Gil's All Fright Diner Part 15

"Now, now, we fleshless ones can't afford to be choosy."

"Gluf fug gok ruffil."

"Excellent point, fellows."

"Oh, here it comes."

And then the sun poked its way over the horizon, and the melting began. Green flesh liquefied. Eyes oozed from their sockets. Foaming bubbles boiled and burst in loud, popping splatters. The ghouls shrieked their death rattles. Not that any of it was all that painful for things that were already dead, but they were determined to enjoy their last remaining moments of form with a good screeching contest. The goo of their flesh slid off their bones, settling in a thick green paste beneath skeletal remnants. The bones blackened and cracked. The bare skulls uttered one last groan before crumbling into gray dust. The bone dust and the fleshly muck mixed into a putrid syrup that smelled of rotten apples and fresh cow dung.

Loretta pinched her nose. "d.a.m.nation, that's a stench. I thought you said they stank when you burnt 'em."

"They stink when you let 'em melt, too. Just not as much."

Loretta went inside and returned with a length of green hose wrapped under her arm. She screwed it into the faucet in the diner's side.

"I appreciate you boys staying around, but you don't need to do it on my account. I can take care of myself just fine."

"Ain't about you. Whoever sent these things here, sent 'em to kill me and Earl. You, too, but mostly us. That makes it personal."

Loretta turned the faucet handle. The spigot groaned, gurgled, then shuddered to life with a loud grinding clatter. She sprayed the slime. It refused to dilute or even break apart, but she managed to push it from the lot into the tall, yellow gra.s.s where it stayed hidden reasonably well. A trail of brackish greenish gray runoff was left behind.

"If we're gonna figure this thing out," Duke said, "it's time we stopped waiting around for stuff to happen."

"What do you want me to do?" Loretta asked.

"I need you to check around town. You gotta find out everything about this plot of land. How long this diner has been here. What it was before it was a diner. Any odd history."

"There's a hall of records in Leeburn. And Biff Montoya has a collection of every copy of the Rockwood Examiner. Went out of business three years ago but might have sumthin'."

"Good. And ask around, too. Anybody who might know sumthin' important. In the meanwhile, I'm gonna check this place out top to bottom."

"Lookin' for what?"

"Don't know yet. Anything unusual."

"I already did that when I first opened it back up. I didn't find nuthin'."

"Maybe you didn't know what to look for."

"Well, I was just mainly looking for rats," she admitted. "Didn't think to check for signs of the Devil. Though, come to think of it, there was a loaf of moldy bread that looked to have fallen out of the Lord's good graces." She shuddered at the remembrance.

Duke went back to bed for a few hours before beginning his inspection. By then, Loretta had taken off on her research quest, and he was left by himself in the bunker of concrete unless one counted Earl curled up in his trunk. Duke didn't. The vampire was far more dead and much less undead during the day. Far better company, by Duke's reckoning, but about as useful as a hundred-thirty-eight-pound sack of flour.

Duke began in the kitchen. He was busy digging through the cabinets when his hearing picked up the squeak of sneakers against tile.

Someone called from the front. "h.e.l.lo? Anyone here?"

He recognized the voice and went to the rectangular window that allowed one to see into the dining area. Tammy stood by the counter. She smiled upon seeing him.

"Earl's not here," he said.

"Oh. Well, I'm not here to see him."

"Loretta ain't here either."

"Oh. So you're all alone. By yourself?"

"Yeah, and I'm kinda busy at the moment."

"Okay. Say no more. I understand."

"Thanks."

Duke went back to sorting through the kitchen's contents. He didn't hear Tammy leave but a.s.sumed that was due to the clatter of pots and pans. He quickly learned otherwise. The nubile teenager pushed open the swinging kitchen doors.

"What'cha doin'?"

"Just cleaning things up," he replied.

"Need some help?"

"Thanks, but I got it."

"Don't be silly. I don't mind."

"Fine. You wanna empty that cupboard for me?"

"Sure." She began transferring canned goods to the counter. "So what happened last night?"

"Ghouls."

"Really? Wow. Is that how you got that cut?"

Duke felt the tender pink slash on his neck. "Yeah."

"Was anybody hurt?"

"Nope."

And the questions continued. Tammy proved an efficient helper, but she subjected him to an endless stream of inquiries and comments on topics ranging from bands to movies to boys and favorite foods. Duke, never much for small talk, replied with curt "yes's," "no's," or whenever possible nods or shakes of his head. By the time they finished with the kitchen, he knew more about Tammy than he really cared to.

"Don't you have school today?" he finally asked, his patience wearing thin.

"I cut." She put fingers to her lips. "You aren't going to turn me in, are you?"

Duke half-smiled, despite himself. She had a way about her that made it hard to get annoyed. Even when he managed to work up some irritation, she'd bat her eyelashes or smile or laugh, and every ounce of annoyance would dissolve.

"You want to help me board up the front doors?"

"Sure."

She held the planks in place while he hammered in the nails. After they'd finished, they took a break. They sat at a table, drinking sodas.

"You know, you've got great hands." She reached across the table and grabbed one of his hands. Her own diminutive fingers traced the deep creases in his palm. "Your skin's so rough, like leather. And this scar gives you real character."

She pointed to a subtle scar just beneath the flesh. It was the Sign of the Pentagram, Mark of the Beast. It grew more or less prominent depending on the phase of the moon, but it never went completely away.

"How'd you get it?" she asked.

"Long story."

"Aw c'mon. You can tell me."

"Ran over a werewolf."

"Yeah, right."

"G.o.d's honest truth."

He never bothered lying about the scar. Not that many people asked about it. But of those that did, none ever believed him anyway. Coming up with a story, even a rudimentary one, seemed a waste of time and effort.

She grinned. "Even a man who's pure of heart and says his prayers by night . . . "

"I hate that movie," Duke said.

"What about An American Werewolf in London? You gotta like that one."

"S'alright."

She leaned closer. The neck of her T-s.h.i.+rt opened to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of the spot between her cleavage. "So what movie do you like?"

"Young Frankenstein "

He pulled his hand from her gentle touch. It wasn't easy, but being a werewolf had taught him the virtues of self-control.

"Duke, do you think I'm pretty?"

He didn't bother lying. She already knew the answer.

"Yeah."

She twirled a strand of her black hair around a finger. "You wanna make out?"

He was not surprised by the question. She was throwing off a mating scent he could smell from a mile away.

"No, thanks. I better get back to work."

He pushed away from the table and went into the back.

Tammy was too astonished to follow. No one had ever turned her down. Not that she'd asked many. Just Chad, and Denise Calhoun's boyfriend, and her physics teacher. The teacher had resisted at first, but he'd succ.u.mbed quickly enough. She had always known, always taken it for granted, she could have anyone she wanted. But the werewolf spurned her. The entire concept boggled her so that, even after seeing it, she could not believe it had happened. And yet, the rejection was not an all-together unpleasant feeling. It excited her to realize that seducing Duke would be a challenge.

And she so relished a challenge.

Earl awoke with a craving for coffee. The physiology of the undead was such that caffeine, like most any other foreign substance, did nothing to vampires. He could drink a gallon of a.r.s.enic or pop cyanide tablets all day long with no ill effects. He'd been bitten by rattlesnakes and swallowed Liquid-Plumr on a dare without even getting nauseous. Eating garlic soup made him break out in itchy, pus-filled sores, but barring that one exception, there wasn't a drug or food on this earth that could bother him to any noticeable degree. It had seemed a good thing at first, but, like most gifts of eternal life, it came at a high price.

He couldn't get drunk anymore. He still drank, but it was only a lingering habit from his breathing days. Much as he might like to drown his sorrows in a night of alcohol-induced debauchery, it just wasn't possible. Such simple pleasures were sadly denied the undead. That didn't mean he didn't still give it a try every now and then. He'd always entertained the notion that there was a brand of beer out there, somewhere, that would do the trick. His holy quest for it had yet to yield anything worthwhile, but he refused to give up. Even if it took a thousand years, he would find it.

In the meantime, he really needed a cup of strong black coffee this evening. The desire was purely psychological. Just the same, when the thirst for a hot cup of joe hit, it was every bit as compelling as his vampire craving for blood. Even more so.

Which only made it all the more unsettling when he dragged himself into the kitchen to find it politely ransacked. Cans and boxes strewn about in neat gatherings on the counter, pots and pans littering the floor. Somewhere amidst the clutter were the various odds and ends of an una.s.sembled cup of coffee. His mood had worsened by the time he found them all.

He shuffled out of the kitchen. Loretta sat at a table covered with newspapers.

"Evening, Earl."

The vampire grunted and went to the coffee machine. He set it to its sacred task, leering at the blinking lights the whole while. When it finally spit out enough for a small cup, he hastily poured it into a dirty mug that he'd found somewhere along the way from his trunk to the machine. He gulped down the piping hot elixir. It seared his tongue and throat raw. Third degree burns regenerated in seconds. Even if they didn't, the pain was worth it.

"Loretta," he said while the tip of his tongue was still crispy. "Where's Duke?"

"Elmyra Werner havin' some problem with her chickens. She asked Duke if he wouldn't mind taking a look."

Earl poured another cup. "What sorts of problems?"

"They ain't dead or nuthin'. Said she'd checked on that after hearing about Walt's cows."

The vampire strolled over to the table and had a seat. He picked up a yellowed newspaper. "What's all this for?"

"Research. On the diner."

"Anything interesting?"

"Kind'a hard to tell."

The placebo effect of the caffeine had yet to fully kick in, but Earl picked up a paper anyway with mild interest. He perused the whole thing. It didn't take long. It was only three pages, and most of that was editorials, weather reports, and a word jumble. He glanced through another paper after that. And a quick scan of a third revealed Loretta's problem.

Rockwood had a rich and colorful history of the unnatural. Every edition of the Rockwood Examiner had something along those lines. Everything from rivers of blood and cow mutilations to more unconventional phenomena such as the day all the cats in town lost their tails or the night that lasted three weeks. Corpses disappeared from their graves with fair regularity. Mysterious deaths were not uncommon. And, judging from the number of reports, every third house had to be haunted. The moon did something odd at least every couple of months: either becoming full out of its phase, or changing color, or once, disappearing altogether for an entire week. Unfettered by the laws of normality, the unnatural ran rampant in Rockwood County. It made it hard to pin down any particular pattern.

Earl finished reading an editorial debating on the civil rights of the restless dead and whether blowing off their heads was a violation of these theoretical rights. Interesting points were made on each side. The pro-rights opinion was that dead people were still people and still endowed with certain basic rights according to the Const.i.tution. The con argument went along the lines that someone, living or dead, forfeits most their rights when they start gnawing on your limbs.

Earl set the paper aside and went for his third cup of coffee. "You got a map of town?"

"Think I got one somewhere. Want me to get it?"

He nodded while filling his cup to the top.

Loretta found her map, a simple rendering by a local map-maker several years out of date. She spread the crumpled paper across the table, smoothing out the wrinkles.

"Will this do?"