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........Rio De Janeiro

El Diablo? 57 Suspected Drug Dealers Crushed

Residents of Vigário Geral, one of Rio's more than five hundred favelas, or slums, are talking about last night's slaughter of fifty-seven suspected drug dealers, some of whom were Rio state police.

The victims each died from a single blow that authorities can only identify as some type of ‘spring-loaded cylinder’. “It’s definitely a new weapon we have not seen before,” State Police Chief Emero Rodriguez said in an early morning statement.

All the victims were found with various amounts of cash, weaponry and drugs on their bodies. State police spokesmen say robbery was not a motive, and believe this was a ‘field test’ of a new weapon. A gang-related crackdown on competition has not been ruled out.

Residents of the large, square favela have made numerous reports of a tall gringoe they have named El Diablo. Reports say he went from bar to bar buying bottles of liquor, then sat in the street until someone attacked him.



“Dunkin!” Elle called out. “I think I’ve found him.”

Dunkin came into the bedroom. He was wearing a large Hawaiian shirt depicting various species of colorful birds found in the rain forests of South America. He was more than huge. More than a giant. He was six feet, six inches and 450 pounds of hairless, pink humanity. A smiling, animated statue of a Buddha who gave up all the heavy thinking, and switched to heavy eating.

“Where is he?” asked Dunkin.

“Rio, would be my guess,” Elle said. “Look at this.” She swiveled around in her chair, pointing at the laptop monitor on the table. She was wearing nothing but a lacy set of blue undergarments. Elle was built like a mad artist's rendition of the perfect woman and Dunkin couldn't help stopping to stare at her. Dunkin had been a virgin for sixty years until a few days ago. He’d been making up for lost time.

“Get dressed, please!” Dunkin said, lifting her up out of the chair by her shoulders and holding her in the air while he kissed her lightly on the cheek. He swiveled and set her gently down on her feet. “I can’t concentrate with you looking that good.” Dunkin put a large hand, as big her head, behind her neck and gently squeezed. “Blue goes very nice with your skin tone.”

“Oooh,” Elle cooed. “You look at me like I was a creamy donut. I like that.”

Dunkin smiled and bent to read the monitor. “This was dated two days ago, “ he said, straightening. “Devlin could be anywhere by now.”

“Crap!” said Elle, coming back into the room fully dressed in a tight leather jumpsuit. “All I noticed was a section in the article mentioned ‘last night’. He’s probably on his way.”

“He must have lost track of Mortimer,” Dunkin said, staring at the screen. “This article seems to indicate he's in an even worse mood than usual”

******



Ash was at the security monitoring station of the compound when all the lights indicating a perimeter breach went off at once. “Hey Dunkin!” He screamed. “We got trouble.”

Dunkin grabbed his Vampire Club. It was an unusual hammer-shaped stone, flecked with bits of silver and gold, presented to him in the jungles of Brazil by an old chief whose tribe had been guarding it for centuries. Its previous owner was Dunkin’s ancestor, a mythical warrior who had used the hammer to kill vampires. Dunkin was a vampire slayer and his first and only love, Elle, was a vampire.

Elle was averse to wielding the silver spikes used to slay vampires and wore gloves, which she slid on as the couple rushed to meet Ash and whatever awaited.

They heard a loud crash upon entering the living room area, and stopped as the heavy metal-reinforced door flew inward, taking a good portion of the frame and surrounding wall with it. The room filled with a dozen hissing creatures who entered through the large hole.

Ash, a five-foot, four-inch, four-foot-wide mass of hair and muscle, spiked the first one to get within reach. The creature fizzled and burst into a ballooning cloud of sparks. Ash continued forward and drove the nub of the spike into another vampire. He was hit from behind and spun around. Two creatures ripped at his chest. Ash stiffened upright, then began to crumple. He was snatched up by Myra, who darted through the crowd and into Dunkin’s vampire-proof panic room.

Meanwhile, Dunkin clubbed two creatures with such force, they disappeared without even the usual sparks. He roared and drove his hammer completely through an approaching vampire and into the wall behind it.

Elle spiked one, then she was hit and sent flying into the far wall. The one who struck her followed her flight, and snagged her by the neck before she hit the ground. “Stop your resistance now!” the creature holding Elle commanded, in a heavy Eastern European mangling of the King’s English. “Or I destroy this one.”

Dunkin stopped his destructive assault and looked to the speaker. The creature was tall and built powerfully; handsome if you like musclebound Eastern European, hooded-brow types.

“I have many more creatures from my pack outside,” the vampire holding Elle said. “They eagerly await my command. You have no chance.”

“Who are you?” Dunkin asked.

“I am Arno,” he said. “Pack leader for Klaatu of the Vampire High Council. You have caused enough trouble and I have been ordered to bring you before the High Council. We have captured a woman named Aggie and your silent assistant, Smiley. Surrender and they live.”

Suddenly Arno gave a startled, full-body shiver and released Elle; who darted to Dunkin’s side as soon as her feet hit the ground. In walked ten ugly creatures; these were the lowest form of vampire, the sniffers. Foul vermin given just enough of their master’s blood to make the change, but not enough to regain their human form.

Sniffers' were vicious creatures created for ‘sniffing’ out prey and sacrificing themselves in conflicts. They regained their human form and became more powerful by being ‘promoted’, or allowed to drink blood from their master.

Arno was visibly alarmed by their entrance. He stared at the first of the creatures, obviously trying to regain his mental control. “I never summoned you,” he cried. “Why do you enter?”

“I told ‘em to move their ugly asses,” a voice said from outside. A man walked in and looked at Arno. As if sizing up a weak opponent.

“Devlin,” Dunkin said, smiling. “Good to see you.”

Devlin smiled, and that smile was terrifying. He was tall, six-four and over two-hundred pounds. A lanky, weathered, sinewy man, forearms alive with tensing cables, and wrists the size of beer cans. His face was handsome, if you preferred faces that held the promise of violently redistributed body parts. Devlin was mean-looking when he was happy—indescribable when he was angry.

“In trouble as usual, I see,” said Devlin, eyeing Arno. “Well bust-a-move Arno Shortzenegger, terminate me.” Devlin stood, empty-handed and placed his arms outward as if welcoming a friend. “Come-on chickenshit,” Devlin goaded, tapping his foot. “I want to show Dunkin my new ‘heart-exploding, jelly-donut, kung-fu, iron-knuckle blow. I been studying this for a couple days now.”

“Wait Devlin,” Dunkin said. “They have your mother and Smiley.”

“These clowns obviously stay cooped up in their coffins too much,” Devlin said, lighting a cigar. “They are woefully ignorant of successful conflict resolution. I usually don’t smoke inside but look at the hole in the door, the smoke should go out. All right with you, Arno the Asshat?”

Arno streaked forward at Devlin, who apparently never moved. Arno stopped, seemingly right up against Devlin, and crumpled to the floor. Devlin stepped on Arno’s ass cheeks, quickly grabbed both the creature's legs, bending them until they broke and laid against its back. He wrapped a rope around them several times and looped it around the thing’s neck, making a complicated knot. “Timing this?” Devlin asked. He continued by breaking and pulling both Arno’s arms and twisting them in an impossible angle behind its back, then made another complicated loop around the arms with the rope. When finished, he hopped up and shouted, “Time!”

Devlin looked around the room. “Nobody timed me,” he said, looking disappointed. “It’s my new rodeo calf/vampire roping move. I saw those cattle farmers in Brazil doing this and had an idea it might be less messy than all that chopping-off-the-extremities stuff I usually do. Ruining all my colorful shirts. I like your shirt Dunkin. Tasteful.”

“They have your Ma and Smiley,” Dunkin repeated.

“I heard ya,” Devlin said. “Geez, nobody appreciates my attempts to learn, grow, become a better creature stomper. Is it because I’m obnoxious?”

Devlin kicked Arno over so he was facing up. He felt around his pockets and pulled a cell phone out of Arno’s front pants pocket. “Don’t get excited Arno,” he said. “I’m not looking for your wang, don’t have that kind of time. All the steroids you’ve done, the freakin’ thing has probably disappeared. Har!”

Devlin pocketed the phone and lifted Arno by the rope. “Where’s Ash?” Devlin asked, looking around.

Dunkin and Elle looked back and both took off at once for the panic room. Devlin came up behind them. Dunkin opened the door and the three stepped inside to see Ash on the floor, his chest torn open and blood bubbling up from his mouth. Myra sat cradling his head in her arms, tears slowly wending their way down her caramel cheeks.

Myra, was the Brazilian tribal chiefs daughter, she had been taken hostage by two fleeing vampires. Since she and Ash had grown fond of each other, in an act of spite aimed at Ash a master vampire turned Myra into a vampire. She hated her condition and would do anything to help find the cure Dunkin said was out there.

Ash looked up and saw Devlin. He smiled and coughed, bringing more blood up from his lips. “We have to turn him,” Elle said.

“Let him go,” Devlin whispered. “He told me he wanted to die a man.”