Last Updated on Tuesday, 30 October 2012 18:53
This is a current project author, Greg Crites, is fine tuning. The third and final installment in the Dunkin the Vampire Slayer trilogy. We've included the entire first chapter for those who have followed the series.
“I’m wearing my Three Stooges tie, or I ain’t going,” Devlin said.
“You look good in a suit, and I bet you look even better out of it,” Jennifer said.
“Crimany, woman! Quit with the sexual inyerwindows. Let’s get this over with, I got problems. Big, portly problems in the form of Dunkin the disappeared donut dunker.”
The man speaking, Devlin, started as a particularly violent detective, but at least he was human.
Out drinking by the beach one evening, he caught sight of a giant 450-pound man running across the road in a black, skin-tight, scuba suit covered with silver spikes. His curiosity got him killed; turned into a vampire, then progressively into something more. Something elementally powerful, and currently conned into taking a five-foot-nothing, one hundred-and-two-pound pixie to dinner at a ‘nice restaurant’.
“You promised to take me out to dinner and be nice,” Jennifer said. She was one of five people with supranormal powers Devlin had rescued from a CIA paranormal research center in the hills of Tennessee—along with an exceptional chimp and wolf. “Please, change the tie. That would qualify as being nice.”
“I’m wearing my Three Stooges tie, and that’s final. You know I ain’t comfortable around people I can’t stomp. I start feeling a bout of uncivilized behavior reaching critical massiveness, I can look down at my tie and think of Moe thumping Curly, might calm my natural tendency toward violence.”
“Fine,” Jennifer said, out loud. She had the power of mucking around in people's minds, but she could communicate directly with Devlin. Her voice sounded inside his head, as if she had spoken aloud to him. They were bonded, but Devlin still fought her advances, and his own affection for her, with every ounce of meanness he possessed.
“I can’t believe yer holdin’ me to an agreement made under duress when Dunkin is missing. Disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle, him and poor Elle, gone without a trace. Oh the humanity. You know he rescued you.”
Devlin had just killed a giant hedgeapple the evil entity known as Siva Bishu had commandeered in his bid to bring the End of Death to the world. Initially confused as to how to battle the demon, Devlin had summoned Dunkin, who was off searching for answers to their origins in the jungles of New Guinea. On the way to assist Devlin in the battle, Dunkin’s plane vanished over the Bermuda Triangle.
“You both rescued us,” Jennifer said. “How do I look?”
“Like a starving stripper auditioning for a part on a low-budget horror movie. Why don’t you put some padding in that bra? Har!”
‘I know what you’re thinking right now, cretin. Why fight it, give me a hug!’ This sounded inside Devlin’s head.
“Damn it! If you know what I’m thinkin’ why ask me?” Devlin said, thinking she did look nice in that black dress. “And stay out of my head.”
“I will if you give me a hug.” Jennifer looked up at Devlin, and she looked so happy he almost gave in and grabbed her.
“I’ll give ya a squeeze if you promise to throttle-down all that happiness.” Jennifer and Devlin had kissed once, and it was sex with their clothes on. She channeled happiness and joy directly into people, but with Devlin, it was more—and it was mutually satisfying.
“Okay, I promise.”
Devlin, a six-feet, four-inch rod of wiry muscle grabbed the tiny girl in what he intended to be a light embrace and was overwhelmed immediately with joy. His leathery features formed into a drum-tight caricature of happiness.
He surrendered to the feelings and placed large hands at her waist, lifting her until his mouth brushed her ear and trailed down the back of her neck.
“Whoa!” Devlin said, setting her back down. “Yer friggin’ dangerous. We’ll go after I make a call.”
“Okay,” Jennifer said, still weak and happy from the hug.
“Fargin!” He screamed into the cell phone CIA Director Fargin gave Devlin so they could communicate. The CIA gave him whatever he needed, and he, in turn, allowed them to continue operating. Devlin had killed all manner of creatures that were impervious to all mankind’s weapons, cowed entire countries, flicked their leaders in the ears, and manifested massive destruction whenever annoyed—by anything. “Ya better have good news on them scientific shenanigans.”
“Devlin, we do have good news, our technicians have isolated an energy signature at the Hell Hermit’s cave that matches one picked up under certain conditions in the same area of the Bermuda Triangle Dunkin disappeared in. We’re putting together a pod with several measuring devices. We’ll pick you up tomorrow, and hopefully you and the pod will be on your way to wherever Dunkin is.”
“I don’t care what you send with me, as long as it ain’t a female named Jennifer, and pack some liquor in it.” Devlin cocked an eye at Jennifer, who scowled. “Any news on Ash?”
‘Not yet, we’re working on it,” Fargin said. “We’ll have a report in a couple of hours. So you’re taking Jennifer out on a date.” He chuckled.
“It ain’t no date!” Devlin snarled. “I don’t know who yer talkin’ to, but I’m takin’ her out cause I have to.”
“Methinks thou doth protest too much,” Fargin said.
“That’s a misquote, Snakespeare,” Devlin said. “Even I know it was "The lady doth protest too much, methinks," from his play, Hamhocks. Har! Keep annoying me and this could become the winter of my discontent and the spring of yer funeral.”
“Where are you taking her, maybe I should alert the rescue units and nearby fire department?”
“Yer getting funnier every day I let ya go on breathin’. I don’t know, Outback Crackhouse, Redneck Lobster or Carabbie’s...
”We’re going to Red Lobster, and you’d better act civilized,” Jennifer interrupted.
“Yep, Dread Lobster. Did you know loyster’s are the roach of the sea? They creep along the bottom feeding on sewage. They move by farting, and they...”
“You can’t ruin this, and we’re going, so quit your sophomoric attempts to torpedo our night out,” Jennifer said.
Fargin was laughing.
“Laugh, ya bastich! See ya in the morning, if this siren don’t kill me with happiness.” Devlin pressed 'end'.
“All right, let’s go,” Devlin said to Jennifer. “Maybe there will be some photographers there trying to take our picture. I can break off their fingers.”
“Why would there be photographers?”
“Because, apparently you took out an advertisement in the newspaper announcing our dinner plans,” Devlin snarled. “Even Fargin knows about it.”
“Ben probably told him.” Ben was a twelve-year old genius rescued along with Jennifer from the paranormal center.
“I’m worried about Dunkin, the big Baby Huey,” Devlin said, as the two climbed into the little VW bug. “He’s not as mean as I am, I break stuff for the sheer enjoyment of it. He’s rotund and reticent. Har!”
That first accidental meeting of the three men seemed fated to happen, it had been revealed that Devlin, Dunkin, a huge destroyer of vampires, and Ash, a timber frame carpenter, were descendants of an ancient line of warriors who defended humanity from the vampire hordes.
Together they had decimated the ranks of the vampires, killing the members of the high council, several hundred bloodsucking mutant creatures, a giant berserker that was bent on killing France—starting with Paris, and a monster claiming to be the first vampire. Their task had taken them across the earth. Finally, victorious, the three men split apart to pursue individual interests.
Devlin went back to Tampa where he had a bar and could drink in peace. Ash went back to the Amazon where he married Myra, the daughter of a tribal chieftain in the deep jungle. Dunkin pursued clues leading to both his missing father, and the fabled nexus point of vampire-warrior origins.
Devlin was more concerned about his missing friend than he let on. Though he called Dunkin, Captain Corpulent, Admiral Adiposity, Pope Portly, Obese Wan Kenobe and a hundred other names, if backed into a corner with a silver icepick pressed against the cornea of his eyeball, he'd admit he loved the man.
In the insanely busy restaurant, Devlin immediately handed a fifty-dollar bill to their server and ordered a dozen rum and Cokes, without the Coke.
“There’s yer tip, so you can just bring whatever stuff we order and save the eye rolls, sighs, and facial tics for the back room.”
“Devlin!” Jennifer spat. “You promised.”
“Hey, I just bought her college psychology textbook, all she’s got to do is traipse back and forth bringing me drinks and you food. I been meaning to mention, you sure eat a lot fer a little gal.”
“You’re the crudest man on earth.”
“Thanks, sweetpea. Har! Them biscuits are good. What ya orderin’?”
“I don’t know,” Jennifer answered. “How about you?”
“Shrimpers. I’m havin’ a plate a shrimps, and more biscuits.”
“See, isn’t this nice?” Jennifer looked into Devlin’s eyes. “I just love staring across the table and seeing you there.”
Devlin’s special CIA cell phone rang. He answered despite Jenn’s disappointed look. “Fargin?”
“Devlin, sorry to interrupt you, I can hear the din of customers so I assume you are in the restaurant. I’ve just heard word from our South American agent, Ash was abducted by some giant rat creatures. He and his pregnant wife, Myra.”
“What! Crimany, Myra was pregnant? What the frig is going on?”
“I have no idea, but you could be next.”
“I think I am,” Devlin said, loudly enough to overcome the customers screaming as a half-dozen giant rats suddenly appeared in the restaurant. “Can’t talk now, Fargin.”
Devlin tossed the keys and a few bills on the table. “I believe our lovely evening's been ruined, Jenn. I'm thinkin' you’ll be drivin’ yerself home.”
“Devlin, what are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna surrender and let the rat patrol take me to Ash," Devlin said, lighting a fresh cigar. "Then I’m gonna perpetrate some particularly punishing pest control with persistent prejudice, and maybe pick a peck of peppers with the Pied Piper.”