Have Vampire, Will Travel - Case File: Windy City Werewolf

Have Vampire, Will Travel – Case File: Windy City Werewolf

A Maxx Shadow/Roger Sparks Paranormal Thriller Mystery

Scot Savage

Scot Savage Enterprises

Schaumburg, IL

www.havevampirewilltravel.com

havevampirewilltravel@yahoo.com

Scot Savage Enterprises

Copyright © 2017 by Scot Savage

ISBN # 978-1-387-19631-9

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including, but not limited to, photocopying, recording or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews or where permitted by law.

Cover Art by Julie Kukreja

Pen & Mouse Design House Inc.

Printed in the United States of America

¹⁰ ⁹ ⁸ ⁷ ⁶ ⁵ ⁴ ³ ²

Dedication

To all who have ventured to have a dream!

Acknowledgments

Getting the first novel out was an experience and I never imagined there would be a sequel, but here it is! I guess we can officially call Have Vampire, Will Travel a series. At this time, I would like to thank some special folks for their help and support.

First and foremost: to my lovely and dedicated wife, Nicolette Chelios, for her continued support of my artistic side as well as her patience, diligence and arduous service as our prime proofreader and editor.

Special thanks to Julie Kukreja for her fine work on our cover art as well as Patty Siebert, Physician’s Assistant, for her technical advice.

From the Private Journal of Maxx Shadow

Case File: Windy City Werewolf

Spiritual Fog: a mystic phenomenon that causes humans to forget what they saw due to the rationalization that monsters don’t exist, writing it off as a bad dream or suffering from a delusion.

Thanks to the much-needed help of my junior associate and vampire-in-residence, Roger Sparks—we succeeded in vanquishing the heart-devouring monster, Ruby of the Rails, and its thirteen diabolic train-hopping hobo followers known as the Iron Rail Anarchists (IRA).

Along with Ruby’s demise, we found a way to dispel the Curse of the Wendigo.

I would later learn how ending this curse had repercussions that would open a window, which was a benefit for one and a detriment to another.

CHAPTER 1

Chicago, Illinois – River North Area Neighborhood

Summer 1977

For the most part, Julio didn’t mind being stuck working outside watching the door while his more connected co-workers had the privilege of working security within the confines of the air-conditioned club; however, this night was particularly hot.

It wouldn’t be so bad if he could wear a clean t-shirt and blue jeans as he did back in the days when the club was a local sports bar, but now he was required to wear disco garb just like the manager. Unlike the others who wore silk shirts and slacks of designer fabric, which kept the body cool, Julio had to settle for polyester that made him hot and so sweaty his shirt stuck to him like a second skin. Even worse, he was starting to feel itchy around the collar.

What else could he do? These bargain-basement clothes were all he could afford, especially now that things were really tight with his fourth child due in two months. It was time to look into getting a second job—maybe, part-time so he could still have time to sleep.

What the hell? Julio saw someone making his way toward the front of the line. Strangely, no one protested as he cut past patron after patron. Even stranger, he was wearing a heavy, black trench coat which draped down past his knees along with a wide-brimmed fedora.

Within the sea of leisure suits and hip-huggers, this guy stuck out like a sore thumb, but everyone else seemed oblivious to his presence. It was ninety-something degrees outside, but there was not so much as a bead of sweat on his brow.

Before Julio knew it, Trench Coat was right in front of him. Julio had a bad feeling about this guy, but he still had a job to do.

All full, sir, Julio hoped his voice still sounded firm despite that he was intimidated. Two to three hour wait, I’m afraid.

Is that so? Trench Coat answered. His cold, methodical eyes seemed more annoyed than angry.

Although his gut instinct told him otherwise, there was a slim chance that Trench Coat might be a VIP. Management liked to throw a curveball to the door attendants every so often to help keep them honest.

Let’s see if you’re on the guest list. Name, please?

Trench Coat snatched the clipboard out of Julio’s hands and, without looking, quickly pointed to a random name. That’s me.

Julio took his clipboard back and looked at the name as he tried to keep a straight face. I see—Mr. Yoshida. If you don’t mind my saying, you look too White to be from Japan.

I’m adopted, he deadpanned.

No problem, sir. If I could just see some ID to verify, please.

I left it in my other trench coat. Not to worry, my good friend, Mr. Franklin, will vouch as to my identity.

Julio had just about enough. I don’t know any Mr. Franklin, sir. I think you should get to the end of the line and wait like everyone else.

Perhaps a picture will refresh your memory? Trench Coat, again, snatched the clipboard out of Julio’s hand and reached for something in his coat. Before Julio could call for backup, Trench Coat handed him back the clipboard. Something was attached to it—a c-note!

This could buy plenty of diapers, formula and, maybe, a set of baby clothes as well. What was the harm? Fuck that cheap-ass boss of his for not giving him more hours when he begged for them. It wasn’t as if he was asking for a raise.

Mr. Franklin, of course. I remember now. Julio moved to the side. Please enjoy yourself, Mr. Yoshida.

I knew you were smart. Trench Coat entered the club.

Julio took the bill off the clipboard and discreetly slipped it in his front pocket.

Trench Coat was secretly relieved the doorman took the bribe. He suspected the man didn’t take the money out of greed, but rather out of financial necessity. Unlike the other goons who worked security inside and made the big bucks, the poor guys outside, who just wanted to make an honest living, were grossly underpaid—an oversight easily exploited to gain access to the fortress.

Unnoticed by the patrons, employees and those on the dance floor, Trench Coat made his way toward the bar. He looked for a table for two, but none were vacant due to the crowd—easily remedied.

Trench Coat approached a young, giddy couple, slightly intoxicated, and handed them a bill. I need to rent your table. Is twenty dollars for twenty minutes reasonable?

Shit, brother! the young man with the feathered hair slurred. For twenty bucks, you can have it for a whole hour. He quickly swiped the bill and whisked his date away as they stumbled to the dance floor.

Trench Coat ordered a beer. Pushing aside the glass, he drank straight out of the bottle. He didn’t care about being classy and trendy like the people in their fancy clothes.

He sipped slowly and patiently, waiting for his contact. There would be hell to pay if this turned out to be a red herring.

CHAPTER 2

Rosemont, Illinois - Near Chicago O’Hare International Airport

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

There it was! The very same corporate office building Wrango saw in his dreams. He knew it was a mystic summons that beckoned him to make this long journey. Since Wrango’s animal instincts did not sense that this was a trap from Falcon, he accepted the invitation—but an invitation from whom?

Whoever it was, they were offering their aid. Wrango’s pride, along with the fact that he had a price on his head, prevented him from seeking help in the past; however, he succumbed to the call because he was weary of being on the run for so long—over half a century. Also, the curiosity to find the answers to some new developments overcame his caution.

One of those developments was that Wrango was gradually regaining his power. Until recently, the curse limited his transformations only to the nights of full moon and only into his hybrid form. Now with a good measure of mental energy and willpower, depending on the phase of the moon, he could transform on other nights, still limited to his hybrid form. Full wolf man form was still out of his reach at this time. Perhaps this pilgrimage will provide some answers.

As Wrango entered the vestibule of the building, he couldn’t help but find the contrast between himself and the white-collared corporate assholes somewhat amusing.

Wrango was bare-chested under his sleeveless denim jacket, prominently displaying his tattoos, comprised mostly of snakes, daggers and dragons. He laughed when he compared the properly groomed lackeys to his long hair, covered by a dew rag, along with his scraggly moustache and beard. Did these money-grubbing stooges make him out to be a biker or a former member of ZZ Top? It didn’t matter. He was who he was.

Before listening to his inner voice telling him to take the elevator all the way to the private penthouse on the top floor, he took a quick peek at the building directory for a clue as to the identity of his would-be benefactor.

Even Wrango was impressed when he read the prestigious law firm of Rexler and Associates, one of many branch offices across the country. Even in the supernatural world, this firm, founded before the existence of the United States, was renowned for performing legal miracles for their clients for six generations. That is, for those who could afford their exorbitant retainer fees.

Efigus Rexler, Wrango muttered the name familiar to him and almost everyone else in the world. Legal genius and acting senior partner. Only he has the influence to pull this off. I should have known.

Although not one to appreciate the finer things in life, even Wrango was impressed with the fancy décor and elegance as he stepped out of the elevator and into the waiting area of the fancy penthouse office. The receptionist gave him a welcoming smile from behind her desk.

Please have a seat, the receptionist said. The wait won’t be long.

He did, and almost immediately, an attractive woman sitting on one of the posh sofas caught his eye. Despite her proper, conservative business attire and appearing to be forty or so, Wrango found her strangely appealing.

She’s a politician or something like that, Wrango thought to himself. I can smell corruption festering within her. Wrango wondered if he should use his power to lure her to a seedy motel. Tasting someone like her would be a nice change of pace.

Before Wrango could work his charm, two large men in fancy suits stood on each side and gently grabbed an elbow.

Hands off or you’ll have trouble, Wrango sneered. I was invited here.

Of course you were, Mr. Wrango, sir, one of the men answered. Mr. Rexler is expecting you. We are to personally escort you to his office immediately.

"The Efigus Rexler in the flesh? Wrango was amused. Not pawning me off on one of his ass-kissing subordinates?"

Someone of your importance requires his personal attention, said the other corporate suit as he gestured to a hallway. This way, if you please.

Before they walked off, one of the men leaned over to the woman on the sofa and said, Please be patient, Ms. O’Donell. Mr. Rexler will see you next. That’s a promise.

Quite alright, the woman smiled back. "Serves me right for flying in from Delaware without making an appointment first."

CHAPTER 3

Parts Unknown

Friday, May 6, 2011

Maxx Shadow wandered aimlessly through the copse of dense trees. The lack of light didn’t bother him.

Not long after walking, the trees showed signs of thinning out and he could see a small clearing where fog was slowly rising up from the damp ground. As he looked up, he saw a lack of—well, everything. It was cloudless and starless, only a full moon lighting the void.

Maxx heard a twig snap a little ways behind him. Turning, he saw nine hobos, each one seedier than the next, their silver conchos glittering in the moonlight against their blue bandannas. Maxx recognized them as the infamous Freight Train Riders of America who took part in the assault against a rival gang of hobos, known as the Iron Rail Anarchists, who were the evil minions of a heart-devouring monster called Ruby of the Rails. The FTRA were no better than their IRA counter-parts.

One of the nine stepped forward. It was Mundo!

Mundo? How could that be?

Mundo nodded slightly, obviously a signal to the others, as various nasty weapons came seemingly out of nowhere. Chains, knives and a couple of wooden axe handles minus the blades, known as goon sticks, waved threateningly in Maxx’s direction as they slowly surrounded him.

Maxx remained calm as he reached into his leather jacket and drew his gun. This seemed to keep them at bay for the time being. Confused, Maxx tried to rationalize the situation with logic.

This isn’t real! Maxx said to the malevolent hobos, conviction in his voice. You were all killed in the fire.

Not true, Mundo answered smugly. You may have killed Ruby and its disciples, but you didn’t stick around to get the rest of the job done. You never bothered to check when you abandoned us to the burning barn. You never saw that we got away.

Impossible! Maxx replied. No one could escape.

No one? Mundo taunted. "You managed to escape. So did your cadaver and the little girl that the IRA wanted to feed to Ruby. Deadtrack somehow got out, too, before he died warning Slouch and Hooligan of your arrival."

Now Maxx knew something was amiss. There’s no way you could have known that. You were already dead when that happened. You were one of the first to die—gunned down before the fire even took you. I saw it.

You caused our deaths, Shadow. You used us to get to the IRA. We were the sacrificial lambs so you and your cadaver could take all the glory.

"You caused your own deaths. We had all the IRA members covered,

but you lost your nerve and panicked—made us lose our advantage. You were willing to sell us out to save your own life. You got distracted and took a bullet in the back."

We won’t let you kill us again. Mundo motioned for his minions to advance forward, but Maxx steadied his gun. He managed to keep them at bay once again.

Mundo began to laugh. You won’t be able to kill us all if we rush you at once.

Correct, Maxx sternly replied, but I’ll kill most of you before you get me. Maxx waved his weapon at the hobos. Who wants to gamble? Who will win and who will lose? And just to let you know, Mundo, the first bullet has your name on it.

We died once, Mundo seemed undaunted. We’re not afraid to die again.

So did you die or did you live? Would you please make up your mind? Having enough of it, Maxx took aim at Mundo. Doesn’t matter. I’ll send you all back to Hell if that’s what you want.

Time to take the westbound, Shadow. Mundo turned to his minions. Get him!

Much to Maxx’s surprise, the hobos did just that. They didn’t seem afraid; however, Maxx wasn’t bluffing and had every intention of defending his life.

Maxx made good on his threat and fired his first shot into Mundo’s forehead, killing him instantly. Even though the hobos’ leader fell dead to the ground, it didn’t dissuade the others who kept rushing.

Undeterred, Maxx kept firing. Hobo after hobo fell to the ground in pools of their own blood. Everywhere Maxx turned, hobos rushed in and Maxx responded by shooting them dead. They never had the chance to get close enough where Maxx had to fend them off hand-to-hand. They just kept coming despite the rising number of dead bodies. Maxx had lost count of how many rounds he fired off. He never rationalized as he kept firing without reloading his weapon.

When Maxx looked down to see how many were killed, he saw more than nine, maybe, even dozens. He looked back up. More were charging at him and he kept firing. Where the hell were they coming from? They seemed like an endless wave, just like the Space Invaders video game Maxx loved to play when he was a teen. How many quarters did he put in that coin slot back then?

There were dead hobos all around, but Maxx still didn’t run out of bullets! The shooting and killing went on for an amount of time Maxx couldn’t determine. Not one hobo managed to reach him except for one that swung at his head and only managed to knock off his flat cap.

Finally, the last hobo fell. Maxx bent over to retrieve his hat and replaced it on his head. When he stood back up, he saw that a hundred or more dead bodies surrounded him. Within the ring of corpses, there was a gap, wide enough for a mysterious man wearing a black trench coat to pass through.

You don’t disappoint, Mr. Shadow, Trench Coat taunted. "I knew you were an accomplished executioner, but I didn’t know you were a butcher

as well."

I’m neither. Maxx trained his gun on the new intruder ready to give him the same as the unfortunate hobos if he was foolish enough to rush him as well.

Really? Trench Coat gestured to the plethora of corpses. "Then how do you explain the high body count? Did they all suddenly die from natural causes?"

You saw them rush me. It’s self-defense.

Admit it! You enjoy killing.

No, I don’t.

You’re a liar, Shadow. Now I won’t feel bad when I kill you.

I don’t even know who you are. What do you have against me?

This. Trench Coat, once again, gestured to the dead bodies surrounding them. This time, instead of seeing dead hobos, Maxx saw them replaced with the mauled remains of a woman and two children horribly ripped apart.

Maxx managed to hide his disgust so he could defend himself from the strange man’s allegation. I didn’t do that. I only shot hobos who tried to attack me. There’s no way I could have hit them by mistake. See for yourself. They’ve been torn apart, not shot.

Trench Coat grimaced. You might as well have pulled the trigger. You’ve doomed my family. For that, you will die. With lightning speed, Trench Coat drew a gun and fired.

Maxx dropped to the ground, avoiding the bullet. When he returned fire, Maxx found that his gun was empty. What the hell? All these shots and now it goes empty?

As Maxx reloaded his weapon, he saw Trench Coat run off, disappearing into a patch of trees. Maxx got up and immediately took pursuit.

When he passed over from the other side of the trees, his attacker was nowhere in sight. Drawn into an area where his opponent could easily blend in with the surrounding trees and shadows, Maxx cursed his stupidity. He kept his gun drawn as he slowly searched the area, ready for any sudden attack.

As Maxx methodically searched the treacherous woods, he heard the constant rustling of trees around him. Trench Coat was somewhere trying to double back and sneak up behind him, but due to the denseness of the trees and the echo in the air, Maxx couldn’t pinpoint the direction of his attacker.

This rustling-of-trees/cat-and-mouse-game continued for several minutes before everything suddenly went quiet.

From the corner of his eye, Maxx spotted Trench Coat standing between two closely positioned trees, his gun drawn and aimed right at him. Disciplined to react to such situations, Maxx spun around and fired. He gave Trench Coat a wicked smile of victory as his enemy fell backward, compliments of a lethal gunshot to the chest.

As Maxx approached Trench Coat’s body to admire his handiwork, he found his victory cut short.

It wasn’t Trench Coat!

This figure dressed in black was different! He was wearing a ninja

outfit with a sensor on his chest.

Maxx gasped when he saw the dropped gun lying next to the body. Plastic! With shaky hands, Maxx pulled back the hood. It was a boy, no more than twelve years old!

More rustling followed and Maxx turned to see five more boys, dressed in similar ninja outfits, slowly emerging from various hiding spots to investigate the gunshot. Maxx felt his face go pale when he realized that these kids were merely playing laser tag and he fatally mistook the boy who snuck up on him for Trench Coat. Maxx could only blame himself for firing blindly in anger.

Oh, my God! one of the boys screamed. You killed him!

No! Maxx pleaded. I didn’t mean it. There was a man out there trying to kill me and— Maxx stopped in mid-sentence when Trench Coat emerged from behind the group of boys.

Welcome to the club, killer, he taunted Maxx with a malicious smile. Now that you’ve damned yourself, I can send you to Hell with a clean conscience. Aren’t you glad you came to Glacier National Park?

Noooooo! Maxx yelled again, this time loud enough to wake himself up in a cold sweat. 

It took Maxx a few seconds before he realized that it was all a dream. It took him almost another minute to re-orientate himself to figure out where he actually was—on a train!

CHAPTER 4

Harwood Heights, Illinois

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Charlotte now realized her co-worker, Leslie, had more than a slight infatuation. She had a gut feeling the man was head-over-heels in love with her. If she knew this before she granted him this mercy date, she never would have agreed to join him for drinks at a local sports pub.

She felt bad for Leslie. It was partially her fault for allowing herself to encourage him. As much as she hated to admit it, she enjoyed how he fawned all over her, never growing tired of hearing him tell her how beautiful she was. This was especially true when Leslie said she was a dead ringer for actress Kristin Davis who, coincidentally, played a woman also named Charlotte on Sex and the City.

She liked him very much, but only platonically. Her thoughts often drifted as Leslie conversed with her, as she wanted to find a subtle and nice way to put the brakes on his obvious attempts to impress her and win her affections.

She couldn’t blame him for trying; every other guy in the bar was checking her out, especially when she brushed her long raven hair back to rest behind her ear. There were so many gorgeous guys here and she could get any one of them to take her home with very little effort on her part.

Ashamed of herself, she looked over to Leslie still engaging her in conversation, oblivious to her scoping out the hunks in the room. Leslie was no George Clooney, but he was cute, in a geeky sort of way.

Charlotte almost wished she could return his affections. Besides being a very nice guy, Leslie was very polite and attentive to her. Being a perfect gentleman, he never allowed her to open her purse to pay for any drinks no matter how much she insisted. On top of everything else, he made a good living and had a very promising financial future. Leslie was a good, solid, reliable catch! So why couldn’t she love him?

Deep down, Charlotte knew the answer, but couldn’t come to terms with it because she didn’t like making herself out to be a snob. Leslie was a good man, but he was just so typical and predictable. By the looks she was getting from all the eligible men, why should she settle for ordinary when she could have a dashing knight in shining armor? Was it a bad thing to want someone gorgeous, who would forever adore her and defend her honor against any that would dare besmirch her name?

She knew she had to tell Leslie the truth about how she really felt about him, but it wouldn’t be easy. Since she and Leslie often shared each other’s company during lunch and coffee breaks, most of her co-workers assumed they were an item. This was especially true of Mrs. Kurnitz, Leslie’s grandmother who worked part-time in the mailroom. Every so often, she would stop by Leslie and Charlotte’s table when they were on breaks to remark on how cute they looked together and they would make a great couple. While Leslie tried to make it appear that he was waving off the remark as a joke, Charlotte went along as not to embarrass Leslie in front of his grandmother. Also, she didn’t have the heart to tell the kind, well-intentioned lady that she had it all wrong.

Suddenly, without warning, Charlotte felt a chill running down her spine and it wasn’t due to any draft coming from the outside. Someone was watching her; however, it was quite different from the casual glances from the other male admirers in the bar.

She turned her head and discovered the source—a young man wearing a leather jacket subtly eyeballing her. Despite being attractive with his baby blue eyes and fine, jet-black hair slicked back to a small ponytail, he gave her the creeps.

Something wrong? Leslie asked as he pushed his wire-rimmed bifocals back up his nose.

No, Charlotte lied. I thought I saw someone I knew. Now what were you saying about that new project at work?

Charlotte did her best to appear unnerved. As she continued to converse with Leslie, she constantly looked out from the corners of her eyes. Sure enough, Leather Jacket kept checking her out, especially every time Leslie left the table to get drinks or pretzels.

Within an hour, Leather Jacket’s leering went from subtle to totally obvious, winking and giving her sinister smiles of desire. That was bad enough, but for some reason Leslie seemed oblivious to this. Leather Jacket was strategic, managing to turn his head when Leslie looked over to his direction. Charlotte began to wonder if she was imagining the leering and only being paranoid.

It was when Leslie returned from the men’s room that Charlotte was convinced this scenario was not all in her head. Leather Jacket bumped into Leslie, hard with his shoulder. The jerk didn’t even apologize. There weren’t that many people in the bar and the creep could easily avoid contact. More infuriating, Leslie shrugged it off as unintentional when it was clearly on purpose!

As she discreetly watched Leather Jacket, she observed his manner and body language. She didn’t blame Leslie for not complaining about the shove; it seemed that the other patrons and employees were weary of him too. No one, the bouncers included, had the nerve to confront him over his boisterous manner and neither did anyone make an attempt to stand up to him as he mocked other people and horned in on groups uninvited.

Are you sure you’re okay, Charlotte? You seem distracted. I hope I’m not boring you.

No, of course not, she quickly replied, deciding to finally come clean. See that guy over there?

Which guy? Leslie looked around confused.

That jerk in the leather jacket. Charlotte twitched her head in the offender’s direction.

Him? Leslie finally spotted him as if seeing him for the first time. Why is he a jerk?

Because he’s been staring at me all night. Charlotte couldn’t believe Leslie’s naiveté. And he bumped into you.

That was an accident.

He did it on purpose!

Leslie glanced over to Leather Jacket. He’s not looking at you now.

Charlotte took a breath before she answered, so she wouldn’t shout. That’s because he looks away when you look in his direction.

Are you sure he was looking at you? Maybe, he was looking over to someone else. A buddy, maybe?

I highly doubt a jerk like that has any buddies. He’s staring at me and it’s giving me the creeps.

Okay, Leslie grabbed her hands. This time Charlotte didn’t tactfully pull them away. I’ll tell ya’ what. I’ll tell one of the bouncers. They’ll make him leave or, at least, keep an eye on him.

That’s okay. No need to start trouble, Charlotte lied again, but with good reason. If the bouncers were afraid to throw him out after all this time, why should they do it now? Maybe, if she ignored him long enough, Leather Jacket would give up and leave on his own.

Are you sure? Leslie replied, genuinely concerned.

You’re right. He probably was looking at someone else. Must be my overactive imagination.

Okay, Leslie seemed secretly relieved. Your call. Want another white wine?

Thanks, Charlotte sighed. She knew Leslie’s offer of help was only an obligatory gesture on his part, especially since she knew Leslie was the type of person who avoided any confrontation. This was especially evident as Leslie made little effort to change her mind about letting the matter go.

Charlotte soon found her rational side at odds with her romantic side. The rational part knew that Leslie was being sensible by offering to let the bouncers handle any impending trouble. However, her romantic side wanted Leslie to ignore her request not to start trouble; she wanted Leslie to belt him in the mouth or, at least, get in the man’s face and give him a stern warning.

Dismissing her foolish notion, Charlotte decided not to let her imagination spoil her evening. Although this was not an actual date, she still enjoyed Leslie’s company and for a while she did just that; however, Leather Jacket seemed to get bolder as the night drew on.

Strategically, he moved in closer and closer toward their table, winking and pursing his lips at her. Much to Charlotte’s chagrin, Leather Jacket masterfully did so while staying out of Leslie’s peripheral vision.

When Leather Jacket rolled his tongue over his upper lip, Charlotte finally had enough. Deciding it better not to mention what happened, Charlotte looked at her watch and said, It’s getting late. I should be getting home now.

Really? Charlotte could see the disappointment in Leslie’s eyes. Leslie looked at his watch as well. "It’s not that late. Did I do something wrong?"

Of course not.

Is it that guy again?

No, Charlotte found herself lying, yet again, and hated it. I’m tired. I got up really early this morning.

Okay, Leslie sighed.

Charlotte was glad he didn’t try to coax her to stay out longer or press her for the real reason she wanted to leave. She looked confused when Leslie fumbled for something in his pocket.

What are you doing? she asked.

Just getting out my car keys.

Silly, she managed to crack a smile despite the aura of uneasiness generated by Leather Jacket. You can’t drive me home. We met here. Remember? Separate cars.

I know. I’m going to follow you in my car to make sure you get home safely.

That’s very sweet, Leslie, but there’s no need for you to leave, too, and cut your evening short. Stay here and enjoy yourself.

No need, Charlotte. I may as well call it a night as well. I’ll walk you to your car.

Okay. Charlotte was relieved to put an end to this unnerving evening.

Just give me a minute to run to the men’s room one more time.

As Charlotte put on her coat, Leather Jacket came to their table. He picked up Leslie’s jacket, which was resting on the stool, and blatantly dropped it to the floor before sitting down. He then picked up Leslie’s still half-filled drink and put it on the tray of a passing server. Of all the nerve! Who did the jerk think he was?

That seat is taken, Charlotte said firmly.

Of course it is, the young ruffian answered. By me. Buy you a drink, hot stuff?

No thank you, Charlotte answered coldly. I was just leaving.

What’s the rush? Sure you don’t want a drink?

No thank you, she repeated. I’ve had enough.

How about a dance instead?

The only answer Charlotte could come up with was, I’m with someone.

What? Leather Jacket snickered. You mean Lez-lee the pencil neck geek? How did he score a date with a fine woman like you? Lose a bet or something? Or mercy date? Is that it?

Although Leather Jacket was right on the last account, something compelled her to defend her friend. It’s Less-lee. Not Lez-lee. He’s a friend, not a date. He’s not a geek either. And you are very rude. Leave me alone or I’ll ask my friend to make you leave.

When Leslie returned to the table, his good cheer faded when he saw someone in his seat. Leather Jacket shot him a cocky grin.

Before Leslie could ask what was going on, Charlotte decided to speak up first to avoid trouble. Again, she lied. He asked to have the table since we’re leaving anyway.

Hey, what happened to the rest of my drink?

I told the server to take it. Charlotte found it increasingly more difficult to keep lying, especially to a good friend like Leslie, but it was for his own good. Sorry, I thought you were finished.

That’s okay. Where the heck did my jacket go?

There it is! Charlotte pretended to be surprised to see it on the floor. It must have slipped off the stool. Let me help you. Charlotte briskly picked up the jacket and put it on Leslie. Let’s go.

When it appeared she was going to make a clean getaway, Leather Jacket opened his big mouth. It didn’t slip off the stool. I threw it on the floor, punk.

Is this the guy you said was staring at you all night, Charlotte? Was he bothering you while I was gone?

No, the words stuck in her throat as she pulled Leslie away from the table. Let’s just go, please.

Why ya’ leaving, sweet cheeks? Leather Jacket continued to taunt. You told me you were going to get Lez-lee here to make me leave. How ‘bout it, pencil-neck? Got the balls to show me the door?

I won’t have to, Leslie waved toward the bar. The bouncers will.

Please forget it. Charlotte pulled Leslie’s arm down. A table isn’t worth fighting for. Just let him have it and let’s go!

Whatever you want, Charlotte. Again, Leslie made no attempt to argue about her request. He seemed relieved. They both knew walking away was the safer bet. Who knows? Leather Jacket could be some whack-job looking for any excuse to hurt someone.

Again, she hated to admit it, but her inner damsel-in-distress really wanted Leslie to break out of his good-natured shell. She secretly wanted Leslie to let loose his John Wayne side, if he had one, and open-up a can of whoop-ass. She abhorred violence as much as Leslie, but just this once, it would make this predictable, reliable man so much more interesting—maybe, even desirable!

Frustrated by her selfish thought, and also that Leslie let that creep push them around, she grabbed her purse and stormed out of the bar as Leslie sheepishly followed a few steps behind.

By the time Charlotte crossed the street, she had calmed down. She was about ten feet from her car when she realized her rudeness. She quickly turned around to allow Leslie to catch up with her.

Thanks for everything. She kissed Leslie gently on the cheek. Up until that jerk came to our table, it was a very enjoyable evening. Charlotte could see that although Leslie liked the peck, he wanted more. Charlotte pretended to be ignorant of this.

I had a good time too, Leslie replied. Maybe, we can do this again sometime? But at a different bar, of course.

Sure, Charlotte said awkwardly, as she had a feeling what Leslie would do next. In order to prevent this, she threw a subtle hint. That would be nice. Maybe, next time, we can get a group together from work.

Yeah, Leslie looked sullen by her remark.

As she suspected, Leslie started to lean in towards her for a kiss on the mouth. As much as she didn’t want to hurt Leslie’s feelings, Charlotte thought it best to nip it in the bud and get the idea out of his head that this relationship was not going to suddenly blossom into romance.

Tactfully and gently, she pushed him away. "I’m very sorry, Leslie. I like you, but only as a friend. If I did anything to lead you on or give you the wrong idea, I’m really sorry."

For a few seconds, Leslie’s eyes went blank, his world suddenly pulled out from under him. Charlotte could sympathize with that. To his credit, Leslie kept a stiff upper lip. No, you didn’t do anything like that. What I don’t understand is that if you felt this way, then why did you agree to this date?

Leslie’s naiveté was charming, but only to a point. This wasn’t a date. It was friends hanging around. Think about it, Leslie. Do people on dates arrive in separate cars?

Leslie lowered his head silently.

You really are a nice guy, Charlotte continued. There are plenty of other girls out there who would consider you a fine catch; however, I’m very sorry to say that I’m just not one of them.

Charlotte could see that a part of Leslie understood, but the other wasn’t going to give up so easily.

"Why some other girls? If I’m such a catch, then why can’t I win you over? Just give me a chance and I’m sure that you’ll like me as more than just a friend. There’s plenty about me that you haven’t seen yet. This one meeting outside from work isn’t enough for you to determine that. Maybe, if we went out on a few actual dates, you would get to know the real Leslie. What do you have to lose? You might be pleasantly surprised. That’s what dating is all about—getting to know each other better. There really is so much about me that you don’t know, Charlotte."

Leslie’s resolve was another good quality, but Charlotte made up her mind and she wasn’t going to change it, even at the cost of hurting Leslie’s feelings. This meeting was your chance. I know enough already and there’s no need to further waste each other’s time. A part of me was hoping there might be something to change my feelings toward you, but there wasn’t. I’m sorry, but you’re just not my type.

Leslie wasn’t down for the count, yet. "Then what is your type?"

Charlotte continued her blunt honesty. Someone who’s exciting and adventurous. Someone who’s not afraid to take charge of a situation. I want a man who will take care of me, not the other way around.

I don’t believe this. Leslie managed not to shout. You think I’m a wimp, don’t you?

I didn’t say that.

You were turned off because I didn’t stand up to that creep in the bar. Isn’t it?

Not at all—

I hate violence. Fighting is pointless. It solves nothing. If I fought that guy, I’d only wind up hurting him, getting tossed in jail or even sued.

Hurt him? Charlotte couldn’t control herself. "Are you kidding me? More like he would hurt you."

Just because I don’t like to fight doesn’t make me a coward. Wait a minute. I was ready to stand up to that guy, but you kept telling me to forget it. You asked me to leave with you. Remember?

I did that so you wouldn’t get your ass kicked. Pardon me for looking out for you.

Are you saying that I’m incapable of handling myself?

Now realizing her unnecessary outbursts, Charlotte calmed down. Although she felt she was right, she wanted Leslie to go home with a little pride. No, I’m just saying that I’m very tired and I don’t know what I’m talking about. All I want to do is go to sleep.

You’re right, Leslie calmed down as well and graciously accepted defeat. Not what I was hoping to hear, but I appreciate your honesty. You feel what you feel. Can’t blame a guy for trying? We’re still friends, right? That hasn’t change?

Still friends. Charlotte smiled.

Good. Then we can still meet for coffee and lunch breaks and hang out once in a while—I mean—as friends, right? Friends get together once in a while, don’t they? Maybe, in a couple of weeks, we can get a group, like you suggested, and have pizza and beer or something?

Looking forward to it. Thanks so much for understanding.

Good night—friend. Leslie kissed Charlotte on her hand. Before you go, can I ask a favor? If you find out if any girls out there think I’m a catch, can you send them my way?

The two hugged and laughed. It would have been a nice ending to the evening—that is, until they turned around. Their laughter came to an abrupt halt when they saw a familiar, but most unwelcomed, figure leaning against Charlotte’s car.

Leather Jacket!

CHAPTER 5

Chicago, Illinois - River North Area Neighborhood

Summer 1977

The people at the club called her Glitter—not only for the sparkles she wore mixed with her eye shadow, but also because she knew how to light up the dance floor. A local celebrity who appeared as a semi-regular dancer on American Bandstand and Soul Train, the patrons dubbed her the Ebony Disco Queen of the Club.

Beautiful and slim with a petite afro, she was a remarkable sight in her halter-top, hip-huggers and platform shoes. Even white men desired her affections—quite a contrast from the nappy-headed teenager from the South Side projects of Chicago bused to school on the Northwest side and shunned by the predominantly Caucasian student body.

For a time, she believed she hit the mother lode—paid decent coin just to dance in the club, warming up the floor so that the other customers would join in, relax and have enough fun to spend more money on booze.

That all changed a few weeks ago, when she felt the presence of evil brewing in the club—an evil everyone else seemed oblivious to despite it being as plain as day. Her friend was murdered and the people who ran the club were responsible, but no one believed her. Somehow, she knew the killer was not human, but a monster not of this world.

Trapped, she knew she couldn’t keep working here knowing what she knew, but she also knew that if she left the club, the monster would hunt her down.

It was a few days ago when she received that mysterious phone call. The voice on the other end explained that she was in danger and he could help. He knew about the monster and needed her aid to eliminate it. He had been staking out the place for weeks, learning about her and her ability to see what others couldn’t—biding his time waiting to make his move. To ease her fear, the man said he would talk to her at the club within the safety of the crowd. Seeing that she had nothing to lose at this point, she agreed.

She peered at her watch. It was just about time to meet her date. How was she going to find him? He only gave a name, but refused to give a description of himself.

You’ll know me when you see me, Glitter pondered over what the man said. I’m the one who will stick out like a sore thumb, but no one else will notice.

What the hell did that mean?

She immediately spotted a man in a black fedora hat and trench coat. He casually sipped beer out of a bottle as no one even gave him a second look despite his wardrobe being totally out of character for the club. At first, she believed him to be a detective; however, no detective would wear his white hair shoulder-length and pulled back in a ponytail like some middle-aged hippie. Nevertheless, in a strange way, she found him both attractive and intriguing.

Was this her mysterious savior? Only one way to find out.

Glitter composed herself, hoping to appear casual as she approached.

Are you Mr. Falcon? she asked.

Just Falcon, he answered. Not Mister. He gestured to the adjacent empty chair where a white wine spritzer was waiting—her favorite libation. How did he know?

Have a seat like you’re joining an old friend, Glitter, he continued. "Not that anyone’s likely