Blood Lust

by JE Gurley

  “Helen,” he called out hardly above a whisper. Ghost-like, she materialized at his elbow almost before he could look up, the ever-efficient secretary. “Have Owens and Jones keep tabs on Hardin and I mean stick to him this time as if their jobs depended on it, which they might. We can’t let him out of our sight.”

  She smiled at him. “Simmons has sort of taken it upon himself to keep tabs on Mr. Hardin. He reported Hardin checked into a hotel after leaving his apartment.”

  Faber was pleased by Simmons’ initiative but somewhat surprised. “I didn’t authorize the overtime.”

  “Simmons isn’t on the clock, sir.”

  “Hmm. Be sure to adjust his record to show that he was.”

  The corners of her mouth turned up as she covered her mouth with her hand to suppress a smile. “Yes, sir. Anything else?”

  Faber paused a minute. “Yes. Have him report to me as soon as possible.”

  As Helen left, Faber leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head, smiling. He admired Clad Simmons, had been certain he would prove a valuable asset when he had hired him. His terrible ordeal in Iraq would have severely damaged most men. Simmons had come through the torture stronger for it. He had taken a personal interest in Hardin after Hardin had killed the adult. Simmons was like the proverbial bulldog: He just couldn’t let go. Now it seemed his instincts had proven right. Faber wished he had more men like Clad Simmons.

  22

  At the offices of the Metro Area Rapid Transit, I flashed my badge and secured an immediate meeting with Oliver McNeil, the manager. As he ushered me into his office, I discreetly checked him out, noticing he was carefully looking me over as well. His eyes bore an unspoken question – Why was I there? McNeil looked to be in his mid-fifties with the broad shoulders and beefy hands of a man who had started as a laborer and had worked his way up. His strong grip as we shook hands bore this out. In spite of his office job, he had only a slight paunch around his waist.

  His office was a veritable museum of memorabilia from a bygone age of transportation – photos of early subway cars, the city as it looked fifty years ago, photos of rough looking men with shovels and pick axes thrown over their shoulders, shelves with rusty lanterns, subway station signs hanging from the walls. He seemed a man who kept at least one foot in the past. A framed engineering degree hung on the wall behind his desk. He ushered me to a chair and sat back in his, grabbing a large cigar from a wooden humidor on his desk. I noticed his well-manicured hands still bore some fine scaring and calluses from past heavy labor.

  “Care for a cigar, Detective Hardin?” He asked with a slight Irish lilt as he lit his with a match, the only way to light a good cigar I’m told. As he inhaled, he looked like a man who enjoyed his cigars.

  “No thank you.”

  He squinted and eyed me with suspicion as he slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Now, Detective Hardin, how can I help you?”

  I leaned forward in my seat. “I need someone who can tell me something about the subway lines that run beneath the old monastery on Bay Street.”

  He spat a piece of tobacco into his trashcan and paused to look at me. “The old monastery, eh?” His eyes lit up. “Say, you’re not the detective that was on the Midnight Monster case, are you?” He laughed. “The press really rode your ass on that one.”

  I leaned back, ready for a verbal assault, but he surprised me.

  “I hate the dodgers myself. All lies.” He looked me in the eyes. “I don’t know how much of what I heard is true, but thank God you got the bugger who was killing those poor girls.” When I didn’t respond, he said, “It’s not over, is it?

  “No.” I decided not to confuse him with details. “The, ah, creature that killed the girls is still out there. I believe it’s hiding in the subway tunnels. I have to go in after it.”

  He pointed his cigar at me like an extra finger and squinted. “You? Alone?”

  I gritted my teeth and nodded. “It’s personal.”

  He chuckled. “I understand vendettas, Detective. The Sicilians don’t have anything over the Irish on that accord. Hell, we’ve carried a grudge against the English for 800 years.” He pushed his seat back and walked over to a large yellowed map on the wall. “This is the only surviving map showing all the tunnels in detail. As you can see, some areas are penciled in. These are a bit ‘iffy’. As far as I know, no one’s been down there in parts of the old tunnel since it was abandoned sixty years ago.” He traced a line with his finger. “This is the Bay Station line. It runs almost directly beneath the monastery.” He glanced at me. “We had to do a little shoring up after the building collapsed in the fire.”

  I tried to look sufficiently chastised but I doubt he was buying my act.

  “This older original tunnel ran into some faults that made digging too dangerous.”

  “Faults?” I asked, curious.

  “A series of caverns. They abandoned the line and started the new one a hundred yards south, avoiding the fault lines.”

  I got up, walked over to the map and followed the red line of the old tunnel with my finger. I ignored McNeil as he scowled as if I was manhandling a sacred relic. “If this creature is using the old tunnel, what exits and entrances are available to it?”

  He chuckled. “Unless it’s got a monthly pass, there are only two ways in and out that aren’t sealed – the Bay Station tunnel emerges above ground a quarter mile west of Bay Station. It could use that tunnel, I suppose. It’s secluded. There’s nothing nearby but warehouses. Or, it could use this air shaft.” He pointed to a dot on the map. “It drops one hundred and thirty-five feet straight down to the ventilator system.”

  I pondered the situation, noting that the warehouse where I had killed the adult was within a mile of the Bay Station tunnel exit. “If we were to seal up the airshaft, it would have only one way in and out, the Bay Station tunnel.”

  “That’s right, unless it wants to go to one of the down line stations.” He chuckled. “That would cause quite a commotion.”

  “Is there any way to stop the trains for a while during the day and seal both ends of the tunnel?”

  He looked at me grief stricken, as if I had suggested putting a torch to his precious trains. “Stop the trains? In the daytime?” He shook his head. “Impossible,” he blustered. “We transport over 50,000 people every day on that line, 10,000 an hour at peak hours. The Mayor would have my head if I even suggested shutting it down.”

  It seemed McNeil and Captain Bledsoe both had felt the Mayor’s wrath, I thought. “Even a few hours would help,” I pleaded.

  He shook his head. “It is impossible.”

  I went back to my chair and collapsed, defeated before I had started. Shutting down the tunnel at night after peak service would only serve to keep the creature out. I needed it inside and trapped during the daylight hours when it was most likely to be there.

  “There’s one other option,” he said, piquing my interest.

  I jumped up, a touch of hope surging in my chest as I returned to the map.

  “There are three points where the old tunnel connects to the new line, the main ventilator shaft and two emergency access tunnels. They, well they provided emergency access to the original tunnel while digging the new one in case of cave-ins. The doors are heavy steel and can be sealed, but with the budget cutbacks we’re experiencing, who knows. They haven’t been inspected in some time.”

  “What about the ventilator shaft?”

  “It’s a concrete lined tunnel big enough to allow a man access to the fans and electrical grid linking the two shafts about midpoint. It connects with the main airshaft I mentioned.”

  “Could the creature use it?”

  “I doubt it. It’s covered by a heavy steel grate locked for safety reasons.”

  “You haven’t seen how strong this thing is,” I commented.

  I examined the area of the map he pointed to more closely. “So, I could enter the old tunnel system here at one of the emergency doors and have som
eone seal it behind me.” Even as I said it, it sounded foolish, like volunteering to walk into the Coliseum to fight the lions with a piece of meat. I knew I needed help. I had relied on Lew over the years to back me up and to keep me grounded when I got a wild idea. I’m sure he would remind me not to be ‘Hardtack’ on this one. I was hesitant to ask Captain Bledsoe for more men, especially since I had resigned the force. Even if he agreed, he would shut me out of the operation entirely and rush in unprepared with a SWAT team. I couldn’t even ask McNeil for help since I no longer had any standing with the force.

  “You look like you’re in a quandary, son,” McNeil said, breaking my dour reverie.

  I grimaced. I decided to be truthful. “I might have misled you a little. I quit the force yesterday in a dispute with my boss. I have no authority to ask anything of you.”

  He slapped my shoulder. “Some of those dead girls were good Catholic girls, Detective. Maybe some you save by doing this will be too. My sainted mother would want me to help. I think I can find a few good men willing to do a little dirt work off the clock.”

  I couldn’t believe my luck. I didn’t know what to say. I just stared at him, my jaws slack.

  “I’ll get a crew on decking over the main airshaft.” He checked his watch, a battered ancient gold railroad watch hanging from a chain and fob. He saw me staring at it. “My father’s. It might take a while. Even if we work all night, I don’t think we can be ready before dawn. Will tomorrow morning be good enough?”

  I thought about another girl dying during the delay, but it couldn’t be helped. I would have only one chance at the creature. If I blew it by moving too quickly, it could leave the area as it had threatened.

  “That will be fine,” I replied. “Have your men meet me here.” I pointed to an airshaft not far from the monastery. “Nine o’clock will do.”

  “We’ll be there.”

  I was taken aback. “We? You’re coming?”

  He smiled. “Son, I know those tunnels like the back of my hand. I explored them when I was a mucker on the new line. I would never send my men to do something I wouldn’t do.”

  I nodded. “All I want from you is to seal the doors after I go in. Don’t take any chances.”

  “Don’t you worry, Detective. It’ll be a bit of a holiday to get out of this office for a while. I need the smell of hot brakes and oil in my lungs every now and then to remind myself where I came from.”

  We sealed the deal with a second handshake. As I left McNeil’s office, I considered my options. I wanted McNeil’s help but was I doing the right thing involving them even this far? I could swallow my pride and ask Bledsoe for help. We could flood the tunnels with men and drive out the creature, kill it at one of the exits, but I suspected the cost would be high. Men would die. Or I could cowboy my way in with six-guns blazing and confront the bastard, mano a monstero. That was what I wanted, but I knew more was at stake than my wounded pride. I had to do it alone – I wanted no more deaths on my conscience – but I had to do it right.

  It bothered me that I would have to wait until morning to get started. Nighttime was the creature’s feeding time. I wanted to catch this thing at home before it had the chance to kill again. I could only pray that tonight it would not kill.

  My preparations were simple. I had the elephant gun. I stopped by a sports store and picked up a pocket full of glow sticks, a powerful flashlight and a roll of duct tape. As I was walking to the cash register, I passed a display of road safety flares. On impulse, I grabbed a couple. I had no idea of what use I would find for them. I had the glow sticks, but a voice in the back of my head said to take them and I always followed my hunches.

  Back in at the motel, Joria greeted me with a questioning look, especially when she saw the elephant gun.

  “You’ve been gone a long time.” She sounded concerned.

  “I had a lot to do,” I replied tersely.

  She waited a few seconds for me to expand on my answer. When I didn’t, she asked, “Have you a plan?”

  “Sort of,” I answered truthfully.

  “Sort of? That doesn’t sound good.”

  “I think it’s using the old subway tunnel for a lair. I’m going to trap it inside the tunnel during the daylight when it’s more likely to be there.”

  She listened attentively but I could see doubt on her face. I, too, had my share of reservations.

  “What do you intend after you trap it?” she asked.

  I knew my answer wouldn’t please her. “I’m going to seal myself in with it and kill it.”

  “What? Are you mad? With that?” She pointed with disdain to the elephant gun. “It will kill you.”

  That was the part of my plan I didn’t like. “It will try, but I’m going to end this killing spree once and for all and if there are more than one left, I want to clean out the nest.”

  “There will be just the one,” she said.

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “How do you know?”

  “The adult spoke to me when I was its prisoner. Only one of its young survives to adulthood. The strongest kills its siblings to secure its territory.”

  That jibed with what the creature had told me, but could I believe either of them. I nodded. “That makes it easier.”

  “When do we start?”

  “We?” I questioned.

  “I’m going with you. You need my help.”

  “Whoa! I’ll pick your brains but I won’t put you in danger. I go in alone.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  She smiled. “That leaves tonight.”

  I felt that old familiar stirring and cursed myself for my weakness, but you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. In spite of what she had done, my desire for her had not diminished. When she stood and slipped off her shorts, revealing no panties beneath, my pulse raced like a Formula One Lotus engine on a straightaway. In a hormonal trance, I watched her shrug off her top and stand in front of me in her naked beauty. Any thoughts that she had lied to me or used me fell by the wayside when faced with her offer of pleasure, a pleasure that I had sampled and enjoyed profusely. I offered no resistance as she assisted me with my clothes. Naked, we embraced. I scooped her up, one hand under her buttocks and the other touching a pendulous breast, and carried here to the bed.

  This time, it was I who took control, not because of any macho sensibilities, but because she was moving too slowly for me. Our lips crushed together as our tongues locked in a wet embrace. She wrapped her legs around my waist so hard I thought she might cut off the circulation to my groin. Luckily, enough blood had already found its way there. I took a breast in each hand as I entered her with one thrust, massaging her nipples until they were rock hard. The French call the orgasm ‘the little death’ and they may be right. Joria could have stabbed me in the heart as my orgasm hit me and I wouldn’t have felt it. She shuddered beneath me and I hoped she had climaxed as well.

  We lay together afterwards, not talking, just basking in our mutual release. I wish it could have gone on forever, but those nagging doubts rose as my manhood fell. Too keyed up to sleep, I dressed and sat in a chair facing the window.

  Night fell like a death pall over the city. Word of the three latest deaths had brought reality crashing back down on people. They scurried from building to building like frightened rats. I stared out my motel window as if expecting to see the creature flying over the city’s skyline. It’s funny what one ponders when waiting for possible death. I had never considered what condemned felons thought of as the clock ticked away their final hours waiting for Death’s sure and certain touch. I figured they had it coming, another kind of punishment.

  I thought again of my first ex-wife, Alicia. We had met when I was a rookie cop making about as much money as our paperboy. She was a waitress, but we made ends meet. She was pretty, a tall, willowy blonde with seductive green cat eyes. Her laughter was a song and she laughed often those first few years. I suppose those long nights waiting up to see if I wo
uld walk through the door after my shift or if some punk in an alley had shot me took their toll on her. I tried to reassure her, but every cop that died, every injured officer wound her up tighter. My wife had been unhappy for years before I realized it and still couldn’t understand why. I thought it was the job, the long hours, the dealing with the dregs of society, but it had been my one-track approach to my job and to her. I had been wearing blinders, focusing on one thing at a time, ignoring the little things that didn’t add up. I was a detective but I didn’t have a clue. Finally, I came home one night and she was gone, no note, nothing. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it had torn me up inside and almost wrecked me. I still had scars down deep where no one could see them but me. She hadn’t run off with the butcher as I had told Lew. I don’t know where she went or what she was doing now. I guess I could have traced her but couldn’t see the need. If she felt that way about me, she was better off alone. At the time, I thought I was too.

  My second ex, Heather, came on the scene two years later. She was wrong for me and I knew it – younger by five years, pampered, beautiful and flirty. That marriage lasted less than a year. We split by mutual consent, but I knew I had not tried very hard to make it work.

  Sleep seemed beyond me, but I knew I needed rest. I heard Joria breathing softly behind me on the bed. I looked at the clock – midnight. I wondered if the creature was even now out searching for his next victim. I took off my clothes and lay down beside Joria but found it impossible to relax. Finally, somewhere between a dream about Joria and I making love and a nightmare about watching her torn apart by a gray shadow, I found sleep.

  23

  Elizabeth Pierce enjoyed jogging at night. The park was too crowded during the day and her job as a police officer meant she had to jog late nights. She knew it was dangerous, but she had taken self-defense classes and carried a five-shot, .25 caliber derringer in her pocket. The sidewalks were well illuminated and only one area of the sidewalk passed near any places of concealment. Besides, in three years, she had met only two other people on her jogs and they were cops patrolling the park. Now, she timed her jogs to coincide with at least one of their rounds. She had been a little leery during the ‘Midnight Monster’ times, but she was twenty-eight and tall, almost 5’9”. She didn’t fit the description of the other victims.