Chan raised an eyebrow at Matt.
Matt shrugged.
Chan eased around the crowd and over to Matt. “What makes this worth your time?”
A large smacking sound caught Chan’s attention. One of the women had switched to a heavier whip and was using it on the man’s thighs. He grunted with obvious pain each time she hit him.
Matt leaned closer to Chan. “If anyone’s going to get carried away and do something stupid, they’re usually going to do it here. Those women are regulars; the guy’s a newbie. He thinks he can take a lot, but he can’t take what they can give him. The one with the big whip has a tendency to become . . . enthusiastic. We’re down a few staffers tonight, so I’m helping make sure everyone exits gracefully when he says he’s had enough.”
Chan shook his head. “What a way to make money.”
“It’s a way to make a lot of money,” Matt said.
“Enjoy your games. If Sam’s here, I’ll find him.”
“I already told you,” Matt said. “He’s not.”
Chan headed out of there to the rows of play spaces, four on a side, that formed the center of the basement. The corner rooms all offered dirt play areas. The rest held beds and slings and metal crosses and other stuff Chan didn’t recognize, all of it on concrete floors. None of the corners was occupied, so Chan was able to search them quickly. He picked up his pace, time slipping away from him. The two staffers patrolling these spaces shook their heads as he poked the dirt holes but left him alone.
He found nothing.
The woman vampire had been right, and now he’d wasted more precious time. It was nearly one, so he had only an hour left, maybe two, but maybe even less.
He took the stairs two at a time to the main level and pushed his way through the crowded bar and out the main doors.
No cabs were in sight.
He pulled out his phone to look up the number of a cab company and order one, but before he could complete the search, a white and green taxi pulled to the curb in front of the club. Two men and a woman climbed out of the back seat.
As they were paying the cabbie, Chan cut in front of the two men who were about to get into the vehicle.
“I need this cab,” he said.
“So do we,” the nearer one said. He pointed at half a dozen other people who were waiting behind him. “And so do all those people.”
Chan stepped between him and the car. “Not as much as I do.” He pulled his money clip from his right front pants pocket and peeled off a bunch of twenties. “For your ride and theirs.” He swung into the cab and flashed a hundred at the driver. “Ignore them. Take me to the garden behind the Hyatt across from the Ferry Building. Get me there as fast as you can, and this is yours.”
The woman nodded and gunned the car forward. “What’s so important there?”
Chan stared at the rearview mirror until she caught his eye.
“No problem,” she said. “Do you mind if I play music?”
“Yes,” he said.
She shrugged. “Your money, your ride.”
He nodded, partly in agreement with her, partly by reflex, most of his attention directed inward. He would search for signs of recent digging. There should be guards, probably near the grave. Matt would have to make an appearance for Sam to finish, but until he did he would have men in place. He’d hate losing that control over the process, but it was the only way he could run the club as usual—and misdirect Chan with his presence there.
It had almost worked. If the vampire hadn’t tipped him, Chan would still be there, growing ever more frantic because he’d searched everywhere there was any dirt at all, everywhere there even might be dirt.
Chan took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and rolled his neck on his shoulders.
The cab sped down the wide street toward the bay.
He’d be there soon enough. There was time. He might be cutting it close, but the tip had saved him. If the two teams in the alley were any indication at all of the quality of Matt’s people, handling the guards would neither be much trouble nor take much time.
Matt’s people.
Something about them bothered him.
He’d seen only two upstairs, another four on the main floor, two more walking the basement halls.
And three more, plus Matt, in that one room.
Four of them, a dozen onlookers watching two women whip a man tied to a raised wooden altar.
Raised.
Raised three feet off the ground.
With a four-by-eight plywood top.
A three-foot-deep, three-foot-wide, seven-foot-long container, plenty big enough to hold a shallow grave’s worth of dirt.
And a body.
Damn.
“Take me back to Changes,” Chan said, “as fast as you can.”
“We’re almost at the Hyatt.”
He peeled off another hundred and handed it to her. “For this part of the trip. Another when we get back.”
“Mister, are you okay?” she said. “I mean, I appreciate it, but if you’re sick—”
He leaned forward and cut her off. “Drive! I’m fine, but I have to get back there. Now!”
“Okay,” she said. “It’s your money.”
Chan clenched his fists and pounded them hard onto his thighs. Stupid. He’d bought the vampire’s story. He’d bought Matt’s safety explanation. Matt had played him perfectly.
He had to hope his original estimates were right and he still had time.
To focus himself, he visualized each step. Get there. Pay the cab. In the front door. To the stairs on the right. Down them. Back to the room. Deal with whatever he found there.
He couldn’t see past that, because he didn’t know what he’d find.
He didn’t even know if he could take four of them in that small a space. Matt would close the area, and Chan would be alone in it with all four of them.
He’d have to figure it out.
The driver pushed the car faster through the streets.
He’d be there soon.
He hoped it would be soon enough.
* * *
He dropped the second hundred on the seat next to the cabbie and was out of the car before she could pick it up. He wanted to sprint for the door but made himself walk instead. Matt could have alerted his staff, so they’d be looking for any excuse to throw him out—any excuse that the other people in the club would buy. Matt wouldn’t risk a scene in front of all those customers.
At the front door, Chan showed his wristband to the man by the door and said, “Forgot to say goodbye.”
The guy made a show of inspecting the band but finally waved in Chan when the people behind him in line started to complain.
Chan headed for a group of three men and three women crowded in a corner, drinking and laughing. As he approached them, he pulled out his money clip. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but I could really use your help.”
Their conversation stopped. They all stared at him as if he had pissed on their shoes.
He held up his money clip so they could easily see the thick wad of hundreds. “I’ve giving a friend of mine a special show in the basement,” he said. “He loves an audience, and I want to make this great for him. Would you be willing to come watch?”
“Just watch?” the woman nearest him on his right said. In her incredibly tall, see-through heels she stood almost eye to eye with him. “We don’t play outside our group.”
Chan nodded. “Just watch.” He cleared his throat. “Look, this is really important to me, so I’m willing to give a hundred each to the first dozen people who come with me. No obligation. I’m not soliciting anything. I just want an audience.” He peeled off six of the bills. “That’s it.”
“Are you some kind of cop?” the woman said. “We don’t need that shit here. We’re not doing anything wrong. You’re not going to entrap us.”
Chan couldn’t afford to invest more time. He stuffed the money in his pants and held up his hands. “No, I’m not,”
he said. “Forget the money if it bothers you. I want an audience. That’s it.”
The woman made eye contact with each of the others in turn and then shrugged. “Sure, we’re game. If it turns out to be fun, you can buy us drinks later. If you’re bullshitting us, though, we’ll tell everyone we know about you, and you’ll find this place a whole lot colder the next time you visit.”
“Thanks,” he said. He wasn’t willing to spend more time finding others. Six would have to do. “Follow me.”
He led them down the stairs into the basement and straight to the large room. Floor-to-ceiling faded black drapes had been pulled from each side to cover it completely. A closed for cleaning sign hung from the ties that held the two drapes together in the center. One of the men in a Changes shirt stood, arms crossed and legs spread, beside the sign. His eyes flickered in recognition when he saw Chan, but he otherwise did not react.
“I thought you said—” the tall woman said to Chan.
He cut her off. “It’s invitation-only.” He picked up speed, feinted toward the man, and then walked into the room in the gap between the left side of the drapes and the wall. “Come on in.”
“You can’t—” the staffer by the center of the drapes began.
Chan didn’t hear the rest because he was inside, holding the curtain aside, yelling “Follow me,” to the people with him, turning his head, and seeing in an instant—
—the painted plywood lid of the altar leaning against the far wall of the room—
—Matt standing beside the coffin and looking down into it, a gentle smile on his face—
—a hand pushing out of the dirt—
—two men in Changes shirts turning toward him—
Many things happened at once: Chan ran to Matt. Matt noticed him. The first of the onlookers burst in. The staffer from outside parted the curtains. The other two stepped toward Chan.
Chan grabbed Matt’s shoulder and pulled the Do Not Turn order from his inside jacket pocket at the same time.
Matt opened his mouth to speak and raised his hand to hit Chan.
Chan leaned close enough to Matt’s ear that he could whisper into it. “Don’t,” he said. “It’s over. I have his instructions. They’re legal. Let me do what I have to do, and nothing happens to your business.”
“I could kill you,” Matt whispered back.
Chan crooked his head at the people watching them from the corner. “In front of them?”
Matt lowered his hand and shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re taking away from him,” he said.
“Yes,” Chan said. His words caught for a second in his throat. “Yes, I do.”
Three more people poked their heads around the opposite corner of the drapes. “Hey, what’s going on?”
Matt glared at him for a second. “I hope you remember this for a very long time.”
“I will,” Chan said. “You know I will.”
Matt nodded. “Sorry for all the drama here, folks,” he said. “It’s just part of the show.”
A second hand pushed its way out of the dirt.
Chan released his grip and turned to face the crowd. “As it turns out,” he said, “we’re not quite ready here. Sorry.”
“Whatever,” the tall woman said. “You promised us drinks.”
“They’re on the house,” Matt said. “Gentlemen,” he motioned toward the two staffers who had crept closer to Chan, “please take these fine folks upstairs and make sure we comp them for the rest of the night.”
“Are you coming with us?” the tall woman said, staring at Chan.
“No,” he said, “but my friend here will join you.” He clapped Matt on the back. “I need to finish up here.”
Matt stared at Chan for a moment before he said to the man by the drapes, “Give him all the time he needs in here, and make sure no one disturbs him.” He motioned to the other two staffers and walked toward the onlookers. “Shall we all go get those drinks?”
He held aside the corner drapes as all the people filed out. As he turned to follow the last one, he paused and looked back at Chan. “I was trying to help him.”
“Not your choice,” Chan said.
Matt shook his head. “You’ll understand one day, and then you’ll realize what you’ve done to him.” He paused. “Don’t come back here, Diego. Not ever.”
Chan nodded. “I hope I won’t need to.”
Matt left.
The arms now extended from the dirt past the elbows. Chan stared at them for a moment and took a slow, deep breath.
No point in delaying this.
He undid the clasp holding one of the stakes in his sleeve, pulled it out, and put the piece of purpleheart through his belt. He grabbed the two elbows and pulled upward until Sam was sitting in front of him, his entire torso visible above the dirt. Sam was fully clothed. A red dish towel covered his friend’s face.
Chan removed it.
Sam opened his eyes and immediately squeezed them shut. After a few seconds, he eased them open again, letting in the dim light slowly. He swiveled his head back and forth, his eyes wild, his jaw working but no words coming out.
Chan noticed a small cup of water on the left end of the edge of the altar and put it in Sam’s hands.
Sam chugged the water.
Three seconds later, he grabbed his stomach, bent forward, and threw up the water onto the dirt in front of him. “Oh, God,” Sam said. “That’s not right. Why did that hurt so much?”
Chan shook his head and waited.
Sam scanned the room again, this time more slowly, and then focused on Chan. “So this it?” he said. “Matt turned me, and it worked? You see it, but until it happens to you . . .” His body trembled at the memory.
“Yeah.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone,” Chan said. “It’s just us.”
“I feel sick,” Sam said. “Weak. Really weak. I thought they were strong.”
“They are. You would be. You need to drink first, though.”
Sam nodded. His eyes went to Chan’s neck, as if he could see the pulsing of the blood right through the jacket’s collar and Chan’s long hair. When his eyes again met Chan’s, his fangs had extended. “Would you let me?”
“No,” Chan said. He held up the Do Not Turn statement that Matt had filed with the San Francisco authority four years earlier. “I’m here to respect your wishes.”
Sam glanced at Chan’s waist and saw the stake. “You mean, you’re here to kill me.”
Chan wouldn’t let himself look away. “Yes. Matt turned you against your wishes, and I’m here to fix that. You always said you never wanted to live as one of them.”
“I’m not so sure of that now.”
“You went over and over this with me. You signed the statement. You made me take a copy. You made me promise I’d come if anyone ever turned you against your will.” Chan put away the paper. “I’m here.”
“I was dying,” Sam said. “Now I’m not. That changes a lot.”
“You knew you were dying for two months,” Chan said. “You could have retracted the statement. You could have given Matt legal permission to change you. You didn’t.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t care about all of that. That’s over. Now, I don’t want to die.” He grabbed Chan’s left arm, his grip stronger than Chan had expected. “Now, I need to eat. You’re my friend. Help me. I won’t take much.”
“Do you remember why you signed this statement?” Chan said. “Why you didn’t want to live this way? Why you asked me to help? Why you told Barbara to contact me?”
“I don’t care!” Sam said. “I don’t care about you or about her or about any of that crap! I just need to eat! Help me, or get Matt. He’s a real friend, not some drift-in, drift-out ghost from my past. He’ll let me feed.”
Chan nodded. He pushed off Sam’s hand and stood. He extended his left arm. “Lean back,” he said.
Sam extended his fangs fully. “I was wrong,” he said. “I’m sorry. Yo
u are a true friend.” Sam grabbed Chan’s arm with his right hand to pull it closer.
“Yes,” Chan said. “Yes, I am.” He pulled on his jacket sleeve to expose the veins in his wrist.
Sam opened his mouth, Chan’s left wrist only a few inches away.
With his right hand, moving as fast as he could, faster than even Sam knew he could, faster than Sam would have been able to move even if he had already fed and completed the change, Chan pulled the purpleheart stake from his belt and slammed it into Sam’s chest.
The impact pushed Sam back onto the dirt. He screamed as he released Chan.
Chan used the heel of his left hand to slam the stake further into Sam.
He felt Sam’s death shudder through the wood.
Sam turned to dust.
Chan stood in the dark room. The drapes rustled as the staffer on the other side of the curtain glanced in and then looked away. The music playing outside thrummed a steady beat he finally noticed again. He put the stake back up his sleeve. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, not sure what to say, what could matter now.
Sam was right on one point. He had been the friend who’d drifted in and out, visiting every few years, and then only when work brought him nearby. Through it all, though, Chan had always considered Sam his closest friend, one of the two people who’d known him as long as he’d known himself, since the day they’d met in the orphanage and Chan’s memories had begun. Matt had been there, too, but Sam and Chan had agreed that when Matt had made the change, he’d given up their friendship in the process.
Chan walked out of the room, up the stairs, through the bar, and onto the street. He passed Matt, but they didn’t make eye contact.
The Wild Side: Urban Fantasy with an Erotic Edge Page 26