Domestic Bliss in Warren, NJ
Though he’s still a Gold Shield Detective with Warren Township Police Department, Heinlein is bored out of his mind. The non-stop adrenaline rush of working with Simon Magus tracking Vampyres and esoteric strangeness on the North American and European continents has warped his dopamine receptors into a craving that can’t be denied. It’s ripping his brain to pieces in this droll suburban New Jersey landscape. It’s like an Internet Porn addiction writ large. His sleep patterns are chaotic. He wanders about his house most nights jumping out of his skin at weird noises and the expected creaks and groans of a sixty-year-old house being battered by winds and weather. He’s developing skins rashes.
He tries not to wake up Leeds with his nocturnal walkabouts – but she’s wise to it all.
“Maybe you should try melatonin…..and cut out the Cutty Sark“, She warily suggests, careful not to trip his hair-trigger temper.
Yeah – that’s another problem.
Heinlein’s own Captain even dressed him down recently at Warren Police Station during a staff meeting.
“Lose that ‘tude, Detective. If you got the rag on, go the Hell home. I don’t need no moody, menstruating Soyboys ’round here…. Go have your period somewhere else.”
Yeah. He had an attitude, alright.
Finally, after days of throwing snapping-turtle snarky bullshit responses at her, Leeds just let loose. Lost her shit.
“What’s crawled up your ass and died, Heinlen? You want to talk – or do I just get my Glock and blow that fat, stubborn Dutch head off your shoulders? I’m tired of your shitty comments, morose face and listless moping around. Either tell me what’s goin’ on or live in the Goddamn garage. This sucks. You’ve been a useless wreck all week. If you got a hot poker stuck up your balloon knot, go see a doctor and get treatment. Straighten up and fly right, there, Loverboy.”.
She was right. He was acting like a real Dickhead. She deserved an explanation.
He made it brief. And looked straight into her eyes.
“I miss him. His mission. I miss feeling relevant. I miss feeling alive. Who we kidding – you know I’m not gettin’ any younger, right? I feel like my life is slipping away…”
Leeds knew it. Women intuit these things. Especially Leeds. She was spooky through and through.
“You miss Simon Magus. You miss hunting Vampyres……” Leeds was as gentle as she could be given how annoyed she was.
“Well, unless a damn Yakwahe emerges somewhere in Warren from its Gray Rock labyrinth and goes on a bender slaughtering kids by the dozen you’re gonna’ be driving yourself crazy.”
Heinlen knew he’d crossed a line. Leeds was the last person in the world he wanted to rub the wrong way.
“I’m sorry.”
Leeds was gracious – as usual – in her tone.
“Look – whataya’ say we take some personal time and get lost – maybe head to Cape May and walk the beach. Eat beaucoup shrimp. Drink a shitload of beer. Fuck all day long and smoke weed in some sleazy, retro 50’s motel. Kick around our options. You know…. I still have a PhD in Anthropology. Maybe I want to make a lifestyle change, too…have done with all this law enforcement horseshit.”
For the first time in more than a week, Heinlen ascended out of his funk.
“It’s a deal” he said, smiling.
That night he slept better. Until he didn’t. He got up to pee – and Leeds wasn’t in bed. Her side was still warm.
Heinlen used the toilet and then searched the house for Leeds. What was going on?
“Hon? Where are ”ya, Babe……”
He looked outside, down the front and back yards – then spotted her.
She was out back, standing with her back facing the house. He could see the red English rugby shirt that she slept in. She was about a half-acre down the rear property where it dips down at their fire pit. There seemed to be a glow pulsating in front of her.
Did Leeds start a fire in the pit at 3:00AM? And why was she frozen as still as a statue facing some oddly rhythmic glow?
Heinlen ran outside in his bare feet, t-shirt and boxer shorts. Something was seriously wrong here…
Leeds was standing with her back to him on the crest of the backyard dip where the fire pit was located. Inside the approximately six-foot diameter brick fire pit was a glowing orb – hovering – above the ground. About two feet in diameter. It pulsed in sequenced intensities – like it was communicating in some kind of light-spectrum morse code. It mutated into evanescent reds, greens and blues – then pale whites and back to green again. Leeds was transfixed by it. Her eyes were glued to the thing. There was also a low-grade hum that he could feel – on his skin. He didn’t hear it – he sensed it crawling up his arms. It made him nauseous almost instantly. He tried quietly speaking a few feet behind her…
“Babe? Leeds, Honey? I’m here, my love…I’m here for you…”
She suddenly started wavering, like she was going to collapse. Heinlen rushed to her side and caught her just as she crumbled backwards. Carrying her in his arms, he backed away from the fire pit. The glowing orb became brighter – blazing red, then faded into pink and yellow. The hum seemed to be lessening. Heinlen moved backwards – careful not to fall with her in his arms – but kept his eyes glued to the orb.
It’s color transformations and radiance slowly dulled. Then – suddenly – it evaporated into the night air. Only a puff of smoke and damp mist remained. Heinlen stood with Leeds in his arms in his pitch-black backyard. He carried his woman home and laid her down in their bed.
Her breathing was normal and her skin temperature felt about right. He applied a cool, damp washcloth to her forehead and – after a few minutes – she started to groan. Then Leeds finally opened her eyes and spoke.
“We’ve got to go to Cyprus. It’s time.”
She then drifted into a peaceful sleep.
The next morning Heinlen was shocked awake by his doorbell at 6:00AM. He’d watched Leeds most of the night while she slept – listening to her breathing and watching her slip deeper and deeper in deep REM bliss. He’d nodded off somewhere around 5:00Am – just when shards of early morning sunlight were cutting through the bamboo curtains like little electric knives.
He grumbled to himself as shuffled towards his front door- still in his skivvies and genuinely pissed. A brown DHL Delivery van was idling in his driveway, and the driver was already working the doorbell again.
“YES?? CAN I HELP YOU??
Heinlen barked out the words as he opened the door. He realized instantly he was being too bitchy and reined himself in. The delivery guy – a young Hispanic dude looking genuinely remorseful for waking a homeowner so early – extended out his hand with a thick envelope in it.
Heinlen took the envelope and examined it.
“Where do I sign?” He asked.
“You don’t. This handover is being video recorded. Facial recognition has already green-lighted my surrender of the package to its proper recipient. That proper recipient is you, Mr. Heinlen. Have a nice day.”
The DHL dude retreated back to his truck as Heinlen locked his deadbolt and headed to his kitchen to make some joe for him and Leeds. It was going to be a multi-cup morning, probably for them both.
“Great” Heinlen grumbled as he walked.
“I was just filmed in my underwear accepting a package from a DHL Courrier….you can’t make this shit up.”
The package – envelope was to slight a term for the thickness of this folder – was from New York. A law firm. Sullivan and Cromwell.
“Holy Shit…”
Heinlen stared at the address. He knew of this firm. It was legendary. Sullivan & Cromwell was founded in 1879. Their offices – 125 Broad Street in New York City – was in “FiDi”. The Financial District. Near the Southern tip of Manhattan Island, close to Wall Street, Battery Park and the New York Stock Exchange. Their New York office alone was rumored to have over 500 lawyers. Sullivan & Cromwell also had offices in Washington DC, Dubai, Los Angeles, Palo Alto and Tokyo.
Inside the sturdy package was an engraved letter in an engraved envelope simply addressed to “Mr. Heinlen”. There was also a small box, inside of which was a flash drive marked “Secure”.
The letter – obviously signed with an old-timey ink Fountain Pen – read:
Dear Mr. Heinlen:
Please be advised that our firm has been retained to represent you in all matters respecting the transfer of assets of the late Father Semyon Thaumaturgus of Paulus Hook in Jersey City, New Jersey, to you.
We have enclosed an encrypted flash drive which triggers your authorizing us to proceed as your lawyers. Insert this flash drive into your laptop and it will automatically configure your hardware to communicate with the mainframe of Sullivan and Cromwell. We ask that you follow the prompts that have been prepared for you. These prompts will include one security question that can only be answered by yourself and will purge all flash drive data if your response is incorrect. Once your identity has been established, our main frame will request your digital signature. Palantir National Security programs and AI will verify that your signature is genuine.
After signing this secure software program, you will become a client of Sullivan & Cromwell. Your signature will be archived and inserted by our lawyers onto all documents enabling transfer of all known assets in the name of Father Semyon Thaumaturgus to you. A “Dead Man” feature is built into our software: once it has successfully completed its task, it will self-delete. Any reclamation of it is impossible.
A complete accounting of all assets and locations of same will be provided to you upon your completion of the security protocols herein. The investment brokerages and accounting firms of record will be continued after the assets have transferred to your ownership.
Welcome to Sullivan & Cromwell. I am Senior Partner Jonathan Avery. I will manage your file and look forward to a long and pleasant professional relationship with you. I, too, knew Father Semyon Thaumaturgus well and will miss him. I continue to serve him – as was his wish. May God rest his soul.
Kindly commence your signature process at this time.
Very truly yours,
Jonathan Avery, Esq.
Heinlen was gob smacked. Numb.
The late Father Semyon Thaumaturgus?
All the financial affairs and commitments of life that required a signature and identity of Simon Magus were in the name of this alter-ego. It was his nom-de-guerre for the modern world. His veiled persona to all who had no need to know the man he really was. He was Simon Magus. But to the world around us, he was a simple Greek Orthodox Priest – Father Semyon Thaumaturgus.
He inserted the secure flash drive into his personal Lenovo laptop and followed the prompts. Going through this program was obviously the only way he could get to the next level and actually talk to Jonathan Avery, Esq. – and Avery was the only guy who had the answers Heinlen needed at this moment.
It took a few minutes to download Sullivan & Cromwell’s proprietary software into his computer. Soon his screen was loading the prompts – most of which were straightforward. Then the “Security Question” was posed.
“SECURITY QUESTION – CAUTION! ONE RESPONSE ONLY IS ALLOWED OR THIS ENTIRE PROGRAM WILL SELF-DELETE. PRESS ENTER IF YOU WISH TO CONTINUE.
Heinlen pressed “Enter” – and then smiled.
It was quintessential Simon Magus.
“PONDER THE INDOMINABLE ROMAN CENTURION FROM CAPPADOCIA. WHAT OATH DID HE DECLARE BEFORE WAGING EVERY BATTLE?”
Longinus was born in Cappadocia, in 10 AD, on the Black Sea coast in Turkey.
Heinlen slowly typed his response, careful not to misspell the words.
“DEUS GRATIA. DEUS VULT.”
Heinlen’s laptop screen when blank – then white with a rotating download symbol. The seconds dragged into minutes. He held his breath.
Finally, the Sullivan & Cromwell masthead appeared with a message.
“CONGRATULATIONS! YOU ARE NOW A CLIENT OF SULLIVAN & CROMWELL. CALL OUR MAIN PHONE NUMBER WHENEVER YOU WISH TO DISCUSS YOUR LEGAL MATTERS. YOUR CALL WILL BE IMMEDIATELY ROUTED TO JONATHAN AVERY, ESQ. EVERY EFFORT WILL BE MADE TO PROVIDE YOU WITH THE WORLD-CLASS LEGAL PROTECTION AND PERSONAL SUPPORT THAT SETS OUR LAW FIRM APART”.
The smell of Black-Rifle coffee Heinlen was brewing wafted down to Leeds’ bed and she followed it like a floating angel into the kitchen, still wearing her rugby shirt.
“URGGGGGG. My head hurts. I need coffeeeee…” She moaned.
Leeds glanced at the laptop screen – now only showing an impressive “Sullivan & Cromwell” masthead.
“Whoa – Sullivan & Cromwell? You serious?” She commented while reaching for his Heinlen’s coffee cup.
Heinlen parsed his words carefully – not wanting to get her upset after her late-night backyard ramblings.
“There’s something up with Simon Magus. I think we’re involved.”
Leeds reached up and put her palm on his right cheek. She then looked into his eyes and said the words.
“He’s gone, my Love. The Archangel Gabriel has taken him home. The Old Ones told me so last night.
He has returned to Jesus Christ.”
Copyright 2026 Jon Croft & Jedediah Croft
www.bogironfoundry.com
Email: vlchek1@gmail.com
Post: BOGIRONFOUNDRY.COM PO Box 2017, Southampton, NJ – USA 08088
