by Matt Drabble
Johnson eased out from the shadows and into the night, the lane was deserted, and the nearest house was almost a half mile away. The house was almost the perfect hideout, almost. He closed his eyes and lifted his head towards the stars; he reveled in his new found power. He was leaner and stronger than he had ever been in his distant youth. He was fast and agile; he was a hunter once more. Never again would he be looked upon as an old man to usurped by the younger lions, he would be an immortal predator.
The lane held but one telegraph pole with an ancient looking streetlight that hung low and rusty with age. The flickering light did little to illuminate the narrow rutted road. He danced around the meager glow, the house was guarded by nothing but leafy trees that may offer privacy, but little in the way of protection. A small and neat white picket fence encased the property aesthetically pleasing but security lacking.
Johnson stepped gracefully into the front garden, his feet leaving large imprints on the dewy wet lawn. He skipped across the front lawn, the front door was large and solid, and the front windows were double-glazed with decent locks. As a member of Jimmy’s inner circle of Lieutenants he had known Ghost for years, the man was predictable in his carefulness and planning. He had assumed that the house would be a fortress, but perhaps Ghost had himself grown old, this was his refuge, a home away from home. The house in Riverside had been all too easy to find, and this very fact had led Johnson to believe that he must have a property somewhere else. Drake had confirmed this notion by furnishing him with this address, Drake’s Intel appeared to be flawless.
A light exploded onto the road as a noisy 4x4 rattled its way along the lane, Johnson flung himself flat onto the grass pressing himself into the shadows. It was not within his remit to draw any unwanted attention by taking out civilians. The car bumped its way drunkenly along the lane before disappearing into the darkness. Johnson sprang quickly to his feet with a feline grace and eased around the property towards the rear searching silently for an opening. A cursory check of the house revealed no security lights aimed into the garden, he trampled through a vegetable patch with relish. He eventually found what he was looking for; a small kitchen window left ajar presumably against the sweating cooking odors.
Satisfied, he removed himself out of hearing range of the house and headed back out of the garden quickly covering the fifty feet from the home in seconds. After checking for any listeners and finding none, he slipped the mobile phone from his inside pocket and speed dialed Ghost’s private number and waited for the answer.
“Johnson?” Was the first word that Ghost spoke.
Johnson stood in the shadows, looking at the house and picturing Ghost’s nervous, worried face within. He resisted the urge to smile and allow his joviality to enter his carefully chosen tone. “Yeah it’s me” he panted into the phone aiming for a panicked voice. “What the hell’s going on Ghost? I can’t find anyone; nobody’s answering phones or doors anywhere in the city”
“It’s all gone to shit in a hurry my old friend, look where are you?” Ghost asked wearily.
“I’m over in Riverside; I was heading for your place”
“Wrong place I’m not there”
“Then where the hell am I supposed to go? Should I just take off?” Johnson upped the panic in his voice knowing that Ghost’s loyalty would kick in.
“No, it’s not safe for any of us at the minute” Ghost quickly replied, “Come to us, grab a pen and I’ll give you directions”
“Are you sure that I’m invited” Johnson added with a nervous laugh.
“Of course dumb ass, just get here quick, I need everyone that I can trust right now”
Johnson pretended to write the directions down and promised to there within the hour. He disconnected the call; his face illuminated by the low glow of the phone's backlit screen was cruel and eager. Armed with his invitation, he ran back towards the house and the open rear window.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
April 2012
Drake sat in quiet contemplation, the church surroundings a foul distortion for his purposes. The kitchen was large and spacious, the units clean and new, the cooker sat untouched and unnecessary. The room was functional to a perfunctory perusal, the appliances were all present and accounted for, but of little use to the occupants.
Drake often sat in the kitchen enjoying the familiar feelings from his childhood; he had spent many happy hours as a child watching his mother bake and cook. She had been a strong woman married to a weak man. She had been a catholic, strong of faith and adherence to the word, and thus would not consider divorce. His father had been a spineless gambler and drinker, a millstone around his mother’s neck that she struggled to carry throughout their marriage. Drake had been infused with his mother’s strength and iron will. He had merely channeled it into more profitable areas, unwilling to ever find himself in a similar position. His mother had ploughed her anger and frustration into pounding dough and whipping ingredients furiously. Despite the sometimes air of resentment that often lingered whilst she baked, he had loved to sit amongst the enticing smells and sounds as bread rose and cakes sweetened. The kitchen was still the room that he felt drawn to whenever he needed time to think, his mother had used the room to process through her thoughts and calculate moves.
The reports were coming in fast and furious; Jimmy’s crew was falling with rapid succession. He had lined up the dominos with expert precision. He knew that Jimmy, and especially Ghost, would have employed and retained only the most competent of staff, and he would not take anybody lightly. After all of these years spent in experienced planning, he would not allow anyone, or anything, to disrupt his plans. Jimmy’s inner circle was scattering fast and far, and they would all need mopping up. He knew that he could leave no one behind to one day return in vengeance. Most of the lower level operatives would be folded into his organization. They would be assessed as to usefulness and ability, some would be turned, some would be left, and some would disappear. He already had a list of those that he had turned for the purpose of the war, which would need to be destroyed after. The last thing that he wanted would be dangerous vampires with grand ideas and ambitions. He had learnt his lesson to never again allow any one person to know too much.
He stood up from the large solid oak dining table that dominated the kitchen and pushed in the chair neatly. He moved over to the walk-in pantry that had been a necessity when he’d first designed the room. The large heavy door was bolted and secured with a substantial padlock; he produced the key from his pocket and opened up.
The pantry was long and narrow, the shelves that lined the walls contained a myriad of cans and packages, all of which were untouched and had long use by dates to discourage any prying eyes. A solid metal hook was driven securely into the rafters, suspended from the ceiling by a chain on the hook was Bob Parker. His hands were above his head, manacled with the chain fed through them. His naked feet hovered above the ground by some five inches; he wore expensive looking tuxedo trousers but was shirtless. His exposed torso was crisscrossed with a variety of bites and wounds, and his skin was pale, and his face stubbled and drawn.
“It’s getting late Bob” Drake greeted the gangster. “I know that I shouldn’t eat this late, but what the hell, I’m celebrating”
Drake watched as Bob Parker swung gently on his chain, his face lifted with great effort. His eyes were glazed and distant, containing more pain and torture than any man should have to endure. Drake pushed him and watched with hunger as he swayed back and forth. “Mother always said not to play with my food, but what did she know” he laughed.
Drake had always prided himself on his preparation; he had read that the average human man contains around five and a half liters of blood. A man could lose up to forty percent before their life was in danger. Drake knew that he could not leave a slew of bodies drained of blood all over the city without raising suspicion. The Parkers had served a vital part in his plans, before he could first begin to move against Jimmy, he required a figure
head to place out in front. The Parkers had been perfect; they were just big enough and ballsy enough to fit the bill. They had already been sniffing around the edges of Jimmy’s city, and it would not have been a surprise to see them make a move. He had taken the brothers out of circulation and began operating under their banner. He knew that Jimmy and Ghost would see every move that he made, as an attack by the Parkers. The most crucial part of his plan was to never reveal himself until the very end. He wanted desperately to walk into a room containing a bound and chained pair of traitorous scumbags, and walk out of the shadows. Their shock and disbelief would be more fulfilling than drinking a thousand pure virgins. Unfortunately, he had only half of the Parker brothers left, Richard had been rather too rambunctious to contain.
He’d left word for the brothers that he’d had an inside track with which to take Jimmy Dent down for good. The brothers had been only too eager to meet, and their overconfidence had led them to come alone as requested. He knew that he may need them alive in the future and had sought only to subdue and sequester the pair. Richard however, had proved to be far more resourceful and dangerous than he’d expected. The older brother had fought like an animal after watching his sibling incapacitated by Drake as they’d entered the deserted warehouse. Perhaps there had been arrogance on his part, as the two men entered. Instead of taking them with quiet stealth, he had reveled in the confrontation, trusting absolutely in his own power. In his desperation Richard had grabbed a piece of a broken wooden crate. The jagged edge more than enough to pierce his heart and end everything before it had even begun. Drake had torn out the man’s throat nearly severing his head clean from his shoulders, he’d scooped up the two men, dumping one and taking the other home.
Bob had proved to be a useful ally, his name had covered Drake’s tracks and his blood had proved to be a bountiful source of renewable nourishment. He took the swinging body in his arms and bit deeply into the man’s upper thigh. He drank with care and restraint not wanting to drain his food completely and render him useless. The day had almost dawned, when he could step out of the shadows. He would reveal himself once again to the city and take his rightful place upon his throne.
Rybeck had barely got the words out of his mouth, pleased with his grand entrance before Ghost had bounded across the room. He was painfully gripped around the throat and powered backwards into the wall spinning his thoughts and mind.
“How the fuck did you get in here?” Ghost roared, on his face all pretense of control was gone, replaced by fear and suspicion. “How did you find this place?” He demanded.
“Easy, easy” Rybeck stammered with a choking rasp, “I’m a fucking detective in case you’ve forgotten, it’s why you hired me in the first place, remember”
Suddenly the pressure eased as Eddie’s massive hands reached over and dragged Ghost away. Rybeck sank against the wall for support and massaged his aching throat which felt harsh and raw. “Who the hell is that?” He asked suddenly noticing the bound corpse chained to the pool table.
“Research?” Jessica Kyle the reporter, piped up from the back of the room.
“Research into what exactly?” he asked the room, “Tom?” He added, suddenly recognizing the doctor at the back of the room.
“Hello Alex” Elliot responded somewhat sheepishly.
“How long have you been on the payroll?” He asked, ignoring the rest of them. Dr Tom Elliot had been a close friend of his for years, they had shared many secrets, but he’d never had any clue that they both shared the same extracurricular employer.
“A little longer than you I’m afraid” the doctor replied
“Wait, you knew that I was, but never said anything?”
“Every man keeps his own counsel Alex” came the enigmatic reply, Tom could be infuriating he’d often found.
He surveyed the room to see if there were any others that he recognized. There was Ghost of course, looking angry and nervous, his large consort Eddie, who also for some reason looked decidedly unhappy. There was also the good doctor and the reporter Jessica Kyle who looked flushed and excited. “What a strange menagerie we have here” he addressed the collective.
“Has anybody taken the time to think that we don’t actually know who is really who anymore?” Ghost barked. “We need some kind of test before we’re all lying with our throats torn out wondering just what the fuck happened”
“You know, that’s actually a good point” Jess piped up. “Any one of us could already have been turned”
The room suddenly weighed heavy with mistrust and wariness and everyone took an unconscious step away from their nearest neighbor.
“Excuse me” Rybeck said loudly, “I know that I’m a little late to the party, but would someone mind filling me in, turned into what?”
“Vampires” Eddie announced cheerily as though speaking to a small child.
“Vampires?” Exclaimed Rybeck incredulously; he looked around at the more reliable faces only to see them remain unchanged and impassive. “Tom, you can’t be serious surely?”
“More things in heaven and earth Horatio” Elliot replied quoting Hamlet.
“Garlic” Jess suddenly exclaimed, “The one that attacked me at home went nuts when I shoved some Chinese leftovers into its face. Do we have any?” She looked towards Ghost hopefully.
Rybeck watched amused, as Ghost stomped off towards the kitchen area mumbling under his breath about not being Gordon fucking Ramsey. There seemed to be an odd connection between the two of them, one that he had not witnessed with Ghost and anyone else before. He could only imagine the response if anyone else in the room gave him a direction. Eddie stood large as always, but his usually pleasant face seemed troubled. The reporter appeared calm and assured, whilst Dr Tom Elliot would not meet his gaze. Of all the people to be on the payroll he would never have guessed that his friend would be amongst them. He had known that several key members of the force would have to be part of Jimmy Dent’s organization. Police informers were required in order for them to function without police interference, but they were all carefully kept unaware of each other’s presence. The only reason that people became involved, was either through their greed or dirty secrets, and he could not imagine Tom having either. The reporter he knew all about, once her trailing of Ghost had become known, he’d been given the task. His investigation into her had revealed that she was capable and resourceful. Her reputation was for dogged determination, and she was a terrier who simply would not let go.
He glanced over at the pool table again; the body was splayed open as though in the throes of an autopsy, vampires. The very thought should make him laugh aloud, but his grandmother's influence ran deep and her fireside tales were rooted deep into his bones. Her dark stories from her home country were full of myths and legends that loomed large on stormy nights. The very leaps of imagination that led to him being a good detective, also enabled him to savor every possibility, no matter how strange or peculiar.
Ghost marched grumpily back into the room armed with a small earthenware bowl containing a pulpy white liquid and a large automatic handgun tucked into his trousers. His eyes caught Jess’ and they exchanged an awkward grin.
“Ok” he announced to the room, “Come and get it”
The room formed slowly in front of him, “What’s the best way to do this?” He asked unsure.
“In my apartment just simple contact with the skin produced an instant reaction” Jess offered.
“Ok, if there’s no objections” Ghost asked not caring one way or the other.
Ghost placed his finger into the liquid; he held it up to show the room that there was no reaction. Jess stepped forward first and held out her arm, he gently wiped some of the garlic pulp on her arm. There was no reaction, she walked forward and stood next to him facing the others. Rybeck was next to move forward, he didn’t wait for Ghost and placed his own hand into the bowl, again there was no reaction.
“I really don’t see what this proves” stated Elliot, “We haven’t s
cientifically proved that this is an effective test or not. The whole thing’s pointless if you ask me”
“I don’t remember asking you doc” said Ghost suspiciously, “Why don’t you come up here next?”
“But it isn’t an efficient manner of testing, we don’t know if what Ms Kyle here said is true, or to what level it is accurate. We need a controlled experiment with an actual infected to verify the facts”
Elliot moved backwards away from the advancing Ghost.
“Come here doc, and come now” Ghost added with undisguised menace.
Eddie moved behind the doctor blocking his retreating path, Jess stepped away from the approaching confrontation.
“Surely you must see Tim?” Elliot pleaded towards the growing concern of Rybeck.
Ghost suddenly flung the bowl of liquid at Elliot, the pulpy white liquid splattered onto his exposed neck and splashing into Eddie’s face behind, as he crouched to hold the doctor. There was no skin reaction from the surprised doctor but Eddie began coughing violently and the whole room jumped away instantly from the spluttering big man. Ghost brought the large handgun up in a swift and fluid motion, the large barrel aimed at Eddie’s head. Eddie bent double and heaved fiercely, spilling his dinner on the floor; Ghost squeezed the trigger slowly with great regret. Anyone else and he would have already blown a large hole in the coughing man. It was this affection, that saved Eddie’s life, suddenly Eddie’s coughs eased, and he stood up slowly. His breath hitched, and he hiccupped, he looked up embarrassed at the group.
“Sorry” he spluttered, “Some of that went in my mouth and I hate garlic” he added sheepishly.
The room breathed a collective sigh and laughter broke out to shatter the tension.