by J. P. Rice
Until the final moment when they dived out of the way. One broke to the right and the other darted to the left, barely avoiding getting smashed. Our speed launched us in the air and it felt like we were levitating momentarily until we dropped like a rock, landed harshly and almost flipped over. The Jeep rocked back and forth, and the thought of it flipping chilled my soul. We would be in serious trouble if we lost our vehicle now.
Bullets pinged off the vehicle again as we rocked to a stop, still upright. Jonathan calmly got us back onto the driveway. With the bulletproof protection, it seemed like the struggle was all over so I leaned back in the seat, muscles still tensed from the action. That was a different brawl than I was used to.
“Oh shit,” Jonathan remarked with worry glued to the words.
I shot up in the seat, leaned to my left and looked through the windshield. There were two trucks racing up the winding driveway, essentially blocking our exit.
“You want to fucking play?” Jonathan said and used his right hand to shift into Four Wheel Low. He jerked the wheel to the right and we jumped up over the side of the driveway and into the grass.
I could still hear gunshots, but none of the bullets were hitting our vehicle. We bounced down the grass hillside with the Jeep rocking back and forth. Now I knew why Jonathan had insisted on taking this vehicle. Smart man.
After a rocky downhill descent that jarred my brain and internal body parts, we hit the paved road and Jonathan pressed down on the gas. The two trucks also took the rough ride down the hillside and they pulled out onto the street about fifty yards behind us.
We drove for about fifteen minutes with them on our tail and came to one of the main roads in King’s Mountain. It didn’t make me feel that much safer, but the public golf course on either side of the road seemed like we were in a suburb. But it was winter and nobody would be using the course.
“Hold on to your asses,” Jonathan warned and jerked the wheel to the left.
Chapter 15
We crossed the other lane, ran over the raised curb and sailed onto the King’s Mountain Golf Course. The two trucks followed suit and all three vehicles started to tear up the beautiful course. Green grass from the fairways fountained up in the air, leaving trails of muddy tire tracks all over the course.
Emboldened from being off the main road, the gunshots from the trucks started again.
“Give me that pistol,” demanded Timson, his pale hand reaching behind his seat. I laid the black gun in his palm and he struggled to get it through the small opening between the seat and the door.
With gun in hand, Timson lowered his window. He turned around in his seat so that he could look out the back window. He stuck the gun out the window and fired. The windshield on the truck directly behind us shattered and the car swerved severely.
Headed for a birch tree, the driver tried to turn the truck, but the moist ground wouldn’t cooperate. The black vehicle skidded and the front passenger quarter panel smashed into the tree. Splintered wood exploded from the impact and smoke poured out of the hood.
The other truck pulled up on our tail, bravely dodging the bullets from Timson’s gun. We drove around the empty golf course, trying to escape, but utterly destroying the landscaping in the process. I couldn’t even dare to estimate how much damage we’d caused already.
Jonathan said, “Stop firing for a second.”
Wondering what he meant, I stopped looking out the back window and faced forward again. Jonathan was racing toward a sand trap that looked more like a ramp. The steep incline led up to a perfectly groomed green.
My stomach tightened, and everything seemed to go in slow motion. The green Jeep charged ahead, hitting the compact sand in the trap. Luckily the vehicle didn’t slow down much from the sand and maintained its speed.
We hit the lip of the sand trap and then we were flying. I slid toward the middle of the seat to try to keep the weight evenly distributed. It seemed like minutes had gone by as we sailed through the air. My hands, dampened by sweat, were clutching onto the front lip of the backseat.
I strained my neck to look out the back window again. I saw the silver grill of the truck come up over the sand trap.
Then we landed, and the Jeep threw me violently to the right. I banged my head off one of the structure bars and felt the Jeep rolling over. Before I could clear my head and blurry vision, the vehicle was resting on its side. Jonathan kicked open his door and struggled to climb up and out. I stood up to help Jonathan keep the door open when a thunderous crash filled my ears.
Jonathan finally got out of the vehicle and helped me to get through the opening and back down to the ground. I turned to the truck and noticed that it had corkscrewed in mid-air and landed upside down. The damage had bent the door frames, so luckily, the men were trapped inside.
Jonathan said, “Help me over here. We just need to get this upright again and we’ll be on our way.” He spoke calmly, but there was an implicit sense of urgency.
I stood next to Jonathan in front of the roof and internally asked the Dagda to lend me some of his super strength. We both leaned down and hooked our fingers under the roof. Unless Jonathan contained some source of power he’d never demonstrated before, this vehicle wasn’t going anywhere.
Jonathan looked over and made eye contact. “On three. One. Two. Three.”
We groaned and grunted as we lifted the heavy piece of machinery. As we lifted it a few inches off the ground, my strength started to feel stressed, telling me there was no way we were getting this thing back on its wheels.
As I stretched and strained every muscle, tendon and ligament, the car rose higher. With the vehicle now a few feet off the ground, I leaned down and jammed my shoulder under the side of the squared hardtop. Now that I had more leverage, I stood up straight, calves burning and trembling.
It appeared we would come up just a bit short until Jonathan’s arms raised up above his head in a Herculean feat of strength. The tires hit the torn up green and it wobbled around. With all the weight released from my shoulders, I looked at Jonathan, my eyes wide, and said, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
As I jumped back into the Jeep, I saw that our stalkers were still trapped in the cabin of their truck, cursing and struggling to get out. Jonathan picked up a huge chunk of displaced grass and tossed it on top of some tire tracks. “Replace your divots, they always say.” He laughed and hopped up into the driver’s seat.
Jonathan casually dug into the center console and pulled out a tiny vial with some white powder in it. He shoved the vial into his left nostril, plugged the other one and tilted his head back. One quick snort and he removed the empty glass and tossed it back into the console. “I just needed some energy after that whole mess.”
Why the fuck was he so calm? Jonathan shifted into drive as someone on a golf cart drove toward us. The man was screaming incoherently and waving a golf club threateningly as he hung out the side of the cart.
Jonathan waved to him as if he were an old buddy saying hello, smiled and peeled out. So much for divot etiquette. He pressed a button on the dashboard marked LP.
My curiosity got the best of me. “What is that?”
“That is the button that covers up the license plate. Glad all that is over.” Jonathan jumped back onto the main road. The Jeep was covered in mud and chunks of grass, but we were on four wheels and on our way home. Then the realization hit me.
Jonathan could have just started a war. I said, “This is really bad. If any of those guys are members of a pack of any kind, this could be really bad.” There was one main wolf pack in Pittsburgh, but these guys could have been members of other packs outside the city.
“Fuck ‘em,” Jonathan yelled.
I argued, “This could start a war. This could be really bad for Pittsburgh.”
He gazed in the rear-view mirror, trying to measure me. I leaned over behind the passenger’s seat as Jonathan said, “They might not know exactly who we are. You killed Mathias, right?”
&n
bsp; I responded, “No. I just shot him in the foot. You know I can’t kill people for the fuck of it.”
Jonathan turned around in his seat, shook his head and pointed at me. He didn’t slow down or swerve as his eyes met mine. He started to say something and stopped himself, then he faced the road again. “Because you’re a pussy. A big fat one, too. You could be the biggest badass in all of Pittsburgh, next to me and June. Instead, you run around crying like a fucking baby. I can’t kill anyone except the supernatural bad guys,” he said the final sentence in a mocking tone.
It was the first time he’d personally attacked me. The words stung a bit, but fuck feelings. His logic was flawed from the start. He’d called ahead, making sure they knew who we were. It mattered not if I killed the lawyer. They had his name. Not mine, thankfully. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but this could cause a lot more bloodshed. Bloodshed in the city I’ve sworn to protect.”
Jonathan snarled, “Fuck you, Spiderman. Go back to high school. If they want to start a war, let them. They killed one of ours first. Roydell is gone. Fucking. Dead. I’ll get all the houses to band together and we’ll wipe those shit stains from the face of the earth.”
Jonathan was lying blatantly. And fuck his Spiderman comment. I’d watched him kill the first man long before Roydell went down. He was starting to sound like Tony Montana and things had ended quite unceremoniously for him.
This was a totally different side to Jonathan. Until now, he’d been like an avuncular benefactor. Within the span of the past twenty minutes, he’d shifted into a lunatic madman. He was almost in a euphoric state of mind from the killing and coke. At least, I assumed it was coke from his incessant finger-tapping on the dashboard.
Another reminder to be careful around him. He was a bloodthirsty vampire. He’d buttered me up with priceless gifts I’d never be able to afford. It was like a roundabout illusion spell that cast him in a better light because he’d given me some valuable paintings and antiques. I couldn’t forget he was a six-hundred-year-old vampire.
“I don’t know. I mean, they did kill Roydell. So maybe we should convene a meeting and call it even?” I suggested.
“Even, my ass. The packs are so disorganized now, we’ll be fine. We didn’t go into anyone’s safe zone and murder them. A fight broke out and some people didn’t make it. They’re lucky I don’t start a war with them over this. They helped him steal the portal. There’s no way a normal human could do it himself.”
He was teetering on the crazy side again. Time to drop that subject. “So who are the Larimores?”
“Timson, why don’t you tell him?” And hand me my water over there,” Jonathan said, pointing to the cupholder next to the glove compartment.
Timson handed over his leader’s bottle of Fiji, and said, “The Larimores are one of the more powerful clans in Philadelphia. It makes sense that they would have it. They’ve been trying to take our blood by offering more to the Hustlers. Nothing worse than your own kind stabbing you in the back.”
Fuckin’ Philly. Not that I had anything against the city, I just didn’t want to travel anywhere to get the portal.
Jonathan said, “I am friends with the Larimores and as custom would demand, no vampire can turn away another vampire without insulting them. We will show up. If they refuse to let us in, then we will take action.”
I recommended, “Why don’t you call first? Like you did with Mathias.”
Jonathan swished some water around his mouth, swallowed and said, “I don’t want to tip them off. We need to catch them unawares. They have vast resources, so we have to act quickly, unexpectedly or they’ll take it out of Philly.”
“When are we leaving?” I asked.
Jonathan answered almost before I was finished, apparently still riding high, “Tomorrow morning. Mathias admitted that he had seen a few members of the Larimores recently and they were returning to Philly tonight. We don’t want to beat them there. I’ll make some calls to allies in Philly. We’ll know when the men with the portal will arrive so we can act quickly.”
“Isn’t it like a five-hour drive, though?” I wondered aloud.
“It is. But where we’re going, we don’t need roads,” he said in a husky voice.
I appreciated the Back to the Future reference. We were getting back to good Jonathan again. “So we’re flying? How long’s that flight?”
Jonathan waited to answer as he passed a car in the left lane. “Less than an hour. I have to think that the Larimores would like to keep the portal close for their own use and to charge others.”
Timson spoke solemnly, “With Roydell down, we’re going to need some more manpower.”
Jonathan added, “I’ll bring Roman and Del Rubio along this time. They are more than capable.”
“Great, more guys who’ve tried to kill me. Don’t you have anyone else?” I asked.
Jonathan huffed out a momentary chuckle. “I hate to burst your bubble, but there aren’t many members of my clan clamoring to be in your fan club. And these men can handle themselves.”
I said, “Better than Roydell, I hope.”
Timson snapped, “Have some respect for the fallen.”
It was hard to have respect for someone who’d tried to kill me and would probably have done the same in the future. “Do you mind if I bring someone like Felix to help out? Someone that can handle themselves.” I tried to be purposely ambiguous.
Jonathan thought about it as he passed another car. “Sure. But make sure he can handle himself.”
“No problem.” I had the perfect person in mind.
Chapter 16
Glenda took a big bite out of her Primanti Brothers’ capicola and egg sandwich. She stuffed a few loose fries and some falling coleslaw into her mouth and then held her finger in the air. She chewed and swallowed the food and asked, “You want me to do what?”
I answered nonchalantly, “Just do another job with me.”
She rubbed her fingers on her napkin and played with her phone, which was on the table next to her food. “But why are you willing to pay double for this one?”
“Each job is worth something different. This job is worth more to me and there is a high danger level. I mean, if you’re scared...” I let the word linger.
Glenda rolled her eyes. “Shut up, you little bitch. I ain’t scared of nothing. What’s the deal?”
I wanted to tell her as little about the mission as possible. “You probably will get a chance to kill some vampires. So there’s that. I could go through all the details right now.”
“I think you had me at kill some vampires. Who are we going with?” she asked and guzzled some of her Iron City beer.
I pretended I hadn’t heard her. “What’s that, now?”
She repeated the question as she stared at her phone.
I said, “We’re going on a private jet so the person has money.” I tried to be purposely ambiguous and hope that the intoxication of a Primanti Brothers’ sandwich coupled with her texting would keep her preoccupied.
She took another big bite, and with her mouth still full, she asked, “Whose plane?”
I bit into my Pitts-Burger and mumbled, “Jonathan.” I made sure she couldn’t understand and ignored her when she asked again. I kept stuffing my face without responding to her questioning. As soon as I finished chewing, I announced, “I gotta go to the bathroom.”
I jumped up from the booth and rushed across the dining room.
I passed the open kitchen where a cook was cracking open an egg and pouring it onto the sizzling flat top. Behind him, another cook was dropping a handful of fresh cut fries into the fryer.
Someone was walking out of the bathroom so I grabbed the door from him and held it open. I peeked back at the table and Glenda was playing on her phone. Perfect.
I hung out in the bathroom like a weirdo because I wanted Glenda to forget about whom we were going with. After a decent amount of time had passed, I went back to the table and slid into the booth. Glenda was texting with
one hand and holding a beer in the other one.
I told her, “So we will be leaving early in the morning. Are you in or out?”
Still staring at her phone, she said, “I’m in. I guess we can go to the bank after the job this time.”
“No need for a bender since we leave in the morning.” I ate a couple of fries that were peeking out of my sandwich.
“Psshhh. Plenty of time for that.” She slammed her beer and waved her hand in the air to get the waiter’s attention. The waiter noticed Glenda making the universal ‘I need a drink’ symbol and nodded at her. “What are you going to do? Wanna party?”
Two years ago, I would have said, Fuck yeah, let’s do it. I reminded her, “I still can’t do that.”
She pursed her lips. “Still? Fuck that shit. I’d go crazy like that.”
I explained, “That’s what I thought would happen at first. It helps to have a whole lot of crazy shit going on so you can take your mind off it. Even if the people around you are drinking like Barney from The Simpsons.”
She looked up suddenly, her lively eyes meeting mine. “Did you hear about the rumble up in King’s Mountain?”
I was glad she was staring at her phone screen again because she would have noticed my wide-eyed reaction. “No. What happened?”
Glenda answered with a smile on her face, “I didn’t get all the details, but apparently it was a messy fight between the vampires and the shifters. Bears and wolves, I was told. Dead bodies all over the place.”
Fuck. Word had gotten around fast. Only a few hours had passed since the incident. I knew this shit could get messy, but arrogant Jonathan didn’t want to hear about it. “That’s pretty wild. Do you know which vamps were involved?”
“My source didn’t know. He said it could start a war.”
The exact word I did not want to hear. Motherfucker. I had been with the vampires and although technically I hadn’t killed anyone, nobody knew that. The lawyer, Mathias, could finger me in a police lineup. I would remain safe if Jonathan kept his mouth shut. But if Jonathan needed to literally throw someone to the wolves, I could be the first to go.