by Jon F. Merz
Papas shook his head. “This had better not be some type of negotiation strategy. I do not argue price for what I proved.”
Duane held up his hands. “Hey, trust me. If she’s good, you’ll get the full price agreed to by my boss. He just doesn’t like coming outside in this weather if he can avoid it. He sends me ahead to make sure it’s worth his time. You get it, don’t ya?”
“I’m rather insulted he thinks I would waste his time,” said Pappas. “This isn’t some sort of comedy show. What I do, I take very seriously. Just ask the gentleman over there with one of my bullets lodged in his belly.”
Duane looked at Jimmy, who toasted him with the glass he was drinking from. Duane looked back at Pappas. “You know whose bar this is?”
Papas sighed. “Why is everyone so concerned with the owner of this bar?”
“Because he’ll kill you,” said Duane. “That’s Jimmy Bats. The guy is a legend around these parts. You put a slug into him, Billy ain’t gonna like that all that much.”
“Fine,” said Pappas. “Then I suppose the best thing to do is finalize our business and get out of these premises before someone else comes in and tells me how much trouble I am in.”
Duane eyed Jimmy one last time and then nodded. “Yeah, let’s do it. I don’t need my name mixed up with this bullshit. Where is she?”
Papas gestured for the henchman closest to him to bring the girl. I watched as he grabbed her and stood her up. She wavered slightly, no doubt from the drugs they must have pumped into her bloodstream. I quelled the anger rising in me and watched what Duane did next.
Papas nodded at the girl. “She’s lovely, wouldn’t you agree?”
But Duane seemed less interested in her looks. He drew closer and put one hand on her chin. He moved her head to the side and then examined her neck, running a finger along her sternocleidomastoid muscle. Then he moved her head in the other direction, doing exactly the same thing. After a moment, he pulled his hand away and nodded at Pappas.
“She has a strong pulse.”
“Well, she’s alive,” said Pappas with a confused tone to his voice. “You didn’t say you wanted her to be dead.”
Duane smirked. “We need her alive. You did good.”
Pappas shook his head. “I’m not sure what you’re driving at, young man. Are we going to do business here or not? I haven’t the time to waste if we are not.”
Duane held up his hand. “Cool your jets. We’re good. I just need to make a phone call and we’ll finalize this thing. Then you can get the hell out of here.”
He looked at Jimmy. “Where’s your phone?”
“Behind the bar,” said Jimmy. He sounded a lot weaker and I guessed the blood loss was beginning to take its toll on him.
Duane went behind the bar, found the old rotary phone and dialed a number. I couldn’t hear what he said into it, but the conversation was quick. He replaced the handset and smiled at Pappas. “All set. He’ll be here shortly.”
“What is ‘shortly?’ We’ve been waiting a long time already.”
Duane nodded. “Like I said, weather’s a bitch. But it’ll be worth it, I promise you.” He came back around the bar and stood before the girl again. “Maybe we should put her in the chair? She looks a little unsteady on her feet. What’d you guys dope her up with?”
“Just a little cocktail designed to make her less ornery,” said Pappas. “I find it’s usually best to relieve them of their free will while the grown-ups conduct business.”
Duane chuckled. “Yeah, I’ll bet.” He looked around. “So, what’s the score on this place? Who are these people? Your guys?”
“Hardly,” snapped Pappas. “They are tragically caught up in this transaction. I had hoped we would be able to conduct it covertly, but the one with the gun shot wound decided that he didn’t like the look of my men and me, so he took it upon himself to interject where he most certainly should not have.”
“And him?” Duane directed that one at me. He stared at me from across the room. “What’s his story?”
“He is a friend of the bartender,” said Pappas. “Nothing to get excited about.”
“They’re all witnesses,” said Duane. “My boss isn’t too fond of people seeing what he does and how he conducts his business.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning you might have to make sure none of these people stays alive to say anything.”
Papas sniffed. “I was hired for a specific reason: to get your boss what he requested. I have done that. And now I wish to be paid for my services. As for these people, if you feel they must be dealt with, then I leave that to you and your employer to figure out. I am not about to butcher anyone unnecessarily.”
“You’re not concerned they’ll talk?”
“Let them talk,” said Pappas. “I will be out of the country before dawn. And where I live, extradition is a particularly thorny affair. I am not worried about my safety.”
Duane frowned. “Well, my boss lives here, so it’s a different story for him.”
“I’m certain you can come to a suitable solution for what troubles you,” said Pappas.
“What if my boss offered to pay you extra for taking care of it?”
“One thing at a time,” said Pappas. “We have a deal that needs concluding before I take on any more work.”
Duane nodded. “Well, he’s here, so you can talk to him directly.” He turned and as he did so, the door opened and the buyer finally walked in.
He stood taller than Pappas, but much thinner. The dark overcoat he wore and the top hat gave him the appearance of someone who had just walked out of Victorian London. He stooped slightly as he came through the doorway, but when he stood fully erect, his face showed years and years of age. A neatly trimmed goatee of pure snow hung from his chin. His eyes pierced the room, flitting from one person to the next in the span of a mere second before finally coming to rest on Pappas.
“Mister Pappas,” he said simply. “I am Kurzman.”
Pappas shifted his pistol to his left hand and held out his right. “Pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”
“Indeed,” said Kurzman. “However, I won’t waste your time. My associate here tells me that the merchandise is what we agreed to and is in good condition. Therefore, I suggest we conclude this transaction without haste.” He glanced at Duane. “Bring the briefcase.”
Duane vanished and returned in thirty seconds carrying a black briefcase. He handed it to Kurzman who then offered it to Pappas. “The price we agreed upon.”
Papas took the case and handed it to his henchman to his right. The henchman opened it and I could see the piles of money inside. There’d be no way to count it all, but the henchman took a pile and flipped through it before nodding to Pappas.
“It was a pleasure doing business with you,” said Pappas. He stood the girl up and passed her to Duane. Duane started steering her toward the door.
“My Kurzman, do you mind me asking what you will do with her?”
Kurzman’s eyes fell upon Pappas like a guillotine. “That’s rather a delicate question to ask, isn’t it? I didn’t think you were the type of businessman who inquired after such things.”
Pappas held up his hand. “I’m not. Usually. But call me curious.”
Kurzman smiled. “You do know what they say about curiosity, don’t you?”
Papas laughed but I saw that he brought his pistol up. “I do indeed.”
Kurzman pressed his hands together. “Then shall we leave it at that and be done?”
“There was one final question,” said Pappas. “Your man there was concerned about the witnesses we have sitting here in this bar.”
“Is that why there’s a man bleeding on the floor over there?” Kurzman looked over at Jimmy Bats and his eyes seemed to focus specifically on the gunshot wound for a moment. I could have sworn I saw his tongue glance across his lips.
“That was an earlier problem. He no longer concerns me, but your man said that you might h
ave a problem leaving anyone alive.”
Kurzman looked around the bar and his eyes finally came to rest on mine. I stared back into them, took a sip of my drink, and continued to stare right through him.
“Who are you?”
I smiled. “I think the better question might be who are you?”
Kurzman took a step closer to me. “I know you.”
“Do you?” I sipped the drink again. “I don’t ever recall having met you.”
“Do you ever find yourself over on Beacon Hill?”
I frowned. I hate it when my gut is right, which is more often than not. “Not regularly. I travel quite a bit.”
“Am I missing something here?” asked Pappas.
Kurzman turned to him. “Where did you find this man?”
“He came in earlier and had a drink,” said Pappas. “What difference does it make?”
Kurzman sighed and glanced over his shoulder at Duane. “Is she ready to transport?”
“Yup.”
“Very well.” Kurzman put a hand out to Pappas. “Thank you for your help in acquiring what I needed. It was initially my hope that we might have a long and fruitful relationship. However, things have changed and I’m afraid this will be a one-time deal.”
“You’re a very odd man-“ But the words died on Pappas’ lips as Kurzman slashed horizontally in the air in front of him with a slim blade so fine that it barely hissed as it cut air and Pappas’ trachea. Blood spilled from his throat even as Pappas started to realize that he was already dead.
And I was moving, drawing up my sweater and yanking the Colt free from its holster.
To their credit, the two henchmen were pretty fast on their reactions. The problem was Duane already had a bead on the guy by the door and put a round into him even as the lug tried to draw his own weapon.
Henchman two went right for Kurzman, wasting time drawing his own weapon and instead tackled the old dude, sending them both sprawling into the floor. The greaseball came up astride Kurzman, raining punches down on the old guy. But then they stopped abruptly as Kurzman stabbed him in the chest, pumping the blade into his aorta until the second greaseball slumped over dead.
Duane was the immediate threat and I fired on the run, putting two rounds close to his head. Duane ducked and fired, the bullets taking chunks out of the wall nearby as I sprinted for the bar, leaped over it and landed low on the other side, yanking the shotgun free. I came up firing, putting a shot into the wall by Duane.
He winced and screamed as some of the buck shot caught the side of his face. His hands went to his head, clutching at his cheeks.
I tossed the shotgun to Jimmy and came around the bar, stopping about eight feet from Kurzman.
To his credit, the old guy was already back on his feet. He didn’t appear old and frail. In fact, he looked remarkably revived. And then I saw the bit of blood on his lips, the snarl on his face, and the dilated pupils.
He was one of my kind.
Dammit.
And I knew now what he wanted with the girl. I’d been too focused on the sexual aspect of the trafficking. But Kurzman didn’t want an easy lay; he wanted a free supply of blood. And Duane was his point man. A “feeder finder.” I didn’t know if Duane was one of my kind, but Kurzman certainly was. He must have just juiced up on the blood from the henchman. That made him a lot more dangerous than he was only moments ago.
But I knew what he was now. And I was betting he was going to figure out who I was pretty shortly.
Duane was still writhing on the floor. Kurzman seemed completely unconcerned with him. All of his concentration was on me. And he still had the blade in his hand.
“That won’t do you a bit of good,” I said. The Colt in my hands was leveled on Kurzman. “You’ll never get close enough to use it.”
Kurzman’s grin was blood-stained and ugly. “Would it matter if I did get close enough? I’m not foolish enough to imagine it would harm you.”
“You should never have come here tonight,” I said. “But I’m glad you did.”
“Why is that?”
“If you hadn’t come, I never would have known about you. I never would have known about your…activities. You might have stayed alive a lot longer.”
Kurzman grinned. “I’ve already lived many lifetimes. And I’m not about to let the likes of you stop me from enjoying my life.”
It was my turn to smile. “The likes of me? Haven’t you figured out why you saw me over on Beacon Hill?”
Kurzman’s grin froze and then faded. “So…”
“Yes.”
Kurzman’s eyes flickered about the room. I wondered if he would give voice to it, if after a lifetime spent living in the shadows, he would actually say it.
“Fixer.”
I brought the pistol up and fired even as I felt a hot lance punch through my left arm, pitching me to the right. My shot went wide of Kurzman even as I fell onto the floor. I brought my pistol onto Duane’s center mass as he readied himself for another shot. I put two rounds into his chest and he dropped. I started to pull to my right to drop Kurzman, but I felt the gun knocked away.
Kurzman was on me then. My left arm was on fire, but I knew that I hadn’t been shot with Fixer rounds, otherwise I’d already be dying. That was down to luck because I’d been a damn fool to get caught up in talking to Kurzman.
We pitched across the floor, rolling as the juiced-up Kurzman rained punches down on my bleeding left arm. Each one thundered into me and made me wince and grunt from the waves of pain washing over me. I was tired, bleeding, and cruising on alcohol: not exactly a winning combination for a fight to the death.
I bucked my hips and upset Kurzman’s balance. We rolled left and I shot a right elbow into the side of his jaw, hearing it pop and his head snapped to his right. He tried stabbing me with the stiletto then, plunging the blade down at my heart. It wouldn’t kill me, but it would sure slow me down if it got in there and started ripping me apart.
I checked his arm, and he leaned into it. I head butted him and he reeled back and away, the knife skittering away from both of us. I came up to my feet and we circled on the blood-slicked floor of the bar. Kurzman licked his lips and I noted he was drenched in sweat.
“I’ve never had the pleasure of fighting one of you before,” he said then.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” I said. I feinted left and then shot in to my right, tackling Kurzman around his waist. We collapsed into one of the tables and both of us fell amid the wooden bar stools, shattering two of them. Kurzman kneed me hard in the groin and I retched from the pain that shot up from my bowels.
He scrambled away and came up with the leg of one of the stools in his hand like a staff. I grabbed at another one and we circled again.
Kurzman grinned. “A quarter staff bout as it were? How marvelous.” He jabbed at my chest with the stool leg and I parried it with my own before jabbing back at him.
We moved like this for a few moments, each trying to get the other to over-commit and make a mistake. But then I sidestepped a jab and felt my leg go out from under me, slipping on the bloody floor. I dropped to my knee and felt something pop that didn’t feel right.
Kurzman wasted no time, driving in ready to spear me through my chest with the bar stool leg. I parried one of the thrusts but then he doubled up on the attack, swiped my stool leg out of my hands and then flipped the jagged end of his around and prepared to stab me through my chest.
The shotgun blast caught him square in the chest, punching him like a truck and sending him sprawling back and away from me.
“Finish this guy, Lawson,” said Jimmy Bats then. He racked another shell and put another round into Kurzman while I scrambled for the Colt.
Kurzman, to his credit, shrugged off the shotgun blasts even though they’d torn his chest apart and kept coming for me. He moved faster than Jimmy could rack a fresh round and fire.
The Colt skidded away from me and I dove forward, one leg and one arm useless on the slick flo
or.
Kurzman was laughing now over the gunshots.
I made one last reach for the Colt, felt it in my right hand, turned - even as I knew the stool leg would be descending toward my heart ready to fill me full of wooden splinters that would kill me - and rolled, bringing the gun up, firing point blank into Kurzman’s bloody chest - again and again and again. Shells spilled from the ejector port, spinning in the air and clinking onto the ground.
Kurzman took the shots full on, sank on his knees and toppled forward, falling inches away from me, his face turned to mine.
His incisors extended then, his pupils blew out fully, and I watched as his teeth shrank back to normal human size and he died smeared with blood.
I leaned back on the floor and let out a long breath.
“A little fucking help here?”
I turned and saw Jimmy trying to stand up. I got to my feet, a bit unsteady myself although my knee felt better, and helped him to the bar. “Lemme call you an ambulance.”
Jimmy shook his head. “The hell. I gotta call this in first. I don’t, Billy’s gonna kill me.”
“Jesus.”
Jimmy sniffed. “Jesus can’t help me with this, pal.”
I watched him make the call and then he put the handset down in the receiver. “He’s sending some guys over.” He looked at my arm. “You take a slug?”
I looked at the hole and the exit wound. “Went through me. Luckily.” I smiled. “Thanks for the cover fire there at the end.”
“That old fuck was kicking your ass, pal.”
“Yeah.” There wasn’t much sense in telling Jimmy it was because Kurzman had just ingested blood and was using the life force energy to grow much stronger than he would have been ordinarily.
I helped Jimmy over to a chair and sat him down. He clapped a hand over his wound. Despite the blood loss, he actually looked a little better. “I think your gunshot wound agrees with you.”
“Probably the drink you made me,” said Jimmy. He nodded at the girl. “What are you going to do about her?”
“Not really my area of expertise.”
Jimmy grunted. “I can tell you’re not a social worker, pal.”
“Not even close. Got any ideas?’