Sam spit a gob of gelato onto the sidewalk and followed it with another hack.
“This tastes like grave dirt,” he said quietly at Dean eyed him and his supposed cup of ‘Monster Mint Madness’ they’d just bought from the shabby ice cream truck.
“What did I say? ’Don’t get anything – just browse the selection,’ but you didn’t want to take the good advice,” Dean replied as the two stepped into the alcove of two closed doors along 4th Avenue.
“We know the Good Humor Man is a friggin’ vampire – you saw how he moved. And we now know that he’s putting some ‘special sauce’ into his cream…” Dean continued, taking on a slightly mocking tone.
“So what are we going to do? Follow him some more? Take him out?” asked Sam, still clearing out his mouth with a bottle of water he had.
Dean looked up the street at the ratty truck, its massive clown head bobbing in the wind.
“No…we stake him and see what he knows,” he stated with a grin as he moved his right hand to his jacket pocket, affirming that he still had the syringe full of blood they’d gotten from a two-day old corpse at the morgue.
“Let’s keep an eye on him for a bit. Looks like business is dying down some. Maybe we go back, order a pushup, and zap him while he’s leaning out the window,” Sam said, to Dean’s nod of approval.