"The Munsonville Five" by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara

We're still hoping to have copies of "The Fifth" by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara, for sale at the 2024 Calkins Day celebration on Feb. 13 at The Book Market in Crest Hill.

The copyedits are done. We've made three cover adjustments per KDP. We've called KDP. And KDP assured us the book should be published by Sunday - and to call back if it is not.

In the meantime, here is an excerpt from "The Fifth" for you to enjoy today.

CHAPTER 7: THE MUNSONVILLE FIVE

 

Munsonville just doesn’t play by the rules.

But Professor Cornell Dyer wasn’t afraid.

Anyone else might have been terrified to be the only live person in this mysterious upscale Italian restaurant. But not Cornell, who billed himself as the greatest supernatural supe sleuth of all time. Cornell had already deduced that the two men standing by Cornell’s table and the men sitting at the other tables were all Sicilian vampires. These vampires appeared in various sizes and ages as determined by the time of their deaths. All were dressed in suits and hats consistent with the mafia figures in the Capone days. Only the wait staff and Cornell were alive, not that Cornell cared. The wait staff went about their business as if nothing were out of order, even though not one vampire ordered food. Their problem, not mine, Cornell thought.

Cornell stood and waved. “Waiter!”

A waiter scurried up and set a menu in front of Cornell.

“Order anything you wish,” the vampire on Cornell’s right said with polite sternness. “Daddy Don will be with you shortly to explain why you’re here.”

Cornell opened the menu and scanned it, undaunted by the Italian phrases on its four laminated pages. Where was the pizza?

The vampire on his left bent down and whispered. “They don’t serve pizza here.”

Cornell jerked his head to the first vampire. “He said to order anything I wished. Well, I wish for pizza.”

At that moment, Daddy Don approached the table, flanked by a different set of undead suits, significantly older than the two flanking Cornell’s chair. Daddy Don dismissed the first two with a subtle wave. He and the two new suits sat at the table.

“Waiter!” Daddy Don roared.

A timid waiter rushed to his side. “Is there a problem?” he asked uncertainly.

“The professor wants pizza.”

“Extra, extra, extra, extra-large,” Cornell added.

“Pizza? But this is the finest…” A hard look silenced the waiter. “Indeed. What would you like on your pizza?”

Cornell quickly rattled off sausage, pepperoni, ham, extra bacon, onions, green peppers, mushrooms, tomatoes, and extra cheese. The waiter bit his lip as he rapidly scribbled the order.

“And to drink?”

Cornell looked at Daddy Don.

“I just want to talk,” Don assured him. “Wine? This place is famous for it.”

Cornell smiled. “Wine if you want to talk. Coffee if you want to talk business.”

“Both.”

Cornell looked at the waiter. “A bottle of your oldest and driest red wine.”

The water wrote that down. “Anything else sir?”

“Black coffee.”

The water hurried away. Cornell lit a cigarette. Daddy Don studied the eccentric character sitting across from him. The man had no fashion sense and no regard for time or place. He wore bleached and faded jeans nearly bursting at the seams, a T-shirt stretched over his barreled chest, and a blazer patched in colorful squares of polyester. He had a mop of thick, curly black hair and a small-squared off mustache. But Cornell was also brilliant and fearless, just the kind of man to pull off the job. He wasn’t repelled by modern technology, something Daddy Don could never pull off, although he finally accepted motorized vehicles and repeating firearms. The professor was also a family man. Guys like that were usually easy to predict. Not this one. Money, political influence, dames, booze, gambling action: none of that mattered to this guy. Daddy Don stroked his chin. So what could he offer Cornell in recompense for what Don was going to ask of him.

Daddy Don produced a card, Cornell’s calling card. He smiled skeptically as he read it aloud, “Professor Cornell Dyer, world renowned supernatural super sleuth.’ Which means what?”

Cornell blew out a stream of smoke. “I am he who specializes in Amulets, Fortune-Telling (with and without cards), Ghost-Hunting, Horoscopes, Numerology, Palm-Reading, Potions, Séances, Spells, Vampire-Slaying, controlling zambicallo populations, and deactivating Moravian pink goblins, cold whispers, and classroom skeletons with…”

“Do you have a problem with working with vampires who are trying to deal with other vampires?”

            “Why?”

            Daddy Don set the card in front of Cornell. “It says here that you’re for hire in all kinds of occultist problems, including vampires.”

            Cornell snuffed out the butt on his bread plate and shrugged. “I wouldn't have expected that a vampire of your type would hire me to stake someone. Don’t you have your own people?”

“Of course, I do. But am I not looking at the man with the single most stakes of anyone alive or undead? I’m told that’s what it says on your face thingy on the computer.”

Cornell cringed at the word “computer.” Daddy Don watched him closely. Cornell leaned forward and dropped his voice. “You mean the arrangement I have with the ‘Happy Hunting Grounds Funeral Parlor’? I stake every would-be vampire that’s buried there. Are you asking me to stop…”

Daddy Don raised his finger for silence. “No, no, no. It’s good for business. Too many vampires put a premium on the blood of the living. Then it gets too messy. Keep up the good work. I don’t want you to stake anyone on my behalf.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want information on five very troubling vampires, who all happen to live in Munsonville – most of the time.”

The waiter returned with Cornell’s wine and coffee. Cornell took a sip of each and waited for Daddy Don to speak.

“My problem with the Munsonville five is that they operate completely beyond my control,” Daddy Don said in a low voice. “Four might be working together. Each must be stopped.”

Cornell took a sip of wine and then pulled his notebook and ballpoint pen from his blazer pocket. “Who’s the first?”

“Kellen Wechsler.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Daddy Don smiled. “Of course you’re not. I know Kellen ‘hired’ your expertise long ago when Kellen wanted to know methods of destroying a vampire. Even now, Kellen markets himself as a reformed vampire.” Daddy Don dropped his voice to a whisper. “He’s anything but reformed.”

Cornell looked up from his notetaking and reached for his coffee. “That doesn’t surprise me either.”

Daddy Don leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grin. “Nor should it. No vampire in history ever had such an insatiable appetite for human lifeblood. When on a binge, Kellen consumed entire villages. The day he turned, he consumed his own family, which included fourteen or more children. Even Kellen didn't know the number. No vampire had also ever turned so many of his victims into vampires simply to compel them to do his will. With one vampire consuming so many sources of delicious human blood, what are the rest of us supposed to drink? As you can see, Professor, Kellen is bad for business.”

“That’s one.” Cornell took a sip of wine. “Who’s next?”

“Henry Matthews.”

 “Not possible. John Simons staked him in 1975.”

“Yes. The former friends and colleagues that turned into a murder/suicide over a love triangle. But I’ve received disturbing reports of Henry Matthews being very much a part of the distant future. He keeps writing “attack” articles for major news outlets under a pseudonym. Henry Matthews was always a problem for the many entities that sought out my syndicate for help. Even though he’s staked, the articles keep coming. That’s really bad for business.”

Cornell kept writing and didn’t look up. “But you’re not certain it’s Henry?”

“Not yet. The third is John Simons, although I’m less concerned about him. I’ve received reports that he tried to reverse his vampirism with the steady blood supply of a host. That effort seemed to have failed at the hands of the physician closely tied to the Wechsler cartel: Dr. Abner Rothgard. If the reversal indeed failed, and John is still stubbornly making his own vampire rules, that’ really bad for business.”

Cornell set the pen and notebook down and polished off both the wine and coffee. “I’m hungry. Where my pizza?”

Daddy Don snapped his fingers. The waiter ran to the table, wringing his hands.

“What’s the wait on the pizza?” Daddy Don demanded.

“Please be patient,” the waiter begged with scared rabbit eyes. “Understand what we had to do here. First, we had to find a pizzeria with all the ingredients the gentleman requested, and then we had to find a place that makes pizzas that big. Since that pizzeria doesn't deliver, we will serve it piping hot as soon as Antonio returns.”

“Then bring him more wine and coffee.”

The waiter bowed. “Yes, sir.”

Daddy Don’s eyes roamed the room Cornell drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. Soon the water appeared with a tray and set the wine and coffee before Corenell.

“And the pizza?” Daddy Don asked.

“Any minute now,” the waiter quickly promised.

Daddy Don waved the waiter away. Cornell took a large gulp of wine.

“Now the fourth vampire is named Susan Betts. Ever hear of her?”

“Nope.” Cornell picked up his pen and turned to a fresh page.

“Reports suggest that Susan Betts turned into a vampire when she committed suicide after giving birth.”

“Standard. And the fifth.”

“Wait, Professor. That explanation seemed too easy. We believe a certain ghost has information about this vampire. But the mob lacks the occultist skills that you Cornell possess. We wouldn’t have given her a second thought were it not for her unexplained disappearance. Not knowing what happened to her is bad for business. Thank God. Here he is now.”

Daddy Don was referring to the waiter wheeling Cornell’s pizza to the table on an oversized cart. One of the suits gave a low whistle.

“My God, that thing is humongous,” the vampire mobster blurted out.

The waiter tried to position the pizza, still in its box, but it was far too big for the table, especially since its numerous ingredients spilled a full inch over the crust. So the waiter dragged another table over and balanced the pizza over the two. Cornell reached for a slice and asked, “And the fifth?”

“Ed Calkins.” Daddy Don turned aside to avoid watching Cornell chew with his mouth open.

“Never heard of him…oh, wait! Isn’t that the newspaper guy that got murdered last year? No, first papers say he was stabbed, then they said he was shot, and finally they said none of those things killed him. He died of a heart attack.”

“We think a vampire bit him,” Daddy Don corrected. “Rumors say it was John Simons, but my sources are conflicted. One thing we know for sure is that John Simons thinks Ed Calkins is a slave of his.”

“So?”

“Look, we’re trying to determine who's pulling the Munsonville five’s strings. This whole thing is kind of crazy, because all five of them seem to have problems with each other. So if they’re working together, someone must be forcing them to. Are you following me, Professor?”

Cornell stuffed the slice into his mouth, wiped his fingers on the tablecloth, and nodded.

“Good, because that’s what you can do for me,” Daddy Don said. “Find out who or what is behind this group and what are they all doing in Munsonville. Look, I don’t go for this hocus pocus kind of stuff. I don’t do time travel – much – and I don’t get advice from tea leaves or magic playing cards. But these five vampires are creepy. But I want solid information. Give me twenty-four crystal ball surveillance, if you have to. You do that for me, and I’ll own you a big favor. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

“It means that the most powerful undead syndicate figure owes me a favor. I get how useful that could be,” Cornell reached for another slice. “But you still haven’t told me why Ed Calkins is important.”

Daddy Don leaned in close.

“It’s kind of embarrassing,” Daddy Don whispered even though, with vampire enhanced hearing, everyone undead heard him perfectly. “That guy hurts people’s feelings in a way that… well, it’s bad for business. Do you know what I mean?”

“Nope.” But Cornell wrote that down.

“Even before Ed Calkins died, vampire woman that was once a therapist wanted me to make Ed pay for the loss of her soul. According to her, Ed Calkins had written a ‘program’ to run on a computer thingy. This program was supposed to connect vampires with their victims and this therapist used it to get bitten and turned. She claimed the ‘program’ should have warned that being turned risked the loss of one’s soul. So to get rid of her, I offered to connect her with a priest who promised he could save her from damnation. It turns out she didn’t want her soul back, she just wanted compensation. Since their first meeting, this vampire therapist has been back six times for the same complaint. It’s hard to run a syndicate like that.”

Cornell kept writing. “Because it’s bad for business.”

Daddy Don beamed. “Exactly!”

Cornell grabbed another slice.

“The next complaint what's more personal.” Daddy Don actually blushed. I had a Dolly named Mary Stewart.”

“The undead social climber?”

“Yes.”

Cornell laughed, again with his mouth open. “She got her fangs into you?”

“Anyway, this Dolly met Ed Calkins at the Harrison ball, and if rumors are credible, tried to get her hooks into him because of some prophecy, some half-baked notion that he would be King of the Damned. He rejected her with an insult that, well, hurt her feelings. After that, she's been in my face about staking the would- be king. When I didn't move quickly enough to suit her liking, she proceeded with her own plan to mesmerize Ed Calkins’ granddaughter and make her a host. She planned to parade this young woman at every vampire social gathering that the news carrier might attend. You can see why this is bad for business.”

Cornell swallowed and matched Daddy Don’s whisper. “That doesn’t end well. Turns out this granddaughter had a really good relationship with her father. When Mary Stewart makes a house call, she gets staked. I’ve foresaw this in the tarot cards.”

“Good,” Daddy Don whispered back. “I wanted her wacked but didn’t want the embarrassment of admitting that she was trying to cheat on me.”

“Again, why is Ed Calkins important to you?”

“Because he’s crazy!”

The other vampire gangsters turned their heads in subtle alarm.

“Until a year ago, there were no Irish vampires,” Daddy Don said firmly. “Now, we have a grand total of one and he talks like he’s an army. He even admits to being crazy, says he got that way by too much time travel. He also claims to live in his imagination. What kind of psycho can disappear like that?”

“Sounds like Ed Calkins hurt your feelings.”

“Ever hear of the Irish vampire association?”

“Nope.”

“We have no evidence that it exists. But the topic is dominating recent vampire gossip.”

Cornell looked at Daddy Don as if HE were crazy. But he flipped to a fresh page.

“No one ever admits to being a member of the IVA – and why would they, seeing there’s only one Irish vampire,” Daddy Don said. “But gossip suggests that maybe there’s more Irish vampire than we know about. If there is really an Irish Vampires’ Association: or IVA, and if more than just one member exists, I want to know how many and who.”

“But why hire a super sleuth? Why not just whack him and find out?

Daddy Don stood and shouted, “Everyone! Scram! Me and my new associate here need some privacy!”

The wait staff sprinted for the door. The vampire mobsters all looked almost shocked. Some of them actually blinked. But one by one, they teleported out the dining room until all the other tables were empty. Don looked at his two advisers, still seated. He raised his eyebrow. Looking hurt and unhappy, the advisors disappeared, too.

“What I’m about to tell you, nobody ever hears – understand?” Don sternly warned when he was sure they were alone. “I already put the hit on Ed Calkins using my secret hit men. They were Capone’s boys so nobody would ever suspect. Tommy the Tooth, Tommie Gun Tony, and Hank the Loster were supposed to get him talking about his IVA friends before they staked him. Tommy the Tooth practices his own dentistry with pliers, if you understand me. That usually gets people to chat. But I don’t know if they made the hit yet. I know what you’re thinking. If Ed Calkins is still around, they haven’t got him yet. But how can I know? This crazy guy does so much time travel and everyone knows it.”

“You’re saying that your boys might have killed Ed Calkins in the present, but a version of him from the future still exists,” Cornell said with a laugh. “I’d have guessed your boys were more competent than to make that mistake.”

Daddy Don turned red with rage. “Hey, you think it’s easy? Even Ed Calkins doesn't know which version of himself he is. All we know is that most of himself comes from the seven seconds when he was bleeding to death. If you ever see him shaking his head really hard, it's to hear a bullet rattling in his skull. He calls that version ‘Seven Second Ed.’ Daddy Don shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

Cornell laughed and reached for two more slices this time. “It’s easy. Vampires time travel all the time. But when they leave for another time, they come don’t come back to the exact time they left, they come back later, proportionate to the time they spent away.”

“I know,” Daddy Don agreed. “But rumors say that, after John Simons turned Ed Calkins, Ed started stretching time to complete a task his new master required of him.”

Cornell licked his fingers with loud smacks. Daddy Don shuddered and handed the professor a napkin.

“Look, Don,” Cornell said, wadding the napkin into a ball. “Picture a rubber disc that’s seven seconds in diameter. Take the center of that disc and stretch it ten years down. Technically, the result would be a cone ten years down and ten years back up, although it would look more like a cylinder. Now, at some point within those twenty years, Ed Calkins went so far into the future that he wound up back in the past, living some sort of unknown existence until he caught up with the present he left from. Forgetting to bring back the thing he left for, he then turned around and did it again.”

“So that’s why he’s so looney tunes,” Daddy Don murmured.

“Hey, are you sure Ed just didn’t whack your boys?”

“No!”

“Just asking the question.” Cornell reached for another slice.

“I see them every morning just before dawn.”

“Got it.”

“Every day for the past two weeks, I’ve quested the trio about any named they had. None of them talks. They also seem a little awkward, like maybe the weirdo said something that hurt their feelings. So will you take the job or not?”

“Of course.”

They agreed on a price. Daddy Don called two of his boys back. One took hold of Cornell; the other grabbed the remaining pizza. At the snap of Daddy Don’s fingers, they instantly teleported Cornell back to his motorhome. Once Cornell left, Daddy Don pulled an envelope filled with cash out of his pocket and tossed it on the table.

“Split it,” Daddy Don said.

They both lunged for it and then paused, looking at each other, confused.

“Hey, isn’t this the money you promised the professor?” one suit asked as the second also asked, “What did you promise his instead?”

“Pizza, like the one he took home. One a week delivered to his motorhome.”

The suits exchanged glances. Daddy Don smiled reassuringly at them.

“Don't worry,” Daddy Don said soothingly. “We won't have to track down the pizzeria that made this. Our professor friend won't make it through the week, and we don't have to know anything about it.”

 

              Cornell walked into his motorhome holding the humongous box and told his wife Katie not to worry about making dinner that night. Katie thought that was wonderful and praised her husband for his ingenious way of providing for her.

“Too bad I won't be getting another,” Cornell thought smugly as he settled on the couch for a nap. “Daddy Don will be staked by the end of the week.”