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.”
