The Book of Death (Bourbon Kid 4)

the flickering flame in the hopes of
getting some warmth from it.
    ‘Tight ass,’ he muttered.
    ‘Thank you,’ said Sanchez,
pleased to hear the words tight ass instead of fat ass for once. He closed the
lighter, slipped it back in his pocket and carried on his way, turning the
corner and heading towards his car, safe in the knowledge that his good deed
for the year was done.
    As he was strutting down the
street, he was suddenly hit on the side of the face by something cold. It
exploded into his hair and all over the side of his face, splashing water into
his eyes. And it made his ear feel numb from the cold.
    Stopping to wipe his face dry,
he realised that someone had thrown a snowball at him and caught him real good
with it too. He looked over in the direction it had come from and saw on the
other side of the road an old lady in a long dark blue coat with a walking
stick. She looked familiar. In fact, as she flipped him the middle finger and
shouted “Asshole!” at him, he recognised her as the old bag that had
fallen in the street when he’d switched on the police siren in his squad car to
impress Jessica. The stupid old witch obviously couldn’t take a joke. But right
now Sanchez had neither the time nor the patience to deal with her, although he
did plan on giving her the siren treatment again, if an opportunity presented
itself.
    The impact of the blow from the
snowball could have caused him to lose his footing, such was the precarious
state of the ice and snow underfoot, so with that in mind he exercised more
caution in the remainder of his walk to the car, taking high steps and pressing
his boots down hard onto the ground. When he reached his squad car he set The
Book of Death down on the roof next to the siren and fumbled in his pocket for
his keys. As he pulled the keys out they snagged on his Zippo lighter and it
flew out and fell into a thick pile of snow just below the kerb.
    ‘Fuckin’ hell,’ he mumbled to
himself.
    He crouched down to retrieve the
lighter from the sludge, doing his best not to kneel in the snow. It was cold
enough already without getting his uniform wet. The lighter had landed just
under the car, almost out of reach. As he pawed at it, he caught sight of a
dark shadow looming over him in the snow. Even in the already gloomy light
provided by the dim streetlights, this shadow was dark, and large. He leaned
back and looked over his shoulder. There, stood behind him and now looking
quite a fearsome sight was the Santa Claus he had bumped into in the library.
    ‘You want something?’ Sanchez
asked, climbing to his feet.
    The Santa opened his mouth wide.
On his upper set of teeth he had a large set of fangs. The guy was a fucking vampire.
A big bastard one at that.
    The big ugly Santa hissed at
him, his foul breath wafting out from the pit of his stomach. Sanchez reeled
back instinctively at what he perceived to be the smell of rotten kebab meat.
The Santa lunged over his left shoulder, reaching for the book on top of the
squad car.
    ‘Give me that book!’ he snarled.
    ‘Not a chance!’ Sanchez yelled
back, turning around and grabbing for the book. He managed to get his hands on
it before the vampire. With his chubby cold fingers he slid the book off the
top of the car and clasped it against his chest ensuring his elbows protruded
out to keep the Santa at bay. His attacker climbed all over his back and
reached around him with both hands to try and get a grip on the book.
    Sanchez twisted away from him.
If he could somehow knock the fat Santa over, he might buy himself enough time
to get in the car. Unfortunately gripping The Book of Death with all his might
made it difficult to do anything. Although there was no way he was releasing
his grip on the book (and the fifty thousand dollar reward) to some fat,
out-of-shape undead Santa Claus.
    Unfortunately, in terms of
strength and fighting prowess Sanchez was no match for the colossal mass of the
huge grey bearded fucker in the red hat. The Santa grabbed at the book and
tugged at it with one hand. The two of them struggled back and forth with it
like two toddlers fighting over a teddy bear. But where Sanchez continued to
pull as hard as he could, the Santa suddenly surprised him by pushing. He succeeded
in shoving the book hard into Sanchez’s chest, knocking him off balance. He
slipped and lost his footing on the ice, tumbling backwards. In refusing to let
go of the book he only succeeded in pulling the obese vampire down on