I bum a cigarette from a couple of young drunk Valley guys with asymmetrical haircuts and fake IDs in their pockets. “Are you the guy?” one of them asks. “Which guy is that?” “The Sandman guy. You’re skinny and you’ve got all those scars.” “So did the neighbor’s kid back home. He had an eating disorder and kept falling off his bike.” The Valley boy bursts out laughing, the excited nervous laugh of a kid not sure if he’s having a good time or not. The other boy grabs him and whispers something. “Can we see your knife?” “We heard it’s really big.” That cracks them both up. “Shouldn’t you youngsters be home and in bed? Isn’t it a school night?” The one who gave me the cigarette says, “The school burned down. We’re doing classes online.” “I hope it wasn’t one of you bad boys who burned it.” “I wish. We’d be heroes.” Neither of the boys notices the small group gathering behind them. Sneaking up silently on civilians is what they do best. The tallest one, lean and ghostly pale, leans over to one of the boys. “Excuse me.” The kid starts and smacks into his friend. “We’d like a word with Mr. Stark.” The one with the cigarettes laughs and says, “But he was going to show us his big knife.” The pale man brings his face down level with the boys. The whites of his eyes flash blood red, and then darken to black. The boys head back inside the bar. “Don’t bite either of them, okay? They’re just a little drunk. And I don’t even want to have to think about hunting another one of your young ones.” “We appreciate that,” says the head vampire. “And we appreciate you handling the recent unpleasantness so quickly. As I’m sure you can imagine, zombies aren’t much use to us and we’re grateful to have them gone. We, the Dark Eternal, hope that you’ll accept this with our admiration and gratitude.” He hands me a brushed aluminum Halliburton attache case. Spies and billionaires carry these cases in Hollywood thrillers with expensive stars and crap scripts. I pop the latches and look inside. The case is filled with neatly bundled stacks of hundred-dollar bills. “We also hope that in the future you’ll remember who helped you in a time of need.” “Trust me, I will.” “We also hope that you’ll use some of the cash to reopen Max Overload. Clarice here likes spaghetti westerns and Ed is a Bollywood fan. Me, I like old Universal horror.” “How do you feel about the Wolfman?” “Hate the bitchy little whiner.”
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