Smokey or anybody that wasn’t in
that part of my world.

We had to solve QT’s problems so she could
get on with her franchising and I could be rid of my LGP.
Unfortunately, what I thought was going to be a relatively simple
negotiation had turned into a murder with Vampigs, Hampires, and
who knew what other complications.

Around four-thirty a military-styled Jeep
similar to Kenny’s pulled around the building and parked near the
back door. Two men got out. Hugo looked at them through binoculars.
“Those guys look familiar.” He handed me the glasses.

With my LGP-enhanced vision I didn’t need the
binoculars, of course I couldn’t tell Hugo that. I made a show of
peering through them although I had already identified the men, not
who they were, but what they were. Vampigs. About Hugo’s height but
much heavier with big bellies, pinkish skin, and noses that
resembled snouts, their repulsiveness was almost tangible, even at
this distance.

I handed the glasses back to Hugo. One of the
Vampigs unlocked the backdoor to the building then they both leaned
against the Jeep like they were waiting. Five minutes later a big
black Mercedes pulled off the street and went around the building,
parking next to the Jeep. Two men dressed like Arabs in white
burnooses, wraparound sunglasses, and scraggly beards got out and
greeted the Vampigs.

Hugo slapped the binoculars to his eyes.
“Those guys look like fugitive terrorist Ibin Etn Salaami, but I
know he’s dead. I was there. Must be a couple of his
associates.”

The Mercedes’ trunk popped open. The Vampigs
removed two wooden crates marked
Danger Explosives
and
carried them inside. One of the Vampigs returned. The Arabs got
into the Mercedes and the passenger handed a canvas bank bag
through the window to the Vampig who returned to the building. The
Mercedes headed toward West Palm.

“Hmmm, the Ibin Etn Salaami look-alikes,”
said Hugo, “provided explosives and money to those Social Surgery
guys. I had the feeling that Kenny Bunkport and his group, or at
least some of it, are anarchists. What would they be doing with
foreign terrorists?”

“Maybe Kenny and crew don’t know about the
terrorists, maybe the two guys in the building are the only link.”
What I felt like saying was
What’s up with the freaking
Vampigs?

Fifteen minutes later the Vampigs got in
their Jeep. Hugo’s car miraculously started on the first try. We
followed them east into West Palm Beach to an industrial area
between Southern and Belvedere, not far from I-95. Night had fallen
with a thud. Traffic was sparse. Hugo stayed a block behind with
his lights off.

The Jeep made a right. Hugo turned at the
intersection and pulled off the road. One building on the street
was brightly lit inside and out, accentuating its pink walls and
sign identifying it as
Mrs. Pye’s Pie Factory
. The Jeep
parked next to two vans identical to the one QT had driven to
Ginger’s house. The Vampigs walked toward the side of the building.
A door marked
Office
swung open and QT Pye herself let them
in.

Hugo lowered the binoculars. “Our client
didn’t bother to call when she got out.”

Two cars pulled into the lot. The drivers
wore tall white baker’s hats and went in the front door. I said “QT
must be planning to work all night to fill her Valentine’s Day
orders.”

“How’d she get sprung, angel? She shouldn’t
have had a bond hearing till morning.” He opened his cellphone and
put it on speaker. “Maybe Smokey knows.”

Hugo briefed Smokey about what we saw at the
Social Surgery Headquarters and our surveillance.

Smokey said, “I don’t know who the guys in
the burnooses are, but the others have to be two of the Hogwrath
brothers. They’re pure evil. Three of them are colonels in
Bunkport’s organization and they’re the driving force behind it.
Bunkport’s just a horny goofball who thinks the government is out
to get him. Considering some of his plastic surgery, he needs to
protect himself from his clients, not the government.”

“How did QT Pye get out of jail?” Hugo
asked.

“The judge held a special bond hearing in the
interest of the public good so she could make her heart-shaped pies
for Valentine’s Day. He set the bond at zero and let her out. He’s
a big fan, particularly of her key lime pie with black raspberry
and dark–”