Mr. Smith isn't Afaid of the Dark
an excerpt

“Okay, everyone's on the same orders as last night, so get to it,” Billy said, he then headed for his office.
After filling out paperwork for about an hour, he decided he was in the mood for some music. Billy had always felt he would never make it as a suave, classy vampire, especially because he couldn't pull of being a Lothario, but he had developed a certain love of classic jazz. He plugged the radio in and began turning the dial to his favorite jazz station, hoping to hear the sweet voice of Ella Fitzgerald, the First Lady of Jazz. He had fallen in love with her in 1973 when he heard her sing live at Carnegie Hall.
As he finally dialed up the station, he heard Louie Jameson, the night shifts on-air personality, say “unexpected move, the station got bought out by some ****ty Hip-Hop conglomerate.”
“Watch it, Louie,” said Richard, Louie's producer, said, “HipHopalyptic MegaMusic isn't gonna keep you on if they start having to pay FCC fines.”
“**** th” BEEP “or buying out a great... Nice try on the bleep button, Rich. Anyway, I'm quitting in the morning,” Louie said venomously. “So, thanks for tuning in everyone, now for some sonic fecal matter titled 'Jug-a-Lugs.' Enjoy, if you can.”
Billy laughed. Sonic fecal matter. Clever. It was too bad about the station being sold. Not enough good jazz on the radio waves these days. Too much hip-hip, even though some of it wasn't unbearable.
“You roll up in the club,” sang a woman as the song began. The bass pounded so hard that the little radio rattled on the desk. “You see my jug-a-lugs. And you want in my pants, but I just wanna dance. You know you want it, want it. You know you want my jug-a-lugs.”
“Nice,” said DJ walking into Billy's office. “Have you seen the music video for Jug-a-Lugs? It's one of those songs that causes women to start shaking their breasts. Whether they want to or not.”
“Sounds amazing, DJ,” replied Billy, turning of the radio.
“You don't sound like you think it sounds amazing, Billy-bro,” said DJ skeptically.
“Oh, I'm deadly serious,” said Billy with mock-seriousness as he reached for a phone book from a drawer. “I am so serious, I'm going to look up a plastic surgeon right now, so I can get breast implants, because even I want to shake my breasts at that song!”
DJ grinned and said, “I wish John was in here to tell you you're a sick man, Billy-bro.”
“Yeah, John would've gotten a kick out of that speech.” Billy said with a nod. “So, what's up DJ?”
“This is going to sound ****ed, Billy-bro, but a man wearing a mask and a black cape dropped this off for you,” DJ said, holding out a small cardboard envelope.
Billy took the envelope and began to open it, then paused. “A mask? Really? Like, what? A ski mask?” Billy said questioningly.
“No...” replied DJ hesitantly. “I've never seen a ski mask with that many feathers.”
“Feathers?” Billy asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, bro,” said DJ. Then he started to chuckle. “Bro,” DJ continued, laughing so hard could hardly get the words out. “It totally... looked like... he was... trying... to eat out... a raven!”
Billy furrowed his brow. “I cannot even begin to contemplate why that is so funny to you. So, besides the black cloak and the raven-crotch mask, what else was he wearing?”
DJ stopped laughing. “What would you say,” DJ said in a serious tone, “If I told you that was all he was wearing?”
“You gotta be ****ting me!” Billy exclaimed.
“I am!” DJ said, busting out laughing again. “He was wearing a black suit. Man, Billy-bro, you should have seen your face when I said that. Can you imagine? Dude walks in with his junk all hangin' out and says, 'Hello! I'm the naked courier!'” DJ started doing a jig while wiggling a finger around in front of his crotch. “Naked courier, sir!” DJ said in a singsong voice. “I've got a... PACKAGE for you, sir!”
“Okay,” Billy said chuckling. “That was funny. You're stoned, aren't you?”
DJ shrugged and held up his thumb and forefinger nearly touching in front of his face.
“I see.” Billy placed the envelope on his desk and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his desk. “When you're at work, you smoke these,” Billy said tossing the smokes to DJ, “Instead of smoking pot.” Billy leaned back in his chair. “As an added incentive, I'll leave you with this warning.” Billy leaped out of his chair and grabbed DJ's shoulder. As Billy spoke, his nose was barely a centimeter from DJ's. “If I catch you high at work high ever again,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “I'll kill you while you sleep.” Billy let go of DJ's shoulders and backed away. “Well, now that that's settled, you ought to get back to work, right?” Billy said with a grin.