by AnonYMous
The woman got down from her stool and pulled her hood up over her head. She threw a disappointed look at Sanchez and then made her way back out into the rain.
Sanchez saw an opportunity to lighten the mood with his four customers. ‘Strange broad, that one,’ he said, hoping for some reaction from one of them. They all ignored him, but he carried on regardless. ‘“Mental Beth”, they call her.’
At the far end of the bar Bull glanced over and fixed the bartender with a glare. It was meant to suggest that Sanchez button it, but the thick-skinned server of dubious drinks misinterpreted it as a sign of interest and continued his tale. ‘She went mental as a teenager because her mother wouldn’t let her see some boy. Killed her mother in cold blood one Halloween. Slit her throat from ear to ear.’
Silvinho, the spiky-pink-haired dude sitting next to Bull, looked over at Sanchez as if the story had piqued his interest.
‘Where to where?’ he asked.
‘Ear to ear,’ Sanchez replied, using his finger to draw an imaginary cut around his throat from one ear to the other.
‘Where to where?’
‘Ear to … oh, cut it out!’
Sanchez saw the pink mohawk quivering slightly and realized the man was making fun of him and inwardly sniggering at him. As it happened, however, the mood lightened a little. From having seemed to be in a virtually trance-like state the four men were all now smirking and exchanging knowing looks.
‘Finish your fuckin’ story, barman,’ Bull called out from the end of the bar. The story involved bloodshed so the four of them couldn’t help but be somewhat interested.
‘Well, she killed her mother by slittin’ her throat from ear to ear.’
‘Where to where?’ all four men chimed.
‘Ha-fuckin‘-ha. Well, anyway, her mother wouldn’t let her meet this boy at the end of the pier that night. So she goes mental ’cos she’s promised the boy she’ll be there at a certain time, and in her rage she kills her mother. Then the dumb bitch rushes back to the pier and it turns out the boy wasn’t even there. He never fuckin’ showed up. She then got arrested and spent ten years in prison for murder. Ever since she got released she comes down here every Halloween and stands at the end of the pier until the end of the witchin’ hour, hopin’ that this boy will come back. That’s why everyone calls her “Mental Beth”. Reckon the kid probably figured out she was crazy and got the hell out. Still, she ain’t bad-lookin’ though.’
‘I’d do her,’ Tex announced.
‘That scar’s kinda off-putting though, ain’t it?’ Razor remarked. The other three members of Shadow Company paused a moment and then nodded in agreement.
‘I remember that story from the papers,’ said Bull, as if talking to himself. ‘Eighteen years ago today. Same night as my father was murdered.’
Sanchez felt the mood turn again. Shit! What could he do to prevent that horrible, awkward silence from returning? A witty comment was required. ‘Cut her mother’s throat from ear to ear,’ he joked, drawing the imaginary cut again.
Bad timing. All four men shook their heads to show their distaste at his joke. Then, as if programmed, they all returned to staring soullessly ahead like statues once more.
The awkward silence did not last for long this time. After less than a minute Bull’s cell phone rang, the sudden sound making Sanchez visibly jump. None of the men paid him any attention, however, and Bull quickly pulled his phone from the pocket of his pants and answered it within two rings.
‘Yeah this is Bull … Got it … Thanks.’ He disconnected the phone and slid it back into his pocket, then he got up from his stool.
‘It’s time, fellas. We’ve got him.’
Fifty-Five
Dante, Peto and the Bourbon Kid made their way out of the police station without having to kill anyone else, which was nice, Dante thought. Word had obviously spread around town that the Kid was back and killing for fun and, as it happened, for personal reasons as well, for a change. Santa Mondega’s most wanted was now wearing his dark robe again. The hood rested down around his shoulders, leaving his bloodied face and hair on show for once. Dante and Peto looked little better dressed in their shit-stained and bloodied police uniforms.
The black V8 Interceptor was parked where the Kid had left it, fifty yards from the station. The darkened streets were now deserted, partly because no one wanted to be out while there was a chance of being shot and killed for no reason, and partly because the rain was getting a lot harder. Several hanging baskets outside a flower shop on the other side of the street from the police station were swaying violently in the wind. Many of the plants and much of the soil that had filled the baskets were disappearing down the street along with the usual litter of old newspapers and food wrappers, all being blown along the wet roadway and sidewalks towards the centre of town. From time to time the moon, full and blue, appeared from among the rain clouds racing through the sky. Even when it did, the rain continued, as hard as ever.
The three of them approached the car in a fairly sombre mood, each reflecting on the gruesome violence that had recently taken place. Peto was the one to break the mood. ‘Hey, Déjà-Vu, or whatever the fuck your name is. You might as well use the stone now,’ he shouted above the wind. ‘The moon is out so best do it now, before it goes behind a cloud for the night.’ He made the suggestion just as the Kid was about to open the driver-side door.
His robed companion hesitated, his hand itching to pull the handle and flick the door open. After a second he relaxed and took his hand away. ‘Yeah, sure. Fuck it. Now’s good.’
‘Great. But listen: I’ll let you have it in exchange for letting me sit in the front seat of the car this time.’
‘Deal.’
Dante had made his way over to the passenger door, but, hearing that he would now have to sit in the back, he looked over at Peto, who was still standing on the sidewalk. ‘What are you, like eight years old?’ he asked in disgust.
‘Hey, it’s cramped in the back of that thing. There’s barely room enough for a dog back there.’
Dante shook his head. ‘You big fuckin’ fag.’
‘Yeah,’ Peto smiled. ‘But I’m a big fuckin’ fag who’ll be sitting in the front!’
The Bourbon Kid looked Peto up and down. ‘You’re a fag?’
‘No.’
‘Then why did you just say you were?’
Peto was rattled. Working with a couple of morons was seriously beginning to irritate him. ‘Do you want the Eye of the Moon or not?’ he snapped.
The Kid shrugged. ‘Sure. Hand it over.’
Peto lifted the silver chain from around his neck, allowing the blue stone to be on show from its place of concealment beneath his standard blue patrolman’s shirt. As soon as it was out in the open air it began to glow a brighter blue from within, as if a flame had been lit inside it. The Bourbon Kid walked over to him and held out his hand. With only the slightest hesitation, the former monk handed over the glowing blue stone on its silver chain.
‘You know what to do with it?’
The Kid looked at him quizzically. ‘What? You mean do I know how to put a fuckin’ necklace on?’
‘No,’ sighed the monk. ‘Look. Here, stand in the middle of the street, and hold the stone up so it’s got a direct line to the moon. To get rid of the traces of vampire blood in your veins you need to be pointing it at a blue moon.’
‘How d’ya know all this?’ the Kid asked suspiciously, suggesting he doubted the monk.
‘Teachings of the elders. I haven’t tried it, obviously, but centuries ago a guy called Rameses Gaius – that mummy I was telling you about – discovered numerous things that this stone is capable of. Many of them are dependent on the state of the moon. You want to purify your blood and become a mortal, you gotta do it under a blue moon. I warn you, though, this is gonna wipe out your drink problem and all those fuckin’ twisted evil thoughts you have. You’re about to become a regular guy.’
The Kid looked long and hard at the
stone. ‘A regular guy, huh?’
Peto, regretting his earlier irritation with this strange and dangerous man, placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Hey, I’m proud of you. This is a big thing for you, I know.’
The Kid eyed him suspiciously. ‘You really are a fag, aren’tcha?’
This invoked a childish snigger from Dante, and although he was standing a few feet behind the others it was loud enough for Peto to hear. ‘You two are pathetic,’ the monk grumbled.
The Bourbon Kid placed the necklace over his head and dropped it around his neck, then walked out into the middle of the street. The wind was still whipping up and the rain was now falling harder from the heavy clouds above. The Kid stood still, holding his arms out in a crucifixion pose, looking up at the moon. Dante and Peto watched in awe as the blue stone began to glow even brighter. Then suddenly, as if taking energy from the blue rays of the moon, it glowed so brilliantly it seemed almost to turn white.
The Kid was now engulfed in the bright blue and white rays, which were so intense that both Dante and Peto had to look away. For about ten seconds their comrade stood in the middle of the street shaking and fighting hard to stay on his feet as the power of the stone consumed him, sucking all the evils and impurities from his bloodstream, and from his very being. The soul of JD, the innocent teenager who had witnessed great evil at Halloween eighteen years earlier, was returning.
The sky above them let out a gentle rumble of thunder. The brief flash of lightning that had preceded it went virtually unnoticed amid the brightness of the glow around the Bourbon Kid. Seconds after the lightning flash, the glow faded from the blue stone. Only a tiny flickering light inside it, like a dying ember, betrayed the power it had just awakened. The Kid stood blinking, looking startled, if not stunned, by what he had just inflicted upon himself.
‘You okay?’ Dante called.
For a few moments the Kid did not respond. He seemed to be extremely dazed, until eventually he pulled a face as though he’d just drunk a glass of sour milk. ‘Man, I feel like shit,’ he said unsteadily.
‘You feel cured?’ Peto asked.
The Kid shrugged. ‘I guess so. Feel kinda weak. The vampire urges have gone, but so’s just about every other urge I ever had, I reckon. Is this how you feel all the time?’
‘Welcome to the real world,’ Peto smiled. ‘This is what it’s like to be a regular guy.’
The Kid took off the necklace and tossed it over to the monk. ‘Here, you can have that back. Think I’m gonna go home.’
‘Hey,’ Dante intervened. ‘Don’t forget we’ve gotta go get my girlfriend. She’s bein’ held by the Secret Service, remember?’
‘Fuck that,’ said the Kid, heading back to the driver’s side of the car. ‘My killing days are over. Sorry, man. I don’t wanna get involved. Fresh start for me. I just don’t feel like killing right now. You’ll be okay.’
‘WHAT?’ Dante couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He took his frustration out on Peto. ‘You, you fuckin’ moron,’ he raged at the monk. ‘You couldn’t wait ‘til we’d got Kacy back, could ya? You had to go and give him the fuckin’ stone now, didn’t ya? You fuckin’ idiot. Now what are we gonna do? You’ve turned him into a fuckin’ wimp when we’ve gotta go an’ rescue my girl from the fuckin’ Secret Service. Christ, you are such a fuckin’ loser.’
‘Oh can it, will you? We’ll be all right. I’ll help you get your girlfriend back.’
‘You’d fuckin’ better.’
Neither of them had paid much attention to the Bourbon Kid during Dante’s tirade. He had climbed into the car and shut the driver door behind him. The rumbling noise of the engine starting up grabbed both their attentions.
‘Well, I’m sittin’ in the front, then,’ said Dante, making for the passenger-side door. Unfortunately for him, before he could get a hold of the door handle the Bourbon Kid released the handbrake, hit the accelerator and sped off.
Peto and Dante both chased the Interceptor down the road for about twenty yards as the rain fell harder and the wind blew stronger towards the city centre. But it was no use. The black car wasn’t stopping. The Bourbon Kid was gone.
‘Oh fuckin’ great,’ Dante moaned. ‘Well done, well fuckin’ done.’ He applauded Peto sarcastically.
The monk offered an apologetic look. ‘Hey, come on. Let’s just walk. It won’t take long. I promise I’ll make it up to you. We’ve still got the Eye of the Moon, my deadly fists and your nightstick. It’ll be plain sailing from here. Who needs him and his fuckin’ car, anyway?’
Dante let out a frustrated sigh. ‘Could things get any worse?’ he thought out loud.
As if to answer his question there was another flash of lightning followed seconds later by an astonishingly loud clap of thunder. What, only moments earlier, had seemed like an extremely heavy downpour now seemed like a mere trickle in comparison with the sudden torrential storm that followed the thunderclap. The rain began to sheet down on them like nothing they’d ever known. Dante gave Peto one last angry look, then started trudging off down the middle of the street towards the Santa Mondega International Hotel. Peto followed on behind. The pair of them were completely drenched already and Peto’s dreadlocks were beginning to go a bit Sideshow Bob. The blood and muck on their clothes and faces and in their hair, diluted by the rain, streamed down their bodies to wash away into the gutters.
‘Hey Dante, don’t worry,’ Peto called out. ‘This will all be over in less than an hour.’
Fifty-Six
Kacy sat on the comfortable cream sofa in front of the suite’s television with Roxanne Valdez alongside her. Robert Swann was in the bathroom, and had been for about fifteen minutes. He had been complaining of stomach pains for much of the evening and it seemed they had finally gotten the better of him. His fellow agent had discreetly turned up the volume on the TV just a little in an effort to drown out the trumpeting noises coming from the bathroom.
They were watching a George Clooney flick called Burn After Reading. Valdez seemed to be enjoying it, but Kacy had been unable to keep her attention on it. She was preoccupied with the hope that tonight would be the last they had to spend in the hotel. If Dante could make it back in one piece with the information the special agents required, then maybe they would be allowed to go home. Or would they? She wasn’t too sure. She didn’t like or trust Valdez at all, and Swann had taken to staring at her and smiling whenever he saw her, which was beginning to creep her out.
About an hour into the film Valdez’s phone rang. She was quick to answer it, barely allowing it to ring for half a second, which was not long enough for Kacy to identify the ring tone.
She had hoped it was Dante calling. It obviously wasn’t, but whoever was on the other end clearly had important information to convey, because Valdez stood up and walked into the smaller of the two bedrooms to ensure that Kacy couldn’t hear what the caller might be saying. Being a nosy sort, Kacy grabbed the TV remote and muted George Clooney in mid-sentence. Then she listened hard, doing her best to catch anything that Valdez was saying.
‘Déjà-Vu? … Seriously? … Yeah, I know him … I can get you an address for him in five minutes … I know he lives somewhere on the South Side … Sure. Leave it with me.’
None of it made any sense at all to Kacy, but she tried to store it all in her head in case it might mean anything to Dante when he returned. Then, finally, she overheard Valdez say something that was worth listening to.
‘What about this couple? … Thanks … And what about the girl? … Sure. I’ll let him know.’
Kacy heard the female agent coming back and flicked the TV volume back on. Fortunately there wasn’t any sudden loud noise from the film, so the transition back to sound was relatively seamless. Anyway, Valdez appeared not to notice it when she walked back in.
‘Did I miss anything?’ she asked.
‘No. Nothing much happening, really.’
‘Well, in that case I’m going to go out for a while. Let me know what happens at the end,
huh?’
‘Sure.’
Roxanne Valdez slipped into a tight-fitting brown leather jacket that she had brought back from the bedroom and headed for the door. Before she opened it she pulled her cell phone from her pocket again and began tapping away on the keys. Then, without looking back at Kacy, she slipped out through the door and into the corridor.
Kacy felt uncomfortable and paranoid. Something not good was about to happen, she reckoned. She looked over at the hotel phone in the room, thinking furiously. She could call Dante, tell him the job was done and ask him to meet her somewhere. With Swann in the bathroom and Valdez off somewhere else doing Lord knows what, she had a chance to escape. And for the first time since she had been brought here she was seriously considering it, because it made considerable sense. If, as she suspected, Valdez had taken a call telling her that the mission was over, then it would make no difference if Dante and Kacy escaped at the last minute. If they didn’t escape, then in true B-movie style she and Dante were likely to be offed. With the mission over, they no longer served a purpose.
She tiptoed over to the phone on the small table outside the bathroom and carefully picked it up. When she put it to her ear she heard no dialling tone, and after pressing a few buttons it dawned on her that the phone had been disconnected. Shit.
She felt a warm flush wash over her, brought on by her feelings of paranoia. Then she heard a beeping noise from the smaller bedroom. Swann’s cell phone was receiving a text message. He must have left his phone in the bedroom when he’d gone for the world’s longest dump. She tiptoed, a little more hurriedly this time, into the bedroom. Swann’s cell phone was on the dressing table in the corner.
She sneaked over to it, her heart racing with fear and anxiety. After a deep breath she picked it up, her hands beginning to shake as the fear that she might be caught by Swann gripped her. On the display was an alert telling her that the phone had just received a text from Valdez. This could be a text worth reading, she thought.