Bloodsucking Fiends

by Christopher Moore

  “Anybody know what any of this stuff is?” Tommy asked.

  Barry said, “I’d say that this is the crew that we were wondering about. This whole thing is automated.”

  Barry stepped up to one of the consoles and all the screens and lights winked out.

  “I didn’t touch anything,” Barry said.

  The fog horn on Alcatraz sounded and they looked out the window toward the abandoned prison. The fog was making its way across the bay toward shore.

  “How’s our time?” Tommy asked.

  Drew checked his watch. “About two hours.”

  “Okay, let’s check that lower deck.”

  As they came down the steps, Lash said, “Nothing. More art, more electronics. There’s no galley, and I can’t figure out where the crew sleeps.”

  “There is no crew,” Tommy said as he started down the steps to the lower deck. “It’s all run by machines.”

  The floor of the lower deck was made of diamond-plate steel; there were no carpets and no wood: pipes and wires ran around the steel bulkheads. A steel pressure hatch opened into a narrow passageway. Light from the bridge two decks above spilled a few feet into the passageway, then it was dark.

  “Drew,” Tommy said, “you got a lighter?”

  “Always,” Drew said, handing him a disposable butane lighter.

  Tommy crouched and went through the hatch, took a few steps, and clicked the lighter.

  “This must lead to the engines,” Lash said. “But it should be bigger.” He knocked on the steel wall, making a dull thud. “I think this is all fuel around us. This thing must have an incredible range.”

  Tommy looked at the lighter, then back at Lash, whose black face was just highlights in the flame. “Fuel?”

  “It’s sealed.”

  “Oh,” Tommy said. He moved a few more feet and barked his elbow on the metal ring of a pressure hatch. “Ouch!”

  “Open it,” Drew said.

  Tommy handed him the shotgun and lighter and grabbed the heavy metal ring. He strained against it but it didn’t budge. “Help.”

  Lash snaked past Drew and joined Tommy on the ring. They put their weight on it and pushed. The wheel screeched in protest, then broke loose. Tommy pulled the hatch open and was hit with the smell of urine and decay.

  “Christ.” He turned away coughing. “Lash, give me the lighter.”

  Lash handed him the lighter. Tommy reached through the hatch and lit it. There were bars just inside the hatch, beyond that a rotting mattress, some empty food cans and a bucket. Red-brown splotches smeared the gray walls, one in the shape of a handprint.”

  “Is it the fiend?” the Emperor asked.

  Tommy moved back from the hatch and handed back the lighter. “No, it’s a cage.”

  Lash looked in. “A prison cell? I don’t get it.”

  Tommy slid down the bulkhead and sat on the steel floor, trying to catch his breath. “You said this thing had an incredible range. Could stay out to sea for months, probably?”

  “Yeah,” Lash said.

  “He has to store his food somewhere.”

  Inside the vampire’s vault, just above his face, a computer screen was scrolling information. A schematic of the Sanguine II lit up one side of the screen with nine red dots representing the vampire hunters and Lazarus. Green dotted lines traced the patterns of their movements since they had boarded the ship. Another area of the screen recorded the time they had boarded and another showed exterior views of the yacht: the raft tied up at the rear, the dock, fog sweeping over the Saint Francis clubhouse. Radar readouts showed the surrounding watercraft, the shoreline, Alcatraz and the Golden Gate in the distance. Optical disk drives recorded all the information so the vampire could replay it upon awakening.

  Motion detectors had, upon sensing Barry’s presence near the console on the bridge, activated switches that rerouted all of the ship’s control to the vault. The Sanguine II was wide awake and awaiting its master.

  “How’s our time, Lash?” Tommy asked.

  “About an hour.”

  They were gathered at the stern of the yacht, watching the fog roll into shore. They had searched the entire ship, then gone back through it again, opening every closet, cupboard, and access panel.

  “He’s got to be here.”

  “Perhaps,” said the Emperor, “we should go ashore and set Bummer on another trail.”

  At the mention of his name Bummer yapped and worked his head out of the Emperor’s pocket. Tommy scratched his ears.

  “Let him out.”

  The Emperor unbuttoned his pocket and Bummer leaped out, bit Tommy on the ankle, and shot through the hatch.

  “Ouch!”

  “Follow him,” the Emperor said. “He’s on the trail.” He ran through the hatch, followed by the Animals and Tommy, limping slightly.

  Five minutes later they were standing on the diamond-plate floor of the engine room. Bummer was scratching at the floor and whining.

  “This is stupid,” Barry said. “We’ve been through this area three times.”

  Tommy looked at the section of floor where Bummer was scratching. There was a rectangular seam, ten feet long by three feet wide, sealed with a rubber gasket. “We didn’t look under the floor.”

  “It’s water under the floor, isn’t it?” Jeff said.

  Tommy got down on his knees and examined the seam. “Troy, give me one of those swords.”

  Troy Lee handed him a fighting sword. Tommy worked the tip under the rubber gasket and the blade sank into the seam. “Get that other sword into this crack and help me pry it up.”

  Troy worked his sword into the seam and they counted to three. The edge of the panel popped up. The other Animals caught the edge and lifted. The floor panel came up, revealing a coffin-length stainless-steel vault two feet below the floor. Bummer leaped into the opening in the floor and began running around the vault, leaping and barking.

  “Well done, little one,” the Emperor said.

  Tommy looked at the Animals, who were holding the floor panel up on its edge. “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet the owner of this vessel.”

  Drew let go of the floor panel and jumped into the opening with the vault. There was just enough room in the opening for him to move sideways around the vault. “It’s on hydraulic lifts. And there’s a shitload of cables running in and out of it.”

  “Open it,” Troy Lee said, holding his sword at ready.

  Drew pulled at the lid of the vault, then let go and knocked on the side. “This thing is thick. Really thick.” He reached up and took Troy’s sword, worked the blade under the lid and pried. The sword snapped.

  “Christ, Drew! That sword cost a week’s pay.”

  “Sorry,” Drew said. “We’re not going to pry this baby open. Not even with a crowbar.”

  Tommy said, “Lash, how’s our time?”

  “Forty minutes, give or take five.”

  To Drew, Tommy said, “What do you think? How do we get it open? A torch?”

  Drew shook his head. “Too thick. It’d take hours to get through this. I say we blow it.”

  “With what?”

  Drew grinned. “Common items you can find in your own kitchen. Someone’s going to need to go back to the store and get me some stuff.”

  Cavuto watched Troy Lee’s Toyota turning around, put down his binoculars, and quickly backed the cruiser into a driveway behind the shower buildings. He hit the redial on his cell phone and the gate guard answered on the first ring.

  “Saint Francis Yacht Club, gate.”

  “This is inspector Cavuto again. I need to know the registered owner of the Sanguine Two.”

  “I’m not supposed to give out that information.”

  “Look, I’m going to shoot some guys in a minute. You want to help, or what?”

  “It’s registered to a Dutch shipping company. Ben Sapir Limited.”

  “Have you seen anyone coming to or from that boat? Crew? Visitors?”

  There was a
pause while the guard checked his records. “No, nothing since it came into harbor. Except that it fueled up last night. Paid cash. No signature. Man, that baby’s got some fuel capacity.”

  “How long has it been here?”

  Another pause. “A little over three months. Came in on September fifteenth.”

  Cavuto checked his notebook. The first body was found on the seventeenth of September. “Thanks,” he said to the guard.

  “Those guys you had me let in are causing trouble. They took a boat.”

  “They’re coming back through the gate. Let them do what they want. I’ll take responsibility.”

  Cavuto disconnected and dialed the number of Rivera’s cell phone.

  Rivera answered on the first ring. “Yeah.”

  “Where are you?” Cavuto could hear Rivera lighting a cigarette.

  “Watching the kid’s apartment. I got a car. You?”

  “The kid and the night crew are on a big motor yacht at the Saint Francis yacht club—hundred-footer. Boat’s called the Sanguine Two; registered to a Dutch shipping company. They’ve been out there a couple of hours. Two of them just left.”

  “He didn’t seem like the yachting type.”

  “No shit. But I’m staying with the kid. The Sanguine Two pulled into port two days before the first murder. Maybe we should get a warrant.”

  “Probable cause?”

  “I don’t know—suspicion of piracy.”

  “You want to call in some other units?”

  “Not unless something happens. I don’t want the attention. Any movement from your girl?”

  “No. But it’s getting dark. I’ll let you know.”

  “Just go knock on the damn door and find out what’s going on.”

  “Can’t. I’m not ready to interview a murder victim. I haven’t had any experience in it.”

  “I hate it when you talk like that. Call me.” Cavuto rung off and began rubbing a headache out of his temples.

  Jeff and Troy Lee were running through the Safeway aisles, Troy shouting out items off Drew’s list while Jeff pushed the cart.

  “A case of Vaseline,” Troy said. “I’ll get it out of the stockroom. You grab the sugar, and the Wonder Grow.”

  “Got it,” Jeff said.

  They rendezvoused at the express lane. The cashier, a middle-aged woman with bottle-blond hair, glared at them over her rose-tinted classes.

  “C’mon, Kathleen,” Troy said. “That eight-items-or-less bullshit doesn’t apply to employees.”

  Like everyone who worked days at the Safeway, Kathleen was a little afraid of the Animals. She sighed and began running the items over the scanner while Troy Lee shoved them into bags: ten 5-pound bags of sugar; ten boxes of Wonder Grow fertilizer, five quarts of Wild Turkey bourbon, a case of charcoal lighter, a giant box of laundry detergent, a box of utility candles, a bag of charcoal, ten boxes of mothballs…

  When she got to the case of Vaseline, Kathleen paused and looked up at Jeff. He gave her his best all-American-boy smile. “We’re having a little party,” he said.

  She huffed and totaled the order. Jeff threw a handful of bills on the counter and followed Troy out of the store, pushing the cart at a dead run.

  Twenty minutes later the Animals were scrambling through the Sanguine II with the bags of supplies for Drew, who was crouched in the opening with the stainless-steel vault. Tommy handed down the boxes of fertilizer.

  “Potassium nitrate,” Drew said. “No recreational value, but the nitrates make a nice bang.” He tore the lid off a box and dumped the powder into a growing pile. “Give me some of that Wild Turkey.”

  Tommy handed down some bottles. Drew twisted the cap off one and took a drink. He shivered, blinked back a tear, and emptied the rest of the bottle into the dry ingredients. “Hand me that broken sword. I need something to stir with.”

  Tommy reached for the sword and looked up at Lash. “How we doing?”

  Lash didn’t even look at his watch. “It’s officially dark,” he said.

  CHAPTER 34

  HELL BREAKS LOOSE

  A wave of anxiety washed over Jody as she woke up. “Tommy,” she called. She leaped out of bed and went into the living area, not stopping to turn on the light.

  “Tommy?”

  The loft was quiet. She checked the answering machine: no messages.

  I’m not going to do this again, she thought. I can’t handle another night of worrying.

  She’d cleaned up the mess from the police search the night before, put lemon oil on the wood, scrubbed out the sinks and the tubs, and watched cable TV until dawn. All the time she thought about what Tommy had said about sharing, about being with someone who could understand what you saw and how you felt. She wanted that.

  She wanted someone who could run the night with her, someone who could hear the buildings breathe and watch the sidewalks glow with heat just after sundown. But she wanted Tommy. She wanted love. She wanted the blood-high and she wanted sex that touched her heart. She wanted excitement and she wanted security.

  She wanted to be part of the crowd, but she wanted to be an individual. She wanted to be human, but she wanted the strength, the senses, and the mental acuity of the vampire. She wanted it all.

  What if I had a choice, she thought, if that medical student could cure me, would I go back to being human? It would mean that Tommy and I could stay together, but he would never know the feeling of being a god, and neither would I. Never again.

  So I leave; what then? I’m alone. More alone than I’ve ever been. I hate being alone.

  She stopped pacing and went to the window. The cop from the night before was out there, sitting in a brown Dodge, watching. The other cop had followed Tommy.

  “Tommy, you jerk. Call me.”

  The cop would know where Tommy was. But how to get him to tell? Seduce him? Use the Vulcan nerve pinch? Sleeper hold?

  Maybe I should just go up there and knock on the door, Rivera thought. “Inspector Alphonse Rivera, San Francisco PD. If you have a few minutes, I’d like to talk to you about being dead. How was it? Who did it? Did it piss you off?”

  He adjusted himself in the car seat and took a sip from his coffee. He was trying to pace his smoking. No more than four cigarettes an hour. He was in his forties now and he couldn’t handle the four-pack-a-night stakeouts—going home with his throat raw, his lungs seared, and a vicious ache in his sinuses. He checked his watch to see if enough time had passed since he’d last lit up. Almost. He rolled down the car window and something caught him by the throat, cutting off his breath. He dropped his coffee, feeling the scald in his lap as he reached in his jacket for his gun. Something caught his hand and held it like a bear trap.

  The hand on his throat relaxed a bit and he sucked in a short breath. He tried to turn his head and the clamp on his throat cut off his breath again. A pretty face came through the window.

  “Hi,” Jody said. She loosened her grip on his throat a degree.

  “Hi,” Rivera croaked.

  “Feel the grip on your wrist?”

  Rivera feet the bear trap on his wrist tighten, his hand went numb and his whole arm lit up with pain.

  “Yes!”

  “Okay,” Jody said. “I’m pretty sure I can crush your windpipe before you could move, but I wanted you to be sure too. You sure?”

  Rivera tried to nod.

  “Good. Your partner followed Tommy last night. Do you know where they are now?”

  Again Rivera attempted to nod. On the seat next to him, the cell phone chirped.

  She released his arm, snatched the gun out of his shoulder holster, flipped off the safety and pointed it at his head, all before he could draw a single breath. “Take me there,” she said.

  Elijah Ben Sapir watched the red dots moving around on the video screen above his face. He had awakened feeling gleeful about killing the fledgling’s toy boy, then he saw that his home had been invaded. He was hit with an emotion so rare it took him a while to recognize it.
Fear. It had been a long time since he’d been afraid. It felt good.

  The dots on the screen were moving around on the stern of the boat, scrambling in and out of the main cabin above. Every few seconds a dot would disappear off the screen, then reappear. They were getting in and out of a raft at the stern.

  The vampire reached up and flipped a series of toggle switches. The big diesels on either side of his vault roared to life. Another toggle and an electric winch began grinding in the anchor.

  “Move, move, move!” Tommy shouted into the cabin. “The engines started.”

  Barry came through the hatch carrying a bronze statue of a ballerina. Tommy waited at the stern of the yacht with Drew. Troy Lee, Lash, Jeff, Clint, and the Emperor and his troops were already in the raft, trying to find room to move around the paintings and statues.

  “Over,” Tommy said, taking the statue from Barry as the squat diver went over the side into the arms of the waiting Animals, almost capsizing the raft. Tommy threw the statue down to the Emperor, who caught it and went to the floor of the raft with its weight.

  Tommy threw a leg over the railing, and looked back. “Light it, Drew. Now!”

  Drew bent and held his lighter to the end of a wax-coated strip of cloth that ran across the stern deck and through the hatch to the main cabin. He watched the flame follow the trail for a few feet, then stood and joined Tommy at the rail. “It’s going.”

  They went over the rail backward and the Animals obliged them by stepping aside and letting them both hit the floor of the raft unimpeded. The raft lurched and righted itself. Tommy fought for breath to give a command.

  “Paddle, men!” the Emperor shouted.

  The Animals began to beat the water with their paddles. There was a loud clunking noise from the yacht as the transmission engaged and the raft was rocked as the twin screws engaged and began pushing the yacht away from them.

  “Rivera,” Rivera said into the cell phone.

  “The yacht is moving,” Cavuto said. “I think I just aided these guys in looting it.” He unzipped a leather case on the car seat, revealing a huge chrome-plated automatic pistol, a Desert Eagle .50-caliber. It fired bullets roughly the weight of a small dog and kicked like a jackhammer. One shot could reduce a cinderblock to gravel.