Isaac may have missed the address if not for the giant billboard. Despite the faded and chipped paint, he could clearly make out the cartoon rooster wearing a green army helmet and firing a shoulder-mounted bazooka. Projecting from the weapon in a cloud of smoke was a large, round female breast, hurtling nipple first at an unknown target.

BOOBzookas!

Isaac parked Maloc’s truck under the sign, slung his Everbag over his shoulder, and walked in, glancing over his shoulder several times at the sign to let out puerile chuckles. With a name like that he may have stopped here anyway.

The inside of the place was dark, which helped hide the outdated and ill-kept furniture. Three dancers took turns swinging from the pole on the single-stage or strolled around looking for tips, exuding all the energy of someone bagging groceries. The handful of patrons watched, not with excitement, but resignation, as if they knew this should be arousing but couldn’t muster up the spirit for it. They waved dollar bills, tucked them into proffered G-strings, exchanged smiles with the dancers, but it had all the fun of an ATM withdrawal. The music was loud, but not booming. Old speakers hissed and crackled periodically, not that they could ruin the awful country-rock fusion. Too hard-rock to be country but not hard-rock enough to be good.

A tall man with a receding hairline, accentuated by a tight ponytail, had noticed Isaac walk in. He picked up his beer and walked over.

“You Isaac? The magician?” He made the inquiry as casual as if asking you the plumber. Isaac nodded, shook the man’s hand. “I’m Wallace. Follow me.” Isaac tailed the man to a crowded table in the corner farthest from the stage.

When attending a business meeting with clients one has never met, one tends to develop an idea about just how professional these clients will appear. Lawyers would have suits and be sleazy. Artists would be fashionable and pretentious and so on. These preconceived notions were what led Isaac to believe that the crew of professional vampire hunters he was meeting would be militaristic—former soldiers or covert operatives or hand-to-hand combat experts or snipers or ninjas. Certainly, something different than Wallace’s crew.

Which were hillbillies. Good ole boys. Rednecks.

They were a collection of men who apparently took the “hunter” part of vampire-hunter literally. These guys looked like they should just be wandering through the woods shooting anything that moved and mounting it on their mantle. Or eating it. Raw.

They were playing poker, smoking cigars, chewing tobacco, and pounding beers. A pretty, dark-haired waitress in mismatched thrift-store lingerie brought them another round. The group did their best to be boorish—drunkenly attempting to grope her—but she was clearly well versed with such behavior. She deftly maneuvered around their paws, sidestepped attempted pinches, and, in one case, just brusquely slapped a hand away. Isaac found her a lot of fun to watch and was quickly rooting for her against his new teammates.

“Listen up assholes!” Wallace called them to order, which struck Isaac as coincidental because that’s exactly how he would have referred to this group. “This is Isaac. He’s our hired magician.”

The crew looked up as one, seemed to do a quick evaluation of Isaac purely on length of beard and lack of camouflage accouterments, and returned to their game. Wallace squeezed two more chairs into the table. While he did the waitress asked Isaac if he wanted anything.

“Bourbon on the rocks please.” Politeness must have been a rare currency here, as she gave him a genuine smile.

Wallace introduced the men. Slim—a bony man capable of smoking, drinking, and chewing tobacco all at the same time. Drink, spit, inhale, exhale, drink, spit, in rapid succession—surely impressive even to his redneck brethren. Frank—stocky with a chest-length beard and a confederate flag ball cap. Lee—almost as stocky as Frank, but with a shorter beard and a camouflage hat, which would surely render the top half of his skull invisible in a jungle setting. Rocky—a mountain of a man, solid and dim-looking. Finally, Cash, who appeared to be the youngest of the crew. He, of all of them, Isaac voted most likely to have been drug out of a trailer kicking and screaming by police. He had short unkempt hair, bad teeth, and a patchy beard that made his face look unwashed.

“What the hell we need a mo-gician for? We’ve been on plenty of tick hunts without one.” This gem of a statement came from Cash.

Tick. A derogatory term for a vampire. Others included mosquito, tapeworm, flea, and leech. Isaac preferred the term leech but had to admit that tick really snapped off the tongue with fervor. Mosquito was too much of a mouthful and tapeworms were just gross. So, tick won the day.

Mo-gician? Isaac just assumed that was how morons pronounced magician.

“Supposedly this tick is different,” Wallace said.

“Bullshit. You kill one tick, you’ve killed them all,” Cash boasted and then crushed his empty beer can with a ferocity that would surely be intimidating to some kind of being physically incapable of crushing such a can.

“Different? How is it different?” Isaac asked, suddenly more concerned with this information than with Cash’s can-crushing ability.

They were interrupted by the return of the waitress, who began dispensing cheap beers to greedy hands. She leaned over Isaac, brushing against his shoulder as she set his drink down. She smelled of perfume, sweat, and cigarette smoke—a melded scent that enthralled in strip clubs alone. Again, he thanked her and received another cute smirk for it. He would never brag about his social acumen so if he could get such sweet looks for simply not being a drunken lout, he’d take it as a win. When she moved out of earshot, he repeated his question to Wallace.

“We’re hunting an elder tomorrow.”

“Excuse me?” If they had been in a sitcom this would be the part where Isaac spit out all of his bourbon in a surprised spray.

“The job we have is for an elder vampire,” Wallace confirmed.

“Figures to be over two hundred years old.” This came from Slim, who said it the same way a fisherman would describe a legendary catfish.

“An elder? An elder vampire?” Isaac repeated, looking from one drunken face to another. He got nothing back but expressions ranging from uncaring to vapid. “Have you guys ever hunted an elder before?”

A couple of shrugs before Lee snapped at him with, “What’s the big deal? We walk in, find the snoozing sum’bitch, and stake the shit out of him. We’ve done it before. No big deal. I don’t even understand why we need you, cause frankly, you don’t look like much.” This brought some guffaws from the group.

Isaac downed his drink and turned to Wallace. “Why do you need me? Cause he’s right. I don’t look like much and looks are obviously very important at this table.”

“The elder may be protected by traps. Magic traps.” The collective table started naysaying and complaining about how such things didn’t exist. “So, Arrangement said to have you disarm any traps so we can take out the tick.”

“Oh, fucking hell. Magic. Next, you’ll be telling us that the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny are real,” Cash said.

Isaac turned to him. “You hunt vampires for a living. You’ve seen the immortal, undead, blood-drinking monsters with your own eyes. But you don’t believe in magic?”

“They’re animals. Just animals. No different than hunting deer or duck or possum or deer...” Cash ran out of animal names.

Isaac sighed. “True. Most wildlife does burst into flames in the sun.”

Wallace, enough of a leader to see that the conversation was boiling into a possible fight, held up a hand. The group respected the man enough to shut the hell up. “Look, I don’t like taking on outsiders for our jobs any more than y’all do. But the people paying us says he has to go. So, he goes. He’ll do his part. We’ll do ours. Get it done and go our separate ways.” The table begrudgingly agreed and, happy to be leaving, Isaac stood up.

“Hold on there, Merlin,” Cash said, impressing Isaac that the redneck knew the famous name. “How do we know you’re really a mo-gician? Shouldn’t you do some sort of trick? Pull a rabbit out of your man-purse there?” The reference to Isaac’s Everbag brought more low-brow laughter.

Normally Isaac would never stoop to tricks for the ooo’s and ahh’s of rubes, but the purse jab rankled him. Maybe only Indiana Jones could pull off a satchel. He sat back down, took a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet, a pen from the table, wrote something on it, and then began folding it.

“You gonna make that appear behind my ear?” Lee snickered.

“No, I like to keep my money clean.”

Lee opened his mouth for some kind of retort but was beaten by Slim who said, “Don’t say nothing. You got the dirtiest ears I’ve ever seen.” This brought several more into the verbal fray, exchanging barbs and laughs.

Finally, Isaac held up a money paper airplane. More teasing came when they saw the final product, but the voices stopped when Isaac let the plane go and it just hovered in the air. Then, directing it telekinetically with subtle hand movements, he sailed it around the table, picked up speed, and performed a couple of loops and spirals. The group watched in quiet surprise. It orbited Wallace’s head a few times and then launched off with speed across the bar, sailed over the big hairdo of the dancer on stage, and landed gently on the serving tray of the waitress. She noticed it quickly, unfolded it, read the note, and then looked at their table. She winked.

Satisfied that he had quelled their skepticism without really having to exert himself, Isaac again got up to leave. But no one clings to misguided beliefs quite like morons do and Cash arrogantly spouted, “A paper airplane? Really? What a crock of shit.”

Isaac smiled but had no intention of performing further parlor tricks. “Earlier you mentioned the Tooth Fairy. I’ve seen a tooth fairy. Horrible little bastards. Although I think everyone at this table would be safe.” He started to walk away, paused when he recognized that they didn’t get the insult. “Because of the lack of dental hygiene.” Still nothing. “Bad teeth.” He gave up.

Wallace followed him to the door. “Y’know, the boys have a point. You don’t hunt a sixteen-point buck any different than you’d hunt a twelve-pointer.”

“I’m sure I’d disagree with you if I had any idea what you were talking about.”

“Deer. Those are deer. Points on their antlers.” Wallace held his hands to his head and splayed his fingers out as if Isaac didn’t know what antlers were.

The magician sighed, opened his mouth, found no words, sighed again, and said good night.

***

What Isaac had written on the money airplane had been the name of a nearby all-night truck-stop diner. It had struck him as a good idea at that particular time and place. But sitting there, sipping coffee, he realized it was dead quiet, which meant if the waitress showed he’d have to do his part to converse. Simple politeness wouldn’t carry the day. So, he opted to chicken out and was just standing up when she walked in.

The waitress had swapped the mismatched lingerie for street clothes, but she had that same sweet grin for him. “I’m Susan. You’re leaving? Want to stay for coffee?”

“Isaac. Sure. I’ll have some,” and he realized he was still standing next to his half-drunk cup, “more of that one right there.”

They sat down. Isaac had no head for a give-and-take conversation, especially one with introductory small talk. But he was endlessly curious, so he rattled off questions. Susan was delightfully gregarious, and he listened with rapt attention. She grew up local with blue-collar parents. She took the waitress job to save money with the intention of splitting it between restoring her mother’s Camaro and paying for school. She listed hobbies: watercolors, hiking, photography. Her answers were enthusiastic, normal, and real and Isaac loved every minute of it. At no point did her tale include demons or monsters and absolutely nobody died.

Alas, eventually she turned the tide back to him. He couldn’t hide in plain sight all night. “So why exactly are you hanging around with Wallace and his crew?”

“I...umm...” How did he not anticipate this question? He had to think of something plausible and quick. “I’m a professional hunting guide.” It was all he could do to not wince at how terrible this lie was. His tongue was clumsy when talking to regular people.

“Right,” she said skeptically. “Those guys have been hunting around here for years. What exactly could you teach them to hunt?”

He only knew how to keep digging. “Deer.” He put his hands to his forehead to mime antlers just as Wallace had and she burst into laughter.

“No way. Look, if you don’t want to tell me...”

He wracked his brain for a way to tell the truth. That was why he hated these situations. He could never tell the damn truth. It would be so liberating for once. “Part of my job is to work with people who are going to do incredibly stupid things and assist them with not dying.”

Susan sensed his sincerity but couldn’t quite acknowledge his explanation as real employment. “So, you’re like an all-purpose lifeguard?”

“I guess. Sometimes.”

“Well, that’s great. You save people. Are you good at it?”

“Not really.”

“Oh.”

Great, have coffee with a pretty girl and tell her you’re bad at your profession. That reset his low bar.

“But it’s got to be a really hard job.” She was so sweet to attempt this salvaging. “I’m sure you try your best.”

Ouch. He was contemplating just running for the door, but he didn’t want to stiff her with the check. “Yeah...”

A realization came to her. “So, does this mean Wallace and Cash and the others might die tomorrow?”

“Yup.” Now that he answered with abrupt honesty when he should have lied. He’d never get this right.

Susan leaned forward. “Is it legal?”

Isaac was thrilled to not technically know and therefore not have to put thought into the answer. “I really have no idea.”

“Wow. That’s some heavy stuff.”

Isaac was socially spent. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you. It was just a weird impulse that I should have ignored. As soon as I do this job and save...” he cleared his throat on the last word, so it didn’t sound too hopeful, “the hunters, I’m going to move on. My job keeps me from settling down. But it was nice of you to join me.” He dished out money for the check.

Susan smiled at him, but he couldn’t identify what kind of smile it really was. He was really only good at spotting dimwittedness and bloodlust on faces. Was it a sign of attraction or the same look she’d give to a stray puppy? “There’s only one motel in town so I assume you’re staying there?” she asked, and he nodded. “Want some company?”

***

Later that evening, with Susan asleep next to him, Isaac lay awake, counting his uncomfortable thoughts. He was already guilty about this one-night stand. There was nothing worse than stealing away like a thief come morning unless it meant actually being a thief who was stealing something.

He slid slowly from the bed as not to disturb her and set his Everbag on the table. From it, he pulled a tackle box that contained his amulet-making materials. There was no substantial power within—mostly small-time baubles one could find in any commercial magic shop. He picked two stones—a carnelian and a citrine—and twisted them together with wire. A piece of sturdy twine finished it and he found her jeans on the floor and tucked it in a pocket. While it was impossible to gauge the efficacy of such trinkets, he hoped that when life got precarious for her, the amulet would give a compensating nudge to her confidence, prosperity, and luck.

Maybe. Such things never seemed to work for him.

As he started to slide back into bed a small movement caught his gaze from the corner. A web disturbed the shadows as a small spider danced across it. He opened the Everbag and retrieved a small glass jar.

Every little thing helped.