I introduced myself, lit a smoke, and waited for them to tell me what was troubling them. People didn’t come to me when things were good, only bad, and usually weird. The husband spoke first.

“My name is Sam Griffin, and this is my wife Sadie.”

I exhaled and nodded.

“It’s our son, Ellis,” the wife said. “He’s always gotten into trouble, making friends with the wrong people and taking drugs.”

I exchanged a look with Mo’Lock. They noticed.

“Go on,” I said. “What kind of trouble is he in?”

Now it was their turn to exchange a look.

The husband spoke. “He died.”

“I’m not sure I can help with that.”

Sadie Griffin took over. “He died a month ago. We buried him . . . but he keeps coming back.”

“Back?”

“He comes to our house every night and knocks on our door, calling to us.”

“Do you answer?” Mo’Lock asked.

“No,” said Sam. “My father is from the old country and he told us tales of the dead returning home.”

I thought about it. Sounded like a vampire, definitely some kind of undead. I needed to know more.

“How did your son die?”

“Overdose . . . we thought.”

“Was there an autopsy?”

They both shook their heads.

It seemed pretty routine. It wasn’t going to end well for anybody involved but I figured I could solve this one and get back to drinking by morning.

I told them my rates. They didn’t flinch. I told them I’d be at their house a little before midnight, and they left.

I had a few hours to blow so I downed some pills and lay on the couch. This hangover was giving me a run for my money. My head pounded. My stomach lurched. Even my eyes hurt. I was in no mood to deal with vampires but I needed the cash. Bills were piling up.

I felt myself drifting away. I could only hope I wouldn’t have nightmares.

I arrived at the Griffin house around eleven forty-five. Mo’Lock came with me. They had a nice place in Sherman Oaks off Ventura Boulevard. Wasn’t too big, not too small, the perfect upper-middle-class residence in the perfect upper-middle-class neighborhood. The place gave me the creeps.

I rang the bell. They answered quickly, like they were waiting by the door. As soon as the door opened, the stink of garlic hit me like a twister. It fucking reeked. The couple stood in the doorway. She had on no less than a dozen rosaries, and ol’ Sam was wearing a wreath of garlic cloves around his neck. Old-country methods of scaring off the undead. Most of the time that shit didn’t work but I didn’t have the heart to tell them.