The Traveling Vampire Show

Rusty looked shocked. “Not about Slim’s house.”

“We can say we rang the doorbell, but didn’t go in.”

“No! That’ll be admitting we were there!”

“We were there.”

It went on like that for a couple more minutes, but we both shut up as we approached the front doors of the police station.

I went in first. Right away, I regretted it.

With everything else going on, I hadn’t given any thought to Dolly.

The Grandville Police Department was comprised of six cops, my dad included. Two cops per shift, all of whom could be brought into action in case of an emergency.

Since there were no actual police to spare for desk duty, civilians had been hired to act as receptionist/clerk/dispatchers. Dolly worked the day watch.

She was a skinny, bloodless prude. Pushing forty, she lived with her older sister. She disapproved of men in general, and me in particular. The only times she ever seemed happy were when she got to gloat over someone else’s misery.

When I walked through the door, she looked at me from behind the front desk. The comers of her lips curled upward. “Dwight,” she said.

“Hello, Dolly.”

One of her thin, black eyebrows climbed her forehead to show how much she didn’t appreciate any hint of a reference to the Broadway musical.

“Russell,” she said and gave him a curt nod.

“Good afternoon, Miss Desmond.”

She eyed both of us as we approached her. Mostly, she eyed our bare chests. Even though the office was air-conditioned, heat was suddenly rushing to my skin. “Let me guess,” she said. “You’ve come to report the theft of your shirts.”

Rusty laughed politely. It sounded very fake. On purpose, I’m sure.

“We’ve been mowing lawns,” I explained. Not quite a lie. I had been mowing the lawn, Rusty participating as an observer. “Is Dad here?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said, obviously pleased by her announcement. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“I just need to talk with Dad about something.”

“Would it be police business?”

“Sort of,” I said.

She tipped her head to one side and fluttered her eyelashes at me in some sort of mockery of flirtation. “Perhaps you would like to share it with me?”

“It’s sort of personal,” I said.

“In trouble again, are we?” She glanced from me to Rusty, then back to me. “What is it this time?”

“Nothing,” I said. “We didn’t do anything. I just need to talk to Dad for a minute.”

“No can do,” she said, oh so chipper.

“Do you know where he is?”

“Out on a call.” Grinning, she batted her eyelashes some more. “I’m not at liberty to divulge his exact whereabouts. Police business. You understand.”

Rusty nudged my arm and whispered, “Let’s just go.”

“You can radio him, can’t you?” I said.

“No can do.”

“Come on, Dolly. Please. This is important.”

Her eyes narrowed. “This does have to do with your shirts. doesn’t it.” She spoke it as a fact, not a question.

“No,” I said. Though, in a way, our shirts were involved.

She leaned forward, folded her arms on the desktop and slid her tongue across her lips. “Tell me.”

“No can do,” I said.

Off to my side, Rusty snorted.

Dolly stiffened and her eyes flared. “Are you smart-mouthing me, young man?”

“No,” I said.

“I don’t like a smart-mouth.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to….”

“Your father will hear about this.”

I blushed. Again.

She noticed and seemed pleased. “He’ll hear alllll about how you and your pal Russell came barging in here half-naked and got smart with me.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Rusty said.

“Speaking of pals,” Dolly said, “where’s Frances? Why isn’t she here? She’s always with you two.” Dolly leaned further over the desk top and stretched her long neck forward like a curious turtle. “Has something happened to her?”

Mouth hanging open, I shook my head.

“She hasn’t lost her shirt, has she?”

“No.”

“Why isn’t she with you?”

While I tried to think of a good lie, Rusty kept silent.

“What’ve you two done to her?” Dolly demanded.

“Nothing! She’s fine. Are you out of your mind?”

“Out of my mind?” she screeched.

Oh shit, I thought. Now I’ve done it. “Frances is fine!” I blurted.

“OUT OF MY MIND???”

“I didn’t mean it!”

“He didn’t mean it!” Rusty echoed.

“WHERE’S MY GUN???”

I yelled, “FUCK!!!”

Dolly cried out, “WHAT DID YOU SAY?”

By then, we were racing for the door, Rusty in the lead.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY, DWIGHT THOMPSON? WAS THAT THE F WORD YOU SAID? YOUR FATHER IS GOING TO…”

The door shut behind me, cutting off the rest of her words.

We ran around the comer before we slowed down. Rusty was out of breath and laughing at the same time.

“It’s not funny,” I said.

“The hell…”

“If she tells Dad what I said…”

“You’re fucked.”