Ghost Mortem (Bordertown Chronicle Book 1) Page 11

  “You have a kid?” I said.

  “I have a boy, yes,” Doc replied.

  “I think he's crying,” I said.

  “Rachel's got him. It's fine. This way, boychik,” said Doc, seemingly to me, noting that I’d stopped and was lingering perhaps a little too long for his liking.

  We descended into Doc's basement lab. The lab was cluttered with half-finished machinery, a lot of which was covered under beige tarps.

  “So, what are we doing here?” asked my father.

  “Doc is our outfitter, Jack,” said Vikki. “So we’re here to get you outfitted with everything you’re going to need to deal with the…” she stopped and looked to Doc for confirmation. “…expanded bestiary of supernatural entities?”

  “That’s it,” said Doc. “Vikki, I’m going to want to take back your ectoplasmic disruptor gun.”

  “What’s wrong with my E.D. gun?” she asked. “It’s been working fine.”

  “Nothing. Nothing my dear. Just a few improvements I’ve made recently, that's all. Here, look,” he said, producing another George-Jetson-gun-looking thing. “I've added a new feature that lets you launch small magnetic G.P.S. trackers onto suspicious vehicles. I figure, why engage in a dangerous car chase when you can just put a bug on it from a hundred meters away. Here, let me demonstrate.”

  Doc flicked a switch on the back of the E.D. gun, and pointed it at a small mechanical toy dog which as it aimlessly ambled around the lab.

  “Sorry about this, Rover.”

  Doc fired a small bug at the metallic dog. The circular black bug landed on the dog's metal butt with a clink sound. A red beacon flashed upon impact.

  “That light means it's attached properly. Now, even if Rover wandered half a world away, you'd be able to find him on your P.D.A.”

  Doc handed her the futuristic-looking gun.

  “Wow, Doc. Excellent,” said Vikki.

  “Flick that switch there and it becomes the standard E.D. gun again. Same function as before, but I've doubled the battery life on it. Just be careful. Some testing suggests it can lower fertility in living males, so um…just don’t point it at anyone’s crotch, all right?”

  She smiled and then looked at me as she answered.

  “I’ll try not to this time,” she said, and then winked at me.

  “Whoa, what do you mean this time?” asked my dad.

  “She’s kidding, Jack. Relax,” said Doc, handing dad a similar device. “Here’s yours. Um…I’d recommend holstering it next to your heart rather than your waist. You know, just to be safe.”

  “You know, I’m not so worried,” said my dad. “I think I’ve got enough children already.”

  “So…what do these do, exactly?” I asked.

  “Like the name suggests, boychik,” replied Doc. “You point it at an ectoplasmic emanation, and it disrupts its molecular structure, temporarily, freezing it in a cloud in the air for about ten seconds or so. Long enough for us to use one of these.”

  Doc produced a couple of grenade-like objects, and handed two to Vikki, and another two to my father.

  “And…what are those?” I asked.

  “These are psycho-kinetic imploders.”

  “Okay. And what do they do?”

  “One of these babies can store up to eight separate ectoplasmic emanations within one cell. These babies create a lot of suction, so try not to use these near anyone’s eyes or ears. And again, just to be safe, not near anyone’s crotch either.”

  “Right,” said Jack. “Got it. Not to be used near crotch. Got anything else we shouldn’t use near anyone’s crotch?”

  “Well, technically speaking, I suppose you shouldn’t use any of these near anyone’s crotch. Especially these,” he said, handing off more weapons to Vikki and Jack. They looked like crossbows.

  “What are those?” I asked.

  “Stakes. And stake-launchers. For vampires.”

  “Vampires?” I blurted. “We're not gonna have to fight vampires, are we?”

  Vikki gave me an amused look. Doc's look was more annoyed, like I'd just disrupted his class. Again.

  “You're not going to be fighting anything,” said dad.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “I know.”

  “These…” Doc continued, handing each a gun clip.

  “Wait,” I said. “Don’t tell me. Let me try to guess. Silver bullet clips. For werewolves!”

  Doc stopped and pointed at me. “So he's not just good looks after all. I like this one, Vikki. He’s a keeper.”

  For emphasis, Doc nudged Vikki. She looked a bit embarrassed by it. The way my dad had the power to embarrass me. I could see what she meant when she said he was the closest thing she had to a father. Complete with the embarrassment factor.

  “There’s actual silver in these?” asked my father.

  Doc nodded.

  “Any other supernatural beings we should be on the lookout for?” my father asked. “Bigfoot? Godzilla? Mothra?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Doc replied. “Bigfoot wouldn’t hurt a fly. And if Godzilla or Mothra show up, well…” Doc peered around the shop. “Come back and see me if that happens. We’ll think of something.”

  “Do I get anything?”

  “I don’t think so,” said my father.

  “Sorry, boychik. You’re not B.T.P.D. You don’t get weapons. Meh, well…” he said, and stepped off to gather three more devices, and handed us each one. Me included this time. “Here, this is safe enough for you to have.”

  “What is it?” I asked. “Looks kind of like a hand grenade.”

  “No,” said Doc. “If that’s all I wanted to do with it, they’d be much smaller. No, these are sonic oscillating resonators. You saw one of these babies in action the other night. You use them to create sonic light in any field. No matter how dark it is, it’ll light up the field, and any ectoplasmic residue, including, of course, emanations and specters themselves, will light up like a menorah.”

  My father and I just stared at Doc blankly.

  “It's basically just a reconnaissance device. If you get confused, Vikki can show you how they work, but I tried to make them as user-friendly as possible.”

  “Anything else we should know, Larry?” asked Jack.

  “Well, yes, actually. See these little dials on these P.K. imploders I gave you? Don’t ever crank the dial on these babies into the yellow or red.”

  “Why not?” dad asked.

  “Yellow will shatter nearby glass. Red will break apart various kinds of metal, including iron, copper, bronze, steel, tungsten, chromium, lead, silver, and gold.”

  “Jesus,” said my dad, pulling his hand away from the dial in a look of horror. “Then why the heck is it on the dial?”

  Doc shrugged. “Sometimes you need a little extra kick.”

  “Good god,” said my father, and then, evidently, another afterthought hit him. “Wait a minute. Raven’s not going to be working on these weapons, is she?”

  “Oh no, no. No, of course not,” said Doc.

  Jack seemed satisfied by this, nodded and turned away, admiring the mysterious grenade.

  Once his back was turned, Doc looked at me and Vikki, bobbed his head, his eyes peered upwards and he shrugged.

  Vikki snorted a laugh. Then so did I.

  Jack turned and narrowed his eyes at the two of us.

  “All right,” said dad. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 22

  Once we were back in the cruiser and on the road, Vikki started running through pointers with us. I think she was doing this more for my sake than for my dad’s, but she seemed to include him in a lot of the instruction too. In a way, it felt like it was his real first day too.

  “The standard police codes, of course, you know,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “But, um…here…” she said.

  Vikki opened her glove box, and produced a sheet of paper.

  “These are the expanded Bordertown police codes. They incorporate
the standard codes with new ones. Take a look. You’ll need to know them all eventually.”

  My father took a look at the sheet.

  “Ten-one-forty. Werewolf attack,” said my father.

  “Those can be pretty dangerous,” said Vikki. “Werewolves are fast, and if they’re angry, they’re almost unstoppable. And if they attack in packs, well, then it's usually a homicide. Probably multiple. They’re basically the reason I always keep a silver clip in my Glock 22. I'm not saying you’re any likelier to have to fire upon a werewolf than a regular person, but…a silver bullet will definitely still stop a regular person too. So the point's been made.”

  “Holy shit,” I said. “How often does a werewolf attack happen?”

  “Hardly ever,” she said, “We've got a lot of protocols in place to make sure it doesn't. Anytime there's a full moon, the packs generally make a point of locking themselves up in their cellars, usually with a big piece of meat to keep them busy. That generally keeps anything bad from happening. I've personally never had to put one down. And I'd hate to have to. I mean…it's a small town, you know? I know most of them. They're a good bunch. A wild bunch, but a good bunch.”

  “Ten-one-forty-one. Werewolf distress?” asked my father.

  “Well, yeah. I mean…werewolves are just like regular people most of the time. They're mostly quite nice. They just don’t always have the best instincts.”

  “Can you give me an example of werewolf distress?” I asked.

  “Well…okay, sure. Last week, one of our citizens, a registered werewolf, had to get his stomach pumped. He’d locked himself in the basement for the duration of the full moon so he couldn’t hurt anyone, but he forgot to empty the trash bin in his basement. And apparently he’d absent-mindedly thrown away some expired baking chocolate earlier in the week. So it took about four of us to sedate him, and then bring in a paramedic to pump his stomach.”

  “Chocolate?” I said, incredulous. “Wait a second. You guys arm yourselves with silver bullets, just to make sure you can kill a werewolf, but it can also die if it eats too much chocolate? How lame a weakness is that?”

  “I know, right?” she smiled. “The bullets seem excessive, sure. But it's like my old partner used to say. If you need to drop a werewolf fast, you’ll want a silver bullet. Better to be on the safe side, than on the flip side.”

  “What happened to your old partner, anyway?” I asked.

  “Well, you know that werewolf distress call I just mentioned?”

  “Yeah…”

  “He got scratched. And basically, when that happens, it's just a matter of time before you turn too. So…he had to resign.”

  “He got kicked off the force for being a werewolf?”

  “Well, not exactly kicked off. Like I said, the sheriff let him resign, but…yeah. We have a charter here in Bordertown. We have rules. And you have to be human to be on the B.T.P.D.”

  “Seriously? That's seems pretty racist,” I said.

  “It is racist,” she said. “But they make a pretty compelling argument. A lot of the demi-human races in Bordertown are pretty dangerous if left unchecked. Pair that with all our equipment, and in the wrong hands, they could be unstoppable.”

  “Still…it doesn't exactly seem fair.”

  “No. It doesn't, does it? But this is a pretty small town still, and some of the people here are pretty old-fashioned. I mean, they weren't even letting women into the B.T.P.D. until the nineteen-eighties.”

  “So I've heard,” I said.

  “Seriously?” asked my dad.

  “Like I said, it's an old-fashioned small town. Might take some getting used to.”

  I'd believe that too, I realized, recalling exactly what Sheriff Porter had said about Vikki, back when I'd been leering at her. Looking at Vikki now, I realized I had a lot more respect for her than before. It's not that I didn't respect her before, but rather…she probably puts up with a lot of crap because of her gender, despite this being a town filled with crazy mystical creatures. It seemed weird to me that a town, which had somehow come to terms with having so many different creatures in it, had enough energy left over to be sexist.

  Steve's voice came in on the police radio.

  “We’ve got a ten-one-sixty-six in the east of Bordertown North. Request immediate dispatch. Over.”

  “Dispatch, this is Deputy Valliant. We’re about two minutes away from G.P.S. coordinates. Will investigate. Over.

  “Received, thank you. Over.”

  “What the heck is a ten-one-sixty-six?” I asked.

  “Jack?” Vikki said.

  My father ran his finger down the sheet.

  “Possession?” he said. “That seems a bit vague, doesn’t it? Possession of what?”

  “Possession as in, like, ever seen The Exorcist?”

  “A long time ago, yeah.”

  “That kind of possession.”

  “Don’t we need, like, a priest or something for that?” he said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Our E.D. guns should suffice for this. In fact, this is pretty much what they were designed for. Just, um… Remember to try not to hit our vic in the crotch.”

  “This is gonna be so cool,” I said. I began singing. “Bad ghosts, bad ghosts…watcha gonna do…?”

  “Gavin…” said my dad.

  “No wait…who ya gonna call? Ghost-bus—”

  “Gavin!” my dad snapped.

  “Sorry.”

  But I was too late. Vikki chimed in, singing the background riffs with a big smile on her face, so I kept singing.

  “Dear god, what have I gotten myself into,” my dad sighed.

  But Vikki and I laughed, and even my dad had to smile a little.

  Chapter 23

  Two minutes later, Vikki pulled in front of the house indicated on the police G.P.S. She and dad got out.

  “Okay, Jack. You already know how to do this. It’s just like dropping any other armed perp. You’re just using a different gun, and this way, no one needs to die.”

  “Got it,” he said.

  “What about me?” I called from the back seat.

  “You wait in the car,” dad said.

  “But—”

  “No buts” he said. “You know the rules. Stay in the damn car.”

  Dad then signaled to Vikki he’d take the back, and for her to take the front door to the house. Vikki looked at me with a regretful smile and mouthed the words “sorry,” and proceeded to the front door, with her E.D. gun in both hands, the way a trained cop holds a regular pistol.

  I saw a sudden flash of movement in the window of the home. I heard a low growl. I heard a few plates smash. Then I heard a high pitched scream. When I looked back in Vikki’s direction, she’d already gone inside.

  Shit. Are they in trouble? I thought. No, Gavin. Idiot. Stay in the car. You aren't even armed.

  A minute went by. Through the windows of the home, I could see my father and Vikki trying to systematically clear each room.

  Then, out from a window on the other side of the house, I saw the face of a six-year-old, maybe seven-year-old girl in a white shift, her hair all riled and mussed. She popped her head out the window. She then leaned forward and simply landed on her head and then flat on her back in the front yard. She proceeded to rush toward the road, and promptly plowed face first into the car ahead of me. The car alarm began to sound. Her movements were eerily not so much that of a little girl. She moved the way a squat, 300-pound man might move. She was fast, but she took heavy steps.

  I wasn’t sure what to do, but I sure as heck didn’t want this spirit possessing this poor little girl and then running off with her body to do god-knows-what with it. So when she ran past the police cruiser, I opened the back door, effectively clotheslining the poor girl. She rolled over the door and landed in front of me onto her back. Her head pointed my way. She arched her back, and her head cocked to the side. She glared at me with almost alien eyes.

  “You…” she snarled.

  It
was an uncharacteristically bass tone. I say this not knowing what the little girl normally sounded like, but fairly confident a girl her age wouldn't be singing bass in a barbershop quartet.

  “Just for that,” she continued, “I'm going to give birth to a giant chocolate hot dog, and I'm going to make you EAT IT!”

  “Dad? Vikki? A little help here!” I shouted.

  The little girl flipped over and proceeded to crawl into the cruiser with me. She started trying to claw at me, as she tried to turn around and get her ass in my face.

  “Hold still…” she, or…it said…“I've got a little turtle poking its head out…”

  I tried to keep her face in my face, considering it—under the circumstances—the lesser of two evils, being mostly certain that any chocolate hot dog this girl gave birth to would taste almost, but not quite, entirely unlike chocolate or a hot dog.

  “You! Stop!” came Vikki’s voice from the front door, and none too soon.

  A shot rang out in the air. It didn’t sound so much like a gunshot as a supersonic wave.

  Moments later, the girl began screaming. Then convulsing.

  Then, much to my chagrin, the little girl projectile-barfed a chunky, yellowish stream right into my face. She got me in the nose. She got me in the mouth. She got me in the eyes, which started stinging like crazy.

  I immediately started choking on a chunky bit of barf which flew into my mouth and into my throat.

  The little girl thrashed and kicked wildly.

  I tried to hold her still, but was rewarded with a kick square to my delicate, ever-loving nut-sack. I let out an exaggerated, involuntary “ugh,” which seemed to have the bizarrely beneficial side-effect of dislodging the chunk of puke I'd been choking on.

  Finally, the girl went limp and collapsed into my arms.

  Out from the little girl's body escaped some kind of angry, cursing cloud. It seemed to know swear words I'd never even heard before.

  “Quick,” shouted Vikki. “Gavin, get back.”

  I took a moment to figure out whether or not, after all that, I was going to puke. Then when I’d decided that apparently, “nope, I’m good,” I did as Vikki instructed.