Transylvania's Most Wanted by M L Dunn Page A

Colonel Popov’s men
with white silk handkerchiefs, with red stars, placed in their
breast pockets. Red flashed them his badge and they waved them by.
A couple of TCPD constables stood guard by the elevator doors and
then right by the entrance to the ballroom was another group of
Colonel Popov’s men. Red nodded at them as he went in the
ballroom.
    The ballroom was as long as soccer field,
but not quite as wide. Large, elegant chandeliers hung from the
ceiling and the tables, were covered with white linen. Right then
waiters were setting out the silverware and jack o’ lanterns as
centerpieces. The tables surrounded a dance floor and Sergeant
Hightower stood in the middle of the floor watching a team of about
eight constables look under every table and chair. A couple more
constables stood on the balcony that was accessed from the ballroom
through one of three, large French doors. Inspectors Jones and
Dunne were out there, dressed in street clothes as they were not
assigned to be at the ball, but would be in the hotel.
    “How’s it going sergeant?” Red asked
Sergeant Hightower.
    “Nothing unusual to report chief
inspector.”
    “Tell me how this is going to work.”
    “After the men are done sweeping this entire
floor, I’ll have them set up a table in the area out there,” he
said pointing back toward the top of the stairs. “The musicians
will start arriving soon and well check every piece of equipment
before they are let in here.”
    “Good,” Red said. “What about the
waiters?”
    “Same with them, we’ll pat them down and if
any of them leave this floor and return they’ll be patted down
again. Same with the servers coming up with food. We’ll lift up
every dish and take a look at it. Even stick a spoon in every soup
pot and feel around in there.”
    “Excellent, what about the bathrooms?”
    “Every inch of them has already been checked
and there are no windows for anyone to gain access that way.”
    “Sounds like you got this floor wrapped up
tighter than a drum. No way could a weapon be brought in here.”
    “Thank you sir.”
    “What about one of these dinner knives? Some
of these U.R.R.K. vampires are quite skilled at throwing knives.
Someone might grab one off a table and throw in right in the
prince’s eyeball.”
    Sergeant Hightower walked over and picked up
a knife off a table. “These don’t make for very good throwing
knives,” he said balancing one in the palm of his hand. He poked
the palm of his hand with it then. “They aren’t very sharp either,”
he said. “And it would take quite a throw as that area there is to
be blocked off from the rest of the guests,” Sergeant Hightower
said pointing at the far end of the ball room where a long table,
set on a raised platform, awaited the prince, princess, the
U.R.R.K. delegation and some dignitaries of Transylvania City. “If
anyone unauthorized person approaches there, they will be stopped
by Colonel Popov’s men.”
    “Good,” Red told him, “What about a rifle
from outside?”
    “That is a real possibility,” Sergeant
Hightower said turning around to look out through one of the French
doors, out onto the view of the city from there, “but if that last
set of doors is kept closed and the drapes are pulled,” he said
pointing at them. “No one would be able to see in here from
outside, at least the end of the room where the prince will be
sitting.”
    “Excellent,” Red said just as Inspectors
Dunne and Jones came in from the balcony.
    “Boy don’t you fellas look sharp,” Dunne
said admiring Tom’s tuxedo. “Why can’t I pull such an easy
assignment?”
    “Maybe when you learn to eat your lunch
without leaving a stain,” Red joked, pointing at a small stain on
Dunne’s shirt. “How’d it go out in Draculia? You two turn up
anything on Stone?”
    “No,” Dunne said shaking his head. “We hit
all the hangouts out that way and didn’t turn up any sign of
him.”
    “All right,” Red said. “Why don’t