Crescent City Creeps #8

 

 

Hello Hooray

Winston Cross dropped the peregrine into a padded briefcase and snapped it shut. He threw the briefcase into the back seat of his car and opened the driver’s side. Sturgis took three shots at Cross with a revolver. Cross looked like he was in a movie that was getting tangled in the projector and the bullets sailed through him.

Cross frowned at Sturgis and shook his head with more pathos than anger. Like he was confronting a brother who can’t handle his hootch. Sturgis stared frozen and his face fell into involuntary penitence, “I won’t hold that against you, Verne. I can see why you would be so angry. And terrified.” Cross slid into the driver’s seat and tore off.

 

“We have to go after him,” Toli said yanking on Delareux’s jacket.

“Not tonight,” Delareux murmured, watching Cross’s car shrink as it departed.

“What about that guy has you rattled? We’ve seen things walk through walls.”

“It’s like I said, be either corporeal or incorporeal. Not both.”

“What difference does it make?”

“I’m not locking horns with anything that can walk through a wall and put a slug in my gut.”

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T.J. Washington In “Hoodoo, Hoodone, Hoodid” Pt. 4

 

IV.


My sneeze had revealed to me why Sam and I couldn’t kill Memotepp after we were finished killing Youmotepp. Well, that’s not exactly true. Truth be told, we didn’t kill Memotepp because he wasn’t there. That much was a no brainer and I already knew that. More accurately, my sneeze helped me realize why he wasn’t there to be killed in the first place.

The revelation wasn’t a very comforting one and there were parts that still made no sense, but that was no reason not to trust my instincts. My sneeze-fortified instincts were telling me Memotepp wasn’t a mummy. Nor a human. Vampire could be ruled out too, so could werewolf or a Frankenstein. Many of the other things something could be could also be safely ruled out. It definitely wasn’t a tree or a goat- probably not, definitely probably not.

My guess was that Memotepp was really a mischievous-but-not-evil, shape-shifting spirit from the fairy lands. In other words, Memotepp was Judy.

It had to be true, even though I wasn’t so keen on it being the truth. That’s the thing about things being true, they don’t care about how you feel about them, they just keep on being true in spite of your insistence that they be untrue.

I was starting to wish I had asked Youmotepp some questions before Sam and I burnt him to death just a few hours ago. By the time I had finished wishing that, Sam and I were back in Youmotepp’s office. Sometimes it’s as easy as making a wish and having it granted. It’s an unreliable hook to hang a hat on, there’s no telling when a wish might come true, but when they do…boy, do they.

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T.J. Washington In “Hoodoo, Hoodone, Hoodid” Pt. 3

III.

After we ate, we had some coffee. It was still too late for mummy killing and too early for flamethrower returning but at least we were trying.
 
Sam and I continued talking and then got into some chit chatting, which are two different things.

“That’d be one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard.”
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Crescent City Creeps #7

 

 

Give Up the Ghost

 

Sturgis pulled Parker into a side room away from the attention of the party.

“When did you lose the peregrine?” Sturgis coughed as he whispered and tamped a cigarette on the lid of its gold case.

“It was gone when I went to retrieve it,” Parker stammered. “The tabernacle was empty.”

“Did you set the lock right?”

“I hadn’t opened it since you handed it off to me last night.”

“Did you have a thief in the nigh…wait a second. You don’t think…?”

“Le Bec?”

“That’s right.”

“Doesn’t he return everything he steals?”

“Unless he knows what the peregrine is.”

“How would he know what the peregrine is?”

“I hear he’s pretty spooky. Like a sorcerer or something. What’s the Sleeper’s condition?”

“It’s opened three of its eyes already. It still gazes within, but it’s getting restless.”

“We don’t have much time. Get in touch with the Ghost.”

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T.J. Washington In “Hoodoo, Hoodone, Hoodid Pt. 2

II.

I don’t really like to talk to the police. My line of work routinely requires I rent a flame thrower from someone who is over 300 years old. Also, I’m dating a pixie and I just helped my best friend murder a mummy while committing insurance fraud. Talking to the fuzz is part of the job, though. No getting around – or used- to it.

” ‘Grease fire made worse by way of mummy interference’ is my best guess officer. Near as I can figure, the mummy stumbled into the kitchen and then, well you know, everything was on fire,” Sam explained to the cop in front of him.

She was a short woman in a big hat. It was the smallest hat available (Sam made sure to ask) and it was still too big on her.

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