Mind racing, Peter desperately tried to come up with some way, any way, that he could stop this man from committing murder in the parking lot of his wife’s office in broad daylight. He sure as hell couldn’t stop this guy with force, even if he was not a gods damned Van Helsing. Greg was armed, gigantic, and had the face of a man who had won and lost more fights than someone like Peter could even imagine. He could call the police, but there was little to no chance they’d be able to respond in time, even if they did believe whatever story he cooked up to tell them. Peter Mayhew used the only weapon available to him, conversation.
“Is it the policy of all Van Helsings to kill people without even confirming they are actually monsters, or is that a you thing? Sorry to ask, I just have a hard time imagining Gabriel doing something like that…”
The look Greg turned over one hulking shoulder was venom. Big brother, it seemed, was a bit of a sore subject. Greg turned on Peter, advancing slowly and steadily, like an icebreaker through the antarctic sea. Inevitable. Unstoppable. Peter paled, knees coming together.
“Listen here, you little shit. I’ve been slaying monsters since before your grandfather was nothing more than wasted semen oozing down his mother’s thigh. You are right on one count, Peter. Gabriel would confirm her deformity before killing her. He’s dead now, and I’m alive. You do the math.”
Thinking quickly, Peter saw his opportunity and took it. “We can confirm it first. Together. My wife works with her. I can get her to give us Kinsey’s home address. We’ll go tonight. It’s the full moon and we’ll see if she transforms. If she turns into a…” Peter couldn’t even believe he was saying this. “If she does, in fact, transform under the full moon, I’ll even help you take her out.”
Greg Van Helsing took Peter Mayhew’s measure for three heart pounding seconds and then, again, began to laugh hysterically. “I do not need nor desire your assistance in vanquishing this foe, but I do find your offer to help rather sweet. Quaint. But sweet.”
Peter smirked, having completed his objective. He’d stalled Greg just long enough for Kinsey and pals to make it through the parking lot and into the office building. Greg noticed as well and gave Peter a wry smile.
“Well done, Peter!” Greg said, clapping dramatically. “Now that she’s in some office building I, the mighty Greg Van Helsing, have been thwarted. Just think, what if they have…” he paused, leaning in close to Peter and lowering his voice conspiratorially, “security guards.”
“You’ve gotta admit, though, at this point it’ll probably be easier to make a… I don’t know what you want to call it, a clean kill? Whatever. It’ll be easier to do it tonight and comes with the side-boon of giving us the chance to make sure we don’t kill an innocent woman.”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Greg laughed, now smiling wide enough for Peter to notice how impressively white the man’s teeth were. He’d have to get his secret on dental hygiene later. Greg clapped Peter hard on the shoulder, eliciting a wince from the smaller man.
“I’ll give you this, skeptic, you’re quick on your feet.” Greg’s brows drew together. “With your brain, I mean. Hard to say at a glance, but I’d bet you're not that quick on your literal feet. Either way, you played me into giving her the time to get inside all johnny-on-the-spot like. Even kept me talking with that Gabriel jab. Not bad, skeptic. Not bad at all.” He paused, clearly assessing Peter in a new light. “Alright. We’ll go with your plan.”
“Really?” Peter asked, perhaps too quickly, and certainly with too much surprise clear in his voice. “I mean… cool. Good. That sounds good. Should we meet somewhere around sunset, or?” he amended, confidently.
Greg slid the right sleeve of his black leather jacket up just a touch to check the time. “You got plans between now and then?”
Peter frowned. He didn’t have plans for the afternoon. He was going to get a workout in, but it was leg day, so it wasn’t like he was looking forward to it. “I mean, not really. I just have to make it back home before like… I don’t know, four o’clock? Gotta let the dog out and get started on dinner.”
“Great,” Greg said with a wicked smile. “You’re coming with me. Old lady Romanov is going to get a real kick out of you. I’ll help you make dinner after that. Then we can go kill whatsherbucket.”
Before he knew it, Peter Mayhew was once again clinging to Greg Van Helsing’s back with white knuckles and shaking knees as they wove through traffic on his all-black oversized motorcycle. Old lady Romanov, it turned out, resided in a trailer park perhaps a thirty minute drive from the city - although Greg’s ridiculous maneuvers got them there in just over sixteen minutes. A police officer even clocked the Van Helsing wayyyy over the speed limit and pursued with lights and sirens. Peter wasn’t certain, so loud were the motorcycle and wind, but he thought he heard the big man laugh when he noticed. Greg then proceeded to ramp up the intensity of his maneuvering, and managed to lose their tail in less than a minute. Peter gave himself a little pat on the back for not actually peeing his pants.
Greg parked and dismounted, leaving Peter on the motorcycle - leaning to one side as the kickstand held it upright - shaking. His arms still reached to grasp the nothing where Greg had just been with rigor-like stiffness.
“You should be in jail,” he told Greg as he got to his feet.
“You should talk to your doctor about Xanax,” Greg countered. “Chill the fuck out, mate. We made it in one piece.”
The trailer that Greg led Peter to along the gravel path, which was sprinkled with fragments of broken beer bottles and cigarette butts, looked like what Peter imagined Dracula’s might. If Dracula were poor white trash that lived in a trailer park and not an incredibly wealthy, immortal, fictional character with more class than Sean Connery. The whole thing was matte black, like those 90s Honda Civics people used to customize for ‘night racing’ or whatever. The really loud ones that didn’t seem that fast regardless of their decibel output. The trailer’s windows were boarded and painted over the same way, matte black. The door, its tall and thin window also blacked out, was decorated with a human skull that Peter could only hope was a replica of some type, though it was pretty convincing if so. Greg banged on the wall to the side of the door three times then stepped back, Peter stepping quickly to remain behind the big man.
“Roma,” he called. “It’s Greg.”
The door’s lock clicked, followed by the sound of a chain being released, and then a deadbolt turning. But the door didn’t open.
“Give her a sec to get back,” Greg explained. “Roma’s sensitive to light. Oh, and she may think you’re lunch. Just don’t freak out.”
Peter followed Greg toward white-trash-batman’s trailer, stopping when he registered what Greg had just said. “Wait, what?”