Part 27 (1/2)

Andrew,

Harry and I had a nice long phone conversation after I e-mailed him the ultimatum. I realize that he's not the easiest person to get along with, but he does understand that keeping his advance money is contingent upon both of you submitting a publishable final product. So you shouldn't have any more problems. Keep me in the loop.

Yours truly,

Chad

”Wow, those are some sharp-a.s.s teeth!” said Harry, pointing at one of the cops.

The cops smiled. One of them pressed the b.u.t.ton on the side of his walkie-talkie. ”Just a party that got a bit loud,” he said. ”We're breaking it up right now.” He replaced the walkie-talkie on his belt.

”So...uh, when you say 'breaking it up,' does that mean you're going to arrest the bad guys, or am I pretty much screwed?” I asked.

”The second one,” said the cop.

”That's what I figured. The fangs sort of clued me in.”

”I like hamburgers,” Harry said.

The cops looked at each other, then at me. ”What's his problem?”

”He's drugged up. And stupid. Just ignore him, unless you're looking for somebody to kill first.”

The cops grinned. ”Ignore the inspiration for Fatal Autonomy? Not likely. You, on the other hand, are going into the Pit.”

I did not weep at this.

But I wanted to.

”Keeeyaaaa!”

I struck the first cop with the knife-edge of my left hand, Drunken Jeet Kun Shaolin Monkey Fu style. I connected with the bridge of his nose, and he made like a bad poker hand and folded.

Cop Number two pulled his weapon, but my instincts were honed like something really well-honed, and I grabbed his wrist and shoved the gun upward.

Mayhem was bending down near the second cop's b.u.t.t, but I am close to 100% positive he wasn't sniffing anything. Following my heroic lead, Mayhem drove his shoulder into the second cop's stomach, driving him backwards.

The gun went off, the bullet zinging over my head. Then Andrew made a fist and hit the cop in the jaw, and it was like watching a gigantic macho volcano unleas.h.i.+ng its manly fury, all muscles and testosterone and heroics.

Mayhem threw a series of powerhouse Clubber Lang lefts and rights, growling like a heroic grizzly bear as he pummeled the Pire. Not once did Andrew whimper like a whiney little tattletale b.i.t.c.h boy, no matter what anyone says.

The cop went down, and Mayhem pried the gun from his hand and pointed it at me. I wondered if, in the frenzy of the moment, my heroic good friend had somehow forgotten who the bad guys were. I grabbed Pepe the Dancing Leprechaun and ducked.

But Andrew had retained a clear head, and he fired at the first cop, who had gotten up behind me and was now holding one of those Conan swords, the really thick ones with the blood groove and the handle made from the tail of a dragon, but not a real dragon because they aren't real, one of those plastic dragons with reinforced graphite fibers.

Then, somehow, the whole house burst into flames.

”Could this be supernatural vampire magic?” I thought, searching for the dropped morphine bag.

The screams of the d.a.m.ned echoed from the house. Or maybe it was the screams of all those poor f.u.c.kers who were on fire.

They must have had some sort of meth lab in there, or maybe an oil refinery, because then there was this gimungous explosion, which blew Mayhem and I at least ten yards across the lawn.

Sadly, Pepe didn't make it.

Mayhem and I slowly got to our feet, picking off the burning pieces of his poor victim neighbor Dan Foltersmith, and parts of some naked elderly old women, and a heavily pierced ear that forensics later identified as belonging to Tanya Mertz, the runaway who began this whole sordid mess.

Little Tanya had finally come home. In a very small box.

Case closed.

Paramedics came, with methadone to help me overcome my new addiction. And fire fighters. And news crews. And real cops without fangs who took our statements and offered me a key to the city because, in their words, ”We always kinda knew there was something wrong with this house.”

Andrew Mayhem mumbled something about having to get home, so we shared a manly handshake.

”You done good, kid,” I told him. ”I want you to have this.”

I reached into my pocket, and handed him a jar of spaghetti sauce. No mushrooms.

”Thanks, Harry. We sure had some adventure, didn't we?”

”We sure did, Andrew. We sure as h.e.l.l did.”

We embraced, and then he walked stoically away, into legend.

You can see the whole thing next summer, in the new Fatal Autonomy movie, Bloodsucker Nightmare: Harry McGlade vs. The Vampires, directed by Uwe Boll, coming direct to DVD. It will have exclusive uncut bonus footage, including eight minutes of commentary by me, and the alternate ”pants-wetting ending” which Andrew a.s.sures me was just spilled water.

They never found Vlad. And I'm man enough to admit that his undersized wee-wee sometimes haunts my dreams. Was he really a nosferatu, an undead immortal ghoul who will forever walk the earth, feasting on the living? Or was he just a fat guy with a small Johnson?

Just to be safe, keep your doors and windows locked at night, and always carry a clove of garlic in your pants.

And if you're alone in your room, at night, alone, reading this tale of horror, and you hear something moving around in your bedroom closet...

RUN LIKE h.e.l.l! IT'S VLAD! HE'S GOING TO KILL YOU! GET OUT OF THE HOUSE!

-Harrison Harold McGlade, Chicago IL.