Saturday Special 2 15

12 min readFeb 15, 2025

A white work van lumbers into the hotel driveway. A woman gets out. She’s gorgeous and armed with a huge don’t fuck with me attitude. It occasionally alternates between a fuck off attitude and a keep the fuck away glare but anyone watching knew within five minutes that she was absolutely no one to be trifled with.

Holly, she snarled at the uniforms guarding the door and flashed A silver badge.

They are I’m expecting you. The uniform tried not to stare, tried even harder not to let his voice quiver.

She marched across the lobby floor and Wade the desk clerk to follow.

Listen up Nancy, she growled at him.

“My name is Clark”

“I don’t give a rats ass if your name is Leonardo da Vinci.”

She press the elevator button and got in.

“You got cameras outside and on the hallways, Judy.”

Clark cleared his throat.

“Yes. Digital cameras that record to a hard drive. It’s in the main office.”

“Do they give you a key to the main office?”

“I got keys to the whole building.”

“Well are you the king of I and Siam.” Holly said.

She handed him a slim tube and click the USB from one end.

“Move the recordings onto this drive and have it ready for my pick up on the way out.”

He took the flash drive and trembling fingers.

“What about the room?” Clark asked.

The elevator door pinged open.

“I’ll have your room ready for you tomorrow by noon.” She stepped out. “I’ll be down in five. Have that ready in three Clark.”

Holly lifted up the yellow police tape that stretched across the door and pasta moment to catch her breath.

This was her twelfth crime scene where the bad guys found the witness and none of them were easy. This one was the worst.

Her partner and mentor, John Dorian lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. One of his arms was gone, as was most of his throat.

Holly moved past him to the second fallen officer. He was missing both arms and his head. She could see a technician cataloging where the parts landed. Arterial spray littered the wall like sporadic graffiti, but there wasn’t much blood. They are usually wasn’t with these killers. Why waste so much food on the walls and carpet.

The victim in the bedroom was different.

The morgue. Describe the guy off attendant as he removes the steak from the vamps torso.

The phone rings, he goes to answer.

He looks through the glass partition. The table is empty. The vampire pops up against the glass.

“Son of a Basque separatist!” He screamed.

The vamp busts through the window but the goth scurries across the room and hides in a body drawer. The vamp hints for him but when the ME shows up with another body the vamp sucks him dry.

Describe the Asian victim in the hotel

The interrogation room for gi guy

Intro Holly. They hunt vampires. “Lord Aldis Chamberlain.”

“Is he a real Lord?”

“Second or third cousin to the king. A couple of generations removed.”

“How’s that work?”

“What do you mean? “Ask Holly. The way she rolled it together made it sound like one word.

“How does Lord chamberpot go unnoticed for a couple hundred years by his family.”

“They think he’s dead. And don’t let him hear you call him chamberpot. Vamps are very proud and British vampires are even worse.”

“Isn’t a chamberlain the guy who empties chamber pots?”

“How the hell would I know that?”

“Seems like if he were really concerned about it, he would change his name. Dr. Acula or something.”

“He’s gonna love you.”

I wonder if there is a universal rule about interrogation rooms. From the precincts across the country hundreds of them all look like they have been decorated by the same guy. Industrial gray paint on the floor, wall, and ceiling. Gray metal table bolted to the floor. Two metal chairs and a two way mirror on the wall. And despite a violent anti-smoking campaign in the states and prohibitions against indoor smoking, the stench of cigarettes, stale sweat, In fear permeate the walls.

But why gray?

Does it Delta senses? Back in the 70s every fast food chain had yellow brown red and orange colors as their theme. The colors were supposed to stimulate hunger.

Did grey stimulate fear?

Why not chartreuse? Or a soul sucking black that defied light.

Why gray?

Then a gray man walked in and the theme clicked.

Camouflage.

“You are royally fooked,” The gray man stated.

“You have me mixed up with someone else. I don’t know Mr. Fooked.”

The gray man court up one lip and what may have passed for a smile.

“I can’t quite place the accent though,” I said. “Brooklyn?”

The lip bird then and an actual smile escaped.

“Boy-o, The world needs more lads like you, truly.”

He didn’t share his name, which said something. Either he was going for this whole Irish man of mystery thing or he didn’t think I was going to be around long enough to bother. Hence the fooked. That had my pucker factor go up by 12.

“So why am I fooked, Mr…”

He looked up from the file and I got a good look at his face. Gray waxen skin, drab grey suit and black guys framed by deep sagging dark circles. I might have flinched.

“You know what you stumbled on?”

I shook my head no.

“A big pile of shite.”

“Steaming shite? Or cold shite?”

“Would that be making a difference,” the other side of his lip strained up and there it was a full on smile.

Then the door open and he stop smiling as wonder woman stepped in.

“Holly,” he said.

“LeTours.”

She wasn’t dressed like the Amazonian superhero though that would be cool. And even though she had on a very sensible pant suit, she look like she could pull it off. Her black hair was pulled tight in a fierce bond, framing strong cheeks and ice blue eyes.

“This him?” Like I didn’t wait a full question.

“Aye,” said LaTour.

Or maybe it was them.

“Get up,” she ordered. She sounded like people usually did what she told them.

I glanced at LeTour. He gave a small not. So I stood.

“Follow me.”

So I followed.

She marched through the precinct. The hallways were busy, but people parted for her moving quickly out-of-the-way. I followed in her week.

“Holly,” I said.

“Shut up.”

OK then. Holly was a charmer.

She pushed through the door into the parking garage and let us to a white van.

“Get in.”

“Look lady…”

She pulled a Glock 17 from somewhere and pointed it at my face. Her hands didn’t Trimble, not even a little and I was starting to get where LeTour was coming from.

Holly must really not like being called a lady so I got into the van.

The interior was clean and utilitarian, two front seats and an open cargo space that was empty. Holly climb behind the wheel and started it up.

“Buckle up.”

“Am I allowed to ask where we are going?”

“You will see.”

“Look lady,” I tested it. No gun this time, so it was just to get me into the van.

“I’ve been a good sport about all of this, but why don’t you tell me what’s going on.”

She whipped the van through the garage and slipped out into traffic without looking. I tried not to be impressed.

“In good time,” she said.

“Right, and you know I love a good time as much as the next guy, but trust me, you’re going to want to start talking.”

I try to exercise patience really I do. I take a deep breath and count to 10. I visualize rainbows and puppies and peace all in an effort not to lose. My. Cool.

I have many shortcomings and several ex-girlfriend’s catalog them for me like a laundry list of inadequacies. But chief among them was a temper.

It’sA problem. I admit it. I’m taking pills or I would if they were commercially available. And free.

“Or else what?” She goaded.

I glared out of the window. I knew I was just being goaded to, but look at it from my perspective.

Four hours ago, I was on patrol and responded to shots fired at a hotel. There’s a perp who tosses me through a window and get a chair leg in the chest in a bar fight. Then I’m locked up for three hours until Miss Susie doesn’t say a word comes to order me around.

From my perspective, I’d just about had it. Seriously, there was no need to go to.

“This,” I snapped and snatch the Glock from her holster.

I wasn’t planning to shoot her. The plan was to scare her and force her to talk to me. In the Academy, there is a one hour lecture they give on what to do if you are ever taken hostage. The first rule is don’t get taken hostage.

But if you are, cooperate.

I made a bet she had the same training. I didn’t even point the gun at her. I was just showing off.

She didn’t cooperate.

Holly leans toward me, and slap me with an open hand roundhouse right. I dropped her gun. It hurt. Like Muhamed Ali punch. And I’m proud to say that I didn’t cry.

Mostly.

I woke up with a sore jaw, a bruised ego and a displaced sense of anger.

“you should have shot her,” LeTour said from a chair in the corner.

His gray suit stood out against the cheap vinyl upholstery that aspired to a shade of red.

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

I told the covers up to my chin. I have no compunction against cheap motels as long as the sheets are clean and the doors locked.

Strike this one off the list.

“I didn’t knock,” he answered.

“Care to tell me why we are hiding out here.”

“You’re very fast with the iron.”

“What iron?”

“The gun. Her gun. Yours. Your reflexes must be pretty fast.”

I shrugged under the covers.

“I guess so.”

He threw a knife at my face. I jerked aside in the long Silverblade sink into the headboard. It vibrated in the plywood.

LeTour smiled.

“Impressive.”

I’m going to be honest with you. A lot to go through your mind when someone throws a crocodile Dundee looking knife at your face. The first is duck. Then even as the “why the hell! “Pops up, you are calculating how fast you can return the favor.

Or you decide to play it cool because the gray man staring at you dead shark guys might have more than an 8 inch blade up his sleeve.

“Did you bring coffee?” I asked.

Apparently I passed the test. He nodded.

“In the lobby.”

Let tour lead the way into the lobby. We were in a block hotel, two stories high with 15 rooms on top and 15 more underneath. It was in the middle of nowhere so I wondered how it stayed in business. There was no traffic on the secluded road and it look like we were the only guests.

Holly sat at a table alone a cup of coffee steaming on the tip for Micah in front of her. I grabbed a cup and sat across from her. It was awful. The coffee, not the seat.

“I think we got off to a bad start.”

I extended the olive branch.

“He’s extremely fast,” the tour set beside her. He skipped coffee.

“Last night you witnessed something,” said Holly. “Do you have any idea what?”

A purple on P CP through me through a window and turned into a mommy when he impaled himself on a barstool.”

Holly turned and I see glare toward LeTour.

“That would’ve been a sufficient explanation.”

LaTour shrugged his crumpled gray suit bunching up even more.

“I improvised. We never talk PCP before.”

“Memorize it,” she ordered and turned it back to me.

Her ice blue eyes had flex of silver scattered in the iris that gave her a mesmerizing affect when she turned them on you.

I tried not to notice.

“Last night, you killed an assassin. He works for a group you’ve never heard of before, but now you are on their radar.”

“One of the five families?”

“There is only one family.”

“And you screwed the pooch on this one,” added LeTour.

I leaned back and sip coffee. Did I mention it was awful? Atrocious.

“Which family?”

Holly took a long strip of her coffee to answer mine and didn’t flinch.

“The assassin was a vampire. And he’s not dead. He’s coming after you.”

I admired that she said it with a straight face.

“Aren’t vampires the undead?” I asked, my face as straight as hers.

Not even a twitch.

“This isn’t a joke.”

“If he’s a vampire, I State him. The wooden barstool through the heart. Colonel mustard in the bar with the barstool. Otherwise, it’s just a stool and that’s gross.”

LaTour’s mouth quirked.

“You are not funny.”

“Keep telling yourself that sister. But this is funny. Why am I really out here?”

“At the hotel, the assassin killed a witness before you stopped him.”

“Too bad I was late. Can we call him damp Vampassassin just to remind us he is Nosfaratu?”

“He killed two federal officers as well.”

I took a sip of coffee to hide my shame.

“Yeah, well, sorry about that.”

“Now we are recording you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are really fast, “said LaTour.

“And lucky” Holly said.

“What does luck have to do with it? I landed wrong with a barstool.”

“That assassin was over two hundred years old. Super strength. Super speed. It takes a special kind of person to kill one. And luck.”

“What kind of person are you?” I asked.

Holly just stared with those eyes that made me want to write a song about her.

LaTour broke into a big smile. His teeth were large. And sharp. And pointy, almost too big for his mouth. And too many of them. Way too many.

“I’m not any kind of person,” he growled.

I knew he was going to say that.

At the end of it all you can at least look back and say you lead an interesting life. Or had a few interesting moments.

Like when the guy sitting across from you tells you he’s a vampire.

“A vampire. Right.”

“Not exactly. “

“I call bullshit.”

“What does a Brahman bull have to do with this?” LaTour asked.

“He thinks you are lying,” said Holly.

“I do,” I agreed. “Vampires and werewolves, I would’ve bought. Buddy where shark since my bullshit detector all the way over into the red zone.”

“I am a shape shifter,” he growled. “A wizard trapped in this form for centuries.”

“You don’t look like a shark,” I said.

Holly reached across the table and refilled the coffee mugs.

“This must come as a great shock.”

“What are you?” I croaked. I tried not to let my handshake when I picked up my glass but there was probably an earthquake. Yes, a smaller’s quake that made the liquid shimmy and vibrate. It wasn’t me at all.

“Human, like you.” She sit her water. It didn’t vibrate at all.

“Not quite like me.”

“Not quite,” agreed LaTour. “Captain Holly is a creature with unique abilities.”

“Creature? “Gulp. “She said human.”

“Human, yes. We are all human. But Holly has a gift that allows me to enhance her aura. I see the same and you.”

“It’s rare,” added Holly. “We need it to be more common.”

“What kind of gift?”

“It is difficult to explain in words,” said LeTour. “But we are here to recruit you.”

“How rare?”

They exchanged a glance, and I could tell there was more than what they were sharing.

“There are roughly 20.”

“20?”

“We are the only two in New York.”

Two. Have you ever wondered if you were special? Sure, there is almost a narcissistic longing to think you are unique in the universe. To a certain extent, it’s true. There’s no one just like you, your cells, and thoughts and experiences.

But because we live in a society and want to belong to groups, we can form so that most of the time we are in a unique niche of like-minded individuals.

For a shapeshifting wizard and a “special” human to tell you that you are really unique.

It’s kind of scary. A poker factor of 12.

“So what do these 20 do exactly?”

“We fight the forces of evil that seek to see enslave humanity.”

“Evil.”

I figured at that moment, I was in the hospital, in a coma and dreaming. I had to be.

When the bad guy hopped up on PCP through me through the window, everything else had to be in my mind.

How?

I grew up loving Star Wars. A poor farmboy living in the boondocks his call to fight evil, and lo and behold he has a superpower the only needs training and was never discovered until he decided to try to save the world.

I wonder if those unique abilities that just disappeared and people who decided to keep their normal lives?.

This had to be a dream. I wondered if I could wake up.

“Do you view versus how many?” I asked.

If you are going to fight the evil Empire, it’s better to know the odds.

“At last estimate, tens of thousands.”

“Never tell me the odds,” I muttered.

LeTour quirked up one gray meticulously groomed eyebrow.

“But you asked.”

“I am just trying to get the facts straight,” I went. “20 of “us” versus 10,000 of them.”

“It may sound impossible,” added Holly.

“Not at all,” I cut her off. “Improbable? Sure. Insane? No doubt. But impossible?”

I waved it off.