by Hall, Ian
He bit his quivering lip. “Democratic circles, I heard. That’s all, I don’t get into all the conversations.”
“Politics?” I bore down on him hard, grinding against the tree.
“He’s got men running all over the place right now.”
Hmm, I’d not been long out of Amos’s pocket, and this revelation sounded new to me. “You got names for me?”
“Not really.” He sweated now, his face covered with beads of perspiration. “We never heard for sure.”
“But you heard something.” I neared another climax. Man, this felt strange even for me. I must have really needed it badly.
“A rumor,”
“So give me the fucking name from the rumor!” I roared at him, my voice instantly dying in the woods around us.
“We didn’t know for sure.”
“Oh, Roy you’re starting to annoy me now!” I rammed my groin hard onto his, more in anger than lust. I looked at the poor boy, now almost useless to me. “The name?”
“Chuck,” He said. “Chuck Eagerson.”
“Where’s he from?” Holding onto an upper branch, I climbed off him and stood pulling my shorts and trousers up.
“He’s a U.S. Senator from Philadelphia.” Roy looked at me dressing, seemingly confused. “You said I could have your ass.”
“Oh!” I said, my face rich in sarcasm. “I kinda changed my mind, woman’s prerogative!” Now that I’d had my way, he looked so immaterial.
Suddenly I heard a rustle of bushes and Valérie bumped into me; invisible Valérie. “Shimmer! Now!” she snapped.
I had just got myself invisible, when Amos and another goon burst into the small clearing, looking at Roy, then all around. “Where did they go?” he spat. “Where is she?”
Roy shook his head. “She’s gone, she disappeared.”
We stood about twenty feet away from my old boss, so animated, so angry, and I swear I could hear my heartbeat. Valérie still held me by the arm, whispering in my ear. “We could take him right now.” She whispered. I know she felt me shake my head.
“Do a circuit,” Amos said to the goon. “See if you can pick up a scent or a sign. I want Valérie found.”
“Yes, Boss,” and he stomped off.
“What did she want?” Amos asked Roy.
The poor guy looked terrified. “It wasn’t Valérie, boss. It was some other broad.”
“Who?”
He shook his head. “I dunno, I never seen her before. She just asked me questions, you know…”
“What did you tell her?” Amos bawled onto his face.
“Nothin’, I swear!” he shook his head furiously.
Leaning as close as Valérie had done to me, I mouthed into her ear, “They’re up to something big. We have to find out what it is.”
To my shock, Amos cocked his head to one side, his eyes alert, listening. I froze, too frightened to move, yet fearing that if we did, we’d be discovered.
He looked around the clearing, then began to move, sniffing as he went.
I glanced at the ground. The quietest path with fewest sticks to tread on lay to our left. I tugged on Valérie’s arm, inching her away from Amos. We’d shuffled ten feet when the goon returned, his feet making a crashing noise. At the instant of the man’s noisy return, Valérie and I took to our heels. Running through the wood proved difficult, as the blurred image slowed us down, but after a while I decided to shimmer visible again.
“Meet you back at the house!” I said over my shoulder, seeing Valérie behind me. “On the corner.”
“Agreed!”
I veered to the north, and ran zig-zag for a while, soon standing outside the burnt remains of our spa. I arrived just a few seconds before Valérie. “What now?”
“I’m not really sure.” Valérie replied. “You stopped me from taking Amos out. How come?”
“It was something his goon told me,” I could tell she was angry with me, but I didn’t really care. “He said that Amos is breaking into politics.”
With that, we ran to my place, where we changed into normal clothes before visiting Georgie.
Valérie Lidowitz, February 1959, Crawfordville, Florida
A safe house four hundred miles away from Amos’s last known position had been chosen as our meeting place. All three of us took separate routes, Valérie and I assigned a driver each.
The sleepy town of Crawfordville, nestling in Florida’s panhandle, was the complete opposite of the heady bustle of Miami. The small house sat in the middle of its own well-kept gardens, men posted on every corner. The three of us sat at a round kitchen table, our Căluşari rolls in front of us.
“Senator Chuck Eagerson,” Georgie’s dark eyebrows clouded over his eyes, “so Amos thinks he can get into politics.”
“It’s just an escalation of his moves in New York,” Finch said, “I recruited communists from college last year.”
I shook at Finch’s attempt to get inside Amos’s head. I’d been with the guy for a century. “He’s had this power-trip idea for years,” I said, “He’ll not stop until he gets enough political power to bring his commie friends over. I’m certain the Council’s behind it all.”
Georgie shook his head. “The Council knows it can’t be done, Valérie. Amos Blanche is a loner on this, and the Council has already decided to chop his hands off.” He leaned over the table. “But you didn’t get that from me, okay? Besides, vampires have tried this before, it just got us noticed. And when we get noticed, sooner or later it all goes wrong.”
“So what do we do?” I asked.
“You guys?” he turned to me, smiling. “You still have your job to do. Paul Ramirez isn’t about to commit suicide. Your mission still stands.”
Finch shook her head. “It’s hardly the big picture anymore.”
“But it still needs to be done.” Georgie insisted.
“What about Amos?” I asked.
“Amos made a huge mistake coming here, but it has worked to our advantage, trust me.” He scratched his chin, his fingertips working in his five-o’clock shadow. “He also showed his major weakness.” He turned to me. I gave him my dumbest blonde look. “Yes, it’s you Valérie, you’re his weakness. Do you know how much he risked trying to get to you? He tipped his hand, and we can use that to our advantage.”
Finch shook her head. “So why send us away on a kinda irrelevant mission, when there’s so much else to do in Philly?”
“We need you out of the way for a few days, just enough time to mobilize the groups in Maryland, New York, and New Jersey.”
I felt quite overwhelmed. “But vampires don’t work well together in large groups. How will you organize them?”
Georgie stood up, announcing the end of the meeting. “That’s why we need a couple of days, ladies. When you’re done with Ramirez, report back to the restaurant. If I’m not there, Roberto, the Major Domo will give you instructions.” He passed a large brown envelope across the table. “Here’s Ramirez’ details again.”
~ ~ ~
Full of pent-up frustration, Finch and I drove down to Orlando.
The house, set in the marshland halfway between northern Orlando and the sea, seemed to be typical modern recently-built Florida style: low, flat-roofed, lots of windows, balconies, sliding doors. We studied it from about half a mile away, new binoculars wedged into our eye sockets.
“There sure are lots of ways to get inside.” I said.
An eight foot stone wall surrounded the property, lots of lawn inside, and no trees or bushes for cover.
“Tell me again, how come I play the tart?” Finch asked, still looking through binoculars.
“Because you lost the toss,” I said, smiling at her chagrin, “and because somebody has to get invited inside, and besides, I’m your elder. You should always respect your elders.”
Finch shuffled in her seat like she’d suddenly become irritated with her slinky dress. She shouldn’t have, it had cost over a hundred dollars. I sat in the driver’s seat, fully
kitted out in Căluşari gear.
“Daylight or night-time?” I asked. “Your call.”
We decided to play it a little on the safe side and go in around dusk, but I have to admit to being a little uneasy when we began to walk along the road towards the house. As we turned the last corner, I shimmered invisible, but kept in step with our poor heroine.
Finch’s expensive black dress flared at the waist and billowed in the slight sea breeze showing an occasional glimpse of thigh. No bra, she looked both the part of the damsel in distress, and a teenager in heat. She carried her high heels in her hands, her make-up smudged around her eyes, like she’d been crying. After our recent encounter with Amos, this seemed distinctly minor league stuff.
But we were here to do a job, and determined not to just go through the motions. Danger lurked here, and we knew we had to be on our toes. As we neared the wall, loud barking rang out from behind the wall.
“Damn,” Finch whispered. “Dogs,”
“How many?”
“Three, I think.”
“Wait here.” I jumped to the top of the wall. “Here doggies, here boys!”
Well, the animals went completely berserk, and I gave a grin.
Three; big, black and mean-looking.
The metal gate across the driveway had a buzzer on one side and when Finch pushed the button, the dogs came rolling to the sound.
“Enough!” roared a voice inside, and to their credit, the three hounds stopped barking, and sat down, looking over their shoulders, as if awaiting a reward.
A guy stepped into view, walking to the gate, followed by another.
“What’s up?” The first one asked simply.
“My car ran out of gas just a bit up the road.” Finch almost cried. She dangled her shoes in one hand and brandished her keys in the other. “I wonder if I can use a phone to call a tow-truck?”
The first guy gave her a good looking over, and it didn’t look like he was looking for concealed weapons. Finch was a good looking girl, and in her damsel gear, she looked stunning. “Gerry? Go check out the car.” He opened the gate and let Finch inside. Gerry slipped past her, took the keys from her hand, and started off along the road. As he passed I got the distinct aroma of vampire musk on the wind. That both surprised and alarmed me. So supposedly Ramirez wasn’t a vampire himself, but he’d recruited vampire guards. I decided to dispel all previous ideas about this hit. Gerry had only got a few yards along the rough gravel when he drew an automatic from inside his jacket. Then he began to run, and soon, with his enhanced speed, had made it to the car in two seconds flat.
I followed on his heels, and decided to deal with him quickly.
With an Aşchie already in my teeth I drew my Bãtranes and ran at the man. With a quick slash across the back of his hand, I severed his arteries, making him drop the gun. He gasped and held his wrist, looking around himself in panic.
Rib number three, I consciously thought, and stabbed the two Bãtrane blades down past his third ribs, feeling the satisfying clink of the blades meeting inside his heart. One twisted blade, one Aşchie slid down the blade, and the vampire fell limp in the grip of my blades.
I waited for the body to wither, but nothing major happened, his skin got a little more wrinkled; another new vampire then. Amos must be recruiting like blazes.
In ten seconds I stood back at Finch’s side as they walked to the house.
“You’ve got a nice place here.” Finch coo’ed.
“Well, it’s not exactly mine, I just work here.”
Finch paused as he opened the door.
“In you go,” he said, motioning towards the door.
Fool.
Once inside, she looked back at the man. “Won’t you join me?” But her eyes looked past his shoulder. Automatic vampire lock overridden, I was inside.
Paul Ramirez
Theresa Scholes, February 1959, North of Orlando, Florida
Paul Ramirez’s place had been decorated in the most expensive terms. Thick white rugs lay on dark, polished wooden floors. The furniture looked expensive, very polished, with intricate woodworking. And the ornaments oozed both class and sophistication, everything glistened. The lighting was modern and trendy, small fixtures on the walls, no lamps. Seemed he’d skimped on nothing.
“Wait here,” the goon said, and swept away down a corridor.
“Valérie?” I whispered into the room, once he’d gone.
“I’m here,” She hissed in my right ear. “Gerry, the goon looking for the car is gone. He was a vampire.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know. It certainly doesn’t match Georgie’s information. I’m going to do a quick sweep of the house. Give me a little time.”
I nodded my acknowledgement as the guard returned, followed by a large set man, I recognized him from his photo: Paul Ramirez, very Cuban, but also having a certain instant charisma too, a dark complexion, and sharp features. The mission had changed slightly, and the whole situation needed looking into further. I just hoped that Valérie would return quickly, as I felt relatively defenseless without my Căluşari roll.
“Al tells me you ran out of gas?” Ramirez said, his words thick with accent.
“Yes, just down the road,” I tried my best to look a little more anxious than I felt. I mean, a single woman wouldn’t feel confident in such a situation, would she? “I just need to use a phone.” I looked around the room in vain. “For a tow truck.”
“Oh, we can arrange that, can’t we, Al?” Ramirez looked at me like a lion approaching a tethered gazelle.
“Yes, Boss,” Al agreed with a similarly lecherous look.
“Come into my office, dear,” he motioned back the way he’d come. “The phone’s back there.”
I paused, then strode timidly after him, sensing Al at my back. If I’d actually been the shy damsel I’d been portraying, I’d be kinda scared by now.
Down the short hallway, Ramirez’s office turned out to be a plush bedroom, dark mustard drapes, pale green carpet, and a huge circular bed that dominated the room.
“I thought this was your office?” I looked around in mock surprise.
He gave another shit-eating grin. “I do all my best work here,” Ramirez laughed at his own joke, then pointed. “The phone’s by the bed, dear.” To my surprise, a young Latino girl reclined in a large wicker armchair next to the bed. “This is Trixie.”
The woman looked about twenty, although she could have been fifteen. Her olive skin was unblemished, very pretty, with long shapely legs that oozed from an expensive pale green silk camisole.
I nodded in her direction, but as I did so, I got distracted by the fact that she oozed vampire pheromone. Her gaze was clouded, as if she couldn’t really focus, or was on some drug or something. Whatever the cause, Trixie stared straight ahead; she looked out of it.
Paul turned to Al, who stood in the opening to the hallway, blocking my escape. “I think I can deal with it from here, don’t you?”
“Sure Boss,” he replied, and left, his grin never faltered.
I walked over to the phone, and picked up the yellow receiver. No dial-tone, nothing. “It’s not working.” I said, placing it back on the stand.
“Oh, we get that sometimes down here,” he said, a smarmy look passing onto his lips. “The humidity plays havoc with the lines. I have some champagne if you’d like?” he opened a door in the wall, to a drinks cabinet lit from inside. Gleaming mirrors, lots of bottles, a large bucket of ice held a huge bottle. Before I could answer, he’d deftly lifted a flute glass and filled it to the top. It spilled in small waves onto the white rug at his feet; he didn’t seem to mind.
“Here you go, my dear.” He pushed it to my hands. I gave the liquid a sniff, trying to contain my amusement at the situation. From the glass, mixed with the thin veil of champagne, lay a trace of something not quite right. An aroma out of place, yet familiar somehow.
And yet, he was pushing the glass to my lips, encouraging me to drin
k its strangely laced contents.
I fumbled the glass, acting as if he’d made me spill it, and the cold liquid sloshed onto my dress. I jumped in shock, spilling most of the rest onto the floor.
“Oh, sorry!” I squealed, looking up into his eyes, displaying mock fear at his possible reaction.
Ramirez’s smile slowly disintegrated. He picked up the receiver, and held it to his ear. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “it’s a dial tone!
Like a wave smashing into a sandcastle he back-handed me with the receiver, the strike high against my cheek sending me sprawling onto the bed.
“I know who you are!” he growled. “Amos warned me about you!” To my surprise, he quickly followed his advantage, holding me down by the throat with one hand, as he tried to force the neck of the bottle into my mouth with the other. The bottle slammed into my lips and teeth as Champagne spilled past my closed lips, up my nose, and into my eyes.
Then Trixie gurgled loudly, and Ramirez looked in her direction, in time to see her arms gripping the wicker chair. She strained against herself, a bloody hole appearing at her chest, just above her left breast. Rib two. Blood drained quickly into her camisole, the dark liquid spreading rapidly down her chest.
Her face distorted in pain, her mouth opening to reveal fully fanged vampire teeth. Then she gasped in death, her body abruptly still.
Slowly a large knife-hilt appeared in her chest.
Paul Ramirez got lifted from me, suspended in midair for a second, then smashed against the drinks cabinet wall, sending glass shards in all directions.
Valérie Lidowitz, February 1959, North of Orlando, Florida
I searched the house in seconds, my Bãtranes swinging in practice arcs in front of me, and in every corner I caught the faint odor of vampire, both male and female.
When I returned to the living room, I saw the goon escort Finch down the corridor.
I heard Finch’s voice in front of me, and Ramirez’s answer, then I retreated back to the living room as the goon walked towards me, leaving his boss with Theresa.