by AnonYMous
Dante strolled up to the reception desk with Kacy following on behind. He recognised Benito the receptionist. Benito was wearing the shitty pink porter outfit that Dante himself had once had to wear during his time as an employee there.
‘Mornin’, Benny,’ Dante said brightly. ‘Lost my room key, can you give me another please?’
Benito looked reasonably pleased to see him. The two of them had gotten on well enough in the past. ‘It’ll cost twenty dollars for a replacement,’ he said apologetically.
‘That’s okay. Just bill it to the room.’
‘Sure thing.’
Benito tapped a few keys on a keyboard on his desk and then grabbed a keycard from a drawer by his right leg. He tossed it over the counter to Dante.
‘Try not to lose that one,’ he said. ‘The fine goes up to thirty dollars next time.’
‘Thanks.’
When Dante turned around Kacy was already heading for the stairs. ‘Don’t you wanna take the elevator?’ he called after her.
‘No. Do you?’
He pondered the idea for a second. Elevators were bad news in Santa Mondega. ‘Nope,’ he said. ‘I’m right behind ya.’
As he followed her up the stairs, admiring her ass for most of the way, Dante wondered what they might find in their hotel room. Would it be as they left it? Would the cops be there investigating the deaths of Robert Swann and Roxanne Valdez? Were there even enough cops left alive to investigate anyway? His name was on all the bills and there was only supposed to be him and Kacy staying in the suite, so as things stood, there was no reason why anyone would be checking the place for evidence. When they arrived at their suite he was pleased to see that nothing much had changed other than the beds had been made by one of the hotel chambermaids.
‘Pack only the stuff you really need,’ he told Kacy, recognising that she would not want to discard too many of the clothes from her wardrobe.
Naturally she pretty much ignored him and set about filling a large suitcase with clothes. She had the case laid out on the bed and was rifling through a chest of drawers. And she seemed to be packing everything. Dante on the other hand was happy to fill a smaller suitcase with just a couple of pairs of boxers, two pairs of jeans and a few T-shirts.
‘Remember you won’t need anything woolly,’ he pointed out as Kacy picked a brown fleece out of the drawers. ‘We won’t be feeling the cold much these days.’
Kacy hesitated a moment, but then folded the fleece and slipped it into her suitcase. ‘If we become human again, we’ll need all the warm clothes we can get our hands on,’ she said. ‘What with all the snow and everything.’
Damn! She had a point. Dante turned back to a chest of drawers with some of his warmer clothes in and started rummaging through them. ‘You know, Kace,’ he said. ‘Sometimes I think you’re even smarter than I am.’
‘Sometimes?’
‘Yeah. This is one of those times.’
‘Are you kidding? You couldn’t tie your fucking shoelaces without me.’
‘I don’t wear laces.’
‘And I know why.’
‘Fine. If you’re so clever, then how come it’s me that has to come up with a plan for how we’re gonna get the Eye of the Moon out of that guy’s head?’
‘Because you got us into this fucking mess!’
‘So?’
Kacy exhaled noisily. ‘Maybe Vanity will have some ideas?’
‘We can’t ask him.’
‘You can’t, but I could.’
‘How?’
‘I can turn on the charm with him a bit.’
‘Turn on the charm? How so exactly?’ Dante asked, more than a hint of suspicion creeping into his voice.
‘Not like that. I just mean, he must know stuff about Gaius. Maybe if I act a bit ditzy I can quiz him a bit? I might find out something useful.’
‘Useful? Like what?’
‘Like maybe Gaius has a dog he takes for walks on his own.’
‘A dog?’
‘Hey, I’m just spitballing here. If we have any chance of stealing that Eye, it’ll be when Gaius is on his own, or even better, when he’s asleep.’
Dante sneered. ‘That is lame.’
‘Fuck off,’ said Kacy, playfully throwing a pair of rolled up socks at him. ‘I’m just trying to think of some scenarios.’
‘I know, babe. I’m just kidding.’
He zipped up his own suitcase, comfortable that he had packed enough stuff. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted something in one of the open drawers that contained the clothes of the now deceased Robert Swann. It was a bottle of clear liquid and a syringe. He recognised them immediately. It was the bottle containing the serum that had lowered his body temperature sufficiently enough to walk undetected among the vampires before he had actually become one. The syringe had been used to administer the injections of the serum.
‘I’d better pack this,’ he said waving the liquid and syringe at Kacy.
‘Why?’
‘Because, well, it’s pretty rare stuff. And who knows when we might need it again?’
Kacy pulled a face. ‘I can’t imagine any reason we’d need to use it.’
‘Well neither can I right now, but things do have reasons, you know.’
‘Do they?’ said Kacy sarcastically.
‘Yes they do.’
‘So give me a reason why you might need the serum. Go on, give me a good one.’
Dante scratched his chin and looked deep in thought, not a look that he used often. Eventually he spoke, albeit somewhat tentatively. ‘What if we get the Eye and get cured? If we were human again we might need the serum to escape from the vampires in this city?’
Kacy gasped. ‘Oh my God. You just said something sensible.’
He frowned. ‘I did, didn’t I?’
‘Yeah. That’s gotta be our cue to get outta here. Who knows what other miracles might be about to happen!’
Dante tucked the syringe in a pocket inside his jacket, then slipped the small bottle into a pocket on the front of his jeans. ‘Come on, let’s get outta here. You got everything?’ he asked, zipping up his suitcase.
Kacy took one last look around the bedroom before zipping up her own suitcase. It was relatively tidy and there didn’t seem to be any evidence of any wrongdoing on display. The only possible problem was that some of Robert Swann’s clothes were left behind, but that didn’t seem significant enough to worry about.
They headed back down the stairs to reception. By the time they reached the bottom Kacy was complaining about the weight of her suitcase.
‘Can you carry mine for me?’ she whined as they strode into the reception area.
‘Are you kidding? We’ve got about a fucking two-mile walk to the Swamp.’
‘Oh God. I can’t walk all that way.’
‘Okay, so why don’t I go pick a car from the parking lot? Save some time and energy.’
‘I’m all for that,’ Kacy agreed. ‘Don’t know about you but I’m feeling kinda weak. Could really use another drink, if you know what I mean?’
Dante did know what she meant. The thirst for human blood was hitting him again too. Was this what it was going to be like as a vampire? Constantly craving the thrill of drinking blood? ‘I’m thirsty as hell,’ he said, leading the way out to the rear car park.
Once they were outside in the car park, Dante surveyed the vehicles available. The car park was pretty full. Cars were lined up in rows of twenty stretching back about ten rows.
‘See anything in particular you like?’ he asked.
‘Are you kidding? They’re all covered in snow. They all look the same.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll choose then.’
He picked out his car of choice very quickly. ‘Wait here and keep an eye out for any cops’ he said to Kacy. ‘I’ll be back in a sec with a car.’ Dropping his own suitcase at her feet he vanished in between the rows of cars.
Kacy knew that Dante was a good at breaking into cars. He might well be
pretty stupid and lacking in such simple skills as discretion, but he could break into and hot-wire a car in less than thirty seconds. Her confidence in him was proven correct when after less than a minute she heard the sound of a car engine starting up. Moments later she saw a car moving through the rows, heading towards her. She slapped her forehead in frustration when she saw Dante’s smiling face behind the wheel on the driver’s side.
He’d picked a police squad car.
The car crawled through the snow and pulled up alongside her. Dante wound down the driver’s side window.
‘Chuck the luggage in the back and hop in,’ he said, accidentally sounding the siren momentarily as he wound the window back up.
Knowing that there was no time to argue or point out the stupidity of stealing a police car, Kacy jumped in and soon they were heading out of the hotel car park and out into the icy streets of the city.
‘You couldn’t have found anything less discreet?’ she asked.
‘Always wanted a cop car.’
The police radio crackled into life as they headed down the main street towards the Swamp. A voice came through loud and clear.
‘This is Detective Sanchez Garcia. Request for backup. I’m on the fourth floor at Remington Tower on 54th Street. I’ve got some unidentified dead bodies here. And there’s blood everywhere. I think the killings have only just occurred and the killer could still be in the vicinity. I’m on my own. Please send backup otherwise I’m getting the fuck outta here.’ There was a pause before he added, ‘I’ve got donuts.’
Dante and Kacy exchanged a quick look.
Kacy said what was on both their minds. ‘He just said there was blood everywhere. Fresh blood. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
‘Dante nodded. ‘Yeah. Fresh blood and we wouldn’t have to kill anyone.’
‘Remington Tower is only a couple of blocks from here,’ said Kacy.
Dante pushed his foot down hard on the accelerator. ‘I’ll get us there in two minutes,’ he said.
Twenty
The pool of blood on the hardwood floor was edging slowly towards Sanchez’s feet. He glanced back at the dead guy with the pink hair in the hall. The poor bastard’s throat was hanging out and blood was still seeping out down the front of his shirt. But it looked like he’d gotten off easy in comparison to the dead woman just inside the door of apartment 406. Sanchez reckoned she was probably in her early thirties, but her face was such a mess it was hard to be sure. Her eyes had been gouged out and her face was caked in blood. She had a bit of a big chin too, he thought inconsequently. There was blood running all down it, due in no small part to the fact that her tongue had been ripped out. A quick scan around the room revealed that she wasn’t the only victim. There were two other corpses inside the room, both of them in a similar state. But no sign of a killer. Or, for that matter, Jessica.
The bloodied blouse on the dead woman had been ripped open and she had vicious deep gashes across her chest. In fact Sanchez was pretty sure one of her nipples was on the floor near his feet. Closer inspection of her blouse showed that it had the local hospital logo on it and the word “MEDIC” sewn in green lettering on the right breast pocket. Using his new detective skills, Sanchez came to the conclusion that the dead bodies were that of the ambulance crew.
The two other bodies in the apartment were in pretty bad shape too. One of them, wearing a standard white medic’s uniform, was on all fours with his head stuck through the television screen. Another, a black guy from the ambulance crew, was lying on his back in a crucifix pose staring up at the ceiling. Well, he would have been staring if he had any eyes. Someone had gouged them out and all that was left were two gaping holes. His white uniform was also stained as badly as that of the woman Sanchez was in the process of stepping over.
Unsurprisingly the place absolutely stank. At least one of these corpses had shit their pants, Sanchez decided. The stench made him want to spray some Forest Fresh air freshener around the room. It was also noticeable that the apartment was as cold as the streets outside.
The reason for the cold became evident when a huge gust of wind from outside blew the curtains open.
‘What kind of a moron keeps their windows open in this weather?’ he pondered, gripping the end of his nightstick tightly.
Then, behind the sofa, he spotted two more dead bodies. Both were men dressed in standard blue police uniforms.
What the fuck?
There was no sign of a bullet wound on anyone. The murders reminded him of the slayings of his brother Thomas and his wife Audrey. He had found them murdered in a similar state a year earlier. The two cops were covered in blood, their eyes were missing and their tongues not particularly visible. What the hell had gone on here? He leaned over the nearest dead police officer to get a better look. It was a forty-something overweight donut loving fellow with grey hair. In a holster by his ribcage he had a small pistol. Sanchez replaced his nightstick on his belt and reached down to the pistol. He slipped his fingers around the handle, hoping to avoid getting any blood on his hands, then slid it out of the holster and took a look at it. It was largely blood free, or at least, the handle was, so he gripped it tightly in his right hand. If there was a killer nearby he needed to be ready to point it and look like he might fire it. He had a pretty dismal record with handguns, but it was better to have one for show and not need to use it, than to not have one at all.
Looking for other items that might be of use he noticed that the cop also had a CB radio on his belt. Sanchez had wanted a CB radio ever since he was a kid. He hadn’t been issued with one by the department, so seeing as the dead cop wouldn’t be needing his any more it seemed logical to relieve him of it. He picked it up and secured it on his belt next to his nightstick. Then he resumed his assessment of the crime scene.
‘Jessica?’ he called out rather tentatively. ‘Jessica? You in here? Hello? Anyone?’
He received no answer, apart from another billowing from the cream coloured curtains. On his right there was a kitchen area and in the corner was an open door that led to a narrow corridor. At the end of the corridor was a closed door. Gun in hand, Sanchez decided to investigate. There could be more dead bodies behind that door, or worse still, the killer could be hiding in there. But, on the off chance that Jessica was in there, it was worth talking a look. And where was Beth Lansbury? Maybe she had killed everyone? After all, she was mental. And this was her apartment.
As he stepped into the corridor, he noticed another door in the wall on the left. A bathroom perhaps? He reached for the doorknob and turned it slowly with his free hand, keeping his gun at the ready just in case. The door creaked as it opened inwards. Directly in front of him, he saw a white toilet. Using his newfound detective skills he deduced that it was indeed a bathroom. And there were no signs of any violence in it, not even so much as a skid mark down the back of the toilet. Peering right around the door he was pleased to see that there was no one hiding inside.
He backed out of the bathroom and tiptoed towards the door at the end of the corridor. By now he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. His breathing was louder than he would have liked too. Dreading what he might find, he took a deep breath and turned the doorknob. He threw the door open and jumped back, pointing his gun into the room, just in case. No noise came out. All he could see was a blue coloured wall opposite and the end of a bed on the left. He edged forward and peered around the doorway. There was nothing of any interest inside, just a perfectly made bed, a dresser and a walk in wardrobe. The room seemed completely untouched by the carnage that had gone on in the living room area. Breathing a sigh of relief he tucked the gun into the back of his pants and stepped back out, closing the bedroom door behind him.
It looked as though the killer had fled, possibly at the sight of Sanchez arriving to investigate, so he was in the apartment on his own. This would be a good time to call for back up, he supposed. He pulled the CB radio from his belt and radioed in to the police frequency.
; ‘This is Detective Sanchez Garcia. Request for backup. I’m on the fourth floor at Remington Tower on 54th Street. I’ve got some unidentified dead bodies here. And there’s blood everywhere. Reckon the killings have only just occurred and the killer could still be in the vicinity. I’m on my own. Please send backup otherwise I’m getting the fuck outta here.’ Sensing that no one would come without a decent incentive, he added. ‘I’ve got donuts.’
But first things first, now that the adrenaline rush brought on by checking the apartment for signs of the Bourbon Kid was subsiding, he felt a desperate need for a piss.
He walked back into the bathroom and lifted the seat on the toilet. He tucked his gun into the back of his pants and unzipped his fly. There was nothing quite like unleashing his special homebrew on the world to relieve a tense situation. As he listened to the sound of piss hitting water in the toilet below, he pondered what might have become of Jessica. Maybe she had escaped through the open window in the living room? That was a possibility. She was a resourceful young lady. In fact maybe she was out there hanging off the window ledge waiting for him to come to her rescue? It was definitely worth checking.
He finished his piss and zipped up his fly. As he reached forward to flush the toilet, the handgun that he had tucked neatly into the back of his pants slid out. No, it was pulled out.
Uh-oh.
He heard a loud click. Someone had released the safety clip on the gun.
Fuck.
As the toilet made a loud flushing noise, Sanchez turned around slowly. Stood behind him, pointing the gun at his face was a man he recognised. The man wore casual clothes, just a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt under a black leather jacket. Not his usual attire, but even so, Sanchez recognised him straight away. It was the Bourbon Kid.
He raised his arms in surrender. The Kid never looked anything other than murderous, so Sanchez hoped his lucky streak of surviving unscathed every time the pair of them met would continue. The Kid’s face showed some genuine anger. Maybe he lived here? If so, Sanchez hoped that he wouldn’t notice a small patch of piss on the floor where he’d missed the toilet at one point. All it would take was one squeeze of the trigger on the gun, (which was inconveniently pointed at his face) and Sanchez’s time would be at an end.