Chapter 15
Law enforcement has become a profession populated with the same varying degrees of individuals present in the larger society; some honest, some not, some intelligent, some not, some Human, some…
“How long until you get the results, Nat?” I asked as I walked the Alien detective out to his awesome truck.
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether these two have ever been fingerprinted before.”
“Well, let’s assume they have. How long till you find out?”
“Probably by tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes. Why? Does it seem like a long time to you?”
“Yes, for some reason I thought you could get the information in a second or two.”
“We can, but we’re not on Heaven.”
“You are.”
“Well, yes, but I’m not allowed to assist them that way.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re limited only to the information they could relatively achieve on their own. Current law enforcement doesn’t have the ability to simply input a fingerprint and instantaneously get a result therefore neither do they.”
“Oh.”
“And if I were to help them by using Heavenly technology who knows what they’d do.”
“What are you talking about? Those guys are the nicest people I’ve ever met.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Then you really need to get out more.”
“That wasn’t very nice.”
“I’m sorry, but remember who we’re talking about here. Those are Vampires and Werewolves and they’re not above killing you, me or anyone else who happens to get in their way. Johnny, what do you think is really going on here?”
“Some sort of power struggle?”
“Yes, Johnny, a power struggle; a power struggle involving powerful families in a powerful clan. The family you’re with is an extremely adept one. They’ve been maneuvering for ages through their hierarchy and are, or were before Peter got killed, near the very top. To make it a little easier to understand think of their clan as a corporation with a board of trustees sitting at the top. The board consists of three families who’ve risen through the ranks to hold the power they have today. Below the board are upper management which is where the LeTorque stand and below them are varying rungs on the ladder with families constantly trying to move up by bringing other families down.”
“So the people who killed Peter are…?”
“A family who saw an opportunity to move up the ranks in their bloody corporation by killing Peter North and thus removing some of the LeTorque power by eliminating one of their powerful Wolves.”
“Peter North was a powerful Werewolf?”
“Peter North was an extremely powerful Werewolf.”
“How powerful?”
“Powerful enough to maneuver his family into a position to challenge for a seat on the board.”
“But you said there were only three families on the board. Would they allow a fourth?”
“No.”
“Oh, hold on, that means…”
“Yes, it means one of two things is really going on. First, an opportunistic family took a very dangerous chance at moving up in their corporation or…”
“Oh no.”
“… a family on top saw a potential threat and decided to do something about it.”
Cities traditionally have been forced to grow up due to their popularity which increased population, causing overcrowding and congestion which meant the leaders of those cities had to hire people to design a system of transportation to move the population around in order for the city to function. Unfortunately, the people they hired were also the people who decided other people would just love their roads designated by two different monikers. Yeah, I’m still mad at the double freeway-naming thing.
“What the…?”
“Easy, George, just take a deep breath and…”
“Who designed this city?”
“I don’t know, but there’s nothing you can do about it now so…”
“I just need to go there! Look, Vivian, you can see the stinking tower right there!” he said while pointing out what we obviously could see on our own without the help of the ticked-off Werewolf motorist who’d somehow managed to make the wrong decision at every point of importance while traversing the silver and glass city of Dallas.
“I can’t believe I have to do this!”
“It says you have to” said Vivian.
“But the tower is right there!”
“It’s a one-way street, George.”
“Well, it’s the wrong one-way!”
Cities have always started off as little domiciles where, for some reason or another, a family or group decided to settle in and put down roots. After a while more people joined and they had themselves a nice little village where many different families lived and many little houses were built. Those houses were enjoyed by their families as places for eating, sleeping and sometimes gathering. To gather, people had to transport so common pathways were made by the passing of hoof and foot which led to the paving of those pathways until finally…
“I cannot freaking believe this!”
“Just calm down now, George, there’s no point in getting upset.”
“It’s making me get back on the freeway! We were ten feet from the stinking tower and it’s making me get on the freeway!”
I guess it’s not really the transportation designers fault because cities took a long time in building their infrastructure and existing places of interest needed incorporation into any roadway design so a simple grid was probably not feasible for many older cities.
“There’s no off-ramp!”
“I’m sure there’s an off-ramp, George, we just haven’t… oh… there it was!”
“There it WAS?”
“Yeah, it looks like we were supposed to be in the other lane instead of…”
“What the…?”
“Oh no.”
Speed is the common desire which brought about the freeway system. Speed with which to get from point A to point B in the fastest time possible to get done what needed to get done. Now, freeways themselves usually travel the majority of their distance over land no one wanted to stop and settle so most of the time people travel as fast as the law of traffic will allow until they arrive at their destination. But Texas has numerous other cities, they all like to visit each other, they all have freeways connecting them and those freeways all have one thing in common; a single destination.
“Which one?”
“I have no idea.”
“Seriously, Vivian, which one?”
“I don’t know, George!”
“My God! Who designed this?”
I don’t know when it became commonplace to have every freeway intersect at one specific point but it seems a little bit of reasoning should’ve entered the cranial regions of those confounded freeway designers.
“Hey, Joe?”
“Yeah, Stan?”
“I got ten freeways here all going to one place. You think I should break up some of the intersecting points, you know, have the Northern and Eastern freeways meet one place and the Southern and Western ones at another?”
“Nah, just make them all meet at the same place.”
“Won’t that be a little dangerous, Joe?”
“Why, Stan?”
“You know, because a lot of them are going to be changing freeways right then and there might be a little confusion and anxiety involved when a thousand cars are all making different decisions at the exact same time?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, I’m sure they’ll all slow down and be courteous to each other.”
“You know, you’re right, Joe, people are always rational and courteous while driving.”
Intersecting freeways are always anxiety producing challenges to people and the reason is simple; if you make
a mistake the consequences of the wrong decision are way out of proportion to the deed.
“What did that sign just say, Vivian?”
“Now calm down George…”
“What did it say, Vivian?”
“There’s no reason to get upset, George.”
“Vivian… what… did… it… say?”
“It said Waxahachie, George, somehow we’ve entered Waxahachie.”
We turned off at the next exit and stopped at a fast food place for a bite to eat; and to let the maniacal Werewolf driver the chance to calm down before he decided to go all demolition derby on the other insanely mystified tourists who also happened to find themselves in a town whose name seemed to be a mocking reminder they’d been beaten by the scheming little freeway designers.
“Hi, what can I get you?”
“Five double-meat combos” replied Phillip.
“Okay, for here or to go?”
“For here.”
“Okay, do you want that all on one ticket or should I break it up?”
“Huh?”
“Do you want that all…?”
I think it was about then the poor cashier looked up from his register and realized what he was talking to; well, not what he was talking to but the size of what he was talking to.
“Oh… I’m sorry, sir, that’ll be $38.07.”
After the rest of us had given our orders and gotten our food we sat down to a good old hamburger-inhaling contest which Phillip won hands down because George kept crushing his cup of cola and had to keep asking for another from the terrified clerk who, quite smartly, wised up and placed about twenty spare ones on the countertop so he wouldn’t need to interact with the enormous Werewolf.
“So, we’re just going to spy on them?” I asked.
“Yes. You and Vivian are going to case their lobby and see if she recognizes anyone” George said.
“Won’t they recognize her?”
“She’ll blend into the background and you’ll be cloaking her scent so they won’t be able to.”
“But what if they recognize me?”
“You’re not going to look the same,” he said.
“I’m not?”
“No.”
“What am I going to look like?”
The downturn in the economy caused a lot of people to reevaluate what they would and would not be willing to do in order to provide for themselves and their families. Many professional people took a pay cut and went into occupations where their education and experience were of no use but where there was, at least, a paycheck. This had an unfortunate consequence, though, because the people who previously did those jobs now employing the professionals had to look for employment elsewhere, usually further down the employment chain, which caused people below them to look for work even further down until…
“This is embarrassing.”
“I think you look cute.”
“I do not look cute, I look foolish.”
“Foolish is cute, Sweetie.”
I was dressed as a clown. Fuzzy red wig, blue and white makeup on my face, a big red rubber nose, huge body suit tailored to make my girth… girthy… I guess would be the word, stupid long socks, and the largest pair of loafers in Texas.
“It’s a thousand degrees in this suit.”
“You can handle it, Sweetie.”
Every guy knows women manipulate us to do things we would outright reject if asked from another of our own gender. We further know the prettier the girl the more outlandish the manipulation can become. We further, further know we are completely and hopelessly defenseless against this blatant form of exploitation because we illogically think somehow, someway, doing those incredibly self-deprecating things might get us into the good graces of the goddess asking for the humiliation. I was no different.
“Everyone is looking at me.”
“It’s because you’re dressed as a clown, Sweetie.”
“This is so embarrassing.”
Dallas is like most modern cities and it’s built accordingly with residential houses relegated outside of its downtown proper and replaced with apartment and condominium dwellers. Why?
I DON’T KNOW?
Really? Every time I ponder a question?
I’M SORRY. IT’S JUST, WELL, KIND OF A HABIT I GUESS.
Because, like other cities, Dallas has borders so it has limited real estate. Since the most desirable places are usually within walking distance from entertainment and work the downtowns which hold work, entertainment and housing demand a high price to pay. The steep price of land got developers to look up and since the price of air has remained relatively low for the past, oh… ever, those developers built tall skyscrapers which could house people and businesses at a price allowing them to build their own houses someplace as far away from those obscenely overpriced alcoves as possible. Now, those skyscrapers have been developing right along with society and have adapted to the changing designs and materials employed by the architectural community, designs which grew higher and material which shown shinier.
“I think I’m melting.”
“You’re not melting, Sweetie.”
“Seriously, Vivian, I think my face is melting.”
“Oh, quit exaggerating. Here, let me take a look and see if… okay, hold on a second.”
Glass skyscrapers dominate the skyline of Dallas and they come in many different colors which from far away give the place a sparkling look but, when you’re on foot, in the summer…
“What’s that smell?”
“Um, just a second, Sweetie, I need to…”
“Is that my nose? Is my nose melting?”
Glass is reflective. Now, this may not seem a big deal to people in more northerly climates but down South the sun shines bright, and hot, and it doesn’t take much for the heat to become a problem especially when it’s further enhanced by more heat coming from sunlight reflected off glass from thousands of windows on dozens of skyscrapers onto a population walking its concrete foundation until…
“How bad does it look?”
“Well…”
“Come on, how bad?”
“We may need to try a different approach.”
“Really? Here, let me see your mirror. It can’t be that…?”
I looked like Ronald McDonald lying on an autopsy table being dissected by a group of first year medical students who were blind.
It wasn’t the makeup per-se which was the problem; it was the perspiration. I was sweating at an alarming rate because I was dressed as inappropriately as possible for a visit to the concrete, steel and glass downtown of a city not exactly known for its visitoral embrace. Dallas became a city because it was located on a rail line. It has no natural resource which would cause people to sit up and take notice. It has no mountains, had few lakes until the great hole-digging began, resides as far away from the coast as possible and has one general temperature of hot with the occasional freeway-closing ice-storm thrown in to keep it interesting. The rail-line which made Dallas what it is also gave it its purpose, namely economic, which seeped into the very fabric of society to the point where the greatest tragedy to ever hit the town was molded and reshaped into something of a cottage industry of economical ingenuity.
“This is where they shot the president” remarked Vivian.
“Yep.”
“Is that a museum?”
“Uh-huh.”
“For what?”
“It’s a museum about the shooting.”
“That’s kind of morbid.”
“Uh-huh. And they charge you to go in.”
“They charge you to visit a museum dedicated to the shooting of a president?”
“Uh-huh. Makes a lot of money too.”
Deeley Plaza is the name for the area where President John F. Kennedy was shot while visiting Dallas. For those who’ve never visited it’s an odd place, not because of the subject matter but because the actual assassination spot is readily available to the public at any time and is st
ill employed for its original purpose. JFK was shot in the head while riding in a car traveling on a street which is very much in use today. The actual location where the bullets ripped through his head are marked with X’s on the pavement and tourist regularly are seen posing on top of them. The location where the assassin shot from has also been relegated a tourist attraction and it is perhaps this location which has always left me mystified as to why people assume the nutcase could not have done what he did. The prevailing theory goes like this; JFK was riding in the back of the car and the assassin waited in secret for the right moment to unload three rounds into the president’s head. Those who don’t believe the theory say there is no way the assassin could’ve done what he did in the time he had to do it. They believe the shots would’ve been too difficult for one man to accomplish; essentially, the shooter was too far away. If you believe it was too difficult please visit Deeley Plaza, I have, and I believe I could’ve thrown three tomatoes and hit pay-dirt on at least two of them from the location of the assassin’s assault. It is literally within a stone’s throw of the X which marks the spot where another president was un-elected through gunfire.
“How long are we supposed to wait?” I asked.
“Trudy said they’re on the way. Hey, what are those people doing?”
“It looks like one of them wants to get his picture taken.”
“Why is standing in the middle of the street to do it?”
“Because that, Vivian, is the exact location where the president got shot.”
“But isn’t it kind of dangerous? I mean, I just saw cars whizzing by.”
Yep, that’s right, the most historically important event to ever tragically visit the great city of Dallas is not isolated or roped off; no, it’s marked with an X on a public roadway cars travel on in order to enter the freeway one block down the street.
“Is your phone ringing, Vivian?”
“Oh yeah, thanks, I got a little distracted there.”
She got distracted because she was waiting with baited breath to see if the body count on the X was going one visitor higher if the moronic poser didn’t step off the street before the next group of future freeway enthusiasts ran him down.
“Hello?” Vivian answered her phone.
“Uh-huh” she said a second later.
“Oh my” she said next.
“Really? Waxahachie again?” she finished.
We decided to meet at Bloody Mary’s because it was much closer to the downtown district than my apartment and it would give Vivian and me a place to rest while George, Trudy and Phillip once again returned from their forced visitation to the beautiful town just south of Dallas. It was a little difficult picking up a cab because I looked like a band member in the Killer Clown Posse but Vivian was still stunning and once we figured out all I had to do was wait about fifty feet away from her, she hailed one in about a minute, made the unsuspecting cabdriver wait until I entered and away we went.
“Vivian?” I whispered.
“Yes?” she whispered back.
“What if there are other Werewolves waiting for us at Bloody Mary’s?”
“Don’t worry, they won’t attack us.”
“Why not?”
“It’s forbidden.”
“What’s forbidden?”
“It’s forbidden to kill a Vampire.”
“But I’m not a Vampire, Vivian.”
“Oh, oh yeah, cabdriver! We’ve got a new destination” she called out and then grabbed her phone to inform the others of our change of plans.