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jeriendhalMy little answer to brain numbing series like Twilight or the Lestat chronicles, that insist that vampires are sexy and glamorous.
I pressed the apartment’s doorbell, gun out, leaning to the right of the doorframe while one uniformed cop stood in front of the door with a cast iron “knocker” while the other on the left held a portable UV lamp in his hand. The wasn’t any answer, not that I’d been expecting one at high noon, but you never could be too careful when shit like this has to be done.
“Michael Ray Turner, this is the police!” I called out. “Under the requirements of the Community Safety Act, I order you to open this door!”
From inside the apartment I hard a reedy voice called out, “That you, Blakely?”
“That’s Detective Blakely, Mike. Now open the damned door.”
“Fuck off! I ain’t done nothing wrong!”
“Open the door!”
Silence. I nodded to the officer with the knocker and with one swift crack he rammed it against the door, popping the lock and kicking it open. I leaned in, gun out, the flashlight clipped under the barrel sweeping the room. Turner was curled up on the couch, beer cans scattered across the floor, arm up against his face to ward off the light. His door was in shadow, so I wasn’t worried about him accidentally getting fried and I knew the light from the flash couldn’t hurt him. His skin was pasty white and what hair he had left was long and stringy. When he lowered his arm I could see his irises were sickly yellow and the whites bloodshot. From his mouth hung inch long incisors that distorted his jawline, scars reaching towards his chin where they rubbed the skin of his face.
“Mr. Turner, you are suspected of violating the terms of the Community Safety Act,” I said, staying outside the apartment, my gun aimed right at the guy. “Specifically you are suspected of feeding outside the boundaries of the Columbia Free Clinic, where you are required to go for sustenance. As such you are required to come with us and submit to a blood test to determine the DNA content of your last meal.”
“Fuck you, Blakely! I ain’t done nothing wrong! I fed off a fucking cat! I think the fucker was rabid anyway!”
“You fed off a lot of cats, not to mention a few dogs going by the neighbors’ reports.”
“They were fucking strays! I can feed off strays!”
I gave him my best you are such a fucking idiot sigh. “No, you can’t, Mike. Now walk to the center of the room and lay down on the floor, hands on top of your head and permit yourself to be cuffed.”
“Fuck you!” He jumped up off the couch and charged.
Well, started to anyway. The moment he started to get up I started firing, joined in a second later by the cop who’d been holding the door knocker. We both emptied the clips of our Glocks into him while the cop with the UV lamp centered it on Turner’s body as it fell to the floor. I told him to knock it off when Turner’s skin started to sizzle though. You can shoot vamps and four other non-human sentients all you want if they resist arrest, but leaving permanent burns will get the fucking ACLU on a poor cop’s ass quicker than forgetting to read them their Miranda rights.
Which, come to think of it, I hadn’t done either. Though I could probably argue he hadn’t given me the chance, and there was no way either of the uniforms would argue differently. After making sure that he’d definitely stopped moving, I stepped outside briefly to wave up the ambulance crew that had been waiting by the curb outside the apartment. They pulled up the hoods of their hazmat suits and came on over, carrying a body bag.
“Okay, cuff him and stuff him,” I ordered. “We’ll want to get him to the coroner before he regenerates, so they can get the bullets out of him before he wakes up.” I told the cop with the UV lamp to report this as a shooting incident so we could get the crime scene photographed and then cleaned up before the neighbors started complaining about blood dripping through their ceiling. Meanwhile the ambulance crew had locked shackles on the body and stuffed it into the bag, so it wouldn’t burst into flame when they carried it outside.
The door knocker cop looked down on Turner’s body. The poor kid was shaking a bit, so I asked him, “Your first vamp?”
“Yeah. Hell, it’s the first time I ever fired outside the shooting range,” he said. He looked down on the gun, still in his hand. “Is Internal Affairs going to give us shit about this?”
“Probably not,” I told him, pulling out a baggie from my pocket to place my own weapon in it for the IA’s pleasure. “Turner was charging. That’s enough of a threat from a vamp to justify the use of temporarily deadly force. If his lawyer has any brains they might try to nail us with an Attempted Cranial Shot charge though.”
“Great.” The kid glanced over to where the paramedics were swinging the bodybag holding Turner none too gently onto a stretcher, before strapping it down. “Are they all that ugly?”
“Vamps? Sure are,” I told him cheerfully. “A lot of them do better than Turner, but not by much. Ya get bit, you’re gonna look forward to an eternity of working at a 24-hour call center or Wal-Mart. There’s nothing else out there for them.”
He made a face. “I guess I should be happy my kid sister just wants to date a werewolf.”
I shrugged. “Most weres are okay, so long as they keep themselves caged up when it’s that time of the month.”
“Huh, I should tell her about that part. The way she whines about her period, that’d be about a hundred times worse.”
The End
I pressed the apartment’s doorbell, gun out, leaning to the right of the doorframe while one uniformed cop stood in front of the door with a cast iron “knocker” while the other on the left held a portable UV lamp in his hand. The wasn’t any answer, not that I’d been expecting one at high noon, but you never could be too careful when shit like this has to be done.
“Michael Ray Turner, this is the police!” I called out. “Under the requirements of the Community Safety Act, I order you to open this door!”
From inside the apartment I hard a reedy voice called out, “That you, Blakely?”
“That’s Detective Blakely, Mike. Now open the damned door.”
“Fuck off! I ain’t done nothing wrong!”
“Open the door!”
Silence. I nodded to the officer with the knocker and with one swift crack he rammed it against the door, popping the lock and kicking it open. I leaned in, gun out, the flashlight clipped under the barrel sweeping the room. Turner was curled up on the couch, beer cans scattered across the floor, arm up against his face to ward off the light. His door was in shadow, so I wasn’t worried about him accidentally getting fried and I knew the light from the flash couldn’t hurt him. His skin was pasty white and what hair he had left was long and stringy. When he lowered his arm I could see his irises were sickly yellow and the whites bloodshot. From his mouth hung inch long incisors that distorted his jawline, scars reaching towards his chin where they rubbed the skin of his face.
“Mr. Turner, you are suspected of violating the terms of the Community Safety Act,” I said, staying outside the apartment, my gun aimed right at the guy. “Specifically you are suspected of feeding outside the boundaries of the Columbia Free Clinic, where you are required to go for sustenance. As such you are required to come with us and submit to a blood test to determine the DNA content of your last meal.”
“Fuck you, Blakely! I ain’t done nothing wrong! I fed off a fucking cat! I think the fucker was rabid anyway!”
“You fed off a lot of cats, not to mention a few dogs going by the neighbors’ reports.”
“They were fucking strays! I can feed off strays!”
I gave him my best you are such a fucking idiot sigh. “No, you can’t, Mike. Now walk to the center of the room and lay down on the floor, hands on top of your head and permit yourself to be cuffed.”
“Fuck you!” He jumped up off the couch and charged.
Well, started to anyway. The moment he started to get up I started firing, joined in a second later by the cop who’d been holding the door knocker. We both emptied the clips of our Glocks into him while the cop with the UV lamp centered it on Turner’s body as it fell to the floor. I told him to knock it off when Turner’s skin started to sizzle though. You can shoot vamps and four other non-human sentients all you want if they resist arrest, but leaving permanent burns will get the fucking ACLU on a poor cop’s ass quicker than forgetting to read them their Miranda rights.
Which, come to think of it, I hadn’t done either. Though I could probably argue he hadn’t given me the chance, and there was no way either of the uniforms would argue differently. After making sure that he’d definitely stopped moving, I stepped outside briefly to wave up the ambulance crew that had been waiting by the curb outside the apartment. They pulled up the hoods of their hazmat suits and came on over, carrying a body bag.
“Okay, cuff him and stuff him,” I ordered. “We’ll want to get him to the coroner before he regenerates, so they can get the bullets out of him before he wakes up.” I told the cop with the UV lamp to report this as a shooting incident so we could get the crime scene photographed and then cleaned up before the neighbors started complaining about blood dripping through their ceiling. Meanwhile the ambulance crew had locked shackles on the body and stuffed it into the bag, so it wouldn’t burst into flame when they carried it outside.
The door knocker cop looked down on Turner’s body. The poor kid was shaking a bit, so I asked him, “Your first vamp?”
“Yeah. Hell, it’s the first time I ever fired outside the shooting range,” he said. He looked down on the gun, still in his hand. “Is Internal Affairs going to give us shit about this?”
“Probably not,” I told him, pulling out a baggie from my pocket to place my own weapon in it for the IA’s pleasure. “Turner was charging. That’s enough of a threat from a vamp to justify the use of temporarily deadly force. If his lawyer has any brains they might try to nail us with an Attempted Cranial Shot charge though.”
“Great.” The kid glanced over to where the paramedics were swinging the bodybag holding Turner none too gently onto a stretcher, before strapping it down. “Are they all that ugly?”
“Vamps? Sure are,” I told him cheerfully. “A lot of them do better than Turner, but not by much. Ya get bit, you’re gonna look forward to an eternity of working at a 24-hour call center or Wal-Mart. There’s nothing else out there for them.”
He made a face. “I guess I should be happy my kid sister just wants to date a werewolf.”
I shrugged. “Most weres are okay, so long as they keep themselves caged up when it’s that time of the month.”
“Huh, I should tell her about that part. The way she whines about her period, that’d be about a hundred times worse.”
The End
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no subject
Date: 2008-10-24 03:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-24 04:46 pm (UTC)You should submit it somewhere.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-24 08:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-24 09:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-24 11:57 pm (UTC)Maybe if the vamps tried some species-specific grooming...
no subject
Date: 2008-10-25 02:00 am (UTC)Got to this through Kippur's journal.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-25 04:16 pm (UTC)Especially love the bit at the end about the werewolves...
Linked through Kippur.
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Date: 2009-12-22 07:32 pm (UTC)