The Hunger
Page 14
“You are a guest in the house of another,” explained Marcus is a slow voice that was sure to break through the younger vampire’s cloud of pleasure. “You do not throw garbage on the floor of another's house and leave it. Put the body in a closet in one of the rooms.”
Marcus wandered the house while Tashawn hid the body. The elder vampire looked from room to room. There were some clothes in one of the closets, no food in the refrigerator or cabinets. There was no coffin or other resting place where her soil was stored.
Walking back into the hallway he noted there was a set of retractable stairs in the ceiling. He grabbed the hanging cord and pulled the stairs down to full extension. The vampire could smell the scent of his prey, stronger than it was at the entrance of the house, but still not strong enough to indicate that she was actually up there. He climbed the steps and bent over in the cramped attic space.
“Don’t bother coming up here,” he called down as he heard Tashawn moving in the hallway. “It would be too tight a fit for you.”
The coffin was in front of the vampire, only a dozen feet from the hatchway to the attic. He moved to it and lifted the lid. There was a thin layer of soil on the bottom of the coffin, but no imprint of a laying body. Not that it matters, he thought. Many vampires cleared the imprints in their coffins each morning.
“What we going to do now?” said Tashawn from below.
“Why we wait, of course,” said Marcus, “and hope she returns this night.”
Marcus climbed down the steps, looking into Tashawn’s eyes and noting that the youngling was over the feeding ecstasy.
“Go tell Marvin to come in here and wait with us,” said Marcus. “He’ll look too suspicious sitting in that car for hours on the street.”
“Wait,” he said as Tashawn started to move, stopping the big man in his tracks. “You stay here. I will go and retrieve Marvin. You stand out too much yourself.”
Tashawn nodded as Marcus walked toward the door. I have to drive some culture into the minds of these savages, he thought. Before I find myself becoming a savage as well.
* * *
“Isn’t that the son-of-a-bitch you chased off last night?” said Sanchez, pointing toward the long porch of the big house.
DeFalco looked to where the homicide detective was pointing, to where a gray haired man stood talking to a big blond haired man who was smoking a cigarette. It took the FBI agent a moment to figure out who the gray haired man was, since he was wearing a white T-shirt instead of the black shirt and white collar that DeFalco was used to seeing on him.
“Goddammit,” swore the agent, shoving the door open and climbing out of the car. “I told that SOB to stay clear of this place. What the hell is he doing here?”
Sanchez got out of the car as the FBI agent came around to his side and stood with his face turning red with fury. He put his hand on the FBI Agent’s shoulder and shook the man.
“Get a grip, DeFalco,” said Sanchez, as the agent turned to look at him. “He must have a good reason for being here. He’s in the house, after all.”
DeFalco shrugged off the detective’s hand and stormed toward the house, staring straight ahead at the people on the porch. He stopped at the chest high chain linked fence, as a pair of Rottweilers came running up, barking at the potential intruder.
“You bastard,” yelled DeFalco toward the porch.
“You talking about me,” said the big blond haired man, turning an angry scowl toward the agent.
“No, scumbag,” said DeFalco, “I’m talking to him.” The Agent slammed his hand on the top of the fence, then pulled it back quickly as one of the dogs tried to jump up and take it off.
“Who you calling scumbag, dickweed,” yelled the blond man, striding off the porch and heading for the fence.
“You better stop there Fred,” called Sanchez, coming up to stand beside DeFalco. “Unless you want to catch some charges. Starting with threatening a Federal Agent.”
“He wants me, Fred,” said O’Connor, walking toward the fence. “What can I do for you Agent DeFalco?”
“You can tell me what the hell you are doing here,” yelled DeFalco in the Brooklyn accent that came out in his fury. “I told you to stay away from this house. Now I’m going to take you in and you can spend a night or two in jail.”
“I’m afraid that Mr. Padillas wouldn’t like that,” said Fred, glaring at the Agent. "Father O’Connor is his personal guest, invited to stay at Mr. Padillas’ house as long as he wants. And he is not an unwelcome intrusion.”
“I told him to stay away from here,” yelled DeFalco, his face growing even more strained.
“Tell that to Mr. Padillas’ lawyers,” said Fred, thrusting his face over the fence as the dogs went into a frenzy. “I’m sure they will be happy to explain to you about the rights of a citizen in this country. In case you’ve forgotten Mr. Federal Agent.”
“Let it go DeFalco,” said Sanchez, putting a hand on the FBI man’s arm. “All we’re doing here is attracting the attention of the neighborhood.”
DeFalco looked at Sanchez, then at the hand the detective still had on his arm. He shrugged the arm off and turned away from the fence, walking back toward the car. He turned after a couple of steps and walked back to the fence.
“I hope you enjoy your little vampire hunt, Father,” he said, pointing a finger at the priest. “I’ll not be responsible for whatever happens to you when you get in the line of fire.”
DeFalco turned away again and stormed back to the car, flinging the passenger door open and climbing into the car, then slamming the door with a sound that rattled the windows of nearby houses. “You coming?” he yelled out to Sanchez.
“Sorry about that outburst there, Father,” said Sanchez. “I’m afraid Agent DeFalco has been under a lot of stress.”
“The man’s a nut,” said Fred, shaking his head. “You better keep him on a leash.” The big man turned around as he growled something at the dogs, and headed back to the porch, the two guard dogs following at his heals.
“I understand that Mr. DeFalco wants to get her himself,” said the priest, nodding toward the car. “What he doesn’t understand is that this is something more in my area of expertise than his. Watch yourself, detective. You just might find yourself in a situation that you can’t get out of.”
O’Connor turned away and walked back toward the house, one of the dogs running up to sniff him, then running back after the hired muscle.
“Motherfucker,” said Sanchez as he walked back to the car under the stare of DeFalco. “This is becoming a real freak show.”
Chapter 6
Lucinda felt the normal satisfaction of a feeding, just like any other time. But the feeling battled with the frustration of not being able to get to her primary target. As the body went limp in her grasp she locked her fingers in the hair and released her other hand, holding the small man’s corpse up by his long locks. She pulled the long knife from her back sheath and swung it at the neck, slicing through the flesh, bone and cartilage. The limp body fell bonelessly to the asphalt as she held the dripping head in her hand.
Lucinda pulled the manhole cover up from its berth with her free hand and looked down into the flowing waters from the night’s thunderstorm. She tossed the head into the fast moving waters below. Then she set the cover down and picked up the body, tossing it into the water as well. And out into the bay with luck, she thought. Replacing the cover on the hole she moved back out of the alley and starting walking down the sidewalk, trying to blend in with the other streetwalkers.
A blue and white came down the street from the other way, shining its light into her face. She put her hand up to shield her eyes and continued to walk. The car slowed for a moment, then flashed its light. Lucinda got ready to run as the siren came on. But the car accelerated down the street and away, gaining speed as it responded to the distant call.
Lucinda wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but remembered at the last moment that she didn’t breathe. That act wou
ld have called for a forceful filling of her lungs with air. She could wipe her brow, but without the ability to sweat it would merely be a gesture. At least she could still smile, and she did as she thought that the night had been perfect as far as the stalk and kill had gone. One more scumbag off of the street, even if he was just a minor player.
The vampiress looked quickly to her front and rear. All she saw was a whore wrangling a price with a John in a car and a couple of addicts lounging on the steps of their building, their minds in the other place where dwelt those whose lives were too hopeless for reality. She ducked into the nearby alley, straining her ears to locate anything that might be waiting. All she could locate were a couple of rats rummaging in some garbage cans, and the quiet breathing of a cat lying in wait for one of the rats to come out of cover.
Good luck with your hunt, she thought. Such a simple life you lead. Just like my so-called brethren. Sometimes I wish that I could hunt like them, just locate any sufficient prey and feed. But that would make me as evil as they are.
Lucinda stopped in her tracks as the last thought hit her. As evil as they are, she thought. The image of the dying drug dealer came to mind, the feel of his flesh as her fangs broke through, the taste of the blood that flowed into her mouth. As evil as they are. I am a very special kind of evil.
Lucinda raised her face to the sky and laughed, a cry of manic mirth. The rats stopped scurrying as they quivered in fear, as the cat left its watch and darted from the alley, causing a car to swerve as it crossed the street. Lucinda laughed for minutes, then gathered her wits about her.
I’m going to attract attention I don’t need, she thought. She looked at the entrance of the alley as she strained her hearing. Nothing that she could find. Shaking her head at her own stupidity, Lucinda raised her arms to the sky and started the transformation. Soon she was soaring over the city as her leathery wings flapped through the night air.
Below she could hear the sounds of the city. The cough and growl of engines, the screams of women as men beat them within their dwellings, the cries of frightened children. Men groaned in the agony of their injuries, while junkies called out for help as they sweated and tossed from the throes of their addictions. Lucinda wished that she could cry the tears for them that they deserved, but she couldn’t. The heart that no longer beat in her seemed to ache at the realization that she could do nothing to comfort them in their suffering.
All she could do was try and remove some of that which caused the pain and suffering. And I am like this flying rodent whose form I now inhabit, she thought. I can fly the night and kill some few of the vermin which inhabit it. But when the new day dawns there are still as many of them as there were the night before.
For a moment she had the urge to fly into the night until the coming dawn, to let the rising sun burn her from the sky. Or to go to the priest and allow him to send her to the hell that she deserved. But she knew that was a useless thought. Her instincts would prevent it. The instincts of the hunter that worked according to a single principle; survival at all costs.
With a screech of sonar Lucinda wheeled in flight, banishing her depression with the relish of her powers at work. There are compensations, she thought. And if I can’t make much of a dent in the world’s problems, at least I made what dent I could. Which is more than most beings can say.
The giant bat bared its teeth to the night, heading for home. And there is the personal satisfaction, she thought, of a job well done.
* * *
“Well father,” said George Padillas, looking into the room the priest had been working on through the night. “How’s the project going?”
“Very well, Mr. Padillas,” said O’Connor. “I’m almost finished.”
“Call me George,” said the crime boss. “After all, you are a man of God, much higher in his standing than this plain old sinner. So you deserve the respect, not I.”
“OK, George,” agreed the priest. “But it is not too late to turn your life around.”
The older man laughed deeply as his eyes looked around the room. Within a moment he stopped with a wheeze, tears in his eyes.
“It may be too late,” said Padillas, catching his breath. He stopped chuckling as a serious look came over his face and he studied the layout of the room.
“So you think this is going to work?” said Padillis, walking to one of the walls for a closer look.
“I think so, yes,” said O’Connor, glancing at the floor, ceiling and walls. “At least it will disorient her. At most it will do exactly what I want it to do.”
“And then you will send her to the hell where she belongs,” said Padillas in a hushed voice. “The hell she sent my only boy to.”
“I hope so,” said the priest, patting the man on the shoulder. “For all of our sakes I really hope so.”
“She’s not going to come tonight,” said Padillas, putting his arm around the priest and steering him out of the room. “It’s almost dawn. Why don’t you get some sleep?”
“We need to get her here in the first place,” said O’Connor, shaking his head. “It will be kind of hard to do with a police cordon outside the house.”
“I’ll talk to my attorneys,” said Padillas. “Maybe we can talk to the city about harassment. Make them go away for a few days. Then we can do things your way.”
The devil’s way, you mean, thought O’Connor. But sometimes one must make a deal with the devil in order to destroy the greater evil.
* * *
Marcus could tell that Tashawn was panicking by the way the big vampire kept clenching and unclenching his hands and looking at the windows, as if expecting to see the sun at any minute.
“There is still over an hour to dawn, Tashawn,” said the elder vampire, trying to sound soothing. “When it hits a half hour and she hasn’t shown you can fly back to your lair.”
“If I make it back in time,” said the huge man, his eyes wide. “If I don’t get hit by the fucking Sun and turn into a pile of ashes.”
“I will give you plenty of time,” said Marcus, trying to keep his voice under control. “If you use it wisely you will be under cover and in your resting place well before the first rays of morning light come over the horizon.”
“I still don’t like it, man,” complained the youngling.
Marcus came to his feet and moved in a blur to where the big man sat. Looking down on him, he could see Tashawn trying to sink into the chair under the elder’s overpowering gaze.
“You are a worthless piece of crap,” yelled Marcus in Latin, the force of his words beating down the other vampire, even if Tashawn didn’t know the meaning. “If you had been in my Legion I would have put you on the cross as an example to others.”
“Heah man,” said Marvin, struggling to stay awake on the couch. “Could you please speak English where we can understand it?”
In the blink of an eye Marcus was standing over Marvin. His clawed hand reached down in a flash and grabbed the front of the man’s shirt. With an ease of movement that was similar to a normal man lifting a cat, the vampire pulled Marvin up by his shirt and overhead.
“I will brook no back talk from one such as you,” said Marcus, showing his fangs in a horrid grin. “One more word from that sewer you call a mouth will be your last.”
With a contemptuous shrug Marcus slammed Marvin back into the couch and walked away. Coming to the only other chair in the room the ancient vampire dropped into it with a heavy thump. He looked from Tashawn to Marvin’s face, back and forth, daring either to say a word. He could feel his own frustration building up within him. Using the discipline that the centuries had instilled within him, he used a calming inner speech to battle the anger. Marcus knew he still needed these two for his plans, for now at least. Later he could see about disposing of them if that suited his purposes. The problem solved for now he released his feelings over it and felt a wave of calm sweep through him.
“Go,” he finally told Tashawn, nodding his head. “Get yourself back to your lai
r before you piss yourself. And take this worthless hunk of worm bait with you.”
Tashawn nodded as he got up from the chair, motioning for Marvin to follow him. He looked sheepishly at the elder vampire as he moved to the front door.
“You had best fly,” said Marcus to the youngster. “Your minion can follow you.”
“What about you?” asked Tashawn, hesitating at the door.
“I’ll be fine as long as I stay out of the direct rays,” said Marcus, nodding toward the window. “Two thousand years gives on a bit of resiliency.”
“So someday I’ll be able to nix the dawn sleep,” asked Tashawn hopefully.
Marcus glared at Tashawn, shaking his head. Tashawn frowned and looked to Marvin. Marvin shrugged his shoulders and opened the door, walking out into the night air. Tashawn followed.
Marcus could feel the power in the air as Tashawn changed form. He heard the hypersonic screech of sonar and the flap of leathery wings. If you get to live two thousand years you might add a bit of resiliency to your repertoire, thought Marcus, shaking his head. But I would have bet the Empire that you wouldn’t.
* * *
Lucinda floated out of the sky and down toward the grassy surface of her back yard, her eyes darting up to the sky, looking at how the clouds were beginning to lighten with the approaching dawn. Soon that beautiful light would be flooding the world and her life would become a vision of flames and pain, if she didn’t get inside.
She transformed back to her human form in the darkest shadows of the backyard, under the cover of a Norfolk Pine. Listening for a moment until she was sure that there was nothing moving nearby, expanding her nostrils as she brought in samples of the night air to gather the scent of anyone in hiding, Lucinda shook her head in satisfaction that no one was nearby.
Lucinda pushed open the wooden gate to the backyard and moved around the side of the house, keeping to the shadows and being very alert to any motion or scents. No use stirring up the neighbors, she thought with a smile. It was not her purpose to be the object of gossip among the good retirees of her community. Or to cause them stress related health problems. So she stayed close to the house as she came around the corner and into the streetlight exposed front yard.