“Quit your worrying,” Raze said. “We haven’t done nothin’ to her yet. Just a few bumps and bruises from her traveling. It’s not too comfortable riding in the trunk of a car. Where we doin’ the exchange?”
“At the airport.”
“Uh uh,” Raze said. “As I told you, Zeke’s all over the news. The cops could have your description and there could be an all points out on you. It’s going to have to be someplace more private.”
“Bring her to my motel.”
“We can do that, Champ.”
Jim gave him the address of the motel and his room number.
“I want Carol here in fifteen minutes. Otherwise Pearce is dead and I start hunting for you,” Jim said. “When your guys get here, you let her go, and once she’s in the room safe with me, I let Pearce go with the money. There’s no other door to the room, so there’s no other place for me to sneak out to. You want to ask Pearce about that?”
“Don’t need to, Champ, your word’s good with me.”
“Anything other than that happens and it’s going to get ugly.”
“Don’t worry, Champ. Fifteen minutes. We’ll be there. Just don’t fuck things up on your end.”
Raze hung up. Jim handed the phone back to Pearce, then sat back and watched how relaxed Pearce appeared. He knew what they were planning. Once Carol was in the room with him and they had their money they were going to storm the room and massacre the two of them—or maybe kill Jim and take Carol to sell into white slavery. It wouldn’t work out that way—if they tried something like that Jim would kill them, but they didn’t know what he was, so they thought it would be a cakewalk. He glanced again at Pearce and saw how the biker could barely contain his smirk. Jim had no doubt that was what was going to happen. Fine. It didn’t matter. As long as he had Carol back safely, it didn’t matter how many of these bikers he would have to kill.
He moved over to the window and pushed the curtains aside enough so he could look out.
“You don’t like sunlight much, do you?” Pearce asked.
Jim kept his stare out the window.
“Only thing you should be worrying about is whether your buddies try something stupid, because if they do you’re going to be wishing you were in Zeke’s place.”
“I’m not worried.”
Jim didn’t bother responding. Five minutes later he heard the roar of Harleys. Not too long after that he saw them. Two bikes pulled up, both riders were big guys, both showing the same tattoos that the other gang members had. Carol was not with them. From out of the corner of his eye Jim saw Pearce’s smirk widening. Jim broke a hole through the window with the butt end of the .45 he had taken off Zeke.
“Where’s Carol?” he yelled.
One of the bikers put a hand to his ear as if he couldn’t hear him. Both of them kept coming closer. The barrel of a sawed-off showed from under one of their leather jackets. They were moving faster now as they took their guns out. Jim raised his .45 to take out the closest of the two but Pearce rushed him, stabbing at him with a knife that he must’ve had hidden in one of his boots. The point of the blade hit him in the cheek, and if he were a normal human being it would’ve cut through to the bone. Instead it bounced off the same as if his skin were coated with metal. Pearce’s fist flew backwards, and he ended up hitting himself in the face. The biker fell to the floor as if he’d been sucker-punched by a heavyweight.
The door was kicked open. The biker with the sawed-off leveled the weapon at Jim’s chest and pulled the trigger. The other biker had pulled out a Glock and was firing at him. The force of the bullets knocked Jim against the wall. He hit it hard, then tumbled to the floor.
“Piece of shit asshole,” the biker with the Glock spat out. He fired a couple of more shots at Jim’s body. One of the bullets ricocheted and took off the tip of his pinky finger.
“What the fuck?” he started, but before he could say anything else, Jim had gotten to his knees. He dove forward and knocked the biker to the floor, then crawled on top of him. With a small twist of his shoulders he separated the biker’s head from his body. The other biker, the one with the sawed-off, was helping Pearce to his feet. When he saw what happened to his buddy, his jaw dropped open, his eyes quickly turning glassy. Pearce grabbed the shotgun from him and got off another round, again knocking Jim off his feet. Then Pearce slapped the other biker who he was calling Ash out of his stupor and the two of them ran from the room.
Jim pulled himself back to his feet and heard both of the Harley’s engines being gunned. He was still holding the dead biker’s head. In a heartbeat he was outside, throwing a fastball at Pearce. The biker ducked at the right moment and the bowling ball-sized head missed him by inches. Jim started running. It was almost five, and while the sun wasn’t as intense as earlier, it still hurt like hell, but he ignored it and kept running, moving a lot faster than either biker could’ve expected. A block later he had gained on them, and was now in stride with Ash. The biker pulled a 9 mm from his waistband, but before he could get a shot off Jim threw himself at him, hitting him with a solid tackle. They went down hard, the Harley skidding across the street and taking them with it. A Land Rover slammed on its brakes and tried swerving out of the way but still went over Ash’s skull, crushing it like a grape. Jim rolled away. He collected himself, saw the biker was dead, and went through his pockets taking out a wallet and a cell phone. The driver of the Land Rover was a woman in her seventies with reddish-orange hair. She wore skintight black leotards and knee-high leather boots which made her look like an eggplant with long straws sticking out of it. Her cosmetically-caked face looked aghast as she explained how there was nothing she could do to avoid the man she ran over. Jim ignored her, pushed the Harley back up and went after Pearce.
Pearce had a block and a half lead on him. Jim gunned the Harley’s engine and squeezed in and out between cars, sometimes driving on the other side of the street, at other times pulling the bike onto the sidewalk and sending pedestrians scattering. Pearce tried to do the same, but he had lost his nerve and kept looking over his shoulder which slowed him down. His bike fishtailed taking a turn and by the time he righted himself Jim had made up the lost ground and was alongside him. He was about to launch himself at Pearce when the biker saved him the trouble by wiping out. Both Pearce and the Harley skidded along the road leaving a streak of rubber, blood and skin behind. After thirty yards, the bike hit a hydrant and knocked it over. Jim got off the Harley and checked on Pearce. Most of the skin from Pearce’s face had been torn off and there wasn’t much left to recognize him from. One eye was missing, the other was fluttering, and the little skin that was left was as white as milk. He was going fast. Water from the busted hydrant soaked Jim and washed away a thick stream of blood oozing from the biker.
“Where are they keeping her?”
Jim shook Pearce, but there was no recognition in the biker’s remaining eye. It was glazing over, becoming the eye of a corpse.
“Where the fuck is she?”
It was no use. Pearce was slipping away and death was already dropping over his face like a veil. Jim watched helplessly as his world seemed to be slipping away from him also. He needed the sonofabitch alive. He needed to know where Raze’s hideout was. Without any awareness of thought, he bent over the dying biker and sunk his teeth into Pearce’s already torn and bloody neck. A gush of blood poured down his throat. For a long moment the blood was all he was aware of, then he could feel the biker start to stir. He backed away, wiping the gore from his mouth. A blur of motion from out of the corner of his eye froze him. Then he was hit. Hard. Violently. The impact sent him flying.
For the few seconds that he was airborne the world slowed down on him. The sky floated above, the sun a reddish ball off in the horizon hung suspended as if by a string, a plane crawled overhead as if it were barely moving. Thoughts also slowed in his head. He found himself wondering what it was that hit him. It was only a few seconds but it seemed an eternity before he went crashing through a plate gl
ass window, his shoulders first, then his head. If he were normal he would’ve been sliced to ribbons. As it was, he felt like he’d been worked over with a baseball bat. He picked himself up and crawled through the shattered window. He rubbed the dust and broken glass particles from his eyes, blinked a few times, and saw that a white Lincoln Continental limousine had hit him. From the driver’s side, a skinny dark haired woman with a cat-like face grinned ferociously at him, her hands clenching the steering wheel, her body stretched through a torn opening that separated the passenger area from the driver’s compartment. He blinked and rubbed his eyes again so he could focus better. Serena.
He took a couple of dazed steps towards the limo, still not believing what he saw. It didn’t make sense for her to be in Cleveland. Then he remembered the news story about Duane Posey. It must’ve been a national story. Somehow Serena made the connection.
Fuck.
He wanted to run, but the thought didn’t quite make it to his legs. He found himself still moving closer to the limo, still trying to convince himself that that wasn’t Serena. There was a body slumped over next to her wearing a chauffeur’s cap. She must’ve seen him feeding on Pearce, broke through the Plexiglas barrier, and either knocked out or killed the driver so she could take control of the wheel.
It was Serena alright.
Fuck.
The sidewalk had been empty but bystanders poured out of several of the shops lining the street, also some cars pulled over, and a small crowd gathered. The people kept their distance, a low murmur coming from them. Jim looked away from them and saw the back doors of the limo open. He recognized Zach and Wilfred as they left the car, both of whom looked amused. Two more men got out also. These two he didn’t recognize. One was about his size, the other maybe half a foot shorter, and both were carrying three and a half foot long swords, the blades polished to where they gleamed. The two men moved fluidly, and from the way they held their swords it was clear they knew how to use them.
More drivers were pulling over and the crowd was growing larger, maybe two dozen people. When they saw the two vampires moving on Jim with their swords, they started to back away. One of the bystanders took out a cell phone and pointed it at them. Again, Jim thought of running, but it wouldn’t do any good. He wouldn’t get far without one of the Harleys, and the limo and Serena’s gang stood between him and the bikes. He held his ground and waited for the two vampires brandishing swords to come closer. They were both grimacing, their movement becoming more sluggish with each step. Jim understood the reason for it. The sun was as poisonous to him as it was to them, but over the last three years he and Carol had moved around enough to where he had gotten used to it. He could deal with the pain. These two, along with the rest of Serena’s gang, had been living a sheltered life, probably going outside only after dark. The sun was now taking a toll on them.
Jim was still holding the .45 he had taken off Zeke. He waved it towards the crowd causing them to scatter. He then shot several rounds at the shorter of the two vampires, aiming at the fingers wrapped around the sword handle. A small piece of the vampire’s finger blew off, and he dropped the sword and grasped his damaged hand.
Jim leveled the gun at the vampire’s face and squeezed off three more rounds, hitting him squarely in the forehead and sending him flying backwards and bouncing off the Lincoln’s front grill. The other vampire attacked, aiming a blow towards Jim’s middle. He rolled under it and grabbed the sword the smaller vampire had dropped. A quick glance showed that Zach and Wilfred were no longer amused, their faces more pinched than anything else. They also looked green around the gills, not handling the fading sun well.
There was another attack where the larger vampire tried a flying drop kick while he swung a blow at Jim’s head. The vampire didn’t elevate as much as he expected to, not accounting for the effect the sun was having on his muscles. Coming in as low as he did, Jim was able to step aside and take a clean swing at him. He hit the blow solidly, the blade sinking several inches into the vampire’s neck. The vampire dropped his own sword as he frantically tried to grab at the blade digging into his neck, but Jim swept his feet out from under him and kicked down on the sword until the vampire’s head was cut off and rolling away from the body.
Police sirens could be heard in the distance. Jim looked up. Zach and Wilfred were gone, both probably retreating into the safety of the limo and out of the late afternoon sun. The smaller vampire Jim had shot in the face looked unsteady as he struggled to get back to his feet. Jim couldn’t help showing a grim smile. Hopefully those three .45 slugs to the forehead scrambled the vampire’s brains a little, or at least gave him a wicked migraine. Jim thought about finishing the job with him, but the sirens were getting louder. He couldn’t afford anything sidetracking him from finding Carol. He needed to just grab Pearce and get out of there. He looked over to where he had left Pearce and saw that the biker was gone. He looked around to see where the biker might’ve crawled off to, but he was nowhere. It didn’t make any sense…
Oomph.
Someone had jumped on his back. Jim nearly fell to the pavement, but somehow kept his balance. Long thin legs wrapped around his waist, legs that he recognized. Sharp nails scraped his face and inched their way to his eyes. He was still holding the sword and used it to try to poke Serena off him, but she kept ducking.
“Surprised to see us, James?” Serena whispered in his ear, then bit down hard trying to tear off the fleshy lower part of his earlobe. Jim poked again with the sword and she let go of her grip on his ear. His ear stung, but it still felt intact.
“It’s been a long time,” she said, her breath frigid against his skin.
‘Not long enough,” he grunted.
Zach and Wilfred emerged from the back of the limo, both brandishing swords. The vampire who had taken the .45 slugs point blank in the face looked woozy but had recovered the sword that the dead vampire had dropped and was inching closer towards Jim. The police sirens were getting louder. The cell phone Jim had taken off Ash started ringing.
“Aren’t you going to answer that, James?” Serena asked, her claws again digging towards his eyes.
“The cops are going to be here in seconds,” Jim grunted as he tried to use the edge of the sword to move her away from his eyes.
She laughed, dodging his thrusts. “Let them,” she said. “Just means fresh blood for tonight.”
“Don’t you think Metcalf is going to be unhappy with you?”
“I couldn’t care less about Metcalf, Darling. You’re my only concern right now.”
“But I think you should care, Serena, Darling,” Jim said. “This spectacle you’ve created isn’t exactly the type of flying under the radar activity that Metcalf always used to demand. He’s going to be very unhappy with you.”
Her nails dug harder into his flesh.
“And what about you? Feeding out in the open where anyone could see you. Very careless of you, James.”
“But there’s a difference, Serena. Metcalf’s not my master.”
She let loose an angry string of profanities. The other three vampires had moved within striking distance, all with their swords raised. Serena bit hard against the side of Jim’s neck, trying to sever his jugular. Fuck, it hurt. He jumped forward, swinging out his blade in an arc hoping to catch one or more their legs. One of their blades went for his chest. He spun quickly and heard a sickening thud and then a high-pitched wail. In his mind’s eye he could see the blade sinking into Serena’s back. Her grip loosened and she fell away from him. He knew her injury wouldn’t be fatal—whatever internal organ had been damaged would regenerate, but he hoped it hurt like hell. He spun around again and caught Zach in the thigh, the blade sinking in halfway. The vampire howled like a wolf at the moon. Jim yanked the blade out and ran until he got to Ash’s bike. The vampire he had shot in the face was right behind him. Jim turned and raised Zeke’s .45. The vampire stopped in his tracks.
“Don’t,” he pleaded, his eyes looking sick.
He squeezed off two more rounds hitting the vampire directly in the mouth. This time the vampire went down hard and stayed down. Jim thought about slicing off his head, but he could see police cruisers off in the distance and coming fast. He jumped on the Harley, gunned the engine and drove in the opposite direction going the wrong way down a one-way street. He turned down an alleyway that was too narrow for the limo, then down a staircase until he reached another alleyway. He pulled the Harley over so he could think. Off in the distance he could hear orders being shouted, followed by gunfire, and then awful blood-curdling screams—the kind that only truly frightened men could make. It became eerily quiet. He imagined what had happened—two or more police cruisers descending on Serena, the cops pulling out their guns and firing as Serena and her crew disregarded their orders and instead approached them. He pictured the massacre that followed, knowing that they would all want fresh blood after their exposure to the sun. He wondered how Serena planned to get rid of the limo and all those dead bodies, both human and otherwise…
Ash’s cell phone started ringing again.
Jim flipped the phone open.
“Ash, what the fuck is going on?” It was Raze’s voice. “How come you didn’t answer before? And why ain’t Pearce and Chuck answering their phones? What the fuck’s going on?”
“Ash is dead,” Jim said. “All of them are dead. That was a stupid stunt you tried pulling.”
“Is that so,” Raze said after a while.
“Yeah, that’s so. Four of your men are dead. For nine thousand dollars. You should be proud of yourself. All you had to do was give me Carol back and you would’ve had your money, and your men would still be alive.”
Another long pause, then, “You still have my money?”
Jim remembered that he had given the money to Pearce and hadn’t thought of taking it off the dying body. Wherever Pearce was that was where the money was.
“It’s gone,” he said.
Blood Crimes Page 14