Maybe I'm thinking too hard. Marganita Dinur has an interesting background. She committed herself to a vampire King which to our understanding is a dog to a gangsta. We're treating this like a regular crime.
She used to shoplift. She's still young and goes back eleven years ago, making her 12 at the time.
That's ridiculous.
How somebody so fucking young could be a shoplifter is strange. The obvious conclusion, somebody told her to do it. But then we have to ask, why and who? Was it Elvis?
There are cases of people joining vampire cult which are called under the alias covens. It's a bizarre roleplaying cult.
I've never thought larping could summon such injuries.
"Mortensen!" called an officer. "You find anything pertaining to Marganita?"
"No. Not yet."
"The chief also wants to see if the Dinur family has any connections with Elvis."
"The vampire?" Larper.
"Elvis's real name is Damarko Solomon. He used to live in Dallas Texas."
"Address?"
"Parc Menai street 7533." says the cop. "Apparently he buried somebody there."
"Who?" The officer shrugged.
.
.
.
Mortensen and his partner Farrell Snyder, drove to the location. "This isn't even our district. You don't think that's off?" Snyder doubted. "Doesn't matter to me as long as we get the shit done."
They exited the vehicle. Snyder noted the streets were empty with little to no homes. On the desolate grass was a cross in the ground leaning to the side. From afar, Snyder could read, LNS. "What is LNS?" Mortensen went closer, he looked back at his partner. "Get the shovel out the truck."
Snyder got the shovel while Mortensen pulled the cross out the ground. Once he got the shovel he started digging. "You brought just one" he said.
"Oh..." Snyder sniffed. "You wanted help?"
Mortensen sighed and went back to digging. One layer of earth gone, a second layer, then a third. "We'll be out here all fucking night and day." Snyder folded his arms. "I'm tired... you do it." he passed the shovel. "Like last time?"
"What?"
"Nothing." Snyder started digging, he put his foot on the shovel to dig deeper. He hoisted a wad of earth and threw it to side. Another layer, harder than the last. "Goddamn."
He threw the shovel to side and hopped into the hole he dug. He moved the dirt with his hands to find concrete underneath. "How far did you dig?"
Snyder used his foot to brush dirt to the side. "Vampires are buried deeper, right?" He looked at the letters LNS engraved on the stone. "It's looks like concrete..."
"I'll call construction."
Mortensen dialed the number. "Yes, this is officer Mortensen with the DOHRCC services and defense. I just found a vampire grave connected to an investigation. I need it dug up." He put his hands in his pockets. "What's the address?"
"Parc Menai street 7533."
"There are no vampire graves in that area."
"The question wasn't if you knew of a grave--"
"We don't service that area..."
Mortensen looked at Snyder coming out of the hole. "Who am speaking with?"
"Laurence."
"Can I speak to the person in charge?"
"No."
The phone clicked and all he heard from the dial tone. "What happened?"
"Laurence said that don't service the area."
"The fuck does that mean?" grimaced Snyder. "Call someone else."
.
.
.
Six hours later, the two made contact with a burial service linked with the department. They sat in the car with the drill going in the background. Snyder's head toppled over towards the window.
A construction worker knocked on the window. Snyder woke up with a gasp. He rolled down the window, "I've never seen a grave like this."
"What's different about it?" Mortensen reached his head to the window. "I dug up a layer of concrete, right. Then under the concrete is a bunch dirt and silver chains." the worker exclaimed. "You might want to check the department. Somebody hated this vamp."
.
.
.
Back at the department the next morning, Snyder and Mortensen looked through pervious case files located in the crime vault.
"Deacon Constantine served 8 years in Alcatraz for the kidnapping of 18 children way back in South Caroline. He groomed them to drink vampire blood and put them on leashes like dogs." Snyder read the file. "My guess is looking for the vampire with the biggest crime and longest sentence."
Alcatraz reopened for the sole purpose of acting as a prison for the supernatural and mentally deranged. Mortensen said it was cosplay but a good percent of America believed otherwise. "Gdalana Dreadcairn served 6 years for prostitution and the murder of 3 men."
"Next."
Snyder went through the files with haste. He muttered under his breath, "Charity Lessard... Sophia Ash... Jacob Lestat and Julius Lestat," his left brow lifted. "They swere told to serve 20 years for an open ritual. Mortensen looked at him. "Why is that strange?"
"What's an open ritual?" he asked.
"Probably like a get together." Mortensen shrugged. These larpers are something."
"Larpers?" Snyder's tongue went over his teeth. "THese are actual people—creatures in fact."
"Nah..." he continued looking through his own pile. "I'm telling, this whole trend is inspired between Twilight."
"Romance film--"
"Everyone wants like an Edward Cullen and it's dudes out here in fur suits—they even call them furries--"
"Are you retarded!"
"No..." he flinched. "Snyder... it's fine. Just some fans over a movie--"
"This shit has been around since slavery Lester." ythe other argued. "Vampires are afraid of the sun."
"THEY'RE BLACK." shouted Snyder. "Literally, the Department in Virginia states that 86% of African Americans have some form of vampiric ancestry."
"So?"
"We have 42 million niggas in america. That means fucking five million are vampires. Out of five thousand vamps, do you know how many are registered with DOHRCC?"
"All?"
"Fucking twenty nine percent. White people can be vamps but only 11% have it through ancestry."
"Big deal... it's just a trend."
"Seventy-five are done in the closet, the other 30 percent commit." he crossed his arms. "Actually," Snyder looked to the side. "I misspoke. White americans that do closeted rituals is about thirteen percent. 43 percent are kidnapped for a ritual."
"Ok..." Mortensen shrugged as his lips lowered. "What is wrong with you?" Snyder had the mind to shoot him. "Nothing."
He started chuckling. "Are you a victim?"
"No." Yes, but he wouldn't let anyone know that he used to be a bodyguard for the President back in Virginia. He was much too hard on him—penis wise. That man had a grip. He didn't mind though...
It was strange, his dick was slimy. It was always wet her legs—his legs. So, President Maddir had promised, 'I'll keep it dry,' he told at the time. Mortensen swore he had a set of titties. He remembered his butt being spread apart and he laid his dick into his cheeks. Her cheeks... he used to be a girl, he thought.