Down at the precinct, Mortimer Hex is talent scouting. “I’d like to speak to a detective, please.”
A mustachioed man behind the counter types a couple things into his computer. “Name?”
“I don’t know,” responds Mortimer. “Any detective really. On second thought, your best detective.”
Our villain has answered incorrectly, and the man’s mustache droops into a frown. “Your name.”
“Then you should have said that.” He gives the policeman an opportunity to reply before continuing, “Spellwin Godhammer.” This was the name he gave whenever he signed up for an online account, joined a grocery store rewards program, bought a gun, or signed a petition.
“That sounds like a fake name.” You couldn’t get much past this police officer.
Perhaps he was hero material. “Have you considered comparing our existence to a piece of wood, Mr. Halstock?”
“I said, ‘that sounds like a fake name.’” He paused for a moment. “And how do you know mine?”
“It’s on the nameplate in front of you.” Clearly not intelligent enough for a nemesis. “Can I see a detective now?”
“And why do you need to see a detective?”
This is part thirteen of Vile, a novel in progress. Do you wanna see the beginning?