The Wee Hours (Part 3)

Lemon Grass, pistol in hand, skewed eyes and pursed lips, patrolled the streets the night Jenkins died. Stepping on the cobbled street with supercilious authority that rung out with the solid staccato of leather boots in a silent night, she paced the edge of the world. Armed to the teeth with metallic resolution, her actions flipped into the yawning wake like cascading pages of a comic book. A firm hand on the truncheon now, and a pallid hand, pinched and red in places through tousled hair now, flickering light of the lantern clenched in a beefy hand and raised to her face now, she barked orders at her accomplices.

“Perry, if you shine that thing in my face one more time, there’ll be hell to pay!”

“Yes ma’am,” came the voice from the silhouette behind.

“Dammit Kristoff, are you taking notes?”

“Yes ma’am,” shot back from her right now.

“Jenkins I ought to fire you!”

“But I’m your boss,” the timid voice of Jenkins, who held his handkerchief to his forehead and sweated cold into the icy night.

“That you are old man, and thank your stars you are, coz’ if I were yours, you’d be lumped on your worthless couch, with your worthless handkerchief in your worthless mouth, eating peanuts for the rest of your worthless life, as a janitor in the joint called Worthless Bar and Diner, you hear me?”

“Now Lemon, I can’t help it if I had a stroke, now can I?”said old Jenkins in a conciliatory tone. “I thought I was dead!”

“You had acid reflux and you thought it was a stroke! In an undercover operation that too!”

“Now calm yourself, Lemon. I can’t help it if that reckless driver swerved right in front of me, now can I?”

“It was a chump on a scooter!”

“Our driver was too rash. All this excitement is not good for my nerves, you know.”

“YOU WERE OUR DRIVER! And you weren’t driving a nick above 40!”

“Oh dear. Be patient with me Lemon. You know I tend to forget things. What with my Alzheimers’ and all that.”

“KRISTOFF, ARE YOU TAKING THIS DOWN?”

Her face was positively red now. Her otherwise sleek eyebrows, now weaved in and out on her crumpled forehead and stuck out as she glared at the young Sergeant who fumbled with his pencil when barked at.

Jenkins mopped his face. He had the mousey look of an apologetic old man etched on his face by God the day he was born, and he wore it as a profound apology to all and sundry, like a heartfelt expression of grief for his existence.

“Perry, did you call the pick-up station?” she continued now.

“Yes ma’am. They’re on their way.” Officer Perry was a meticulous man.

“You’re a slob Jenkins, if you hadn’t driven out car right into that giant ditch by the road, the size of your ass, we’d be hot on their trail right now!”

“I’m sorry, Lemon, you know I shouldn’t be driving-“

“Shut up Jenkins!”

“I’m just saying. Why can’t Perry drive?”

“I hold the lantern, sir,” explained Perry. Officer Perry was a man of few words.

“Yes Jenkins, he holds the lantern. You can’t even drive a car, do you reckon you can hold a lantern? A LANTERN?”

“No. Er, I suppose not-“

“Then shut up, Jenkins!”

“I’’m sorry-“

“What did I just tell you to do, Jenkins?”

Superintend of Police, Jenkins went mum. He had learnt to take a hint. Warden Lemon Grass was not to be trifled with on the best of days. And this was clearly not her best.

“Shush.” She said now.

“But Lemon-“

“Shush!”

“She asked you to shush, sir,”

“Shush, Kristoff!”

“Yes ma’am.”

“She asked you to shush, Kristoff!”

“SHUSH!” She scowled. “I hear footsteps.”

There was revelry by night the day Jenkins was thought to have had a stroke. It came from the two inebriated strangers, plodding clumsily round the corner toward them, wine glasses in hand. One of them had a mess of shock-blonde hair, gone awry and the other was a hirsute, stocky man. They both had pallid faces and the stench of death about them.

”Well, well, gentlemen. What would a pair of vampires be up and about doing at this hour?”

The slim, blonde one shrugged. “We’re vampires,” he said.

“They’re vampires, ma’am.”

“I heard them when they said they’re vampires, Kristoff! Do you want your ass back behind the desk?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then suppose you Shush.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Might I interrupt you fine officers for one moment-“ started the slim, blonde one.

“Speak when you’re spoken to, lout!”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Now speak.”

“If this kind sir would just not shine that lantern in my eye-“

“Perry, would you point that damn thing somewhere else? Yes, now tell me. What nuisance are you up to, Vampire scum?”

“Good evening, Madame,” he lifted an invisible hat off his head. “My name is Scoop and this is my mate, Droit. We, being the worthless scum you presume us to be, were out carousing till the night, like our lot is wont to do. Honestly, dear lady, there’s nothing to scratch your heads about. We were thirsty is all-“

“Silence,” said Lemon, raising a hand. “ I shall hear from you, fat one.”

“Hello. My name is Dennis.”

“He said your name was Droit.”

“It’s Dennis ma’am. As sure as my name is Dennis.”

She stood, arms akimbo, scrutinizing him from head to foot. Lemon Grass was a fine judge of character.

“You seem drunk,” prompted Perry.

“Yes thank you, Perry. You seem drunk, Mr. Scoop. Out quenching your thirst with the blood of unsuspecting dames, no doubt.”

“What? This?” blurted Scoop, swirling the red slushy fluid around in his glass.” This is just a Bloody Mary. Complements of the bartender.”

“Is that so?” Grass seemed unconvinced. “What kind of bar, pray tell, serves customers at this hour? With the curfew in place, that too.”

“Oh just a little one on the corner. I know the manager,” was Scoop’s guarded reply.

“I am the manager,” said Droit, a little less reserved.

“Well, then Mr. Dennis, I’ll need the license of your bartender. He shouldn’t be serving drinks after 12.”

“I am the bartender,” explained Droit and looked smug.

“Enough out of the two of you,” spoke Jenkins now. He seemed to have recovered from his bout of acid reflux. “Now tell us clearly. What despicable act did you intend to pull tonight?”

“JENKINS YOU MOTHER-“

Jenkins seemed to give in to his convulsions again and the rest was drowned by the sound of his retching by the side of the road.

“No act worth your time, good sir! Please, I wish you wouldn’t retch at us like that, it’s very impolite,” said Scoop.

“Yes, a shame for a fine woman to swear,” agreed Droit.

“I think she’s fine. Don’t you think she’s fine?” scooped Scoop.

“I suppose she is,” parried Perry. “Do you think it’s a reflection on her mother? A fine woman she was.”

Lemon Grass scowled at the pathetic lot.

“My mother’s fineness is her own business. As for the two of you, I’m afraid I’m gonna have to lock you up.”

“But on what charges?” pleaded Scoop.

“Tomfoolery. Resisting arrest. Disagreeable banter. Being a couple of smart-asses. Making Jenkins uncomfortable. Getting on my nerves. Deceiving us by making Bloody Mary look like blood. Wasting our time. Kristoff, are you taking this down?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Scoop looked offended. “No no no no no, Madame, surely you don’t assume we’re up to no good. What with the curfew and all that. It’s killing the dream, the dream dear lass!” And he hugged the Lemon, who went as frigid as an icicle, while Scoop broke into a rhyme of sobs into her coat. “The dream, the dream!”

“Yes, the dream!” repeated Droit and hugged the lamppost.

“KRISTOFF! ARE YOU TAKING NOTES?”

“Yes ma’am!”

“Well stop taking notes, and get this bugger off of me!”

“But life isn’t- Thank you dear sir, But life isn’t-“ gulped Scoop in between sobs as the meaty hands of Kristoff pried him off of the Grass. “But life isn’t-“ He blew his nose. “But life isn’t about living your dreams, is it? It’s about drowning your dreams in vodka and bourbon till you never really know what they were in the first place!”

“Your philosophy sickens me,” was the sour Lemon’s reply.

Gentlemen, take these men into custody. Lock em’ up and splash cold water on their faces till they’re sober. Then we’ll get the truth out of ‘em”

“Oh come now, Miss-“ he read the name off the badge. “Come now Miss Warden. May I call you Wanda?”

“It’s Miss Grass. Warden Grass to you.”

“We’re just a coupl’a honest citizens, sweet Grass. I swear, I wouldn’t lie to you. I swear on the name of Grass!”

“He swears on the name of Scoop,” assisted Droit.

There was the clinking of steel as Grass fished something out of her coat and held it behind her back.

‘This is your last chance, Mr. Scoop. You know what I hold in my hands?”

Scoop looked stumped. He studied her from foot to face, stopping ever so slightly at her chest. A Vampire has keen sight.

“Some sort of counter weight system that’s keeping you from tipping over?”

“THAT’S IT! KRISTOFF! PERRY! HANDCUFF THESE MEN!” And she wrung Scoop’s arm and brought her own pair of cuffs down on his wrists.

“Okay okay okay, miss, We’ll talk!” shrieked Scoop.

“Okay okay okay!” shrieked Droit.

“Ssspill it!” She said, her voice an icy sibilance. A film of hot breath separated their faces. Her eyes that could break the resolve of the most hardened criminals were burning yellow orbs in their sockets. She could smell the alcohol on him. Her breath was poison.

“There’s a deal, ya’ know?”

“What deal? Speak!” she commanded.

“A deal between bloodlovers and the dogs. A deal of death. They kill none of ours, we kill none of theirs as long as we’re protected by the seal of the Covenant. Stray dogs die. A bloodlover without protection is dog meat if he strays. As long as the List exists. That List is no more.”

“Where’s the List? Cut to the chase, lout!”

“The List. The List. The List. The List is no more, don’t you get it? It’s gone. Stolen. Desecrated. Lost.”

“Who stole it?”

“That’s what we were ordered to find out. You could throw us in, but the cost. The cost!”

‘The cost! At what cost?” echoed Droit.

“The cost would be dire. Your days of subduing vandalism and midnight debauchery would be rosy old days of the past, if the culprit’s not found. Blood on the streets, howls and yelps and teeth and fire! There’s a war brewing and you’re getting in our way.” His affable countenance was now contorted into one of hateful intensity. “So I’d very much appreciate it, Warden, if you were on your way and let this particular issue sort itself out.”

Silence stung more than the howling wind that battered down on them. It rung out from the shut windows. It oozed from the flickering lamp lights. It dropped down from the towering rooftops. It seeped out through the ephemeral ticking of the giant clock on it’s big white face. And at last she spoke. And at last Providence came cloaked as a pawn in a midnight tryst of chess.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Scoop, there is a power higher than your Covenant. It thirsts for Justice. And it has chosen us to set right what you blunder,” her voice was crystal.

“On your way, the two of you,” found Jenkins his voice again. “If I see your despicable faces again, I’ll lock you up myself and throw away the key.”

Freed of his handcuffs, Scoop smiled again and massaging his wrists, he spoke to their retreating backs. “So we’re cool? No foul. No harm. It’s a joke, this is. Life’s a joke. I heard a joke once. A man goes to a brothel, see-“

“Perry, has our replacement vehicle arrived?”

“-And is approached by this breathtaking, buxom broad who gives him the rates. ’10 bucks for the grass, sir,’ she says,’20 for the couch and 50 for the bed.’-“

“I think I saw headlights down the street. I’ll go fetch it.”

“-Man hands her a crisp 50. ‘You’re a man of class,’ she tells him-“

“Well, hurry up!”

“-Man replies,’Class my ass, 5 times on the Grass’”

Lemon halted in mid-step. There was no doubt his last words had been directed at her. She turned a perfect shade of mauve and looked at them.

“Kristoff! Get back here. Those two are coming with us!”


As six unsteady bodies were squeezed into the replacement van, a shadow took form on the wall of the building behind. A hooded head, an arm, a body. A silhouette carved itself against the drained moonlight. The metallic click of a lighter. An illuminated instant of time. A puff of smoke silently exhaled. Only the keenest of observers could have noticed the propinquity of features. Only the most blasphemous of their kind could have pinned them on the face of John. His plan was a foot. A couple of bungling fools, the pair were not after all.