Morrison looked at Kojiro’s house. “We’re curious if there are any valuables stashed away in these big old houses,” he said. “A lot of wealthy people used to live here but many of the houses went untouched. The gangs around here weren’t too smart, right? They were quite possibly living on top of a gold mine and didn’t know it. Yes. There’s still a lot of gold left to plunder in this neighbourhood. I can feel it.”
“Can you?” Kojiro said.
Morrison nodded. “I especially like the look of your house,” he said. “If those swords you brought back tonight are any indication of what’s hiding behind these walls, well I can’t wait to get inside and have a good look.”
Kojiro felt dizzy, like he’d just staggered off a rollercoaster ride.
“What?” he said. “What did you say?”
“Your wheelbarrow,” Morrison said. “I saw everything. Don’t be too hard on yourself stranger. You tried valiantly to keep the tarpaulin down and to keep your treasure hidden. But it was meant to be. You were meant to give your excellent weapons to us.”
Morrison pointed a pale finger towards the house.
“What else have you got in there I wonder?” he said. “Apart from those beautiful swords. More weapons?”
Morrison looked at the young woman with the spiky white hair. “What do you think Miss Minty?” he said. “I like him. He’s interesting.”
Miss Minty shook her head. She didn’t take her eyes off Kojiro.
“You can’t win them all stranger,” Morrison said, turning back to Kojiro. “I don’t think she likes you.”
“Too bad,” Kojiro said. “I really like her.”
“Very well,” Morrison said. His tone shifted from playful to serious. “I’ll say this – you’re trespassing on private property. The punishment for trespassing is death. That’s a rule I just made up now by the way. The punishment is death but I’m going to give you a chance. You give us your swords and this house, and we let you live and be on your way.”
Kojiro’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword. He squeezed tightly as he surveyed the crowd in front of him.
“You’re not real vampires,” he said. “You know that don’t you? You’re wearing contact lenses and false teeth. Sleeping all day, coming out at night – I’ll bet you do that too. It’s just a game isn’t it? You can be anything you want to be in London nowadays. I know all about that.”
“Thank you for your observation,” Morrison said. “Now getting back to the subject at hand, we’ve got a busy night ahead of us with lots of stops to make. I’m sure you understand. Give me the key to your home stranger. Be on your way.”
“No,” Kojiro said.
Morrison bowed his head, as if signalling the end of the discussion.
“Very well,” he said. “In that case we’re going to take the house from you. Not to worry, it shouldn’t take long.”
Morrison reached a hand into his inside jacket pocket. Vey slowly, he pulled out a revolver – a small black handgun with a tan handle. It fit snugly into the palm of Morrison’s hand.
Kojiro’s heart was pounding. He hadn’t seen a gun in years.
“Oh don’t worry,” Morrison said, grinning at Kojiro. “I’ve only got one bullet left and I’m not going to waste it on you. This is for emergencies only and I highly doubt that you’re going to be my emergency tonight. It’s beautiful though isn’t it?”
Morrison tucked the revolver back into his pocket. Without another word, he turned around and walked back into the crowd. Miss Minty went with him.
Kojiro was still in shock. A gun. For the most part, firearms had been rendered useless in London after all the bullets had dried up. But he knew that somewhere out there, somebody would have access to a gun with at least one or two bullets. In all his time, he’d never met that person – until now.
“Have yourself a good evening stranger,” Morrison said, turning back to Kojiro. The Vampire People stood behind their leader, all of them looking at Kojiro with a chilling hunger in their eyes.
“Hit it,” Morrison said.
Jimi Hendrix made way for a new song. Memphis horns blasted out of the speakers and Kojiro recognised the drums, the solid backbeat pushing the music at full throttle. It was a song he loved but in that moment, it sent a shiver down Kojiro’s spine because he knew what it meant.
It was ‘Hold On, I’m Comin” by Sam and Dave.
Chapter 6
Kojiro ran into the house and slammed the door shut.
He kept his back pressed up against the door and waited. Outside, the soul music raced through yet another chorus, making a frenzied dash towards the finish line.
And then what?
Would they storm the castle like a besieging army? That was their best chance but they stood to lose a lot of people to Kojiro’s sword before they overwhelmed him. Morrison was confident – perhaps too confident. The rest of the territory had crumbled in his path. Why would one person defending a big house be any different?
Kojiro was banking on Morrison’s complacency. If taking the house was such an easy night’s work, he’d only need a couple of people to get the job done. It would still be two against one and Morrison could keep the rest of the gang out of harm’s way, just in case the ‘stranger’ had some skills after all.
Would he send them to the front door?
No. He’d send them around the back and look for a way in there. Morrison would assume that Kojiro was preparing to defend the house from the front. His pale-faced goons would break in at the back through an open window or door, sneak up on Kojiro and put a spiked club in his head. Job done.
Did Morrison really think it was going to be that easy?
The music stopped outside. It came to a sudden end, like someone had pulled the plug on the ghetto blaster.
Silence followed.
Kojiro kept his back pressed up against the door and listened. And there it was – footsteps scuttling towards the house like giant mice sneaking up on the cheese from a distant room. The sound came closer, then it disappeared around the back.
Morrison really did think it was going to be that easy.
Kojiro was on the brink of congratulating himself. So far he’d predicted their every move and that was a good sign for things to come. But as he stood there, his back still pressed up against the front door, his blood ran cold. Hadn’t he left the window open in the servant’s kitchen? He’d opened it because of the vile stench but had he forgotten to close it again? If so, it was lying wide open like an invitation.
“You idiot,” he said.
He raced down the hallway. By the time he reached the kitchen at the back of the house, one of the Vampire People was already halfway through the window. A young man dressed in torn denims, with a red, jagged Mohican on his head, was pushing himself onto the kitchen counter. In one hand, he was carrying a short metal pole that looked like something he’d found at a scrap metal site.
When he saw Kojiro, the intruder screamed – an ecstatic lunatic scream that could make the ears bleed. Kojiro saw another gang member in the garden – he was standing at the other one’s back, pushing his comrade through the window and no doubt waiting to follow him into the house.
They looked like teenagers, both of them. Seventeen or eighteen years old. Kojiro saw the zeal and passion in their eyes. These two boys would do anything for their master. They were two soldiers going to war. Kojiro wondered if this was their big chance to prove themselves, to claw their way upwards, out of the lower echelons of the Vampire People’s hierarchy and into Morrison’s favour.
Zander, who are these people? Are they friends of yours?
Kojiro raced past his mother’s corpse.
The first boy was almost through the window. He hissed at Kojiro – a human lizard trying to intimidate the larger threat. His golden canines were a warning on full display. His red eyes were two glowing orbs stuck onto a sickly pale head.
Kojiro grabbed the first boy. He wrapped his fingers around both spindly forearms an
d with a sharp tug, pulled him into the house. There was no weight to the intruder; it was like he was built of paper or sand. Kojiro threw him over the counter and both the boy and his metal pole went crashing down onto the kitchen floor.
The second boy, who had long bluish-black hair not unlike Kojiro’s own, tried to climb in through the window after his friend. There was a fiendish, toothy grin on his face like he was enjoying himself.
Kojiro heard the first boy struggling back to his feet behind him. He didn’t have long to deal with the second one. The black-haired intruder was by now squeezing through the window, forcing himself into the house and coming after Kojiro with murder in his eyes.
There was a knife block on the kitchen counter – a wooden block with a variety of different kitchen knives with their black handles poking out. Kojiro reached out and grabbed the first one that came to hand – a carving knife with a long silver blade and pointed tip. He locked his grip on the handle and stabbed the blade through the black-haired boy’s left eye. The knife went through the eyeball with ease.
The black-haired boy screamed and his body convulsed violently, which was no mean feat considering he was stuck halfway through the kitchen window.
Kojiro had to silence him quickly. He grabbed the boy’s head with one hand and pushed the blade in deeper with the other. There was a sickening squelching sound. The screaming stopped and the boy went limp like a rag doll. Kojiro pushed hard, forcing the dead body back out of the window. The boy fell backwards, landing on the snowy grass outside with a fat thud.
Kojiro quickly pulled the window shut. Then he yanked at the cord beside the blinds, closing them and shutting off the servants’ kitchen from the outside.
The boy with the red Mohican jumped on his back. Kojiro had no time to turn around before the boy was piggybacking him, those spindly arms locked around Kojiro’s throat in a surprisingly tight grip. The boy leaned his head forward and Kojiro heard those golden teeth snapping at his exposed neck.
Kojiro was pushed up against the marble counter. The boy’s stick thin legs were wrapped around his waist and it was getting harder to breathe. The intruder kept lunging at Kojiro’s neck, just like a real vampire. In between these attacks, he would howl at the ceiling like a mad wolf screaming at the moon.
“You’re mine,” the boy said.
Kojiro tried to push the attacker’s face away. He needed time, just a second, to reach for the sword at his waist. But his hands were occupied defending his neck. The vicious onslaught continued for about ten to fifteen seconds. Kojiro felt the boy’s hot, rancid breath spraying his skin. The musty odour, combined with every other vile scent in the kitchen, shot up his nostrils and it was as bad, if not worse than the teeth snapping at his neck.
Boy! You’re being manhandled by a child.
The rotten corpse of Eiji Kojiro didn’t move. Yet it screamed its taunts into his son’s ear. If nothing else, it gave Kojiro fuel to shut the bastard up. With both hands, he pushed the boy’s head away. The intruder kept his legs wrapped around Kojiro’s waist and they staggered across the kitchen together in a blind, unsteady dance. Kojiro lost his footing and they toppled onto the floor. As they fell, Kojiro spun around, letting the boy take the brunt of the impact.
There was a frantic scramble on the ground. Kojiro was faster and got back to his feet ahead of the boy. Instead of unsheathing the sword however, he reached out and grabbed the boy’s neck, locking it around his forearm in a schoolyard choke. Then, like a bully leading his victim across the playground, Kojiro brought the boy to the kitchen table, pushing his face closer to the rotten features of his father.
The boy whimpered like a frightened dog.
“Do you see that?” Kojiro said. “Dad meet, what’s your name boy?”
The boy didn’t answer. He squealed like a wounded animal and tried desperately to wriggle free of his captor’s grip.
“Never mind,” Kojiro said, tightening the headlock. “You like playing make-believe don’t you? Pretending to be a little monster. Well have a good look at the old man here. This is what a real monster looks like. Your master outside has got nothing on this guy.”
Kojiro pushed the boy’s face closer to his father’s mangled head.
“This house stinks of death,” he said. “I stink of death, but you – you’re just a stupid boy in a Halloween costume. Do you really want to die like this? Like your friend just died with a knife in his eye?”
He released his grip and shoved the boy away. The boy fell to the floor, gagging violently, his lungs begging for oxygen.
“Well?” Kojiro said. “Where are your friends now? Why is no one coming to check if you’re okay? They must have heard the screaming.”
The boy clamped a hand over his nose to block out the stench. He stared warily at the two dead bodies sitting at the kitchen table. Kojiro wondered if he was even younger than seventeen – it was possible because when he spoke, his voice was like that of a frightened child.
“It’s all a game,” he said. “That’s what he tells us. We’re just playing games out here.”
“There aren’t any games,” Kojiro said. “Not anymore, not in this city.”
The boy’s breathing was slowing down. A look of world-weary sadness crept over that childish face – a face hidden behind the red eyes and golden teeth, garish accessories that didn’t belong there.
Kojiro and the boy stared at one another across the kitchen. It was a silent acknowledgement of their dire mutual circumstances. Kojiro sighed and sat down at the kitchen table while he too caught his breath. He felt exhaustion creeping around in the outer edges of body and mind. It had been a long day.
About a minute passed before the boy leapt back to his feet. All of a sudden the vampire was back and the child was gone. He was baring his teeth again. He was laughing. The boy hissed at Kojiro as he crept towards the knife block on the kitchen counter. Kojiro let him do it.
The boy pulled out a large chef’s knife with an eight-inch steel blade. His eyes lit up with excitement as he looked at the knife.
Kojiro shook his head sadly. He’d hoped for a better outcome. For a moment at least, he thought he might have reached the boy. To think he’d thought there was a real chance of freeing him, of getting him out of the murderous, brainwashed cult that held him in its grip. Maybe it was too late to help any of them. Best thing Kojiro could do was to put them out of their misery.
He pushed the chair back and got to his feet.
The boy took a step closer, pointing the knife at Kojiro. His pale lips were cracked and dry.
Kojiro backed off towards the kitchen door. He shook his head, pleading silently one last time for the boy not to do it. But the boy paid no attention. He must have sensed weakness because he lunged at Kojiro, slicing wildly at thin air like he was making invisible art. He was fast but crude, with no thought of defence. Kojiro could see it in the boy’s eyes – he was enjoying himself and somehow believed he was invincible – a real vampire, an immortal, something magical in an otherwise pitiful existence.
The xiphos felt heavy as Kojiro pulled it from the scabbard.
The intruder charged, both arms flailing wildly.
Kojiro stood still, awaiting the inevitable. He kept the sword pinned to his side as the boy rushed towards him. When the moment came, Kojiro thrust the sword in a graceful manoeuvre that was as fast and easy as blinking. The xiphos went straight through the heart and Kojiro held it there. The boy wheezed and it sounded like he was whistling a grotesque, tuneless melody. His body shook and after that, silence.
The boy was impaled on the end of Kojiro’s sword. His bloody red eyes were bulging, staring at his first glimpse of eternity. A solitary trickle of blood ran out of his mouth and down his chin.
Zander, oh my God! Eiji, he killed a child!
Took him long enough.
Kojiro pulled the sword out. He caught the limp body as it threatened to topple over. Then he lowered it down gently, shaking his head.
He sheat
hed his bloodstained sword. Then he grabbed the boy under the arms. With his back facing the door, Kojiro dragged the fresh corpse along the kitchen and brought it out into the dark hallway. The body left a long smear of blood on the floor as it was carried through the house.
At the foot of the stairs, Kojiro picked up the body in a cradle lift. Then he carried it upstairs. He took it across the upper hallway towards the guest bedroom that overlooked the street. When he was in the bedroom, Kojiro peered through the window and saw the Vampire People still gathered on the street. He discerned a smidge of concern on their faces but it gave him little satisfaction.
He looked down at the boy’s face. He could have been sleeping in Kojiro’s arms.
“Just a child,” Kojiro said. His voice was hoarse and tired. Maybe he could end this now. Maybe he could send them a message – show them that he was no walkover and just perhaps it would be enough to send them on their way. No one else had to die.
Kojiro walked onto the balcony with the dead boy in his arms. He went over to the edge and looked down at Morrison with cool hatred in his eyes.
Morrison looked stunned as he recognised the boy in Kojiro’s arms. Miss Minty, still standing at his side, didn’t blink.
“Hello again,” Morrison said. There was less swagger in his voice now.
Kojiro heard a few gasps, some muted chatter from down below. “Did you really think it was going to be that easy?” he said.
Morrison’s lip curled in anger. “Maybe.”
“It’s not,” Kojiro said. “But I’m still willing to let you go now. All of you.”
With that, he tossed the body over the edge of the balcony. It fell and landed on the snowy driveway with a thick crunch. Some of the Vampire People hurried over to the body. What followed next was an unexpected outburst of primitive wailing – moans, crying, screaming – as the Vampire People kneeled beside their dead friend. Kojiro was taken aback; he felt like he was spying upon an ancient mourning ritual. But he didn’t look away.
Morrison paid little attention to the dead boy or the outpouring of grief beside him. He kept his eyes on Kojiro. A few moments passed before he clapped his hands in mock applause.
The Future of London Box Set Page 74