Bigfoot

Camping with Rachel and friends in Wisconsin, Tom Jurgen spots a Bigfoot in the woods. Unfortunately, so do a pair of hunters determined to track it down and kill it.

Bigfoot, Part One

Georgeanne rose from the lake, shivering. Naked. “That water is cold.”

I tried not to stare. Rachel elbowed my ribs. “Stop gawking. You’ve seen a naked woman before.”

Georgeanne was tall and blond. She winked as she strode up the sand and grabbed a towel. “Go on in. It’ll wake you up.”

We were camping in northern Wisconsin. Me and Rachel, and Georgeanne and her new girlfriend Hannah. Rachel and I had met Georgeanne while I was working a case for the Rossini, a family fighting a doomsday cult (long story). Georgeanne was a flirt—although whether she was flirting with me or Rachel wasn’t clear.

Anyway, she’d invited us up to the wilderness. A nice relaxing weekend with no electricity, an ice-cold lake to wash up in, and only a Porta-Potty up the trail next to the cars, unless we wanted to use the nearby trees. Perfect, right?

But after a few rough cases, roughing it in the wilderness actually sounded reasonable and relaxing. I stood up and pushed my sweatpants down. “Let’s go.”

Rachel grinned.

            We jumped into the lake in our underwear. The water was searing cold. Rachel yelped. We swam for as long as we could stand the cold, then ran up the sand to grab our towels and dry off. 

            Hannah was cooking eggs in a cast-iron frying pan on the big charcoal grill. She was short and husky, with curly brown hair and a blunt nose, in a sweatshirt and camouflage cargo pants. Her dog sat next to her—Hawk, a black Akita, with big ears and a stubby tail. Hannah looked up at Rachel. “Breakfast’s almost ready.”

            “I can’t wait.” I dropped my towel and pulled my sweatpants up. “Is there coffee?”

            “Hot water.” She pointed to a steaming pot. “There’s the Mrs. Folgers. The best. There’s granola bars over there.”

I scooped instant coffee into two mugs, carefully poured the scalding water, and handed a mug to Rachel. “Granola bar?”

She shook her head. “This is fine. Thanks.”

            I was starving, so I grabbed a peanut butter bar. Then I noticed movement in the trees just beyond our campsite. “Wait a minute. What’s—”

            A tall hairy creature stood in the trees. Six feet tall or so, on two legs, covered in red fur, with a long thick face and big ears, and bright yellow eyes, blinking as it stared at us.

            Hawk jumped up, peering and sniffing. But he stayed near Hannah, and he didn’t growl. 

            “What is it, boy?” Hannah patted his shoulder. “Oh. Wow.”

            I wished for my phone to take a picture. But it was in my jeans. In our tent.

            Georgeanne came out of her tent. “Is the water ready?”

            The creature ducked down and disappeared. A leaf falling from a pine tree was the only clue that it was moving away. Or it might just have been the breeze.

            Rachel draped a towel over her shoulders. “Was that . . .”

            “What was that?” Georgeanne peered into the forest.

            Hannah kept one eye on the fire as she checked the woods. “I think . . .”

            “Yeah.” I nodded. “Bigfoot.”

“I thought the sasquatch all lived in the Northwest.” Georgeanne sipped her instant coffee. She wore boots, cargo shorts, and a khaki jacket over a red T-shirt.

            “Maybe they’ve had to move.” I stabbed a fork into my egg. “Climate change, development . . .”

            Rachel nudged me. She’d gotten dressed in jeans and a red plaid shirt.  “How much do you know about them?”

            “I read a lot of books in high school about . . . paranormal stuff.” Thinking back, that might have been my intro into the supernatural world. “Bigfoot, the Loch Ness monster, chupacabra—cryptids, they call them.”

            “This is when you weren’t sneaking looks at your father’s Playboys?” She raised an eyebrow. Hannah giggled.

            I shrugged. “I was a teenager. Curious about everything.”

            “Should we go looking for it?” Hannah stroked Hawk’s fur. “What do you think, boy?”

            “Leave him be.” Georgeanne finished her coffee. “There’s a couple of good hiking trails we could—”

            A rifle shot blasted the air. Hawk jumped and growled.

            “Or we could just hang out here and play cards.” Georgeanne stood. “I’ll be right back.”

            She scampered into her tent while Hannah calmed Hawk. When she crawled out, she was strapping her handgun under her arm in a military-style shoulder holster. “A girl can’t be too careful.” She zipped her jacket up.

            Georgeanne was a soldier with the Rossini. Hannah was an architect. They’d met while Hannah was doing a redesign on the Rossini house in Urbana, Illinois, after an attack. She had to know a lot about the situation—she didn’t flinch as Georgeanne adjusted her weapon.

Gray clouds covered the sky as we cleaned up—paper plates in one bag, plastic utensils and other recycles in another, washing out everything lese in the lake. Hannah went swimming in the lake—not naked, but in a tight blue one-piece suit. She seemed to be keeping an eye on Georgeanne and Rachel playing backgammon on a blanket as she swam in circles, throwing a ring for Hawk to fetch in the water. 

I got a book from our tent. One day I was going to finish Infinite Jest. 

But not today. I fell asleep after half an hour, just like the last time I tried to read it. But I woke up to the sound of a motor roaring on the road above our camp.

Our cars were parked up the road. I heard doors slamming, and then two men stalked down the trail from the pull-out. 

They wore heavy red hunting vests and combat-style boots. One had a thick black beard and sunglasses, despite the clouds. The other wore a Milwaukee Brewers baseball cap.

“Hi!” The bearded guy smiled. “I’m Boris. This is Gabe. Got a minute?”

Georgeanne stood up carefully, her jacket half unzipped. “I’m Georgeanne. What do you want?”

“Well . . .” Boris chuckled. “This is going to sound a little strange, but—have you guys seen any weird animals around here?”

“Weird how?” Rachel looked them over. 

“Just like . . . a strange animal? A gorilla or an orangutan or something?” He looked around the trees.

“Did something escape from a zoo?” Hannah came out of the water, dripping and shivering. She grabbed a towel. Hawk rushed to her side.

“No, ma’am.” Gabe checked her out for a moment, then looked around the trees. “We’re just—interested.”

“We haven’t seen anything.” I stood up. “I’m Tom.”

“Hi, Tom.” Boris nodded. “We’ve just been, you know, looking for something.”

“What kind of something?” Too many years as a reporter and private detective have trained me to ask questions without thinking.

Boris scowled. “All right, Bigfoot. We’re hunting Bigfoot. Have you seen one?”

“Hunting?” Rachel stood up. “You want to kill it?”

Gabe scuffed a boot in the dirt. Boris glared.

“We haven’t seen anything.” Georgeanne shook her head. “Sorry. Just playing games and stuff. Enjoying the weekend.”

They looked at each other. Then Boris clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s go, then. Thanks, ladies.” He smiled at Georgeanne and Rachel, then glanced at Hannah. Then he looked at me. “I mean—”

“Yeah.” I waved a hand. “Have a good day.”

They headed back up the trail. After a moment, we heard their vehicle drive away.

Hannah and Hawk went to Georgeanne. I looked at Rachel. “So? Did you get anything on them?” Rachel’s kind of psychic.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, they want to kill themselves a Bigfoot.”

“Well, that was kind of obvious.” Hannah hugged the towel over her shoulders. “What do we do, G?”

Georgeanne looked at me. “Do we do anything, Tom?”

She was asking me? I hesitated. “The sasquatch have been hiding for years. I mean, we could go looking for him, like those guys, but chances are he’s better at hiding than we are at looking. Or those two.”

Hannah folded her arms. “I hope you’re right.”

I nodded. “Me too.”

After lunch—sandwiches, vegetables, and hummus—Rachel and I went for a short hike up a nearby hill. At the top, we sat down and looked out over the lake.

            “So what do you think?” I sipped from my water bottle.

            She leaned forward, looking down at the forest. “He’s out there somewhere. And he’s not alone.”

            My spine stiffened. “Are we in danger?”

            She shook her head. “He’s just scared. Those guys . . .” She shuddered. 

            “Yeah.” I don’t like guns, but I was glad Georgeanne had her weapon. 

            “Anyway . . .” Rachel wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “I just thought those two crazy kids might enjoy some time alone together.” She kissed me.

            “Uh, great.” I kissed her back. “So what about us?”

            She smiled. “They’re not the only ones.”

             We made out. Just when it was getting interesting, two rifle shots pierced the air.

            “Way to kill the mood.” Rachel sat up and buttoned her shirt.

     

Bigfoot, Part Two

We stumbled back down the trail. I might have slid on my butt part of the way.

Bigfoot lay next to the grill on his back, bleeding and moaning. Hannah stood watching the perimeter, Hawk circling around her. Georgeanne knelt on the ground, a small white first-aid beside her. She was a soldier in a centuries-long war, so she probably always carried some kind of basic medical gear. 

             I stared. I hadn’t realized how big it—no, definitely he—really was. Six and a half feet tall, maybe more. A long jaw, like an orangutan, and a flat nose. Thick legs. Arms that probably dangled to his knees. He was moaning. Red matted fur. His left leg was coated with blood. 

            “Hold still.” Georgeanne probed the creature’s hip. “I know you don’t understand me, but try to—almost got it . . .”

            Hawk sat on his haunches near Bigfoot’s head, licking the creature’s face, as if trying to comfort him. Bigfoot grunted, and kicked a heel on the ground.

            “What happened?” I dusted my butt off.

            “He just came crashing through the trees.” Hannah pointed. “Bleeding from his leg. Then he collapsed right here. There was a—a dart in his ass. Probably a tracking device. I threw it into the lake. As far as I could.” She gazed out at the water. 

            Georgeanne wore surgical gloves, the sleeves of her jacket buttoned back, dirt on her knees. 

She leaned up and took a deep breath. Then she bent down again. “Okay—ugh.” Bigfoot smelled like he hadn’t taken a bath in—forever. “Here goes.”

            She gritted her teeth and yanked. “Got it.” She threw the bullet into the sand. “Bastards.”

            “Will he be okay?” I leaned over Georgeanne’s shoulder as she started cleaning the wound.

            “I’m not a veterinarian.” She taped some sterile gauze pads around his leg and rubbed an arm across her forehead. “He lost a lot of blood. I gave him a shot of morphine, but I had to guess at the dose. I don’t know if—”

            Bigfoot sat up and roared. The sound felt like a blast from a cannon. We all jumped back. Hawk cowered.

The howl was loud enough to be heard for miles. I glanced at Rachel. Like she could read my mind, she ran for our tent. She brings her stun gun everywhere.

            Bigfoot staggered on his wounded leg. Hawk nuzzled his ankle. Hannah scanned the trees. Georgeanne started packing up her bag. 

            Then I heard crashing in the trees.

            Rachel blinked. “They’re coming.”

“Run.” I waved a hand. “Run away!”

Bigfoot looked at me, his yellow eyes flickering. Then Hawk pushed at his heels. Bigfoot lowered his head, glanced at Georgeanne, and staggered into the trees. He stumbled, pulled himself up, and lumbered away. 

Hawk watched Bigfoot go. Georgeanne reached under her jacket, making sure her handgun was secure. Hannah stepped next to her, shaking. “Nothing stupid, G, okay?”

Rachel laughed. “That’s what I always tell him.” She elbowed my arm. 

A moment later Boris and Gabe burst through the trees behind us. Georgeanne whirled on the ground.

Boris held a rifle that looked like it could bring down a T-Rex. “We know it’s here!” Boris waved the snout of his rifle toward the woods. “Where is it?”

Hawk barked. Georgeanne kept her arms at her sides. Rachel kept a hand in her jacket, close to the stun gun.

“Well?” Boris pointed a boot at the blood on the ground. “It came here! We’ve been tracking the thing all afternoon!”

“I got a dart into it.” Gabe held a small crossbow, with another feather dart loaded. “That’s how we followed it here.” He looked way too proud of himself.

            Georgeanne shook her head. “Not here. Not anymore. Get lost.”

            “Screw you, bitch. And your bitch friends.”  Boris looked at me. “You too. Pussy.”

            Seriously? I managed a laugh. “Is this 9^thgrade? Go home, you guys.” 

            Boris sighed. “We’ve been looking for this thing for years. I’ll find him.” He slung his rifle over his shoulder. “Come on, Gabe.”

            They turned back to the path.

            My shoulders sagged. I wanted to go home. Hot water, an internet connection, real coffee . . .

            Georgeanne and Hannah hugged. Hawk nuzzled at their feet. 

            “He’s not going to make it.” Rachel’s voice was stony as she looked into the trees. “Bigfoot, I mean. He’s dying.”

            Hannah pulled away. “How do you know? I know you’re all paranormal or something—”

            “He’s going to look for his family.” Rachel crossed her arms. “And yes, I’m psychic. I can’t read minds. Much. But I can sense things. He’s dying.”

            “There’s a family?” I looked across the lake, thinking of Boris and Gabe.

            Rachel nodded. “Yeah.”

The lake was maybe a mile across, but we didn’t have a canoe. There was a hiking path, though, so we took off on that, with Georgeanne in front, Hannah and Hawk at the rear, and Rachel and me in between as Rachel tried to sense the presence of Bigfoot or his family.

            “I don’t know about this.” Rachel shook her head and frowned. “My psychic stuff is kind of hit or miss.”

            “Just do your best.” Georgeanne peered ahead. 

            “We’ve got Hawk too.” Hannah patted his head.  “He’s not a bloodhound, but he’s got a good nose. Don’t you, boy?” 

            Every few minutes Hawk veered off the path, sniffing at the bushes, but he always came back quietly to join Hannah again.

            The late afternoon clouds shrouded the sky, making our path darker. Georgeanne had brought flashlights. We flicked them on, pointing them on the path ahead of us—not into the trees, where they might spook Bigfoot. 

            We reached the far side of the lake. I could make out our campsite across the dark, calm, deep water. My legs were getting tired—I’ve got to start working out more—but I didn’t want to be the first one to call for a rest. Rachel would never let me hear the end of it.

            Abruptly Rachel stopped and closed her eyes. “Wait . . . wait.”

            Hawk darted into the weeds. Hannah stepped next to Georgeanne. We waited.

            Rachel nodded. “He’s—they’re here. Close.”

            They? I shivered. Not just from the cool breeze from the lake.

            Hawk came back, his tail wagging happily. Hannah knelt and petted him. Rachel breathed a relieved sigh.

            We quit the path and pushed our way into the forest. The ground turned steep and rocky. Branches hit my face, and I tried to pull them back to protect Rachel. Georgeanne kept her flashlight low. Hawk led the way, flapping his tail impatiently as we tried to keep up.

            Eventually the trees broke into a small clearing. At first all I could see were yellow eyes. Rachel took a deep breath next to me. “It’s okay.”

            As our eyes adjusted, I could make out shapes. The Bigfoot from our camp lay on the ground, his breath shallow. His head lay in the lap of another one. It looked female.

            Three smaller Bigfoots—Bigfeet?—sat around him, stroking his fur and cooing softly. Kids.

            We stood silently, keeping our distance. Not out of fear—the mother Bigfoot barely seemed to notice us—but out of, I guess, respect.

            Then the trees crashed behind us. Bright lights stung my eyes as I turned. 

            Boris, of course, with his rifle. And Gabe with his crossbow. Did he think it made him look more manly?

            “Finally!” Boris laughed. He’d hung his sunglasses in his vest. His eyes were bright and red, as if he’d been drinking. “Look at them! We’ve got them! Stand back, girls.” He dropped his big industrial-size flashlight and started to raise his rifle.

            “Think again, asshole.” Georgeanne already had her handgun out. She aimed at Boris’ chest. “Stand down.”

            Boris stared at the barrel of her gun. “You going to shoot us, bitch?”

            Georgeanne nodded. “Yeah. If you make me.”

            The mother Bigfoot and her children didn’t pay us any attention. They were focused on the dying male.

            “Why do you care?” Boris stomped a foot. “It isn’t any different than shooting a deer, or a bear, is it?”

            “You eat a deer if you like venison.” Rachel’s a vegetarian. “A bear might be attacking you, so you have to shoot it. Look at them! They’re mourning their dying father.”

            “So what?” Boris stared at the family. “I’ve been doing this for too long. I’m getting one. I bet you won’t shoot me.”

            “That’s not a good bet, Boris—take it from me.” I managed to step forward, my legs shaking at the sight of so many guns. “Why does anyone have to shoot anything? They’re no threat to you. Just take some pictures and go home.”

            Boris shook his head. “I’ve got megabytes of pictures! Nobody believes pictures. We need to bring one back. Alive or dead.”

            How would they do that? Carry one back to their car? I had feeling they hadn’t thought this through, but that didn’t seem like the right point to argue right now. 

            “Are you going to kill us too?” Hannah folded her arms. “All four of us?”

            Hawk growled. “Five,” Hannah added. 

            It was a stalemate. One side would have to back down. I was pretty sure Georgeanne wouldn’t—she’s fought monsters. Real ones, not human ones. Would Boris and Gabe’s machoism let them back off? 

            One heartbeat. Two. I looked at Rachel.

            She sent me a tense glance. “Get ready.” I couldn’t really hear her, but I could understand her lips. What—

            A roar erupted from behind the trees. 

            Georgeanne stepped back and glanced over her shoulder—keeping her gun trained on Boris. 

            This Bigfoot was close to seven feet tall. From what I could see in the hazy light, its red fur was tinged with gray. Grandpa Bigfoot? But his legs were still thick as he stalked forward, hairy arms swinging along his hips. He roared again, showing blunt yellow teeth inside his jaw. The sound shook my bones.

            I grabbed Rachel’s hand, but she pulled it away. Hawk barked. The creature took another step forward—

            And laid a hand on the mama Bigfoot’s shoulder. Protecting her. 

            Boris tried to raise his rifle. But his hands trembled. Then his nerves apparently gave out. He dropped the gun and ran.

            Gabe fumbled with his crossbow, until Hawk charged him with a menacing growl. His finger hit the trigger, but the bolt flew into the ground, and then he twisted and followed Boris into the darkness.

            The large Bigfoot crouched, watching us. The mama Bigfoot leaned back. I thought I saw tears in her yellow eyes.

            “Let’s go.” I waved a hand. “Get the flashlight and the rifle. Let’s go.”

            “Yeah.” Now Rachel squeezed my hand.

            Georgeanne grabbed the rifle. Hannah flicked off Boris’ flashlight. Hawk stayed close to her feet.

            I looked at the family. “I’m sorry. We’ll leave you alone.”

            “We’re not all assholes,” Rachel added.

            Grandpa Bigfoot looked at her. Then he looked down.

            Our Bigfoot had died.

Back at the campsite Hannah lit charcoal in the grill. Not for dinner—we ate sandwiches—but for light and warmth. 

            “I hope they’re okay.” Hannah petted Hawk.

            “They will be.” Rachel sipped some water. “They’re sad, not angry. Not even that big one. They just want to be left alone.”

            “You think Boris and Gabe will do that?” Georgeanne had unloaded Boris’ and tossed the shells in the lake. She’d also disabled the firing mechanism. The rifle lay on the sand, in case they came back to look for it.

            Rachel shrugged. “No idea. But for two macho guys, they ran pretty quick.”

            We laughed.

            Georgeanne stood up. “We should get up early tomorrow to strike camp and clean up. Anyone up for one last swim?”

            Hannah looked at the water. “Won’t it be freezing?”

            “That’s the fun.” She pulled off her boots. “Last one in’s a rotten egg!”

# # #

Vampire Vigilante

A vampire is preying on criminals around Chicago. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Private eye Tom Jurgen has to find out.

Vampire Vigilante, Part One

Another evening, another cheating spouse to check out. It paid the bills.

            The spouse in question, pudgy and bearded, was sitting at the back of a bar. I sat up front, but I could watch him (and snap some quick surreptitious photos) as he made out with a young, woman—busty, blond—between drinks. I sipped a beer. So far the night had been quiet and easy. 

            Then the trouble started.

            The front door opened with a bang. About half of the customers—including me—looked up instinctively to see who was coming in. Someone we know? Someone hot? Someone looking for a fight?

A young guy in a leather jacket and sweaty gray hoodie pushed through the door. He stumbled across the hardwood floor and leaned against the bar near the cash register, two stools away from me. Dirty blond hair and two days’ worth of stubble. He drummed his fingers, waiting for the bartender.

            The night was fairly busy, so five minutes passed before the cute blonde bartender, in a T-shirt and jeans, made her way to the end of the bar. “Hi!” She had to shout above the jukebox playing a rap tune. “I’m Jackie! What can I get you?”

            He unzipped his jacket. “All the money.”

            The handgun in his fist looked as big as my Honda.

            Jackie froze. “Wh-what?”

            The handgun roared. Maybe he hadn’t actually planned to pull the trigger, but the bullet shattered two bottles of very expensive vodka behind her.

            Someone screamed. 

            “Okay, okay!” Jackie turned to the cash register, her arms shaking—along with the rest of her body. “Just a minute, just a min—”

            The robber fired again, into the ceiling, shattering a light fixture. Half the bar went dark. “Come on! Faster!”

            It wasn’t a panic—not yet. Some people froze, while others ducked beneath the bar or edged for the rear exit. A few held up their phones to take video. The jukebox kept blaring. 

I stayed put, my hands on the bar, calmly debating my options. Well, no—actually I was too scared to move, and aside from the gun I focused most of my concentration on not soiling my pants. I’m a private detective, but not the hardboiled, trouble-is-my-business kind. More the “Holy cow, I’m going to get killed?” kind. 

            Jackie was yanking cash from the register and dumping it on the bar. “Here, take it, here—”

“Get me a bag, bitch!” The robber waved his handgun. 

Hyperventilating, Jackie ducked down and came up with a plastic take-out bag with the bar’s logo on it. She started scraping bills into the bag. Half of the fluttered to the floor.

            “All of it!” The robber’s face was red, and he was trembling almost as badly at Jackie.

            “Okay, okay, just—” Jackie knelt, tears streaming down her face.

            I wanted to do something. Like run. But before I could think of anything more coherent than throwing up—

            A dark shape rose up behind the gunman.

            A man in a long black coat. Had he just walked in? I wouldn’t have noticed the door opening and closing, but I hadn’t seen him before, and I’d been checking out everyone in the place before the trouble started.

            Wherever he’d come from, he moved swiftly. Two hands clamped on the robber’s skull. The robber’s eyes opened wide. “Wha—”

            The hands twisted. 

            The robber’s neck snapped. The handgun fell from his now-lifeless fingers. 

            The stranger caught him as he fell, sliding one hand under his arm and then easing him almost gently to the hardwood floor. He crouched down and pulled the robber’s head back.

            Fangs jutted from the stranger’s jaws.

            Oh, great. A vampire.

            He bent his head down and went for the robber’s throat. I saw blood drip onto the collar of his hoodie and the front of his leather jacket. I couldn’t hear the usual sucking sound, but that was probably because the rap song was still blasting from the jukebox, and my own pounding heartbeat sounded like a freight train in my ears. 

            From the floor, Jackie reached for the phone next to the register and hit a button on speed dial. “Y-yes, there’s a robbery. Please!”

            Now people started running. Two women almost knocked over my bar stool as they dashed for the front door. One of them glanced down at the robber, bleeding out on the floor. “Yuck.” Then her friend pulled her away.

            I reached into my windbreaker for my phone. I wanted to call Rachel, my girlfriend. But I wanted another picture too.

            The vampire looked up just as I took the photo. Blood dripped down his chin, and his eyes curled in anger. 

            He lurched up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then turned. 

            Then he was gone. Not through the door. Just . . . gone.

Rachel walked into the kitchen at 9:30 the next morning as I was eating cereal and drinking coffee. “You okay?”

            Rachel’s my girlfriend. She’s got short red hair, hazelnut eyes, and somewhat psychic powers. She was in gym shorts and a T-shirt, which meant she didn’t have any tight deadlines, so she she’d slept late and hadn’t taken a shower yet. I’m a detective. I detect things.

            “I’m fine.” I looked at my phone. “Just waiting for Sharpe to call.”

            She rubbed my shoulder. I’d told her everything, of course. She helps me with my cases, especially when they veer into supernatural territory. She’s seen her share of vampires. “Did you sleep?”

            “A little.” Maybe three hours. Even after all these years of dealing with vampires, demons, shape-shifters, more demons, and the occasional alien, I’m still not hard-bitten enough to drop into dreamland after witnessing a murder.

            She poured herself some coffee and refilled my mug. “Can you get paid extra for that?”

            I chuckled. I’d already written my report and emailed it to my client, complete with the pictures of her husband canoodling with the blonde. I didn’t mention the end of the evening.

            My phone buzzed. “Oops. Better take this?”

            “Jurgen? Are you all right?” Detective Anita Sharpe, Chicago Police. My partner on the CPD’s vampire squad.

            “Uh, fine, thanks.” Usually Sharpe—and most other cops—opened with “Jurgen? What the hell?” This was a nice change of pace. I put the phone on speaker. “I’m a little shaken up. Otherwise fine. Have you got anything? Rachel’s listening.”

            “Hi, Rachel. Look, I only read the preliminaries about last night. Here’s the thing—this is the third case of a vamp coming out of nowhere and killing a crook in the last two weeks.” 

            Rachel and I looked at each other. “That’s . . . interesting.”

            “Yeah. I want you to get on the horn with your vampire friends and ask if they know anything.”

            Ever since the Vampire Wars a few years ago, I’ve been the official liaison to two vamps who’d split the city between them. It was part of a truce that meant blood distribution centers for vampires in exchange for the king and queen doing their best to control vamp hunting and killing in the city. And cops not just staking them on sight.

            I looked through the kitchen window. The morning sun shone bright. “They won’t get back to me before tonight.” Vampires have cell phones and email like the rest of us, but they still sleep all day.

            “Just do it and get back to me.” She hesitated. “Glad you’re all right.”

            “Me too. I’ll be in touch.”

            After we hung up I sat back. “Sounds like Anita’s getting soft in her old age.”

            “Lots of people don’t want to see you get killed.” Rachel punched my arm. “Jerk.”

            I grinned. “Love you.”

            “Yeah, well, I’m going to take a shower. Too bad you’re already dressed.” She finished her coffee and headed for the bedroom.

            I left my cereal on the table. I could always stand another quick shower.

“Tom . . .” Anemone purred. “It’s always nice to hear from you.”

            Anemone was the vampire queen, responsible for half of Chicago’s vamp population. I wasn’t sure how old she was—100 years? More?—but she had the body of a porn star and a twisted mind to match. “Thanks for calling me back.”

            It was a half hour after sundown. She’d be going out to hunt soon. She didn’t kill people, just fed a little, and sometimes she showed up at the blood clinics, mostly to demonstrate her support for the truce. It had held for years, so that helped.

            “I need your help about a vamp who’s killing criminals. Have you heard anything about that?”

            “Well, I will answer questions for you. But I think you owe me something.”

            My spine stiffened. “Uh . . . what do you mean?”

            “We’ve never been on a date.” She giggled

            What the hell? I was glad Rachel was in the kitchen making salad. “You, uh, you know I have a girlfriend.” 

            “We’ve met. But I haven’t been on a date in 50 years. A girl likes to get out sometimes.” She sighed—a long, sexy sigh. “Don’t worry, Tom. I don’t try to steal you away. Just dinner. You don’t even have to kiss me good night. Unless you want to.”

            Oh my god. “Okay. Dinner. Anyplace you want. Movie? You pick? Kiss? I can’t promise anything.” 

            “It’s a deal. I’ll be in touch, lover.” She giggled.

So I told Rachel over dinner.

            “A date?” She speared her salad. “She knows about me, right?”

            “Just one dinner. No kiss.” Maybe. I was nervous. Anemone was a vampire, but Rachel’s pretty tough when she gets mad. On one hand, the idea of two hot women fighting over me kind of turned me on. On the other, Rachel might not be able to kill Anemone, but she could definitely beat me up. “I’m not going to kiss her. Or anything. It’s just to get information on that vampire the other night.”

            Rachel sipped some water. “Okay.”

            Okay? Was this a trick? “So it’s . . . okay?”

            “I guess.” She set her fork down and crossed her arms. “Just one date. Don’t do anything stupid. She’s a vamp, remember?”

            “I got that.” I set my fork down too. I wasn’t hungry. “You could come too. I mean—”

            “What kind of date would that be?” She kicked me under the table. “You can kiss her. If you have to. Just don’t tell me any of the gory details.” 

            Without any psychic powers of my own, I got what Rachel was trying to say. She’d admitted cheating on me last year. We got past that, eventually. Maybe this was her way of . . .

            I shook my head. “Not going to happen. No way.”

            “No problem.” She grinned. “So where do you take a vampire on a date?”

Vampire Vigilante, Part Two

Anemone suggested a high-end steakhouse. “I like my meat rare,” she said. “With blood dripping out.”

            Rachel’s a vegetarian, so I sort of liked the thought of getting some meat for the first time in weeks. “Works for me.”

            We met at 11:30 the next night. Anemone was waiting at the bar, in high heels and a sleek black dress with a slit up to her thigh. A tall, handsome guy in a turtleneck and a leather vest on the next stool was apparently trying to hit on her, leaning over and stroking her arm. I almost hung back, waiting to see how she’d deal with it, but then she spotted me in the mirror behind the bar—even though her own face didn’t leave any reflection in the glass—and sprung out of her stool. “Tom! Honey! Here you are!”

            She kissed me. Hard. 

Okay. One promise broken. 

            The guy stared at me, puzzled, then swung around in his stool. Anemone waved at the bartender. “We’ll take care of my bill at the table.” She took my hand. 

            I had to admit she looked sexy—for a vampire. For anyone, really. I tried to remember that this was strictly business. Despite the kiss.

            At the table she scanned the wine list and ordered a bottle of expensive cabernet. The tall waiter nodded and took the rest of our orders.

Anemone ordered a T-bone steak. Rare. I ordered a filet mignon. Medium. I just hoped the CPD would pay my expenses for this, but I didn’t look forward to the argument with Sharpe.

            Anemone lifted her glass. “Here’s to our first date.” 

            First? Another promise on the rocks. I choked down a swallow. “I guess you don’t date very much?”

            “Oh, you know, there’s so much work being vampire queen of half of Chicago.” She smirked. “But sometimes there’s a nice-looking man—” She winked. “Or a woman—and it’s just more interesting to seduce instead of just attack.” She sipped her wine. “What about you?”

            “Well, I don’t date at all anymore. I mean . . .” I gulped some water. “Rachel and I go out on date nights. Sometimes I even get lucky.”

            “You might get lucky tonight.” She licked her lips.

            Lucky to get home alive. I rubbed my neck. I hoped she wasn’t checking out the late-night diners around us. Two women, sharing tiramisu, smiled at a corner table. An elderly couple sipped their coffee, holding hands.

“So . . .” Anemone picked up a breadstick and snapped it in her hands. “Tell me all about yourself.”

I felt like I was in college again. Nervous and jumpy, trying to make intelligent conversation. I tried to think of dates in college. What’s your major? What dorm do you live in? Do you want another beer? “Okay, you tell me a secret, and I’ll tell you one.”

She smiled. “Did this work with Rachel?”

I leaned back. “Maybe.”

The waiter came with salads. Anemone shoved hers away. “All right. When I was human—when I was 17—I did it with my brother.”

My appetite vanished.  “Did he . . . force you?”

“Oh, hell no.” She laughed. “I seduced him. I was evil even when I was human. But so was he. We had a crazy family. But that’s a story for our second date.” She looked around. “Where’s our food? I’m starving.”

Me too. I looked down at my salad. “Uhh . . . didn’t you hunt tonight?”

“A little.” She grinned. “Just one old man. I didn’t drink him dry. I wanted to be hungry for our date.” She licked her lips. “Come on, Tom. Tell me a secret. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Yeah.” Maybe that hadn’t been a good idea. “Okay. So when I was 17 too, I noticed that the daughter in the house next door didn’t close her blinds. She was 19 or something. So I spent all one summer with binoculars glued to my face. She’d get undressed, have boys over—best summer of my life.”

“Mmm.” She smiled. “Did you ever do it with her?”

I shook my head. “I was a nerdy teenager. She never spoke to me.”

“That’s not much of a story.” She frowned.

“Okay, I did it with her sister.” I was making this up. “She was 23. I went over to her house one day to ask her on a date, but she wasn’t home, and her sister answered the door. And, uh . . .”

“Liar.” She grinned. I could see her fangs.

I shrugged. “You wanted a story.”

Fortunately our dinner came. I sliced my filet with a steak knife. Anemone leaned down to lick the blood off her T-bone. Then she started chopping it into small pieces so she could suck all the inside blood she could. I was hungry enough that this didn’t kill my appetite. Mostly.

            After a few bites she put down her fork. “All right, I have to confess—I lured you here under false pretenses.”

            False? I stiffened. 

            She sipped her wine, then licked her lips with a long tongue. “Well, I did want a date. But I brought you here to meet the vamp you’re looking for.”

            I took a breath. “You knew?”

            She shrugged. “I had a guess. It turned out right. Ricardo?”

            I turned in my chair. Behind me, a tall man in gray pinstriped suit stood up from a table. 

It was the vamp from the bar. I edged my chair back in case I had to run.

            He carried his own glass of red wine over. “Hello, Anemone. Nice to see you again.”

            “Same.” She stood up and gave him a kiss. I almost felt jealous. This was supposed to be our date, after all.

            Ricardo pulled his chair over, and they sat down again. “This is Tom Jurgen. My date.” Anemone winked at me. “He was asking about you.”

            “I’ve heard your name.” Ricardo extended a hand.

            I’m apparently famous in the supernatural community around Chicago. We shook. “I saw you the other night. At that bar.” 

            “I didn’t get much to drink there.” He crossed his arms. “Why is this a thing for you?”

            I chose my words carefully. “We’re not sure this is in keeping with the truce. Too many vampire killings tend to get the cops upset.”

            He tapped his fingertips on the tablecloth. “I’m helping the police. Getting rid of criminals.”

            “So you’re a—a vampire vigilante?” I liked the alliteration.

            Ricardo crossed his arms. “I’ve been undead for 30 years.” He looked in his 50s, in human terms. “Most of that time I was—an ordinary bloodsucker.” He grinned. “Then a few years ago, in San Francisco—I was out one night, hunting, and there was a mugging. Two men attacking a woman, grabbing at her backpack, ripping at her clothes. She was too terrified to scream. So I—intervened.” Another grin.

            Anemone chewed on a piece of steak. “Then what?”

            “What do you think?” He laughed, then lowered his voice. “I killed them. I was going to kill the woman too, but she just stared at me. Then she whispered, ‘Thank you.’”

He tilted his head. “It was the first time anyone had ever thanked me for anything. In this life or my human life. I told her to run, and then I drained their blood while it was still warm.” He smiled at the memory. “And then I decided to target—human crime.”

            Okay. “How? Police scanner?”

            Anemone laughed. 

Ricardo frowned. “I learned a—a sort of charm that would take me where I wanted to go.”

            “Learned or stole?” I’d run across a teleportation charm before.

            He frowned. “Bought. From a wizard. As simple as a touch.” He snapped his fingers. “After years of killing humans just for their blood, I decided I’d like killing humans who deserve it. What’s so wrong with that?”

            Aside from the killing part? I wasn’t sure what to say. I could hardly stake him here in the restaurant—and besides, the truce prohibited cops from killing vamps unless they were actively attacking a human citizen. “You’ve killed at least three crooks here in Chicago that we know of. How many more?”

            “Here?” He looked around the room, as if counting in his head. “A dozen or so. I only got here six months ago. I did San Francisco, LA—there was a lot of action there—Vegas, St. Louis . . . But this place is the best. You’ve got gangs, drive-bys, and that means . . .” He grinned. I could see his fangs. “Good hunting for vamps like me.”

            “Well, you’ve got attention now.” I gulped some water. “Maybe more than you want.”

            Anemone leaned toward me. “What are you going to do?” She might have been flirting earlier, but she was still the vampire queen. Ricardo and the others were her responsibility—to deal with, or protect.

            “I’ll have to report it.” I looked at Ricardo nervously. “But unless they catch you in the middle of an attack, you’re probably safe. Just—be careful.”          

            He smiled. “You don’t last long as a bloodsucking fiend without being careful.”

            “I suppose not.” I picked up my fork. Still hungry. “Well, thanks.”

            Ricardo stood up. “I’ll tell you what. You two lovebirds finish your meal, and I’ll meet you outside.”

            Anemone kissed his cheek. “Nice seeing you, Ricardo. Thanks.”

            “So why aren’t you dating him?” I sat down. “He’s more your type.”

            She grinned. “A little too—ordinary.”

             

Ricardo was waiting outside on the street, wearing the same long black coat from yesterday. Anemone kissed me again. “I had a good time, Tom. Maybe again sometime?”

            “S-sure.” Forget Sharpe—I didn’t know what the hell I was going to tell Rachel. 

            Ricardo led me down the sidewalk. It was close to 1 a.m. “I’m going to show you what I do. You can tell your cop friends whatever you want.”

            “Oh-kay.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to watch a killing. Although it wouldn’t be the first one I’d ever seen. I used to take anti-anxiety meds for that.

            Plus, he was right—I’d have more to tell Sharpe.

            And, okay, I was curious. It’s what made me a decent reporter in my past life, and it definitely helps me as a private detective.

            He stopped in front of an alley and held out a hand. He squeezed. My hand tingled. “Brace yourself.”

            I nodded. “All—”

            Then everything was cold. My body shook. I tried to shout, but my throat was paralyzed. It was like traveling between dimensions—which I’ve done more than once, and never liked it.

            “—right.” I gasped. Ricardo grabbed my shoulder. ”Quiet.”

            I was on my knees on a concrete floor between two cars. A parking garage. 

            “Stay down,” Ricardo whispered. “They can’t see me. Yet.”

            Who? I heard voices arguing. I couldn’t make out the words. I kept my head down. 

            Then—gunshots. They echoed across all the concrete. I flattened myself on a yellow line and pushed myself under a car. Ricardo was gone.

            Another gunshot. Then something that sounded like a curse.

            Then silence.

            “You can come out now.” Ricardo laughed, a little bit like The Shadow in the old radio plays.

            I rolled over and stood up. 

            Three dead bodies lay in front of an SUV. One was bleeding out, a wound in his stomach. Probably the gunshots.

            The other two were just . . . dead. Their necks twisted to unnatural angles. Just like the robber the other night. A small plastic bag lay between their bodies. 

            Ricardo bent down. His fangs gleamed in the halogen lights overhead. I turned away. I didn’t need—or want—to see him draining the blood from his victims. Even if they’d been criminals.

            After a few minutes he clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Drug dealers. I left their stuff all around them, so your cop friends will know what happened.”

            I nodded, not looking back. “Did you get a full drink?”

            “Good enough for a couple of nights. Let’s go.” He gripped my hand again. Again my palm tingled.

            And then another shuddering trip through the cold. Back in the alley, Ricardo caught me again before I fell. “Tell them whatever you want. But this has got to be better than sucking on ordinary humans.”

            I wanted to point out that drug dealers and robbers are humans too. But arguing with a vampire who’d just killed and drained two people while leaving another one to die in a parking garage? Probably not a smart idea. “Okay,” I gasped. “I’ll . . . tell them what you said.”

            Ricardo didn’t answer. When I turned around, he was gone.

Rachel was awake. After 2 a.m.  She sat up in bed in a pink T-shirt. “How was your date?”

            “She kissed me.” I wanted to get that out of the way first. “Then the vigilante vamp—his name’s Ricardo, by the way—took me to watch one of his kills.”

            “Ricardo, huh?” She punched her pillows back. “Like Montalban?”

            That wasn’t the detail I expected her to pick up on first. “Good-looking, in a tall, dark and scary kind of way.”

            I perched on the edge of the bed and started pulling off my shoes and socks. I told Rachel everything: the kiss, the dinner, the drug dealers . . . by the time I was finished I just wanted to lay down and go to sleep.

            “So . . .” She stroked my arm. “Did you kiss her back?”

Uh-oh. “Well, I didn’t want to be rude.”

Rachel punched me. “Jerk.” Then she kissed me. I kissed her back. 

It was almost 2:30. We both had to get up in the morning. But again, I didn’t want to be rude . . . 

“Yeah, we have a report on a couple of drug dealers dead in a parking structure on the south side.” Sharpe yawned. “One gunshot wound, two broken necks, and a couple of bite marks, and a lot of blood on the floor. You were there?”

            “I couldn’t stop it.” I gulped my coffee at the kitchen table. “His name’s Ricardo.”

            “Okay, okay.” I heard her fingers punching keys. “What else have you got?”

            “His name’s Ricardo. Wait, I already said that.” I hadn’t slept much. “He started in San Francisco a few years ago. He’s been moving around. He thinks he’s doing you a favor.”

            “Well, that big bag of fentanyl we found won’t reach anyone else. So that’s a plus.” But she groaned. “Is he likely to move to someone else’s city soon?”

            “This seems like a pretty big playground for him. Drug dealers, gangbangers—when’s Donald Trump going to solve all the crime in Chicago like he promised?”

            “That asshole.” Sharpe snorted.  “Look, just keep in touch with this Ricardo guy. Let me know what he’s up to.”

            I didn’t have his number. “Are you going to stake him?”

            “Only if we have to. Tell him to stay low. And get out of town.”

            We hung up. I headed to the kitchen for more coffee.

            Rachel was already there, in a T-shirt and shorts. “Hello, lover. Sleep well?” She held the coffeepot out. “Fill you up?”

            “Sure.” I held out my mug. “So, uh, am I forgiven?”

            “For what? Kissing that vamp whore?” She laughed. “Never. Now make me breakfast. Bagels. Don’t burn them in the toaster.” She punched my arm. “I’m going to take a shower.”

            I watched the toaster as if my life depended on it. Or at least my arm.