The Living Night: Box Set

by Jack Conner

Byron sipped on a long-necked Corona and smoked a Camel as he watched the show from the second-floor balcony, far removed from the mosh pit. Cloire was prancing around on stage, snarling and growling into the microphone while the band and the backup singers provided atmosphere. The style of the band hovered somewhere between death metal, punk and goth.

  Vistrot had created the band for Cloire several years ago when she'd shown an interest in singing, and Peyote Dawn played several times a month here at St. Lucifer's, which Vistrot owned. After a while, she'd begun to draw in decent crowds and eventually became something of a success. The room tonight was crowded, the empty space near the ceiling filled with a blue thunderhead of cigarette smoke.

  Lights flashed, music swelled and Cloire began to sing. She didn't have what one would call a pretty voice, but it was raucous and edgy, with a wide range and surprisingly filled with emotion. As Byron listened, he could feel the hairs stick up on the back of his neck. Pride surged through him.

  I do love her, damn it. No matter what she said herself, he was convinced that on some level she felt the same. They'd lived together for years, and though she slept around every now and then just to prove she could, she was basically faithful to him.

  He glanced at Kiernevar beside him, scowling deeply, dressed to the nines in a tailored suit. Byron was the one to look after him, and after her initial repulsion, Cloire had not complained, which was further proof to the Australian that she cared for him.

  "What do you think?" he asked.

  Kiernevar had made a little mental progress toward sanity. Apparently being cared for, talked to and restrained frequently for misbehavior was having some effect. A psychiatrist had even prescribed a drug, which he was to take three times a day.

  Kiernevar looked alertly at Byron, then back at Cloire, but said nothing, and the Australian didn’t press him.

  Someone slid into the seat next to him: Loirot, smiling, in his typical Armani suit, which seemed incongruent amid the crowd, as did Kiernevar's. But with Kiernevar the suit was progress, while with Loirot it was simply irritating.

  "So you decided to come?" Byron said.

  Loirot shrugged. "How could I not? It's her release party, after all. I think even Jean-Pierre might show up."

  "You talked to him?"

  "Yeah, but—"

  "How's he doing? He looked pretty bad last time I saw him."

  "Not great, but better. He took losing Danielle for a second time pretty good, all things considered. That's not the big news."

  "There's news?"

  "Two things. First, Vistrot called Jean-Pierre and told him we're going back after the odd flock—they're in Vegas—and we leave tomorrow. Second, and more interesting—we're getting a new member to the team."

  "You're kidding. Well, tell me about him."

  "Her. Name's Sophia. They call her the Ice Queen. I don't know much about her, except she comes from L.A."

  "Interesting. But why?"

  "Who knows what goes on in Vistrot's head? Jean-Pierre said something about fresh blood, but he was vague. If you ask me, with the addition of Norman Bates over here the team is too large already."

  "I'm inclined to agree, though I'd rather keep Kiernevar than Kilian."

  "The same goes for me, of course. You know how I feel about that prick. But Kilian has a point, along with Cloire: Jean-Pierre may be losing it."

  "Jean-Pierre," murmured Kiernevar.

  The other two turned to look at him. Byron was thankful; it saved him from having to speak ill of the albino.

  "Go on," he urged Kiernevar. "Tell us how you feel. Do you like Cloire's music?"

  "... no"

  Byron tried to prod him with a few more questions, but Kiernevar remained silent.

  "He may come round yet," said Loirot.

  "He just needs time."

  "Sure. Anyway, this new girl, Sophia, may be coming here tonight to meet us."

  Byron sipped his beer, mulled it over, then decided to make it more entertaining. "Let's make a game of it.”

  "How?"

  "Let's see ... how about if one of us spots her before she comes over—say the first one to do it—gets a thousand bucks from the other." Money meant very little to them. There was so much of it to be had at their fingertips that even the smallest bet had to be substantial, just out of principle.

  "I'm game," said Loirot.

  They shook on it, then turned their attention to the show. Cloire was singing a ballad and the lights had dimmed. During the most emotional part of the song, her eyes fell on Byron and she winked. Byron nearly blushed.

  It was Loirot who spotted Sophia first.

  "Enter the dragon," he muttered.

  Byron looked up and around, then caught sight of her. "Exit a grand.”

  Sophia entered, a small opened package in her hands, consulting a few pictures. She saw them and came over. She wore a sleek, glossy black outfit, zippered up the middle, with pants and sleeves, which only accentuated how long and graceful she was, and she walked in fashionable combat boots. Her black hair was tied back and her violet eyes nearly stabbed into Bryon they were so sharp. All and all, very interesting.

  As she approached the table, Byron and Loirot stood.

  "You must be Sophia," Byron said.

  She smiled, seductive. "And you're Byron, and you're Loirot. Vistrot gave me pictures of all of you so I'd know who to approach and a little note—" (she held up the package, sat it down on the table) "—written by him, so you'd know I was legit." She stuck out her hand.

  "What's this?" He looked at the hand and embraced her. Clearly, she was surprised. Loirot embraced her, too.

  She put a hand to her face. "I wasn't expecting you to be so friendly. This is New York, after all. You've got a reputation to uphold."

  "We're like a family," Loirot explained, and offered her a chair. “No matter how much we bicker."

  "Thank you," she said, accepting.

  The others resumed sitting, and Sophia ordered a daiquiri from a passing waiter, which was delivered promptly. Studying Kiernevar, she said, "Good evening."

  "Kiernevar."

  "That's his name," Byron told her, surprised again to feel a certain pride, this time for the lunatic; he'd actually introduced himself, in his way.

  "Is he a member of the team? Vistrot didn't mention him or give me his picture."

  "I'm sure he's trying to forget Kiernevar ever existed,” Byron said. “He was our latest addition to the team until you came—we picked him up about a week ago."

  "Actually, it was Jean-Pierre who picked him," said Loirot. "We still haven't figured out why."

  "The albino tends to romanticize certain things," Byron said. "Insanity is one of them. Really, we don't know why he did it any more than you do, so don't feel uncomfortable about it."

  "Thanks. So you're saying Kiernevar's ..."

  "I believe the scientific term is batshit."

  She studied Kiernevar, who was looking back at her. "Are you okay, Kiernevar?"

  "Kiernevar," he repeated. "Squish squash."

  "Right. Well, it's refreshing to meet a nut who's taciturn; in my experience, it's usually the reverse." She watched the stage. "She's good.”

  "She'll be glad to hear you say it," Loirot said.

  "Flattery is a child's game, though it has its uses."

  She seemed suddenly cold to Byron. Then again, what had Loirot said: the Ice Queen?

  "So, you're from L.A.," he said. "What do you do there?"

  "This and that. Not much of anything, really. That's why I came here."

  "We're delighted to have you," said Loirot.

  She hunched over to sip her daiquiri and her outfit squeezed her breasts in a most titillating manner. Byron stirred despite himself.

  "Come here alone?" Loirot asked.

  "Don't know a soul."

  "Now you do." His voice was husky.

  "Thanks.”

  Loirot was evidently expecting something more, but Sophia held her ground.
<
br />   "So what do you two do when you're not offing people?" she said.

  If there was an insult there, neither of them recognized it.

  "I don't know," Byron said. "Whatever it is, we usually end up hung-over afterwards."

  She laughed again, a pleasant sound. She raised her glass. "Let's make a toast. To our future together."

  They all clinked glasses and drank.

  "Would you like to come to Cloire's big CD release party after the show?" Loirot asked her.

  "I'd be honored," she said. "Can't wait to meet Cloire."

  "You'll get your chance," Byron told her. "The show's almost over."

  Loirot grinned. "Wait till she gets a load of you."

  Apprehension filled Byron. Cloire might just go berserk at having a new member—especially another female—and kill Sophia, or the other way around. He wasn't looking forward to going backstage, and could feel the tension in his gut.

  Jean-Pierre approached. Sophia rose to meet him. For some reason, it was odd, Byron thought, seeing them staring at each other, trying to take the other’s measure.

  "Welcome to the party," the albino said, and gave a little bow to her before sitting down.

  "Glad to be here.”

  To Byron, he said, "Don't suppose Kilian's going to show up, do you?"

  "I'll bet you a grand he doesn't," the Australian said.

  Jean-Pierre smiled. "Another time." He summoned a waiter and ordered champagne, which was an odd thing to have at a rock club, but then Vistrot always had to add a personal touch. "We'll dedicate this round to Cloire.”

  Byron nodded, and the Frenchman winked.

  "Good to have you back, Jean-Pierre."

  "Good to be back," the albino said. He reached for Sophia's hand, which was creeping toward her box of cigarettes. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "And with such lovely company."

  Loirot and Byron exchanged glances, their thought unsaid: On the rebound, poor bastard.

  Sophia did a strange thing. She took Jean-Pierre's hand to her own lips and kissed it. "The same to you.”

  Byron thought he might get to like Sophia and could tell from the expression on Jean-Pierre's face that the albino felt the same. The next few weeks could be very interesting.

  The crew settled in to watch the last few minutes of Cloire's performance, which ended with a roar, then stood to clap. They finished their drinks and made their way into the chaotic backstage areas to find Cloire in a make-up room removing the skoal from around her eyes. A zip-lock bag of hallucinogenic mushrooms loomed on the counter near her elbow.

  She swiveled at the crew's approach. Immediately her gaze went to Sophia. "Who's this?"

  "Sophia, a new member to our group,” said Jean-Pierre.

  "Oh, fuck, whitey, not another of your strays."

  "She came to us through Vistrot."

  "Jesus fucking Christ, we could stand to lose a few members already. Well, she'll have to go through Initiation or I quit this team right fucking now. We still haven't initiated this bloody bastard," she said, hiking a thumb at Kiernevar.

  "Oh, she'll be initiated, don't worry. Now be civil, Cloire."

  "Bite me, Jean-Pierre." To Sophia, she said, "So you're Vistrot's new mole."

  "That's right, sister," said Sophia. Her stance widened, preparing for battle.

  Cloire stepped back a foot, crouching a little as if she were about to lunge.

  Sophia smiled. "Shall we piss for distance now?"

  Cloire glared at her, then swept her gaze over the others. Suddenly, Cloire exploded in laughter, stepped forward and embraced Sophia roughly.

  "Nice to see another cunt around here. Shit, can't wait till we get down to some good ol' fashioned girl-talk for a change. We'll do each other's fucking hair. Just don't make eyes at Byron here—he's mine." She patted Sophia on the back, then indicated her bag of shrooms. "You trip, Sofe?"

  "I'm from L.A."

  The crew ate the mushrooms there, then went back to the apartment that Byron and Cloire shared, where many revelers had already arrived—all friends and associates of Peyote Dawn. After an hour the hallucinogens began to kick in, and Sophia lived up to Byron's expectations as a hard-living, hard-drinking shade, blending right in. Cloire even invited her to spend the night—they'd pick up her clothes and stuff tomorrow on their way out of town—and she agreed.

  Around four in the morning, Byron began to come down, so he and Cloire smoked a couple of joints, took some Valium and retired to their bedroom. Before climbing into bed, she picked up the phone and called someone.

  "Martin Ascott," she repeated, writing it down, "Hamptons, huh? Okay, I've got it. Nice job tracking him down. I'll put your money in the mail tomorrow."

  "What was that all about?" Byron said when she’d hung up.

  "Nothing, just some insurance,” Cloire said. “Just in case ... "

  He patted the bed beside him and she scooted beneath the sheets. As he reached over her to switch off the lamp, he whispered "I love you" in her ear, but she was breathing heavily, eyes closed. He sighed, kissed her forehead and turned out the light.

  * * *

  Sophia woke up on the couch around ten in the morning to the smell of eggs frying. And something else, something horrible, underneath. She rubbed her eyes, lit a cigarette, and moved to the kitchen, where Byron made breakfast.

  "You like omelets?" he said.

  "Nothing better. Where's Cloire?"

  "Shower. She doesn't eat breakfast."

  "Right. Any beer left?"

  "Help yourself."

  Ignoring the stench, she rooted around in the refrigerator and came up with a Shiner Bock. This was all so weird to her, this easy camaraderie, and she wasn't sure her acting talents were up to it. She was a loner, happiest in seclusion, but for the purposes of the assignment she had to be friendly.

  The assignment itself was nothing like she'd hoped—there would be no grand seduction of Vistrot, no cloak-and-dagger intrigue—and the only reason she'd agreed to it was because of the direct involvement with Ruegger and Danielle. Maybe, if she couldn't find out why they were being hunted, she could thwart the hunt itself. At any rate, she'd come too far to go back now.

  Maybe she could turn her seductress impulses in the direction of Jean-Pierre, who was friendly with Vistrot. He could provide the access she needed, but the thought of sleeping with the albino turned her cold.

  If that was the only way...

  She and Byron breakfasted together, and she made an effort to return the light conversation that he put forward. Really, he was what she would call a nice guy, if in a bearish sort of way. Strange that he should be an assassin. And stranger still that he would be involved with someone like Cloire, who was not what Sophia would call nice by any standards.

  Cloire ambled in, dressed in a bathrobe with a towel about her head, sat down next to Byron and lit a cigarette.

  "Nothing better than a post-shower smoke.”

  "Enjoy your omelet?" Byron asked Sophia.

  "Super." Something stunk, she thought. Something really fucking stunk.

  "Well, I try." He smiled and glanced up suddenly at a just-arriving Kiernevar, naked and covered in his own feces.

  "Oh, for God's sakes," protested Cloire. "Byron, you idiot, you forgot to give him his pills, didn't you?"

  "I guess I must have. Sorry." He turned to Sophia, who'd managed to keep her composure, and shrugged. "He does this sometimes, part of his insanity, I guess ... I'm sorry if it offends you."

  "I've seen worse," she assured him.

  "Well, go wash the bastard off and give him his bleeding pill," said Cloire, and Byron disappeared with Kiernevar. "So, Sofe, how does all this strike you?"

  "You mean Kiernevar?"

  "Everything."

  Sophia smiled. "I can't wait to hit Vegas."

  "That's my girl. All quite a switch from L.A., I imagine."

  They talked for a few minutes about the differences between L.A. and New York before Byron an
d a very clean Kiernevar reappeared.

  The big Australian glanced at his watch. "Time to go, ladies."

  They set out for Sophia's motel so that she could collect what belongings she wanted to bring with her to Vegas, then started towards Jean-Pierre's apartment for the noon meeting.

  "Like his digs?" Cloire asked Sophia as they walked down the main hall.

  "What happened here?" Sophia noted the trails of blood and injured vagrants.

  Cloire laughed. "Jean-Pierre kidnapped Danielle and took her here, devil knows why. He wanted her to come back to him, I guess, but she didn't fall for it. See all these homeless bastards? Well, the albino's a powerful psychic and he can control all these wretches if he wants to. He couldn't kill dear Danielle himself, of course, so he sicced his little friends on her. Luckily for her, Ruegger came along and played hero. Fucking pendejo.” She stuck a finger down her throat and made gagging sounds. “It was a stupid thing for Jean-Pierre to do; we could've killed 'em and been done with it, but no. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure that whitey's got it in him to kill her. Fucking schmuck. I guess that’s why you’re here."

  "At least we get a paid vacation out of it."

  "Yeah, I guess." She seemed to be considering something and glanced at Byron, who watched her worriedly. This only made her smile broader.

  "I missing something?" Sophia said.

  "Don't, Cloire," Byron warned, but Cloire just laughed.

  She hesitated, then seemed to decide to go ahead and say it: "You want this team to be efficient, don't you, Sophe? After all, you've got to report to Vistrot, so you have a stake in the team doing well, right?"

  "I guess."

  "So if the team was inefficient, you'd want to repair it?"

  Sophia could see it in her face. "You mean removing Jean-Pierre."

  "Stop it!" said Byron.

  Cloire patted his hand. "Don't worry, lover. I'm only thinking about the well-being of the crew."

  "Well-being, my ass. I thought we'd all agreed to give him a second chance. Doesn't he deserve that much?"

  "If that's what it takes to convince you. But will you come with me—break with him—if he fucks up again?" She paused, then seized on something. "Do you love him more than you love me?"

  "What are you talking about? I just feel loyalty to him, and I love you only as much as you love me."