Un2Dead (Book One of the Un2Series)

“Green-Eyed Lady” blared from the radio alarm clock. The organ solo was just kicking in as Wit stretched for the snooze button. He reached repeatedly at varying angles but did not connect with anything other than pillow. He raised his head and opened his eyes to find he had slept on Reese’s side of the bed the entire day. He wriggled his way across the bed and hit the “off” button. Wit lay there on his stomach staring at the glowing red reminder that it was now 6:00. Make that 6:01 P.M. It took every ounce of energy he had to roll out of bed, rearrange the scatted throw pillows and find his way down the hall to the kitchen. Gary was up and dressed, seated at the table, enjoying his evening coffee. Despite his inability to drink it, Wit loved waking to the smell of fresh brewed coffee.

“Evenin’, Gary,” Wit said as he patted him on the head.

“Dude, how many times do I have to tell you to watch the head patting? You know how it makes me feel.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m still half asleep. I hadn’t realized you shifted.”

Gary was the only one of his breed. He had coined the term “Dayhound” as a means of classifying himself. He was a sleek, jet black German Shepherd by day and a strikingly handsome black man at night. His issues with self-esteem were rooted in his mere existence. Gary’s father was a werewolf. Not just a werewolf, but a werewolf with a drinking problem. People have been known to do regrettable things while intoxicated. Gary’s dad had a list as long as your arm. In his final inebriated act he had finally “screwed the pooch.” The term “screwed the pooch” usually means “made a terrible mistake.” Unfortunately, in this case it means he fucked the family dog. A full moon, a bottle of Jack, and a werewolf alone on Valentine’s Day had led to the birth of the one and only dayhound, Gary.

“Sorry and three bucks will get you a latte. Just watch it, okay?” Gary repeated for what seemed to him to be the thousandth time.

“Alright, already. You know, when you’re a man, you want to be treated like a man. When you’re a dog, you want me to scratch behind your ears and rub your belly. I wish you would just stick to one or the other.” Wit apologized for what felt to be the thousandth time.

“I know, but the ear scratching feels so good,” Gary sighed.

“I’ll try to keep things straight and you make sure you never hump my leg again.” Wit replied with a raised eyebrow.

He opened the refrigerator door and grabbed a pouch of plasma. He retrieved his twisty straw for the sink and blew through it in order to clear a dried clot that had formed near the end of it. He punctured the pouch and took a good long pull. He winced as he swallowed.

“Aw! This tastes awful. Gary, does this taste okay to you?” Wit tilted the pouch toward Gary.

“I don’t drink that stuff. Why don’t you ask Joey?”

“Ask Joey what?” Freshly out of the shower, Joey entered, drying his hair with a towel.

“Wit wants to know if his little sippy drink tastes funny.”

Joey took the pouch from Wit and took a sip.

“Seems fine to me.”

Joey offered the pouch back to Wit. He shook his head and motioned for Joey to keep it.

“Nice straw. What’s up with that?”

“Boys, I have a bit of a problem,” Wit started.

“Is it that you smell like a bag of week old tacos?” Joey laughed.

“That’s just part of it. Seriously, I need your help. “

Wit recounted the past evening’s events, although in the retelling of his tale the “unbelievably hot blonde named Jayne” found him irresistible and Conan grunted rather than squealed like a schoolgirl. Joey and Gary sat silently pondering Wit’s dilemma. The pair turned to face one another and instantly burst into uncontrollable laughter. Wit impatiently waited for the two to regain their composure.

“Are you two finished?” Wit exhaled. “I really need to figure this out. Despite the fact you’re imbeciles, you are all I’ve got.”

Gary stood and put his arm around Wit’s shoulders and gave a little squeeze. “Everything is going to be okay, man. We’re here for you. I need to know just one thing.”

“What would that be?” Wit replied.

“Was Conan packing a gherkin or was he sporting one of those deli-sized dill pickles?”

Gary’s voice broke into word fragments mixed with bits of stifled laughter. Joey turned toward the sink and performed a perfect plasma spit take. Wit tried to maintain a sense of dignity but started laughing as well. Joey took hold of Wit’s arm and ushered him to the table.

“I think you were just feeling guilty about cheating . . .”Joey started to explain.

“I would never cheat on Reese!” Wit interjected as he shot up from the table.

“Let me finish.” Joey settled Wit back into his chair. “Like I was saying, you just felt guilty about cheating on your diet. You know how strongly Reese feels about a vegan diet. It just got the best of you. I bet you can drop your fangs now that you have confessed.”

Joey and Gary sat on either side of Wit and urged him to try.

Wit took a deep breath then exhaled slowly. He loosened his shoulders and rolled his head from side to side. Staring blankly across the kitchen his pupils widened slowly until they filled his eyes. He pushed forward from within his skull. Veins rose in his forehead and neck. A slight tremble developed in his upper body. He dropped his jaw a bit and tipped his head forward. His shoulders hunched and his neck stiffened. Gary and Joey leaned in, focusing on his mouth. A low moan, barely audible, was rising up from Wit’s throat. As it grew louder the veins in Wit’s head pulsed furiously. A final push at the end of the crescendo was followed by silence. The three sat motionless. Two men sat staring into the open mouth of the third. A single fang limply dropped from the roof of Wit’s mouth. Joey reached forward and flicked it with his finger. The fang swung back and forth in decreasing arcs, steadied, and then fell to the tabletop. Wit pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and raised it up to eye level for all of them to see.

“That can’t be good.” Joey said, stating the obvious.

“I am so screwed.” Wit’s voice waivered. “How do I explain this to Reese? We have to fix this somehow. Guys, you gotta help me.”

“What can we do?” asked Gary.” I don’t know anything about vampire dental emergencies. Do you think Blue Cross covers this kind of thing?”

“That’s not funny, Gary.”

“Sorry. I’m nervous. I’m just trying to help. Joey, what do you think?”

Joey paused to gather his thoughts. “I think we need to go “CSI” on this bad boy. We need to find the tooth, the whole tooth and nothing but the tooth. Yeeeaaaaaahh! ”

Joey mimed the removal of sunglasses then switched to an air guitar version of “Won’t Get Fooled Again.”

Gary and Wit just looked at each other and shook their heads.

“Idiot,” they said in unison.

Joey stopped his performance mid-windmill.

“What? We go to the restaurant and see if the blonde left any clues. If we find the blonde, we will find our answer. Yeeeaaaaaahh!” Joey restarted his windmill.

“I could go for some Tex-Mex. I’m in,” Gary said as he grabbed his hoodie off of the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

“Ditto. Just let me throw some clothes on,” Joey said as he shifted his portrayal of Pete Townsend to one of Chuck Berry while skipping down the hall toward his bedroom.

Wit caught a whiff of himself as he pulled on his jacket.

“Ugh. Give me ten minutes, guys. I need to de-taco myself.”

“I used the last of the shampoo,” Joey yelled. ”You will have to use Reese’s.”

“Great. Better Midsummer Meadow than tacos, I guess,” Wit muttered under his breath. “We’ll stop and pick some up on our way to the crime scene. Make a list; I don’t want to waste a trip.”