“Okay. Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. I’m going to try to beat them to the punch and set up inside. Be a fly on the wall…see what I can gather.”
“And I’ll just be your friendly neighborhood stalker.”
“Just don’t bite off more than you can chew. If you need help, you back out and get at me, okay?”
I reach for the gun on my nightstand and cock it back as I analyze the silver finish. “I know how to take care of myself, remember? I also know how to use a phone if the scenario calls for it.”
“As long as we’re on the same page.”
“I’m good, baby-cakes,” I snicker.
“Don’t,” Roc growls.
“Look, don’t worry about me. Just make sure your guns shoot right and that your reflexes are on-point.” Roc sighs and presses a set of fingertips to his head.
“Fine,” he says after lifting his head. “Just keep me in the loop. I think we have everything we need for now. We know what we’re up against and what we need to stop them. Only variable is the numbers, really.” Roc stands and walks towards the door, his car keys in hand.”
“Where you off to?” I ask, stopping him before he leaves.
“I’m about to set up shop. We might need some extra firepower.”
“I have more than a fair share of ammo in my trunk, Roc. I can spare a few mags if you need them. It’s not a problem.”
Even after everything I’ve been through, he still insists on holding my hand. It’s overbearing, but at least he’s a real friend.
“As long as you’re being a reckless idiot, I’d rather not pull from your cache. If you bite the bullet, I don’t want it to be because you didn’t have one. ’Preciate the offer, but I’ll make my own. There’s something sacred about making them yourself, anyway.”
Yeah. I can relate. Using something you made to put something nasty down is an experience, definitely. But it’s no secret that I’m doing my own thing these days. It’s also no secret that Roc hates what I’m doing, even if he isn’t going to stop me.
I guess him making his own munitions is just another way of making sure I live to fight another day.
“Do what you gotta do, man,” I say as I close my laptop and stand from my bed. I’m going to head out to Horizon soon.”
“See you on the other side. Stay safe.”
“Always.”
Chapter 9: A Fly on a Wall
The walk to Horizon is an easy one. I’d driven by the club to get a feel for things and managed to park on the street to ensure a clean exit, should things take a negative turn.
Missouri isn’t exactly a ‘busy’ state, and this city isn’t anything like the other places I’ve been. After the working hours are through, pretty much everyone goes home to their wife and kids, or whoever. For those who don’t, the streets are their playground.
Sailor and I had spent more than a bit of time in New Orleans. If you can manage that, you can manage anything. Nightlife, included. We had our fair share of barhopping adventures, both for recreation and for work. The pulse of the city often lies within the streets. That’s something Sailor would always tell me back when I was fresh, and she had a point. A strong one that still holds up till this day.
You can pick up on a culture just by spending the afternoon roaming in its more populated areas…the social spots. Political stances, income, social norms. Society has a way of making outsiders know they don’t belong and that the insiders are welcome wherever they please.
But I learned that at like, five, for other reasons.
When I was a bit older, more recently, on occasion I’d catch shit for dating Sailor, but if you’re racist, you can go to Hell for all I care.
Sailor and I usually had more luck navigating in the cities. Rural affairs worked out, but there were more resources available in densely populated areas. Joel didn’t care either way. He got in, found out what he needed, and did what he had to do. No nonsense. We both adopted that philosophy to an extent, but there were variations.
Sailor and I used to cut up on the town after a job well done. At the very least, push work aside for a few hours to be a couple and live. For the most part, that worked out well, but on more than a few occasions, we caught shit for one reason or another. Sailor was a handful when she started drinking. She wouldn’t necessarily get into trouble, but it was like the weight of the world was finally lifted off her shoulders, and that came with baggage. When I first met her, she was already hunting for leads on what happened to her mom. She even died looking for answers. It was rare that she ever had a moment to truly let her hair down.
Before she became a hunter, her dad was more or less an asshole. He was into some dark paranormal stuff and it warped him. Sailor and her mother got the worst of it. We both had it rough in different ways. I think that’s why we got along so well. We had each other’s back, but I was the one that screwed up and left her to die out there. What the hell was I thinking to let her go alone? The stakes were too high.
“ID, please?”
I step forward and pull out my fake. The guy doing security doesn’t seem too aware of his surroundings. He’s sitting down on a stool collecting a check, and to be honest, he doesn’t have that much muscle behind him.
He looks at my ID, and then me, and back again. He picks his eyes up from my card and hands it back to me after gesturing at me to come inside.
I step into the club and I’m instantly greeted by a colorful array of lights and blazing music. It’s that highspeed stuff; breakneck techno…the right kind of bpm mixed with trap that makes it hard to sit still. The club pulses with the beat and the lights overhead flash with a myriad of changing colors as I make my way towards the bar to find a seat. There’re bodies everywhere; people in their early-twenties living it up on cheap alcohol until reality hits them in the face. I feel like I have room to talk because I was the same way before reality gave me a brutal wakeup call. Gossip, tabloids, random drama, all the bullshit…it all sort of fades away when you’re on the other side.
It’s kind of weird to see how normies live their lives…like life is just theirs for the taking. They have no idea how dangerous this world really is. It’s all paradise until tragedy strikes. Then everything changes.
“You look lost, you okay?” the bartender asks not long after I take my seat. “Looking for someone?” I swivel back on the stool to face him—a middle aged Asian man in a sleeveless, black denim jacket. He bobs to the beat as he fills up the glass in his hand before setting it down and sliding it down to a paying customer.
“Not really. Long week man.”
“Girl problems?” he asks casually. I glare and he responds with a chuckle and shrug, playfully acknowledging my situation. “Girl problems.” He smirks. It’s hilarious that everyone just assumes I suck with women. He reaches for a glass and fills it up with the same stuff he slid to the other customer. “For you. It’s on the house.” I analyze the shot for a bit and shoot it back with no hesitation. I’d rather not drink on the job, but it was more out of courtesy than pleasure.
“Thanks,” I rasp. It burns on the way down.
“No problem.” He hits me on the side of my shoulder. “The night’s young and there’re plenty of honeys out here to choose from.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t think I’m looking for anything right now.”
“And neither are they.” The bartender winks at me and it takes all the will power I have not to ruin his day.
“I’m actually looking for someone… Does the name Trevor ring any bells to you?”
“Why you ask that?”
“You know what? Never mind, it’s stupid,” I say as I stand from my stool. “Thanks for the free drink. It wouldn’t make any sense, anyway.”
“Hey, wait. Hold up.” More often than not, people hate to feel like they’re letting someone down. Catch someone unsuspecting and it can work in your favor, really quick. Who wants to be the guy that gave the stranger a hard time? If the bartender was hiding something
that just meant I was in the right spot and ole’ boy just had something that needed covering. “You didn’t even give me a chance to answer.”
“Didn’t want to bother you over a random person.” I sit back in my seat. The club is a decent size and searching for someone I only have a photo of in blinding lights and loud music doesn’t make for too fun of a night. I have eyes on the main exit, but my night would be a million times better if I could see Trevor for myself. It’d be easier to keep tabs on him once I confirm his location. There’s a chance he’s not even here to begin with. “So do you know him? He’s a friend of my brother…he isn’t answering his phone and they’re supposed to be here. Place is too packed to be looking like ass trying to find someone. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I hear you. This place is the only club worth going to, if you ask me. And I’m not just saying that because I work here.”
“So I’ve heard. Nothing’s really going on anywhere else that’s worth the drive…and just to clarify, you were only half-right about why I’m sitting here. It’s not me with the girl problems. It’s my brother. I appreciate the free drink though, for real. He’s beat up over his first love, and against my elderly wisdom, he thought it would be a bright idea to kick it with one of his friends…in a club.
“Damn, that’s tough, man. How long has it been for him?’
“A few weeks. I don’t think he should be out here, if you want me to be honest. I don’t want him to regret anything later. I’m trying to be the responsible one and make sure he doesn’t screw up.”
“Word? He still has a chance you think?”
“It was a rough patch from what he told me.” I shrug. “All couples go through something from time to time…but it was minor shit. No one was being crazy or cheating. They just needed some space. Couples break up and make up all the time. If he gets hammered and makes a fool of himself it’s gonna be hard on him. Last thing he needs to do is throw himself at anything and everything. Even if it’s over, he needs time. Anyway. Enough about my life. Have you seen Trevor around?”
“He usually hangs out in VIP. He’s good with the owner or something. Guy practically lives here.” The bartender breaks away for a moment to snag a glass and clean it. “Dude’s a night owl.” He sets the glass on the rack and fills up my shot glass without saying a thing. I hide my disgust and mentally prepare to down another shot. Outright saying no would only mess up our flow.
“No, shit. I didn’t know my brother was dealing with a playmaker.” I down the shot and cough. The bartender chuckles.
“He’s not. I don’t know what he does but I don’t think he’s making serious moves in the city. He might just be a socialite or something. Seems like a cool guy. Your brother didn’t say anything about him?”
“Nope. Different crowds. Always been that way growing up. He did his thing and I did mine. We met in the middle.” I push off against the bar and stand to my feet after raising my glass eye-level. “Thanks, man. But, I have a kid brother to embarrass. He’ll thank me later, right?”
“Good luck, bro.”
I move through the crowd while watching for anyone that could be a person of interest. When dealing with the supernatural, people tend to work in your face, but behind the scenes…hiding in plain sight.
Depending on what your fix is, that’s the best way to get things done. Vampires tend to be the most anti-social beings that walk the earth, for example, but if you catch one at work, they may be in the process of charming the pants off their next meal. Well, the more refined ones. Same deal with Werewolves. They do most of their hunting at night and mimic the behavior of normal wolves. From their call to their predatory behaviors; they’re freakishly similar.
Witches and demons have an easier time. They can do pretty much whatever they want whenever they want and you’d never know the difference until it’s too late. It’s the story of Creshell and countless others. If you don’t know what you’re looking for, you don’t know what to avoid.
I try to keep it casual; light, when interacting, but also keep my head above the smoke and mirrors. If someone glances too hard or asks the right questions, without a doubt, they’ve made it on my radar. There’re no second chances in this line of work.
One mistake can either cost you your life or make you one of them; which to be honest, is a thousand times worse. Not to sound like a broken record, but I’d off myself if I was ever in the predicament to turn into something I’m not.
I’d have to, because killing innocents to sate an infection is a pretty shitty thing to do. People struggle for years to get clean from drugs and a good percentage of them fail. I imagine that being a vamp or anything else that craves human flesh is just as bad as starving. You might last a day or two, sure, but I’ve known people who spiral if they don’t get their morning coffee and a stack of freakin’ pancakes.
“Excuse me.” I shuffle deeper through the club, my body pressing against random partiers as I slide through the small, shifting windows made by people trying to socialize. I try to catch the slipstream made by a waitress making her way to what I can only assume is the VIP section, but my luck runs dry. The path she opened, collapses by a sea of clubgoers falling back to their original spots. It’s a minor inconvenience, but at least I know where I’m heading, and where the overcrowding ends.
A few minutes later I manage to make it through the bulk of the crowd and near the entrance of VIP. It’s nothing fancy; a red, roped-off area with the black, leather chairs grouped together with a sofa resting in the middle. In front of that, there’s a pair of bottles buried in a bucket filled to the brim with ice. The waitress I tracked is still there, too. Which is great. She’s talking up everyone there, but mainly Trevor. I can tell she has eyes for him.
There’s five people there, Trevor and four other people. Two girls and two guys, the girls sandwiched in between. It’s impossible to make out what they’re saying to each other, but he seems to be having a good time; hardly down about the loss of his former gal-pal. I use the waitress as a distraction and move closer to the VIP area. I pass in front of the section to get a visual on everyone and confirm that the guy I’m stalking is really Trevor. He’s in all black with a muscle shirt and sleeveless vest, his joggers matching his shoes and combat boots. He dresses like a hypebeast and seems to have no problem when it comes to being the center of attention. Good for him. The more commotion around him, the more I blend in.
Trevor lifts his hand and runs his fingers in through his high-top fade as he responds to a joke and I slip into the background; a wall bordering one of the emergency exits near a pool table, and post up. From where I’m standing, I can see Trevor, but Trevor can’t see me. The same goes for his entourage.
I pull out my phone and shoot off a message to Roc, letting him know I have Trevor in my sights. If he’s who I think he is, it won’t be long until he’s on the move.
Chapter 10: The Event Horizon
Shadowing Trevor from afar is child’s play. Easy work. In fact, after I had gotten situated, the biggest factor wasn’t being seen by him, but by the prospect of having invisible eyes within the crowd. In order to better fit in, I eventually moved from the wall and a bit closer to the pool table. There was a stool and I made myself at home, trying my damnedest to actually look interested in the game. After a couple of rounds, someone asked me if I wanted in, which was even better. It helped pass the time and gave me a chance to better scout my surroundings whenever I had to reposition to line up my shots. The guys I was playing with checked out, too. New grads in between jobs trying to make the best of it. More power to them.
It wasn’t till about one AM that things started to move on the paranormal side of things. Trevor had stood up and stretched, and it seemed like he was getting ready to make his move. I sunk the eight ball not too long after that and made my leave, beating him before he made it to the door. I even managed to make it to my car and get situated before he left the building. And I’ve been waiting ever since.
“Finally.
” I catch him in the trickle walking out from the club a few minutes later. My eyes shift towards the clock in my dash and then back up at Trevor. He reaches into his pockets and pulls out a cigarette and lighter. The outside lights from the club shines on his sleeveless vest, reflecting off the black leather as he sways. He takes a drag and begins to walk, tossing the hood on his vest over his head. Eventually, he turns the corner. I then begin a slow count to twenty in my head. After that, I pull off from my spot and hit the same corner he turned on and drive by.
He’s still walking; still clueless.
I make a right and pull into an empty spot on the side of the street, in front of another car, and turn off my headlights. I wait for him to appear in my rearview mirror and see where he goes from there.
Left.
“Of course,” I mutter. Nothing can ever be simple, can it?
I whip out my phone and shoot Rocco an update; I made it from the club and I’m following him to see what his next move is. A few seconds later he responds and tells me that nothing’s up on his end yet, but he’ll keep me in the loop.
I break away from my phone and glance into my side mirror. He’s stopped. I switch focus into my rear view for a better angle, but it doesn’t get much better. His body shrinks and fades from view once he gets into his car. It’s hard to tell the make and model from this far away and the other cars blocking it, don’t help. I wait for movement, anything at all, but he waits idly. Is he on the phone? Plotting a course? It’s impossible to tell what he’s doing.
Eventually, I catch another person of importance in my mirror. I don’t have a name on him, but he’s definitely one of the guys Trevor was sitting with in VIP. A taller Filipino guy who didn’t seem to talk much. He makes his way to Trevor’s car and enters on the passenger’s side. The headlights on Trevor’s car illuminate and they pull out from their spot. They don’t seem to be turning around, but instead heading directly my way.
Blaze Monroe and the Shattered Heart: A Supernatural Thriller (The Hunter Who Lost His Way Book 2) Page 6