style="font-size:15px;"> Virgil’s posse drove up, drawn by the sounds of gunfire.
“Heads,” Virgil muttered as he reloaded and looked around.
A few lights had come on. But no one would call the police. They knew better. Virgil anxiously twisted the barrel, which retracted his stake. Two members of his crew pulled out their machetes and beheaded Deidre and Kyle. Neither corpse bled – either from the gunshot wounds, Virgil’s stake, or from the beheading. Even the embalming fluid had been dried out. It meant that they hadn’t fed yet, which was more luck than anything else. Julio (Virgil’s right-hand man) slipped a cigarette into his worried mouth and fired it up.
“How the fuck did these vamps get past us?” Julio asked as he looked around.
Virgil didn’t bother to answer because he didn’t know. Usually, the local coroners and funeral homes let them know when a vamp-related homicide came up. Then they’d stake out a corpse, wait for his/her internal organs to grow back, “re-kill” the poor bloodsucker, and then let the mortician “pretty it up” for the funeral. But these two slipped through the cracks.
Luckily, Little Bo had been banging his girl at the cemetery when Deidre broke out of her coffin. By the time she unearthed her son, Bo had it called in. If the pair of newly-risen bloodsuckers had found a decent hiding place, half the folks on Mencer Street might’ve ended up dead - or vampiric - within a week.
“This shit was intentional,” Tre muttered, an overly-tattooed white guy with a thin blonde beard.
Virgil nodded in quiet agreement. He’d learned to trust Tre’s hunches, a few of which had saved his neck over the years. Two others unfolded black body bags. As they loaded the mother and son, Virgil glared down at his handiwork. In spite of his eighty-or-so kills (of both of humans and vamps), he felt a bit sorry for Deidre and Kyle.
“Put the word out,” Virgil commanded with a quite menace. “I want 24/7 watch on all of our streets: especially where we do business. Until this is handled, we’re at war.”
“What’s the play?” Julio asked as he pulled out a gray burner phone.
“Pull everyone who got near these two,” Virgil ordered. “The drunk who wrecked their car. The pall bearers who put them in the ground last week. Every-fucking-body. We kick down some doors, break kneecaps, and find the vamps behind this shit.”
“You think it’s more than one?” Julio asked as he dialed a number.
“It’s always more than one,” Tre cut in with a pessimistic sigh.
Virgil turned to regard the headless corpses, his anger growing. He quietly promised Deidre and Kyle that whoever was behind this was gonna die hard and slow.
THE PROM SPEECH
Much as I’d rather be using my fake ID at a titty bar, tonight was senior prom. As West Mattleson High’s star quarterback, I was expected to attend. At least it wasn’t raining. As I stepped out of the white limo, blue corsage in hand, I wondered why I asked Maria Frescanetti to this event. She was cute, useful to have around during chemistry finals, and kinda’ funny at times. But I’ve had better.
I should’ve been going with Daphne.
She was my homecoming queen, longest-running girlfriend (seven months), and built like a centerfold (minus the fake tits). I taught her every nasty sex act she knew. She would’ve been my eye candy tonight and then my “cowgirl” afterwards. But I just had to fuck Daphne’s two best friends (at the same time) and get caught mid-threesome. I heard she burned her prom dress and would be spending tonight at home with a bottle of vodka and a tub of ice cream.
Poor thing.
I had to remind myself that Maria Frescanetti was the prettiest female without a date. And, in spite of my rep, she was dumb enough to say “yes.” Word around the lockers was that she had a crush on me since junior high. Because Maria was my ringer for tonight, I figured I’d treat her like she mattered for a month or three. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t fuck around. But if she wanted to call herself my girlfriend, fine. I could do much worse than Maria. Too bad she wasn’t built like Daphne or I might’ve kept her around a bit longer.
As I checked my black tux, I looked up the steps toward the Frescanetti’s nice brick-and-wood house. Having retired last year, Mr. Frescanetti spent a lot of time doing little home improvement projects on the place. He was a man of many skills, according to Maria, who pretty much told me everything about her stepdad. It was plain to see that she adored him. It must’ve been nice to have parents.
I was halfway up the steps when Mrs. Frescanetti stepped out, digital camera in hand. Maria’s mom was in her late forties and still looked fine. Yeah, her tan was fake. She wore too much makeup and her perfume could melt paint. But she clearly worked out and kept her wrinkles in check. Plus, she overdressed for the occasion, sporting a nice blue mini-skirt and black high heels. It even looked like she had her shoulder-length black hair done - “80’s permed” no less - just to send her daughter off to prom.
Eh … I’d do her once, just to see what kind of fuck skills she had.
“Hi, Mrs. Frescanetti,” I grinned as she gave me a solid hug. Hmmm. Bigger boobs than I would’ve thought. Probably fake.
“Gil!” Mrs. Frescanetti exclaimed, the way older MILFS do. “You. Look. Great!”
“Thanks,” I replied with fake modesty as she broke the hug-grip. “You’re looking great yourself.”
Flattered, Mrs. Frescanetti flashed her pearly-whites as she raised the camera.
“Maria’s almost ready.”
“No worries, Mrs. Frescanetti,” I shrugged. “We’ve got plenty of time.”
“Let me get a few solo shots.”
“Okay,” I smiled as I stepped back. I made a mental note to pose for some prom pictures with Maria before we headed for the hotel, later tonight. While the Frescanettis knew about the huge after-prom party at the Wiltzer Hotel, they didn’t know about the cozy little room I reserved there. A light dinner, some champagne, and a carton of whipped cream would be waiting for us. I set it all up months ago, for Daphne. Now, it was going to the runner-up. Maria would leave here a girl and return home a woman.
Mrs. Frescanetti snapped away. After a bunch of shots, she stepped in close.
“Dante wants to have a quick word with you in the den,” she announced with a sly grin.
“Ah,” I grinned back, “the timeless ‘prom speech,’ Mrs. Frescanetti?”
She nodded. I figured as much.
While Mr. Frescanetti and I got along all right, he was a bit over-protective when it came to his family. Without any kids of his own, he treated Maria like his only child. If I was in his shoes, I’d throw out a prom speech too (especially if she was going out with a man-whore like me). The irony was that I’d treat Maria like a queen tonight but dump her before I headed off to Notre Dame in the fall. Unlike Mr. Frescanetti, I preferred my monogamous relationships in short bursts.
“Don’t worry,” I winked her way. “Maria’s going to have the time of her life.”
“I
