Brent was still sulking by the time we got back to the apartment. I sat down at my computer and left him staring at a blank TV screen. After about two minutes, he got tired of me ignoring him. “I can’t believe he said that!” he growled, but not low enough to keep it to himself.
“Which part?” I asked without turning around. “The whole school plan was pretty dumb.”
“All that bullshit about Amy being a bitch and me being pussy-whipped!”
“Yeah, well, Tony’s an asshole.”
“But he has it made! Money! Women! Everything a man would want! And he can’t appreciate it!”
“Fine, he’s a stupid asshole. So get over it already.”
“He doesn’t deserve it,” Brent muttered. “That stupid, selfish asshole. He doesn’t deserve to have the life he has.” He trailed off and the quiet was disconcerting enough that I turned around to make sure he wasn’t doing anything stupid. He was, of course. He was staring down at the gun I had left on the coffee table, a growing look of desperation on his face.
Not this bullshit again, I thought to myself, jumping out of my chair and making a grab for it. But Brent was quicker, snatching it up like a whiplash, and then he was standing, the gun held in front of him. He stepped backwards in quick jumps, keeping the distance between us.
He almost caressed it, sliding his finger down the barrel. “I…. I just don’t know…” he said softly. Then he looked back up at me, his face twisting in confusion. An expression flitted over his features that I hadn’t seen in a while.
Well, shit. The tragedy of Brent, Act V, scene iii; wherein our poor, cursed hero kills not only himself but his faithful friend as well. We hadn’t done this one in almost a year; I don’t think I even remembered my first line.
Brent looked back at the gun, then back at me, trying to find just the right words to make the moment perfect. Me, I was wondering just how long this would take. I was tired, dead tired, and I just wanted to be asleep before dawn.
Brent’s opening speech was cut off by a doorbell ring. He blinked, surprised.
“Well, hide it!” I snapped, making my way to the door. The doorbell rang again. “Just a minute,” I yelled. Who in the world could be this obnoxious this late at night?
I pulled the door open to find a man I had never seen before blinking back at me from the other side.
“H…Hi,” he said timidly, awkwardly offering his hand for a second before hiding it back under his armpit. “I’m sorry to bother you this late at night, but I think maybe someone here has my gun.”
I sighed. Well hell, why not. “Brent!” I called back. “It’s for you.”
* * *
“So, uh, Mr. Pierce, you, uh, hunt vampires?”
“Guy van Hellsing,” he corrected me.
“Excuse me?”
“My name is Guy van Hellsing.”
I looked closely at his gun license, then back at him. “But this says your name is Dan Pierce.”
He snatched it back from me with a panicked look, then forced the calm, reserved expression back on his face. “That’s just my earthly name. But my soul’s name is Guy van Hellsing. So you see,” he explained, “my real name is Guy van Hellsing.”
I eyed him and then eyed the gun license he was stuffing back in his coat. “Right.”
“Anyway,” Brent cleared his throat. “Mr. Hellsing….”
Dan gave him a friendly smile. “You can call me Guy.”
“Okay, uh, Guy. How did you know to come here?”
“Oh, that!” He laughed out loud at how easy it had been. “I spent a few weeks cataloging all the cars that parked in that parking lot, since its so close to the Pizza Hut.”
“Which is infested by vampires.”
“Exactly. So, just to be safe, I eventually followed all the cars home. At first I thought you guys were the vampires, but since I can see that you’re breathing, I know you’re not.”
“Wow, how perceptive of you,” I forced false politeness. “But what if we had been vampires? Pretty stupid, don’t you think, just walking up and knocking on our door.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, thumping his chest with a clink. “I’m armed.”
“Wow, that makes me feel so much safer,” I answered.
He grinned smugly, oblivious to the shovel of sarcasm I had delivered that with. “I’m glad I could help.”
“So,” I continued, “is this vampire hunting thing a job or a hobby?”
Dan sighed. “Well, you got me there. It’s really just a hobby right now. The only way to get good money for it is to earn your way into a spot with the CIA or the Vatican.” He grinned optimistically. “But they’re always looking for talented free-lancers, so it shouldn’t be too much longer.”
“Right, sounds great. So besides that what do you do?”
Dan’s eyes narrowed and his hand reached inside his jacket where he had just hidden the gun. “Awfully nosy for a few friendly humans, don’t you think? Maybe you’re in league with them, hoping they’ll turn you so you can live forever?”
“No, no,” Brent said hurriedly, “he’s just making conversation.”
“Oh, ok.” Dan pulled his hand back out. “Well, I can’t tell you just yet. This place might be bugged. Once I check it over, we’ll be able to talk about such things.”
“Ok,” I continued. “So…. How many have you killed?”
“Four!” Dan said brightly. “Well, maybe just three.”
“You shot four people!” Brent said, shocked.
“No, no! They were vampires, not people! They didn’t leave a body, so they must’ve been vampires!”
“What do you mean by, ‘Maybe just three’?” I asked.
Dan looked a bit uncomfortable. “Well, like I said, they don’t leave bodies. I use garlic spray mostly, not bullets, and they never survive that. They just run off and go melt somewhere. There was one though, I don’t know if I got enough on him. But I probably did, so I’m counting it.”
“I see,” I replied, trying not to sound bored.
“Anyway,” Dan said standing up abruptly, “I need to be going . The best hunting’s at dawn, after all.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, they’re weak then.”
“Oh, of course.”
“Anyway, I only have…” He took out his pocket watch and popped it open. “…about seventy-six minutes. I’d better get going.”
“Alright then,” I said standing up. The sooner we got the guy out of our hair, the better.
“Wait,” Brent said nervously, “maybe you should-”
“Don’t worry,” Dan answered, “I’ll drop by tomorrow to make sure you’re safe. No, don’t get up. I’ll let myself out.” And with that, he disappeared out the door.
“Tomorrow?” I repeated, then frowned down at Brent. “Nice work, dumb ass.”
“We can’t just leave him with that gun!”
“You were the one that gave it back to him.”
“But what if he kills someone?”
I sighed. “Look, drama-boy, he isn’t going to ‘kill’ anybody. You heard him: He’s going to run around and spray them with garlic sauce.”
Brent scowled. “But-”
“No buts,” I said. “Just let the bastard go.”
Brent sighed and flung himself down on the couch, rubbing his temples. He was probably trying to figure what he’d threaten to kill himself with now.
“Well, anyway,” I said, “I’m going to bed. I want to wake up before two, if possible. I get weird looks when I oversleep for second shift.”
“So what are we going to do tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” I asked.
“When Dan comes back.”
“Tomorrow,” I told him firmly, “we’re going to lock the doors and pretend we’re not home.”
”Comment