“Really? What on earth for?” Malcolm’s mind worked feverishly to bend this fact and make it work to his advantage. It was almost too perfect. A person looking for information at the police station on murders committing a murder the next day.
“He claimed he was a writer looking for material for a book.” Henderson studied the preacher closely. The stone face didn't reveal any emotion. Most people were nervous during their dealings with the police. Malcolm Richards was not disturbed in the least, if he was he didn’t show it.
“The man didn’t strike me as the creative type. No accountant I've ever met was very exciting or inventive.” Malcolm looked at him keenly. “What were the discrepancies in the stories?”
“Still going to insist he was your accountant?” Henderson gauged the pastor's passive face and shrugged. “Sure, I’ll play. The names were wrong. He gave one when he was here and your church gave a completely different one. The apartment he lived in was,” Henderson hunted for the appropriate words, “too clean; no dust on the furniture, not spills on the carpet, no personal papers whatsoever; no mail was delivered in either name. I’d bet he’s not been in town for more than a few days.”
“Interesting theory.”
“I think you wanted him found, couldn’t do it on your own, so you arranged a murder to flush him out.” Henderson was angry now. A life taken as a ploy to get the police involved in a manhunt. An incredibly callous maneuver Henderson couldn’t prove. If he could prove it, would he charge Richards? Blackmail, favors, and money were not new in Las Vegas, but he never thought he’d get tangled in something like this. “You can go. I asked the questions I needed to ask but still don’t have the answers I want. From your innocent expression I can tell I’m not going to get anything useful from you. For some reason you want this man found. I’ll bet it has nothing to do with money. I’d also bet you’ll find him first. If I ever see him it’s because someone stumbles on a shallow grave in the desert.”
“You might win some of those bets.” Malcolm rose from the chair and held his hand out. Henderson didn’t shake it. Malcolm shrugged and walked to the door. “I haven’t seen your wife and daughter at the church for about a year, I think.” He said genially.
“That’s right. They changed congregations.” He said. Henderson would defend his family like a tiger if he had to. No one would harm them if he could do anything to prevent it. “I don't know what you deal in, but it's not souls.”
“Pray you don’t find out. Good night, inspector.” Malcolm exited and Henderson shivered in fear.
He could never place it, but there was something wrong with the preacher. Henderson would figure out a story to tell homicide. There was a murder to investigate and a suspect, so things would proceed. It was obvious Richards wanted the man to be caught, or at least hunted by the police. The search would continue. The reasons Richards wanted the man hunted, Henderson refused to speculate.
Shortly before dawn all the vampires gathered in the church, even Thomas. Malcolm ignored him. He was angry the priest had not been found. The retainers would continue to look during the daylight hours but there was no choice, they were forced to sleep. Human retainers needed guidance. Rarely in Malcolm’s long life had he been so aware of how limiting nocturnal living could really be. Nothing was so urgent it couldn’t wait until the next sunset. A madman was hurting his people and he was powerless to stop him.
Malcolm dismissed them. Hopefully the priest would be found in the next ten hours and the church would once again be safe.
Thomas didn’t talk to anyone. He didn’t say he had found the priest. He walked back to his hiding place. When describing the vampire’s sanctuaries in the church, he didn’t tell the priest in what manner he was hidden. At sunset, if all went according to his plan, Malcolm would be dead, a casualty of a rogue priest. Maybe there would be some other losses. He wouldn’t feel any remorse if any of the other vampires killed. His survival was paramount.
Chapter 13
Car Trouble
Father Bryant awoke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and groaned as he swung his feet onto the floor. He twisted and turned his back trying to work the kinks out. The couch was long enough, but the cushions were hard and not wide enough for an adult to sleep on comfortably without falling off when moving around. Slowly he rose, his hair disheveled and clothes rumpled from the unyielding couch. Maggie looked in from the kitchen, smirked at the sight of him, then disappeared again.
“How did you sleep?” Her voice drifted in with the smell of the coffee.
“Pretty lousy.” John shambled into the kitchen and sat at the kitchen table. “Have you slept on your couch before?”
“No, not really. I have a bed. In a room.” She replied curtly. “Coffee?”
“Intravenously, please.” John said as he set his head on the table.
“Are all priests grumpy in the morning or are you special?” Maggie set a steaming mug on the table next to his head.
His hand searched out the handle and he lifted his head up. “Sorry.” John said. The simple word covering the many things he felt sorry about.
Maggie understood and nodded. “That’s all right. Everyone is cranky in the morning from time to time.”
“You still angry with me?”
“It’s a terrible thing to be lead on by a priest. If you knew some of the thoughts I had during dinner two days ago, you’d be shocked.” She said. “I’d be headed straight to Hell.”
“I had some thoughts too,” he stated calmly.
“Father, now I'm shocked!” She laughed. Her laughter was genuine, like everything about her. No hidden agendas; a straight shooter.
“I’m a man as well as a priest.” He said solemnly, maybe a tad regretfully. “I gave up a lot, a whole world for this job, but I’m still human. I’ll probably be having these conflicting thoughts until I die. No way to avoid it.” Before he could say something he might regret he changed the subject. “Are you going to work today?”
“No. I called in sick. We’re going vampire hunting today, remember?” Sarcasm subtly colored the tone of her voice. He could tell she didn’t really believe him.
“This isn’t a figment of my imagination. They’re real.” John said earnestly. “You’ll believe me after today.”
“If this is bullshit I’m going to turn you in.” Maggie said, she was serious, “I’m a police officer. You have to remember that. I swore to uphold the law. I’m risking my career even having you here. You’re a fugitive.”
“I will remember all those things…” John rose from the table with coffee mug in hand, “In the shower. Back in 10 minutes.”
Maggie heard the bathroom door close, the familiar sound of the shower started shortly thereafter.
John emerged from the bathroom with one towel wrapped around his waist, another over his shoulders. Across from the bathroom was an open door to a darkened room. He stepped in and felt for the light switch by the door frame. He found the switch and flipped it on to reveal a guest room with a queen size bed. Sleeping on the couch was unnecessary. Maggie was exacting a small bit of revenge for the way he treated her, lied to her. It was fair, he guessed.
He walked to the kitchen still clad in the towels and saw Maggie with a gun. She was loading rounds into several magazines.
“What do you need that for?” he asked.
“You take care of the supernatural, leave the natural to me.” She loaded the magazine into the pistol and pulled back the slide, chambering a round. She slowly let the hammer in, dropped the magazine, and loaded one more round to top the clip off, and slid the clip back in the gun. She set the safety and put the 9mm in a shoulder holster under her left arm.
“I don't think it is necessary for you to carry a gun.” John protested.
“I do.” Maggie said. “You’re hunting vampires; great. Good hunting. But you said they have humans working for them. The humans are who the gun is for.” She put two full spare clips into her jacke
t pocket. “Get dressed, have breakfast, and then we can get this show on the road.”
John grabbed some clothes from his luggage and dressed in the bathroom. He ran a comb through his short hair and studied his face in the mirror. Even with two days growth of beard he looked like the picture shown on television. There was nothing he could do about his looks or the fact his face was in the public domain for a murder he didn’t commit. If things went as planned he would be out of Vegas by nightfall. The vampires would be dead. If his plan went awry, he would be dead and needn’t worry about anything anyway.
Breakfast was on the table when he got back to the kitchen. “You ate already?”
“Yes. You were asleep for a while.” Maggie said. “It's after 10 a.m. I figured you needed some sleep to clear your head, even if it was on my shitty couch. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of time. Sunset isn’t until 5:30ish.”
“You still don't believe me, do you?” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Sorry, but no, not really, this is real life not fiction.” Maggie replied, almost pleading for him the come back to reality. “I’ll go along with you for the time being. If there really are vampires running a church, you can kill them. If they aren’t real, which is what I believe, then we'll talk to the police and try to extricate you from the trouble you’re in.”
“I see. I know it sounds insane, but thank you.”
“Leave your wallet and any identification here in case this goes south.” Maggie instructed.
“If it goes south…” John repeated. He didn’t finish the sentence as his mind imagined all the ways his quest could go wrong.
They were riding in John's rental car by 11 o’clock. Maggie turned on the radio and searched for some music. She settled on a pop station. Don’t You Forget About Me played as background music for the start of the drive, which then segued to other pop tunes. Maggie lived far from the Strip. Many people in Las Vegas lived away from the noise and tourists. The lights and the gambling and the shows are for the suckers. Most residents stayed away, only going to the Strip when relatives were in town. Vegas was built by the losers, and the majority of the gamblers become losers.
“I noticed you had a spare bedroom.” John said noncommittally.
“Yes. I have a guest room.” Maggie didn’t look at him. Her face had switched to neutral cop mode.
“You had me sleep on the couch.”
“I did. You asked for a couch.”
“I’m not complaining, I’m curious,” John said tactfully. “If you have a guest room, why was I on the couch last night?”
“I wasn’t sure who you were last night.” Maggie turned to face him. “Were you they cute writer I met at work? Were you the suspect in a murder? Were you a priest who lied to me and came looking for help because the cops were looking for you? Were you the fearless vampire hunter?”
“I see your dilemma.” John said. He paused for a moment then quietly added. “I’m definitely not fearless.”
“You turned out to be a bit of all four. And now we are driving back to the church where you are accused of murdering someone so I can help you kill vampires who run a church. You hear how this sounds a bit ridiculous?” Maggie stated flatly, still disbelieving his assertion about vampires, but going along with it for the time being. She could arrest him easily when it proved to be a fiction. In her jacket pocket was a set of handcuff so she could take him into custody. “You being uncomfortable on my couch was revenge. You’ll get over it.”
“Fair enough.” John was getting close to the Strip. He was passing under the 15 when he caught a flash of red in the rearview. A motorcycle cop pulled out of a shadowy place and started to follow his car. John glanced at the speedometer; he was going too fast for the speed limit.
“Shit.” He cursed under his breath. “Trouble.” The lights on the motorcycle started flashing. John turned off onto a side street to get out of the heavier traffic. “When he comes to the window don’t look at him. There’s no reason you should be seen with me. He may not recognize me.”
“What if he does?”
“I don't know.”
The officer parked his motorcycle ten feet behind John’s car, pulled out his ticket book and wrote down the make, model, and license plate of the car before approaching the window. He strode cautiously to the car and tapped on the driver’s side window. This was the most dangerous time of a stop. Officer Donovan was wary every time he pulled someone over. Anything could happen. Every hour of police work was mostly filled with tedious boredom and a few minutes of terror.
John rolled down the window and put his hands back on the steering wheel. He was looking to the right a bit hoping, praying the cop wouldn’t recognize him. Maggie looked out the window like she was bored. The officer tensed. The hair rose on the back of his neck. Something was off.
“Could you shut off the engine?” The officer asked sternly, more a command than a request. John turned to face forward at the question. The officer put his hand on his gun when he recognized the suspect from the church killing.
John’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. He made a split second decision.
“I need you to step out of the...” The cop was cut off by the car shooting backwards into his motorcycle. The bike moved with the dynamic force of a cue ball hitting a lone billiard ball on a pool table. It leapt back and tumbled heavily to the ground, the sound of steel ringing as the Harley Davidson crashed to the pavement. John threw the car into drive and jetted forward before the cop could get in his way. The officer drew his weapon and aimed at the quickly receding car. Two bullets shattered the back window. The car quickly turned a corner and was gone. Donovan ran back to his Harley and hefted the heavy bike up. He straddled the motorcycle and pressed the ignition. Nothing happened. He tried again, still nothing. The impact had damaged the bike. The officer pulled the radio microphone from the cradle and cursed before keying to talk. The murder suspect was near the Strip and a woman with him.
John’s rash choice happened so fast Maggie didn’t have time to think or react. As the car sped away she started yelling.
“Goddamn it! Do you know what the hell you just did?” She was angry. He put her in danger and could have killed a fellow officer.
“Probably a felony or two.” John said blithely, his mind racing. He had to dump the car. He turned onto Las Vegas Boulevard, his eyes scanning in front and behind for any sign of pursuit. He didn’t see any police. “I guess I hit the bike hard enough.” John whispered.
John drove around to the back of the Sahara and parked at the edge of the big parking lot. “What are you doing?” Maggie asked, her voice was flinty.
“Ditching the car and making a phone call.” John got out of the car. “Maggie, if you are going to arrest me I want you to do it now. If you are going to help me then I’ll be back in a few minutes and we can continue.”
Maggie stood silently glowering at him. She was trying to figure out her next move. He was going to the church. She hadn’t decided if she would let him.
“I’ll be back in 5 minutes,” John said softly. “Tell me your decision then.” He turned and walked toward the casino.
Maggie walked to the rear of the car to inspect the damage. The bumper and a bit of the trunk were dented when the bike was hit. The back window was a spider web of cracks by the impact of two bullet holes. Maggie looked around. The parking lot was half full of cars but there was no one around. Should she do her job and take this mad priest in? His story was looking more and more fantastic as his actions became irrational. Should she let him go to the church and arrest him there? Why had her life gotten so complicated because of a simple date? With a vampire hunting priest...
John pulled open the tinted glass door and entered the rear of the casino. The lights were low and the sound of the casino washed over him. Even at 11 a.m. on a weekday Vegas still swirled with activity. Gamblers at slot machines, bored dealers waiting for someone to sit at their blackjack table, bartenders with thimble sized
shots of tequila. The shot glass you could keep was emblazoned with the Sahara logo. John looked toward the walls. The payphones would be in some dark area, probably near the restrooms. He saw a sign for restrooms with an arrow and headed that way. As he walked purposefully through the casino he became aware of music. It was a song he had heard in a recent movie. "Lost in the Shadows" by Lou Gramm. He had gone to the movie because he thought if might be pertinent to his hunt. The Lost Boys was fun, but he now knew the movie vampires were nothing like the real thing.
At a pay phone John fished some change out of his pocket and called the phone number on the rental car key ring. When someone answered John asked for the manager. “Hello, my name is Paul, I’m the manager. How can I help you?”
“This is Father Bryant, I rented a Ford Taurus from you two days ago and I... Uh...”
“You had an accident.” The manager finished with the answer most commonly the reason for such a phone call.
“No, actually, it was stolen.” John blurted it out. He wanted to appear stunned. He continued talking quickly for effect. “I walked out of my hotel this morning and it was gone. I didn’t hear anything, and the keys are in my hand so I don't understand how this happened.”
“Don’t worry, Father.” Paul said in a consoling tone. “It does happen sometimes. What I need you to do is come in today. There's some paperwork.”
“I’m in meetings until 7 p.m. Are you open after 7?”
“No, we close at 6. Can you come in tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, I’m free until 11." John paused and then asked sheepishly, “I’m not going to have to pay for it, am I?”
“No, Father, insurance will cover the loss. Do you need us to send out another car?”
“No. I’m flying out at 2 p.m. tomorrow. I can take cabs for the rest of the time I'm here.” John said genially. He was trying not to be a burden even though he was the root cause. “Should I call the police?”
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