Station 12

© 2013 Mark Gallant. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 6/14/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4208-8515-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-6597-9 (e)

CONTENTS

Chapter One: The Graveyard Shift

Chapter Two: Small-Town Hospitality

Chapter Three: A Date With Marcy Danbury

Chapter Four: Le Chateau De Vin

Chapter Five: Blaze O’ Glory

About The Author

CHAPTER ONE

THE GRAVEYARD SHIFT

Wednesday morning.

7:14 am.

And I’m exhausted.

The name’s Brady Rizzatto. I’m a federal agent.

When most of the world is leavin’ for work, I’m comin’ home. I’ve never been a fan of the graveyard shift, but that’s my job. There’s somethin’ about livin’ life against the grain… about goin’ opposite everyone else. It’s an acquired taste… and to be honest… I’m not sure I’ve acquired it yet.

I’ve been sitting in my car outside my apartment for the last ten minutes, too tired to lift a finger. I just wanna sleep. Logistically, my bed is only a hundred feet away… but it seems so much farther right now. I look to my right and see Jackie’s car. I was kinda hoping she’d be gone before I got here. Wishful thinking. Things haven’t been goin’ well between us. I’m too tired to fight.

My neighbor Anna sees her husband off to work. She gives him a kiss and a smile, and his day begins. Ah, the normal life. At least I guess it’s normal. Sometimes I wonder what I’m missing. Could I give up the action and adventure that goes with my current gig in exchange for a comfy desk job? Could I put on a suit and tie everyday and schmooze with a bunch of corporate execs who I’d rather strangle than socialize with? What about coming home at a reasonable hour? I’d love to have dinner waiting for me on the table… that is if I could find a nice woman to cook it for me. (I know that last statement sounded kinda sexist, but I’m old school Italian, so leave me alone.)

Sometimes I just think I’m missin’ out… you know, on the finer things in life. In my world there ain’t no such thing as weekends and holidays. I’m a public servant… a protector of the peace… and everyday I walk out my door I’m putting my life on the line for people I don’t even know. In my field, a fresh recruit right outta the academy would be lucky to see his twenty-fifth birthday. Shit… I’m already livin’ on borrowed time.

For the record, I’m twenty-six.

So I finally get off my ass and stagger into my apartment. It’s quiet. No sign of Jackie. I wander into the living room and look to crash on the most comfortable couch on God’s green earth… but I don’t… because there’s a big suitcase on it. I just kinda stand there for a minute, then I hear the toilet flush and the bathroom door opens. Jackie walks into the living room and is startled, not expecting to see me. My glassy eyes and stoic posture musta frightened her. I’ve tried to tell her the zombie look is hip these days.

She walks around me without saying a word and grabs her suitcase off the couch.

What’s with the suitcase? I ask.

I’m leaving, she replies.

For good?

Appears so.

She drags the suitcase down the hall to the front door. I swear if that bitch puts a scratch on the hardwood floor I’m gonna go ballistic.

I hear the door open, but she doesn’t leave. If she wants my permission, she has it. But she doesn’t go. She just stands there. I say nothing. She gets pissed off.

Aren’t you gonna say anything to me? she whines.

I think about it for a second.

Yeah… get the fuck out… and don’t let the door hit you in your fat ass.

Funny feeling that wasn’t what she was expecting. I hear a sigh, and then she slams the door. Her ass made it out safely.

I’d like to say I was glad, but I wasn’t. I was a little upset. Actually, a lot upset.

I look up and see the framed picture on the wall… a picture of the two of us at the lake in New Hampshire… during better times. And I do what any irrational man, whose girlfriend just left him, would do…

I shatter the fucker with my fist.

I spend the next thirty minutes picking shards of glass out of my knuckles.

Then I go to bed.

*******************

My alarm woke me at 6:00pm.

I rolled outta bed at 6:18.

I didn’t sleep well. The split with Jackie invaded my dreams. That fine line between the waking world and dreamland had been all but erased. The Sandman was messin’ with me all day long.

I can’t believe she left.

I dunno… I shoulda seen it comin’. I made it tough for her. She has needs just like I do. Maybe I shoulda— no. Don’t do it. Forget it. Stop thinkin’ about it.

Stop thinkin’ about her.

That’s probably best.

I have to be at work at eight. Another ten hour shift with a shitty day’s sleep is gonna suck.

That bitch.

Stop! Forget about it.

I took a twenty-five minute shower. I just couldn’t concentrate. Some people can’t walk and chew gum at the same time…. me, I can’t dwell on a break-up and use soap at the same time. What’s wrong with me??? Things weren’t going well… bottom line. I’m better off without her, aren’t I?

Maybe she’s better off without me.

She’s definitely better off without me. She needs someone who’s gonna cater to her more than I will. She’s high maintenance. Damn, I can’t believe I just said that.

But she is.

The truth hurts.

My mother didn’t really care for her. She thought she was a little snobbish. Yeah, I guess so. But I love her. At least I think I do. And she loves me. I think she does. I hope she does. Wait a second, why do I care? We just broke up. I’m goin’ outta my fuckin’ mind!

Jesus Christ, Brady! SHUT THE HELL UP!

I paced my bedroom for about ten minutes, a bath towel wrapped around my waist, running the conversation over and over in my head. Conversation? What conversation? I hardly spoke to her. Then again, I’ve always been a man of few words. Hmm, that’s likely the root of the problem. Maybe I’m not cut out for a relationship… just not the relationship type. Not everyone is.

I suddenly realized I had no clean shirts, and panicked at the thought of having to do my own laundry. Sonuvabitch! There I was, standing naked in my room, rummaging through the underwear drawer looking for a clean pair. Sweet! Found one.

I wasn’t hungry. Nope. Had no appetite whatsoever. But I had to eat.

I hate that. Y’know that feeling… when you have to force yourself to eat something. You don’t want anything, but you know if you don’t eat, you’re gonna be screwed later. That’s how I felt now.

I grabbed some cereal outta the cupboard… Honey-Nut something or other. It was easy on the stomach, so I poured half a bowl (no milk), then plopped my ass down on the couch and watched some TV. Strangely enough, I don’t remember what I watched. I was thinkin’ about her the whole time.

I hopped into my Sport Utility Vehicle, and to my chagrin, got even more depressed thinkin’ about the skyrocketing gas prices. What else can I bitch about tonight?

My commute was thirteen minutes door to door. I must’ve looked at the gas gauge every thirty seconds on my way to work. Begin rant: The politicians are in bed with the oil companies, and honest taxpayers like myself are bending over and grabbing our ankles. God, I hate people. Am I too young to be this bitter? End rant.

So about my job…

Like I said, I’m a federal agent. For those of you new to the English language, that means I work for the government. Law enforcement to be precise. We’re a branch of the Justice Department dealing in Special Ops. More on this later.

Our facility was nestled in a well-to-do suburban area on the far outskirts of the city. The original precinct was established in downtown Boston (long before I was born), but due to the fact that a majority of the department’s interests lay north and west of the city, we relocated. In the mid-1970’s, the government purchased an elementary school which had recently been closed due to a significant decline in the student population, and transformed it into our current base of operations. Since we were a Special Ops division, we needed to be discreet and tactful in our actions, and the old Center School provided us with the right degree of seclusion.

The main entrance of the building resembled a classic schoolhouse, like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. It was yellow and had two large wooden doors for an entry. Additional wings, more modern than the original structure, had been added in the 1950’s and 60’s to accommodate the new American education system, which included a fully-functional kitchen and cafeteria (for hot meals) and a bomb shelter (in case the Russians tried to blow us all to hell. Editor’s note: thank God they didn’t).

Once inside the main entrance, there were two staircases… one which led to the education department on the second floor, and a second, smaller staircase which stepped down into the first floor lobby. To the immediate right was the first security checkpoint. It was nothing fancy… just a big, steel door with a state-of-the-art locking mechanism. Entry required a security identification card, and for the third time this month, I left mine at home. Shit.

The thing latches on to my belt, but I’ve been meaning to take off the clip and stick the card in my wallet. Then I wouldn’t lose it. I guess this whole Jackie situation really messed me up. I can’t think straight anymore.

So I sat in the lobby and waited for someone else to show up and let me in. Once I got through the first checkpoint, I’d have to sign in with dispatch for a temporary pass to get me through the second checkpoint. Man, I’d lose my fuckin’ head if it wasn’t attached to my body.

Fifteen minutes later Jake showed up.

He took one look at my sorry state and laughed.

Forget your badge again?

I shot him a dirty look. What gave you that idea?

Jake scanned his i.d. card and we proceeded in.

What’d you do to your hand? he asked.

Got attacked by a poodle.

Smart ass.

Jake Donovan was my partner. We’d been working together for almost two years, ever since Jake joined the force. He started out as a cop… a real cop… fighting real crime. He was a few years older than me, but we got along great. There was a good chemistry between us. We balanced each other nicely. I was the more serious, brooding type who played things cautiously… always evaluating a situation before acting. I despised making mistakes. Jake was the wise-cracking daredevil with a carefree attitude who stormed in with guns blazing. He was the first to jump into a fight, and always took care of his friends… especially those on the force. He was loyal, and I respected that. I considered him a valuable asset to the department.

He had skills, to say the least.

We passed through the second checkpoint and cruised the winding hallways that took us deeper into command central. The classrooms had been converted into offices and control centers. When we weren’t in the field, this is where we spent most of our time (although Jake and I found other ways to entertain ourselves at the department’s expense, much to the dismay of our superiors).

We wandered into the north wing to visit one of our colleagues. Up until forty-eight hours ago, Bret Phelan had been our CFA (Chief Field Agent), but his top marks and proven leadership earned him a promotion to Assistant Director. He would now be heading up our division… and Jake and I both liked that. Phelan was a great leader. He always led by example, and I respected him for that. I have to say I trusted this guy with my life. He wasn’t much older than us either… maybe his early thirties… mid-thirties tops. I never really asked him before.

Phelan was in his new office unpacking about half a dozen boxes when Jake and I arrived. He looked rather lost, like he didn’t know where to start.

Check out the new AD, Jake said, giving himself a tour of the spacious office. How are these digs treatin’ ya?

Phelan smiled. This desk is bigger than my car. And that chair is real leather. I can definitely get used to this.

Phelan was happy. And we were happy for him. You could see the sense of accomplishment on his face, although he would never admit it. This was all part of the job to him. Business as usual.

What’d your wife say? I asked. Bump in salary must be nice.

She wants to remodel the kitchen. I don’t know why, she can’t cook for shit.

Phelan saw the temp badge I had clipped to my belt.

Forget your i.d. again?

Jake laughed. Jackie moved out and took it with her.

Fuck you, I scowled.

Just bustin’ your balls, bro.

I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring her into it.

Whatever you say.

The uncomfortable silence kicked in. We all just kinda looked away from each other for a few moments. But Bret could always get things back on track by talkin’ shop.

Before I forget… make sure you check the expirations on the Lycan serum. Dorien reported an attack last night. She administered the serum to the victim, but didn’t think it took because he didn’t exhibit any of the standard side effects. Turns out the stuff was expired. But she got him a new dose right away. The lucky bastard’s down in quarantine now. Looks like he’ll be fine.

(In case anyone was wondering, Lycan serum is an antidote used on victims who suffered a flesh wound from a lycanthrope, or werewolf.)

Jake chuckled sarcastically and shook his head. Expired, huh? Who do we blame for that?

Phelan shrugged. Shit happens. What do you expect…. it’s not a perfect science. We’re lucky to have what we do.

Jake wasn’t entirely convinced. I guess.

Phelan smirked, then glanced over at me. The guy single-handedly takes down a lycan and now he thinks he’s God’s gift to the department.

That was instinct and guts, Jake retaliated. If it wasn’t that big a deal, why’d you guys recruit me.

I never said it wasn’t impressive… I’m just sayin’ respect those who came before you, that’s all. Not to mention, instinct and guts will only get you so far.

I’m still alive, aren’t I?

Phelan laughed to himself. For now.

Jake didn’t respond. I suppose he was down to verbally spar with Bret, but without hostility. He realized Bret was the new boss, and he respected that. And as I mentioned before, we both liked him. So Jake dropped the subject. Bret waited for a retort, but didn’t get one. That’s not like you, Jake… to give up the last word.

Let’s just say I’m tryin’ to score some brownie points with the new AD.

Fair enough. Consider them scored.

Jake nodded in mock approval. Good to know. Cuz the last thing I’d want is to get roped into a Casper detail.

(A Casper detail was a codename given to a ghost-hunting assignment by any agent outside of the Apparitions Division. It was derogatory in nature because we all hated doing it. Sitting around on your ass taking photos of orbs and strange flashes of light was boring, and getting assigned to that task meant you were in trouble with your superiors.)

Well I guess that’s up to your new CFA, Jake.

Yeah, thanks for stickin’ us with Dillon. That guy’s useless.

I had no comment on the matter. Not at that time anyway.

Hey, that was out of my hands, Phelan said. That call came from above. I had no input.

I’d rather Harris got the job, Jake said. At least we know where we stand with him.

I’m not so sure about that, Phelan replied. He called in again.

Again? I said. That’s four days in a row. He’s never out… ever.

Jake didn’t seemed bothered by it. Maybe he’s just sick. Sometimes it all hits you at once. Case in point… myself. I had a perfect attendance record in high school, right up until December of my senior year. Hadn’t missed a day. Then I get so sick, I’m out for five days straight. Whaddaya gonna do?

Bret shook his head. I’m not sure what his deal is. He’s been reluctant to give us any details. I think it might be something more than just the flu.

Did he get hurt on the job? I asked.

Not that I’m aware of. Reese said he was chatting up some vampire at The Sanctuary. That was early last week.

(Reese was Harris’ partner. Since Reese had just joined the force, Harris had taken him under his wing to show— )

Right.

Werewolves.

Ghosts.

Vampires.

Did I mention we deal in the occult?

Well, we do.

Our agency is