Ed Danvers Case File: The Sins of the Father Pt. 4

Ed Danvers Case Files:

Sins of the Father

Part Four:

There Are No Strings On Me

Laurel had given me the skinny on her research into the families being targeted by Reverend Wendell. The families were a circle of friends that included the Wendells. They apparently had large sums of money pooled into a bunch of investments and were making a killing. That explains the mansion in the boonies. Their portfolio was managed by a hedge fund manager only identified as Zyxyn. Now that sounds more like devil work, paperwork and contracts. About a month before the attack on Karen Wendell they severed their relationship with Zyxyn. Is this all over a breach of contract? This all seems very personal. Zyxyn is getting his hands awful dirty over a simple breach of contract.

“A devil’s gotta be pretty pissed off not to outsource the possession work…” I mused aloud, downing a shot of something brown.

“Isn’t that pretty much what they do?” Vyx asked from behind the bar, pointing his metal hand at the TV, flipping the channels.

“Demons possess. Devils make deals. Possession is low work for the rabble.”

“Your world has a lot of weird rules.”

“It’s not my world, I just work there.”

“Devils and demons. Ghouls and ghosts,” he planted his hands on his hips and shook his head with a big grin. That thing he does when he thinks I’m slipping into madness.

“Vicksy, we just saw a girl with a goat head standing in a ring of fire and you’re still going to give me that shit-eating grin?”

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Ed Danvers Case Files The Sins of the Father Part 3

Ed Danvers Case Files:

Sins of the Father

Part Three

Brothers in Arms

Predators and opportunists are everywhere, and always on the prowl for someone who’s been weakened, compromised, or laid vulnerable. They suck out what they want and discard a broken husk behind to weather the aftermath and then it’s off to attach itself to another host. In nature, parasites are often smaller, less powerful creatures than the host though no less detrimental for it. Up here in the grand, old, gilded tower we call civilization, there’s nothing we don’t like to amp up to eleven. Out here in the cold, cruel world the leeches are often bigger and more powerful than their marks and this is what allows them to thrive. Through their influence, they gather to themselves a network of potential patsies and scapegoats. Yes-men and fall guys; muscle and money. And they’re everywhere, from the pimps across 110th to the big shots who work in the pictures, to cult leaders, astral pimp gurus, teachers, your boss. They could be crawling through the gutter or have their feet up on the desk in the oval office. Christ, you kidding me, these scavenger kings are right at home in politics.

Demons are no exception. Karen would have been left broken, empty, and desperate for peace and normalcy after the kind of ordeal she suffered through. The perfect vessel for easy, effortless, no fuss-no muss possession. Good old fashion, right there, ‘live in your living room’ demon possession. So along comes… I pulled my little notebook out of my breast pocket and hung my reading glasses on my nose.

“Let’s see,” I grumbled, looking down my nose, through the glasses and at my blurry notebook, “…Malthus?”

Karen stopped bleating and stared at me for moment. “Malthus?”




“What the fuck? Barbas?” It let out a staccato goat’s laugh, “Oh, you think I’m Goetic. Old school, grandpa, very old school. Nobody joins the union anymore. Why don’t you catch up with the rest of us here in the ‘80s.”

“So you’re a scab?”

“Entrepreneur. Unions are socialist claptrap. It’s dog eat dog, every demon for himself.”

“I’m assuming you didn’t submit the proper clearance forms for this possession.”

“Since when do demons fill out forms? Leave the paperwork to the devils. They’re still using carbon paper.”

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Ed Danvers Case Files: Sins of the Father Pt. 2

Ed Danvers Case Files:

Sins of the Father

Part Two

Who’s Got Your Goat?


The doc sent me home today. He said my hip would be sore and tender for awhile and I should lay off it. He didn’t send me home empty-handed, though. I’m now the proud owner of a fancy aluminum cane, complete with a little rubber foot. So now I’m the old codger with a cane. I guess it sure beats a plastic hand? Not that Vicksy didn’t make short work of that. The little gadget monkey made himself a screwy new hand that makes noises when it moves. So far he only seems to use it to crack walnuts. The hip’s been behaving, mostly. It was a little touch-and-go when Laurel’s kid hopped on my lap to hear another story about her grandma and great grandma back in New Orleans. I can’t be mad at the kid, she’s only four. But damn, that hurt.

Vicksy was slouched behind the bar staring at the television and going to town on a bag of walnuts. The news was the news. Father Nutso was apparently staying low for a couple. It gave me some time to mull the case. There were three families left after the priest cut up the Pattersons and the Bartlebys. He seems to put some time between his appearances. Two or three days. Of the remaining families, I was keeping a close eye on the Babatundes. Mr. and Mrs. Babatunde, along with the Pattersons and Bartlebys, were the most high profile of the lot. These three had a lot more facetime on the news and had chipped in the most to hire me. The Tylers and Fukimuras have kept a low profile. The Tylers did interviews in the beginning, but the Fukimuras have kept their heads down from the get go. Good for them. The media is bunch of blood suckers. I swear to god, if Vicksy cracks one more walnut…

“Vicksy,” I groaned, “When did you decide you loved walnuts so much?”

“When they got easier to open,” he cracked another one with his metal hand and dumped the content in his mouth. “I was excited to try Brazil nuts, but as it turns out they’re pretty disgusting.”

“Get anywhere with the barflies?”

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Ed Danvers Case Files Sins of the Father Pt. 1

Ed Danvers Case Files #2:

Sins of the Father

Part One

Give Me a Hand


May 21st, 1987


It’s always when I’m laid up in the hospital when I think, ‘I shouldn’t have taken this case.’ It’s never ten minutes before I get jumped by the very mooks I’m trailing. Sure, I’m getting sloppy. I’m getting old, too. There’s not much to say about the case. It’s your standard philandering. Pretty straightforward. The ones that send you to hospital always are.

The only two who bother visiting me are Cal and his wife, and Vicksy. Laurel drops by too. So I guess that’s …four? I know more people than I thought I did. I had Vicksy smuggle me in some stuff from the office. Not much, just a few files. Something I can stuff under the pillow when the doctor comes in. He doesn’t want me thinking about work right now. The guy also told me to lay off the hooch. Some things are just not going to happen.

I leafed through the manila file folder and noticed Vicksy grabbed the one marked ‘pending.’ That wasn’t the one I asked for. I browsed the files. Laurel’s handwriting is even worse than mine. I hired Laurel after her psychic business went under. I always wonder why psychic entrepreneurs never see it coming? Her old man ran out and she has her little girl, Sophia, to take care of, so I couldn’t just let her wander off into the cold and I had a few shekels to spare a week. Besides, she lives right over my office and I got to annex her old shop, next door. There’s a lot more room and I got a psychic on staff. The cases were humdrum. Remember what I said about humdrum? And then, I suddenly knew why the doc didn’t want me looking at cases. Turns out Gabe, the M.E. dropped by and gave Laurel some pictures and mimeographed reports. He said it would be up my alley. The infuriating thing is, I know he was being a smart ass. And it’s exactly the sort of thing I can’t stay away from. Weird shit is worse than horse, with me. No matter how much I kick, I wind up crossing tracks with the ghost of a mad scientist or a wizard jewel thief. Worst part is, I think the P.D. knows that keeping me strung out means they don’t have to do the spooky stuff. Speaking of horse, since they don’t let you drink in here, I keep plugging away at the happy button. On-demand morphine. One of the perks of getting shot in all the right places.

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Ed Danvers Case File: Culver, Fred & Katherine

“Three psych evals in 18 months…” Dr. St. Claire said into the papers he was leafing through, “Says, quote, ‘You were always trying to make the smallest thing about ghosts like back home,’ end quote…”

In one clean arc, I slid a tin flask from my blazer and uncapped it with my thumb. Effortless, economy of motion that comes with years of practice.

“Umph,” I grunted through a long draw of whatever I could afford. Might be Vodka; ruskie shit.

“In the six months since being dismissed from the force, I assume you’ve had some time to rest?”

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