Dark Tidings: Volumes I & II

by Gregory M. Smith

  He still had Aurelia Hernandez to contend with. She was growing desperate for answers about Duke’s assassination and he was wondering if Lin Tang would let that particular matter die down if she did not get immediate results herself. It was unlikely, meaning that the Hunters might have to make a fighting retreat.

  Anyway he looked at it, he was screwed. He’d either lose a well-paying client or he’d lose a well-paying, beautiful, corrupt detective who paid even better.

  It was times like these, Ian wondered how he’d gotten into this game in the first place. Certainly losing his ex-fiancee and her entire family to vampires had something to do with it. But, there had to be more since he was, technically, working for the enemy. Money was a big part (he’d always loved his trucks and expensive clothes) but that couldn’t explain it all. Big trucks and fine clothes meant nothing if he was dead. And he would be dead if anyone on Riordan’s payroll ever found out about his double-dealing.

  “Ian, wait up!”

  Ian groaned. He knew that voice. Yet another reason why he wondered why he’d stuck by these hunters. Jessie was a beautiful girl, no doubt about it, but she was too high-strung and stubborn, with not much of a backbone to back up her bravado. She was still just a child and it had been a big mistake to date her.

  He stopped under a light and waited for Jessie to catch up. She was out of breath, yet another sign that she needed a lot more training if she was going to be an effective hunter. He waited for her to get her wits about her.

  “Don’t tell me you’re leaving,” she said, at last.

  “I’ll be around to help out,” he replied. “When I can.”

  “Humph,” she snorted, crossing her arms and scowling. “Where have I heard that before?”

  “Look, Jessie, I never meant to hurt you or lead you on,” Ian said, after rolling his eyes. “God, I sound like a soap opera.”

  “Well, you wrote the script,” Jessie shot back. “I guess I was just another notch on that gun belt, right?”

  “Jessie, I like you. Really, I do. It’s just that…”

  “That you’re getting better stuff from Aurelia Hernandez,” Jessie assumed. “Sleeping with a snake, you’re liable to get bit, Ian.”

  “It’s not like that,” Ian retorted.

  “Yes, it is, Ian,” Jessie snapped. “I’m not a little girl anymore. Haven’t been for years. I know how it goes. Take care of yourself. You’ve always been good at that, since you are the only person you really care about.”

  Jessie stormed off before Ian could react. He watched her walk away and threw up his hands in disgust. He spun around, cursing under his breath, and continued up to the garage.

  Ryker scanned the area with his night-vision goggles. No heat signatures, human, animal or vampire, disturbed the dense undergrowth running along Jacksboro Highway. Ryker put the goggles back into his backpack. He checked his pistol once more and then slid it into the shoulder holster under his jacket.

  He was careful – for recklessness in this game meant death or worse. In this regard, he had learned well from some of the best at Moonrise, not to mention Marcus Van Niekerk and his fellow mercenaries. Though he was the only member of the Hunters who had not been personally affected by vampires before joining the war against Hominus Nocturna, he made himself a target almost from the start of his new profession.

  He looked down the hill at the garage. The lights were on, always a good sign as Manuel was a stickler for conserving energy when his business was not in use. He checked his watch again, for the umpteenth time and cursed mildly. What was taking so long?

  Finally, his earpiece beeped twice. It was the signal from Horace Garvey in the control room that Ryker could come in safely. The woods around the compound were bugged with miniatures cameras and sensors courtesy of Marcus’s “don’t-ask” connections. Ryker had to wait for the all-clear signal as his identity was confirmed.

  He slung his backpack over his right shoulder and pushed his way out of the trees. Making his way down a barely seen, but well-trodden path, he was at the front doors of the garage in no time. He went in through the left door, which was open, and saw Ian Hendricks’ truck. A moment later, he saw Ian.

  “Hey, amigo, what’s up?” he called out to Manuel, who was shutting the hood of the pickup truck. “Ian, where are you going?”

  “Got things to do, no time to stick around and chat,” Ian said, rather coldly, opening his truck door and climbing in.

  “Say, you told your people not to throw my name around town, didn’t you?” Ryker asked. “Tell them to build their reputations without me. I don’t need the free publicity. I’m supposed to be dead, remember?”

  “God, you are such a dick, Cantrell,” Ian snapped.

  “Wow, that was original,” Ryker mocked. “Where are Jesus and the others? Already down below? Aren’t they meeting to discuss the next move?”

  Ryker was perplexed. He thought Ian Hendricks was full of crap when he claimed to be a big man around town, so he wondered why he was leaving now. The private detective was a key part of the group, their eyes and ears in the outside world. He had to be in on the decision on what to do with the information Ryker had given.

  “We already met,” Ian said, leaning his head out of his now-open driver’s side window. “Start packing.”

  “What?” Ryker asked, now even more confused. “What do you mean start packing?”

  Ian started the truck engine and Ryker suddenly couldn’t hear anything. While he waved away the exhaust fumes, he watched Ian shoot out of the garage, veer left to reverse direction and head for the closed front gate. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Manuel reaching over to push a button on the wall next to the office door. The gate opened and, soon, Ian was out of sight and both the front gate and the garage door were closing.

  “Yeah, nice talking to you, too,” Ryker snorted. “Tell your sister thanks for last night, you stupid inbred redneck.”

  Manuel frowned at the insensitive remark.

  “What did he mean by start packing?” Ryker asked, turning to look at the mechanic, who suddenly had a guilty look on his face.

  “It was Dolores’ and Jesus’ decision,” the mechanic said, avoiding Ryker’s stern gaze. “We’re pulling out. As soon as we can pack up and shut this place down.”

  Ryker was flabbergasted. For once, he was absolutely speechless. Maybe he’d heard it wrong. He always did have trouble catching Manuel’s mangled English.

  “Pulling out?” he asked, incredulous. “You mean, like pulling up stakes and scattering into the wind?”

  “Don’t shoot the messenger, amigo,” Manuel retorted. “But, si, that is what Jesus said. We are going to lie low, at least until all those clan masters leave town.”

  Ryker was beside himself.

  “What the hell?” he scowled. “We’ve got them right where we want them. Where the hell is Jesus? Maybe I can talk some sense into him.”

  “I think we both know how that’s going to end, amigo,” Manuel said.

  Ryker knew and it pissed him off to no end. But, what else could he expect from people who played at war and tilted at windmills? What a bunch of gutless bastards, he thought.

  “Son of a bitch!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

  He took off his backpack and chucked it across the garage. He didn’t care if he smashed the expensive goggles within. He kicked out and toppled a stack of oil bottles, much to the chagrin of Manuel who, nevertheless, declined not to act for fear of being Ryker’s next target.

  “Are we finished with our little temper tantrum?”

  Ryker spun around, seeing Angelica and Marcus standing in the doorway of the office. He wasn’t surprised. He knew a warning was always sent out whenever he arrived at the garage. He rubbed people the wrong way, but screw it. He hadn't survived this long by pussyfooting around or sugarcoating anything.

  “Did you agree with this decision, Marcus?” he asked, accusingly. "I know you did, Angelica, because that's just how you are."
>
  Angelica reddened in anger. "What did you say to me? Listen, vendejo, I seconded the motion to bring you in. Now, you have the nerve to fu–"

  “Please, Angelica," Marcus cut in, raising his hand in front of her face. "Don't stoop to his level. And, for your information, Cantrell, I did not agree. But I will abide by the decision.”

  “In the interest of team unity and esprit de corps,” Angelica added. “Something you should try for a change, Cantrell.”

  Ryker frowned.

  “Come on, Marcus,” he cajoled. “You, of all people, should be on my side. Or least, able to see things from my viewpoint. We might never get another chance like this. Sixteen – count ‘em, sixteen clan masters in one place. We can't let a golden opportunity like this slip away.”

  “Doesn’t matter, my friend,” Marcus shot back. “The decision has been made and we will all abide by it. Cantrell, we asked you into this group because we needed you. We need your expertise, but we need to know if you can stick with us, even when things don't go your way. Can we count on you?”

  Ryker said nothing. He turned away and walked up to one of the windows on the garage door. Looking out through the dirty glass, he saw the traffic on Jacksboro Highway whizzing by. All those innocent people, he thought.

  He abruptly moved to his right, aiming for a red button on the wall that would make the door lift.

  "I can't let you do that, Cantrell," Marcus blurted.

  "Oh, so I don't like a decision – I'm an ungrateful jackass," Ryker sniped, without turning to look back. "But, if you don't like a decision, it's okay? You know what, Marcus? I'd tell you to fuck yourself, but you've got Angelica for that."

  "Why, you ungrateful piece of crap," Angelica snapped.

  "Now, now, Angelica, I'm sure that's just the steroids talking," Ryker said, mockingly, as he went back to trying to open the garage door. "You guys can keep my stuff. I'd rather leave it than spend another minute with a bunch of cowards."

  "That is enough!"

  Marcus' words boomed throughout the garage. Ryker stopped reaching for the red button, instead, let his hand drop. He was no fool and his hearing was still as good as ever. He mentally sifted out Marcus' booming voice and keyed on a sound so slight anyone without his experience would easily have missed it.

  "You'd better pull that freakin' trigger now, Marcus," Ryker snorted, after taking a deep breath. "If it's come to that, this group is completely finished."

  No sound came. Turning around slowly, Ryker saw Marcus pointing a large ominous black revolver right at his head. He recognized it as a .454 Casull, normally a hunting pistol. The bullet wouldn't even leave enough of his head for identification.

  "Always the mercenary, eh, Marcus?" Ryker said rather calmly. "Nothing or nobody interferes with the mission. Not even a colleague. I guess the vampires win. Again."

  Next to Marcus, Angelica was freaking out, unsure of what to say or do. Behind Marcus, Manuel had the phone receiver in hand, no doubt calling everybody up to the garage. Soon, a half dozen, or so, guns might be pointed at heads in this Mexican standoff.

  If that were to be the case, he wouldn't go down alone. When he'd turned, he'd snuck his right hand up inside his jacket and onto the Czech Skorpion submachine pistol in his other shoulder holster. He'd already decided that his regular nine-millimeter Browning was too small to compete with a .454. He pointed the Skorpion right at Marcus, knowing if he fired, the spray pattern would undoubtedly take out Angelica and Manuel as well.

  For what seemed like an eternity, but was actually just a minute, the two men stood opposite one another, perhaps seconds away from tragedy. Neither was willing to so much as blink. Next to Marcus, Angelica was frozen with fear. Nothing in her days as a bodyguard ever prepped her for such a situation.

  "You bloody, conceited, arrogant bastard," Marcus finally said, after a bead of sweat rolled off his forehead and into his eyes. "I will not let you jeopardize this mission, put the gun down – right fucking now!"

  "Make me!"

  A different sound suddenly entered the garage and Angelica stepped forward, even as a look of utter fear spread across her face.

  "No, don't!"

  A loud boom echoed through the garage and out into the once silent night.

  Chapter 10

  Jesus wished he were ten years younger. Then, he would have been at the front of the group rushing toward the garage in answer to Manuel’s frantic call. From what he could make of Manuel’s hurried mix of Spanish and English, people were pointing guns at each other in the garage. He could only think Ian Hendricks, who had been in a foul mood when he’d left the meeting. At least, he hoped it was Ian; the alternative was that Riordan’s people had found their hideout.

  With Dolores watching Kelly and Heidi, Jesus had a rapid reaction force (so to speak) of Wesley, Horace and Jessie. All three of them were close to leaving him in the dust as they approached the stairs to the office. Fortunately, they had to stop at the top to activate the secret door panel. Jesus caught up and, though breathing heavy, forcing Horace and Jessie to get behind him.

  “Michael, talk to me,” he ordered through his headset. “What’s the situation?”

  “Can’t tell,” Lee replied. “I think Manuel took down the interior cameras already.”

  Jesus cursed under his breath. Manuel could never prioritize anything and must have started moving the cameras as they were the easiest task. It looked as if he was going to have to do things the old-fashioned way.

  Letting Wesley take the lead, he moved into the office. Wesley had stopped at the doorway. Then, as if on some mental cue, Wesley, crouching, moved out into the garage, through the bay once occupied by Ian’s truck and took up a firing position by a metal tool cabinet. Jesus moved through the door, brought up his semiautomatic pistol and scanned toward the garage door.

  WTF?

  He spotted Marcus pointing his infamous .454 Casull and Angelica Morales next to him, looking beside herself. Looking past the mercenary, he saw that gun pointed not at Ian, but at someone pointing a submachine back. When he saw the man – he only saw red.

  Ryker!

  It was then Angelica peered over her shoulder and did something he did not expect. She moved into his line of fire. He tried moving out further into the garage to get a new firing position, while Horace took his old spot. He saw Jessie behind Horace and she looked like she wanted to puke. She had a death grip on her .50-caliber Desert Eagle (a gun totally disproportionate to her size but not her ego).

  “No! Don’t!” Angelica cried out.

  Boom!

  The only thing stopping Jesus from shooting Ryker at that particular moment was, the fact that, the sound came from behind him. He and Wesley both looked back to see Manuel standing next to a toolbox that lay on its side on the floor. Manuel himself had a look on his face that was both embarrassed and frightened.

  Jesus looked at Jessie in the doorway and saw her fiddling with her gun. Cristo, he thought. She had gone into action with the safety still on! Just as quickly, he believed it might have been a good thing. As nervous as she was, she could have blown off her own foot.

  “Marcus, what the hell’s going on?” Jesus called out.

  “Why are you asking him?” Ryker interjected. “He’s the one who pulled on me.”

  “Had no choice, Jesus,” Marcus answered. “He was going to leave. I couldn’t take the chance.”

  Jesus didn’t need this, not now. He had a compound to pack up. He had safehouses to reactivate. He had no time for stupidity.

  “Okay, guys, first things first,” he said, slowly. “I am going to lower my gun. When it is on the floor, Marcus, I need you and Ryker to put yours down, too. Okay?”

  “Oh, to hell with this,” Ryker blurted. “I’m not giving you guys any more excuses to shoot me.”

  Abruptly, Ryker pulled his gun back and aimed it at the ceiling. Engaging the safety, he calmly dropped it down by his side. When Marcus and Wesley relaxed their weapons, he crouched, set his
Skorpion down and then kicked it away.

  Jesus breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  “Okay, now that cooler heads have prevailed, anyone care to elaborate on what the hell started this?” he asked.

  “You and Dolores were right, Jesus,” Angelica said, as she slumped against the nearest wall and wiped sweat from her brow. “This vendejo is loco. I guess, maybe, I didn’t want to admit that I had made a mistake backing his membership.”

  Ryker looked daggers at her. “After everything I’ve done for you guys, this is my reward?”

  Jesus felt sick. He had override authority. He could have nullified the vote and kept Ryker and his volatile personality out of the group. He could have explained it to Dolores well enough for her to accept it. But, in the interest of team unity, he hadn’t.

  “Start from the beginning, Marcus,” he said, wearily.

  Marcus looked at his boss; it was obvious he was still steamed. He had to take a moment to compose himself, and even had to hand his gun to Angelica, lest he do something stupid.

  “I’m sorry, Jesus,” Marcus said. “It shouldn’t have come to this, but I could see Cantrell was losing it. He found out from Ian that we were pulling out and flipped. Threw his backpack somewhere, kicked over the pile of oil cans. Totally disrespected Angelica. Just lost it.”

  “Why, Cantrell?” Jesus demanded. “What is it this time? Why is it always something with you?! Do we need to give you a drug test or something?”

  Ryker fumed. His eyes darted about the room, as if he were seeing ghosts. Finally, he just threw up his hands, stifled himself and walked to the other side of the garage.

  “Okay, so I lost it for a moment,” he snapped. “That doesn’t give you the right to put a gun to my head.”

  “He was so agitated, Jesus, I felt I had to stop him,” Marcus blurted. “He wants to go after the clan masters. I’ve been in some lopsided battles in my time, but it’s pure suicide. Even worse, it could lead right back to us and get all of us killed. I had to keep him from leaving.”