A Fixer Yuletide: A Lawson Vampire Collection (The Lawson Vampire Series Book 1)

by Jon F. Merz

  Even from my position, I could hear the sound of locks being slammed home.

  And that was that. Overall, I gave the team about a B+ for the effort of getting LeClaire into the house. Ideally, they should have had another car or two in the protection convoy. At the least, they should have had one up ahead of the principal’s vehicle. But budgets didn’t often consult professionals about how to do things correctly. Usually, they just gave you a bit of cash and told you to do the best with what you got.

  So, all told, it looked like the detail had at least five guys. Maybe six. I shifted and tried to get some blood back down into my feet. If Cheval wanted to make an assault on the house, he was going to need a force of at least a dozen men. I would have sent twenty. In the few days that had passed between when Larazo called me, I’d done a bit of research on Cheval’s organization. I was surprised to find that the intel folks at the Council had a file on Cheval’s group. It gave me a fair bit of reading.

  Henri Cheval grew up in Port-au-Prince in Cite Soleil, one of the most impoverished regions in the world. A horrible slum city comprised of cement houses without latrines, Cite Soleil was Cheval’s training ground for the sociopath he would eventually become. During the heyday of Baby Doc Devalier, Cite Soleil was ruled by several gangs, each controlling a different sector. Cheval joined his first gang at the age of eight and was rumored to have killed his first man on his ninth birthday. Cheval then skyrocketed up through the ranks of the gang, eventually leading it. A series of epic bloody battles followed as he coalesced power and took over the drugs and prostitution that were rampant within the slum. When Devalier fell from power, Cheval saw an opportunity to get out of the slums and make his mark in the United States. Armed with his experience and network of drug contacts in South America, he moved to Boston.

  I thought that alone showed his smarts. Rather than risk a bloody turf war with already-established gangs in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles, Cheval had gone after the relatively soft target of Boston. No wonder he’d been able to get control as fast as he had.

  Back in the empty lot, a sudden chill in the air made me shiver despite the layers I wore. I could feel my limbs tightening up as the cold invaded and continued to make me uncomfortable. I’d been in crummy situations enough to know how to endure the discomfort, but that didn’t necessarily make it any easier to take. I relaxed my breathing and let my vision expand slowly. The street was quiet aside from the rustling of tree branches that scraped against the sides of houses nearby.

  A fleck of sand flew into my eye and my vision clouded. I used one hand to wipe it away and then refocused.

  There was a solitary figure standing in front of the house.

  His back was to me, and seemed to be regarding the safe house with a sort of curiosity. He wore a long coat and stood alone in the night.

  I flicked the safety off of the G3 and brought the sights on to the spot between his shoulder blades.

  As soon as I did so, the figure turned. His face was dark, but I could see the brilliant white smile in the darkness. He held up one finger and waggled it back and forth as if he was chastising me. That brought me up short. I was pretty damned certain my position couldn’t be spotted from where he stood. No position is ever perfect, of course, but I’d chosen one that afforded me enough concealment and some cover.

  I didn’t have time to consider that, however. Because immediately after the man turned back around and then walked up the stairs and into the house.

  Right through the front door.

  I shook my head. Had I seen that properly? He didn’t open the door; he walked right through it. Solid wood.

  What the hell?

  I got to my feet and drew the G3 close. If he was in there and it was one of Cheval’s people, Larazo was going to need some help. And fast.

  I sprinted across the lot and down on to the street. I swung to my left making sure there wasn’t a car coming at me. It could have been an ambush. Perhaps Cheval had more men stationed down the street, waiting for the lead guy to draw me out. It had worked; but only because I was certain he’d walked right through a solid wooden door.

  And damned if that didn’t make me think the guys inside were in deep trouble.

  I heard a gunshot from inside the house and bolted up the steps. Outside of the front door, I chambered a stomp kick and aimed it right above the lock assembly. My foot thundered into the door and sent it rocketing into the hallway. I stacked by the jamb and called out.

  “Larazo! One coming in!”

  I got no response so I eased around the doorway and brought the G3 up into my shoulder. I had the barrel just off the horizon, but could snap it up and fire if a target presented itself.

  The inside of the house was completely dark, but that didn’t present a problem for me. My eyes picked up the shapes of furniture and clutter. I smelled pizza wafting through the house but behind me, the cold of the outside chased away the scent.

  It seemed far too quiet. I kept my footsteps light and careful. I scanned as I moved. Calling out to Larazo might have been smart, but I didn’t know who was in control of the house. Plus, I had a bad feeling. After all, anyone who could walk through a solid wooden door while I had to kick my way in probably wasn’t someone to trifle with.

  Another breeze blew in through the house. I crept down the front hall. Ahead of me, a staircase leading up beckoned, but I wanted to clear the first floor before heading up. No sense leaving a threat that could come up behind me as I ascended. The room to my immediate right was something of a sitting area, with a fireplace. A few embers smoldered in the hearth, but aside from two armchairs, a small table and a few magazines, it was empty.

  I moved into the dining room next. A long table stood in the middle and that was it. Same with the kitchen at the rear of the house. Larazo had clearly moved everyone upstairs, which made sense defensively. If they got assaulted, the stairway would be the likely choke point and they could easily defend it while they called for reinforcements. Of course, Larazo and his team had been expecting a team of normal humans thugs. A guy who could walk through the door probably wasn’t on the agenda.

  The first floor cleared, I moved back to the bottom of the staircase. I couldn’t hear anything from the upstairs. And that made me nervous. The stairs were wooden, covered in a thick pile carpet, and I placed my feet carefully, hoping the carpet would absorb any noise I made.

  Moving up stairs is always tough. The source of immediate contact isn’t necessarily going to be directly in front of you. Depending on the layout of the stairs, the enemy could potentially lean over the rail and shoot you in your back as you move up. As such, you have to adopt a sort of twisted position in order to try to cover all your vulnerable areas. Ideally, I would have had at least one other team member directly behind me aiming up and covering my back.

  I didn’t have that luxury.

  I took each step in time with my breathing. The longer I stayed exposed, the worse off I was. I needed to be upstairs as quickly as possible without compromising my safety. As I drew further up the stairs, I caught a whiff of something and I frowned. Blood. A lot of it.

  Near the top of the stairs, I lowered myself so I wasn’t standing upright. I turned and saw a single corridor with three doors off of them. They were all closed, but dim light spilled from underneath one of the doors. And on the floor of the hall, I spotted streaks of blood and gore. More of it marred the walls.

  I found two corpses in the first bedroom. They were both team members and neither had managed to even draw their weapons. In the second bedroom, I found the driver and the guy who’d been in the house at the start of the operation. That left Larazo and the principal, as well as the mysterious dude who had shown up only minutes earlier.

  Outside of the third bedroom, I watched the light under the door to see if I could spot shadows or some type of movement. I had no idea what would happen when I breached the room. In a better scenario, I might have had a fiber optic camera I could snake under the door tha
t would give me a clear picture of who was in the room and where.

  No such luck this time.

  I checked to make sure I had the safety off on the G3. I knew I did, but you check anyway. The one time you don’t check will be the time you inadvertently slipped it back on.

  I took several deep breaths and prepared to come off the frame and kick the door in.

  “Il suffit d'ouvrir la porte s'il vous plaît.”

  Aw, damn.

  I didn’t think I’d have the element of surprise for too long, but hearing someone call out, “just open the door, please” in French sort of took the wind out of my sails. I turned the knob and nudged the door open while I stayed back outside to the right of the jamb.

  “Parlez vous français?”

  “I prefer English,” I said.

  “Fair enough. Come in, please. I promise you no harm will come to you right now.”

  Right now? That didn’t sound particularly promising. Still, I needed to know that Larazo was still alive. And who the hell this guy was.

  I stepped into the room, bringing up the G3 as I did so. What I saw didn’t make me feel all that good. The man I’d seen walk up the steps stood in between LeClaire and Larazo. He had two pistols aimed at both of them, one in either hand. He smiled and I saw he was older, probably in his fifties with remarkably smooth skin that reminded me of stretched leather.

  “What is your name?”

  “Lawson.”

  He blinked once and then grinned some more. “You will not need that gun.”

  “From where I stand, I need it very much.”

  “I am Cheval. Do you know of me?”

  “A little bit.”

  “I will kill these men if you do not do as I say. Do you doubt my word?”

  Given what I’d read about him, I didn’t have any reason to doubt him. “No.”

  “Then put the gun down unless you want your friend here to die.” He gestured to Larazo. “I didn’t come here for him. Or any of the others.”

  “Could have fooled me. There are four bodies out there in the other rooms.”

  Cheval smiled. “Well, in my defense they did attempt to shoot me. At least one of them did. Tragically the others fell before they could reach their weapons.”

  I still had the G3 on his chest. One squeeze of the trigger and I could take him out. But the two pistols he had trained on either side of him meant that in all likelihood, Larazo would take a bullet. I couldn’t let him die.

  “The gun, Lawson. Put it down.”

  “Larazo goes free first.”

  Cheval chuckled. “Oh, my goodness, no. Larazo is my only defense against you shooting me. I don’t imagine you care all that much for the likes of LeClaire here. After all, he’s nothing but a worthless snitch. He’s stolen from me and I aim to recoup my losses.”

  “By killing him? That doesn’t make much sense.”

  “But it does,” said Cheval. “Loyalty, after all, has some degree of value.”

  “Only to those who care about it. LeClaire only cared about money. So you imposing your perceived moral standard of loyalty upon him does little to change the fact that he stole from you.”

  Cheval shrugged. “Still, I will feel better when I kill him.”

  “So, do it now and be done with it. Let Larazo go and we can all walk out of here.”

  LeClaire looked shocked that I’d suggested that, but I didn’t much care. The guy had ruined my Christmas and one of my friends was now at risk of losing his life. As far as I was concerned, if Cheval shot LeClaire and then left, I was pretty okay with that.

  But Cheval wasn’t. “LeClaire figures prominently in a ceremony I have planned for later. He’s coming with me. And so is your friend. The last thing I need is an army of police officers disturbing me later. Now put the gun down or Larazo dies right here.”

  I let the G3 go limp on its sling. Cheval nodded. “There, that wasn’t too hard, was it?”

  “Now what?”

  Cheval smiled. “Now, you die.” And he jerked the pistol away from LeClaire and shot me. The impact of the 9mm took me off my feet and I crashed back into the door jamb, slamming my head against it. I heard the bells on Christmas Day and everything went dark.

  When I came to, I was in a foul mood. Reaching down, I tugged open my jacket and saw the round that had embedded itself in my body armor. It wouldn’t have killed me anyway, since the bullet tip wasn’t wooden, but it could sure hurt like hell. As it was, I was feeling pretty miserable. The bullet plopped off of the vest and tinkled away on the floor. I guessed an hour or so had passed since Cheval had shot me. My G3 was gone, but I still had the SIG.

  And an overwhelming desire to use it on Cheval.

  My car was still where I’d stowed it a few streets over from the safe house. Climbing in, I blew out a frosty breath and gunned the engine before zipping down to the VFW Parkway and heading into Boston. It was late on Christmas Eve and the streets were pretty deserted. Everyone else was cuddled up with visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads and I was trying to chase down a vague lead that would hopefully end this thing once and for all.

  It took me twenty minutes to reach the Council building on Beacon Hill. The clock on my dash read 11:55pm. I stepped out into the brilliantly chilly night and immediately moved into the shadows a few doors down from the brownstone that was the main entrance at the Council. Precisely at midnight, the door opened and then closed. I heard the iron gate lift and then creak shut followed by footsteps approaching my position.

  He never knew what hit him. At least until I pulled him into the doorway and thrust my face into his.

  “You know me?”

  He was a wiry guy a few decades older than me named Bertel and he worked in the intel section. His glasses jumped up and down as his head did the same. “L-lawson.”

  “Very good. I’m going to ask you a few questions and I want some answers. If I don’t like what I’m hearing or think you’re lying to me, it’s going to get ugly. Understand?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Why do we have a file on Cheval?”

  “Who?”

  I bounced him off of the bricks behind his head. He moaned.

  “Cheval,” I said. “Haitian guy who runs the syndicates in Boston.”

  Bertel shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that stuff.”

  “You’re lying. If anyone knows about Cheval, it would be you. Now tell me the truth or I’ll shoot you.”

  “You can’t shoot me-“

  “But I can. And I will. If you know who I am, then you should also know a little something of my reputation. I don’t tolerate fools gladly. I don’t even tolerate them un-gladly. Tell me what I want to know and we part friends.”

  Bertel gulped a few times and a few more when I brought the SIG up and waggled it in his face. Finally, reason prevailed. “Cheval’s an asset.”

  “What the hell does that mean? He’s one of us?”

  “No,” said Bertel. “He’s human. But he’s a Loyalist.”

  That made no sense. “What? For here in Boston?”

  “No, he helped us down in Haiti. When he wanted to get out of Haiti, we helped him relocate as part of his payment for services rendered.”

  I released Bertel and sighed. “Dirty laundry.”

  Bertel shrugged. “We didn’t care what he did because it was for the humans. But he’d helped a few of our people during the Baby Doc years and we owed him.”

  “Where does he hole up here in town?”

  “Why?”

  I eyed Bertel. “You really want to know?”

  Bertel shook his head. “He lives in Mattapan, but you won’t find him there most times.”

  “Where then?”

  “The South End. Down past the hospital near Melnea Cass Boulevard. There’s a big warehouse that he owns. Word is he’s had it converted into some sort of pleasure dome.”

  I brushed the front of Bertel’s coat off. “That’s good. Thank you.”

  “Y
ou’re not going there, are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s got a friend of mine. I’m going to get him back.” I paused. “Does Cheval still do work for us?”

  Bertel shook his head. “No. But he’s friends with some of the people on the Council. Why?”

  “Because I’m going to kill him.”

  Boston City Hospital was where the city sent its poor and homeless to be cared for. The area around the place sucked. Crime was rampant, but no one would make a move without Cheval’s permission. I assumed he had a tacit agreement with the scum that prowled the streets: give Cheval a cut and he let them work the corners for any cash they could get. Cheval wouldn’t make any real money on the deal, but it further established his dominance over this section of the city.

  I parked close to the hospital, which was surprisingly crowded, and hoofed it over to the warehouse where Cheval made his home. I wished I’d had time to get a replacement for the G3 Cheval stole from me, but time was ticking and I didn’t know if Larazo was even still alive. The SIG would have to do.

  Cheval’s warehouse was a dilapidated piece of shit with corrugated metal peeling away from the girders and rusting out in all sorts of places. A cursory glance and you wouldn’t even notice the joint. But I spotted some graffiti in French and Creole that were enough to let me know I was in the right place. I paused in the empty lot next to the warehouse and gave it a once over. I spotted the guard just inside a little shanty shack nuzzling up close to a single door. His cigarette burned red in the night air and I moved around his location counter-clockwise, working my way behind him.