DeFalco turned as he heard the groan behind him. Tanesha was struggling up to her knees, her right hand holding the side of her head. A trickle of blood ran down the side of her face and dripped from her chin. Her eyes were still trying to focus as DeFalco knelt at her side and put a hand on her shoulder.
“Easy now,” said DeFalco to the detective. “Don’t try to stand up too fast.”
Washington stared into DeFalco’s eyes as the intelligence started to come back into them. She groaned again as she took her hand away from the side of her head. DeFalco turned her head gently and looked at the wound.
“It doesn’t look too bad,” said the FBI Agent, running his fingers over the superficial scalp laceration. “But you’ll need to let the paramedics look you over when they get here.”
“You call them?” she asked, as sirens appeared in the distance.
“No need really,” he answered, turning his head to look at the wreckage of the window. “I think everybody and their brother must have called 911 after this ruckus started.”
Washington reached over and pulled his head back to look in his eyes.
“He really was a vampire, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” replied DeFalco. “He really was.”
He saw the doubt in her eyes and smiled.
“How else would you explain the hurling a car through a wall?” he asked. “Or the fact that you put multiple rounds into him with no effect. Hell, he didn’t even bleed.”
“You seemed to do better than me,” said Washington. “What are you packing in that pistol anyway?”
“I came prepared,” said the FBI Agent. “We need to get you equipped too, if you’re going to work with me.”
“He’s not the one you’re after, is he?”
“No,” said DeFalco. “The one I’m after is much more cunning than that one. Which makes her much more powerful in her own way.”
“God,” said Washington, as the sirens got closer, sounding like they were just a block away. “My Uncles and Aunties would tell me stories about the supernatural. People rising from the grave, demon possession. I believed, a little bit. But not completely. Not deep in my heart. And to confront, this…”
“Yeah,” agreed DeFalco, putting an arm around her and helping her to her feet as a pair of police cars squealed to a halt in the parking lot. “I felt the same way when I first saw her, feeding. But I came to terms with it and started hunting her, learning as I went along. And you can have my hard earned experience for free. It might just keep you alive.”
DeFalco walked through the doorway, supporting Washington with one arm while he held his ID out with the other. The police officers lowered their guns, turning their heads back and forth from the skeletal remains to the Agent, their eyes asking the question of what had happened here.
* * *
Marcus was just lying down in his coffin when the premonition that something was wrong hit him. He lay there in the darkness, straining his ears, listening for an intruder. Nothing moved in the large empty house but some mice in the cupboards and some rats in the attic. He sniffed the air, bringing in the scent molecules across his supernatural olfactory receptors. Nothing except for the body of his last night’s victim, the streetwalker he had brought home, starting to decay in one of the back bedrooms.
If the sun hadn’t just risen, he thought, my senses would be sharper. Of course one of the advantages of being so ancient in his power was that some of his nighttime ability stayed with him during the day. And his hearing and sense of smell were still superior to that of any mortal. But he could detect nothing in the house, though he strained to his limits.
Which means something else is wrong, with someone I am connected to. And the only one he was connected to in this place and time was Tashawn Kent. Marcus closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the youngling vampire. If I had created him I could look through his eyes. Hear through his ears. Even listen in on his thoughts. But he hadn’t created Tashawn, and his newly obtained over-lordship was only enough to make a very tenuous connection.
Suddenly pain and fear exploded across that tenuous connection. The image of a man, aiming a pistol and firing it toward the point of view. Suddenly there was heat and agony coming in loud and clear. Marcus clenched his teeth against the pain that seemed to live in his own nerves. And then it was gone, along with any awareness of Tashawn Kent.
DeFalco, thought Marcus, closing his eyes and trying to compose himself. I knew Tashawn would probably not make it. And if he tried to confront DeFalco, he was sure to lose. And the broken connection meant that Tashawn had indeed lost, and was removed from the board.
I may need to move my resting place, thought Marcus, in case Tashawn let any information slip about me. Then Marcus opened his eyes and his mouth and laughed, a sound that caused the mice and rats to scurry for cover. I’m not that senile yet, thought the ancient vampire. He had not let the youngling know the locations of any of the lairs. There was nothing Tashawn could have let slip, besides the fact that Marcus LaMons, AKA Marcus of Alexandria, was in town. A very large town, with millions of possible hiding places.
Marcus closed his eyes again and allowed the fatigue to wash over him. Sleep would come easy now that he felt that his safety was assured. And maybe, just maybe, DeFalco would take care of his problem for him, and he could go back to environs that met his taste more than the city by the Tampa Bay.
* * *
The FedEx truck pulled up to the curb in front of the large house. The delivery woman grabbed a box and climbed out of the vehicle, looking at the invoice on the clipboard she held in her other hand. Nodding her head she headed for the gate, stopping for a moment to look at the beware of dog sign posted on the front of the fence. She stopped and listened for a moment, then reached over the chain-linked gate to pull the latch open.
“Hey,” yelled a loud voice as the woman walked into the yard, closed the gate behind her, and started up the walk. “Didn’t you read the sign?”
“Dog’s love me,” she replied, continuing up the walk as the big man came down the steps. “I’m not afraid of them.”
“They’re meant to keep people out,” said the man, coming down the walk to stand in front of her. He crossed his hands over his chest and stared down at her from his height. She looked up at him and batted her eyes, noting on the way up that there was a bulge under his shirt at the waist.
Either he’s really glad to see me or he’s got a gun in there, she thought.
“The dogs are temporarily gone,” he said, giving her a smile.
“Nothing happened to them, I hope?” she asked, licking her lips.
“No,” he said after a hesitation that might have indicated lying, or might indicate severe lust. “We just sent them out for a little bit of vet care. They’ll be back soon enough.”
“I’m glad to hear that they’re all right,” she said, looking down at his groin area, and noting that there was some activity there.
“What can I do for you sweetie,” said the man. “My name is Manny by the way.”
“Laurie, Manny,” answered the woman, smiling again. “I have a package for a Mr. George Padillas.”
“I can sign for that,” said Manny, holding out his hands.
“Sorry,” said the woman, shaking her head. “It requires Mr. Padillas’ signature. If you could just get him for me, it won’t take a moment.”
“Mr. Padillas is a busy man, sweetie,” said Manny, a frown on his face.
“Is he home, or do I need to leave a note for him to come down to the dispatch station tomorrow. If he’s such a busy man that might be even more of an inconvenience.”
“We also check everything that goes to Mr. Padillas,” said Manny, nodding toward the house. “I can’t bring him a package without looking inside.”
“Look, stud,” said the woman, again licking her lips, “I don’t care if you throw the box away or set it on fire. I don’t need to know that Mr. Padillas actually got the box. But I do need to have his signatur
e.”
“OK,” said Manny, turning back to the house, “follow me.”
The woman followed the big man up to the porch. Manny opened the door and turned back to her.
“I can’t bring you back to see Mr. Padillas,” said the man, looking her up and down, his eyes freezing for a moment on her breasts. “But I can bring you invoice back to Mr. Padillas and let him sign it. If that’s OK with you?”
“Sure. As long as you guarantee that it’s signed by Mr. Padillas that’s fine with me.”
“Would you like to come in for a second?” asked Manny, taking the clipboard with the signature slip from her. “It’s hot out here, I know.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she replied in a silky smooth voice. She noted how the man’s pupils dilated as she spoke. He’s interested, sure enough, she thought, following him into the house. He gestured her to an antique chair as he closed the door.
She sat down, trying to cover the nervousness, crossing her long legs. The man looked at her for a second with a quizzical expression.
“You don’t get much sun, do you?” he asked, nodding toward her legs. “I thought you’d be out in the sun a lot?”
“I burn too easily,” she replied, looking back into his eyes. “No way I can tan. So its lots of high powered sun block for me.”
“OK,” said the man, a look of lust coming back over his face. “You wait right here for a moment and I’ll be right back.”
The woman let her eyes roam the room as Manny walked out of the foyer and back into the house. She noticed that another big man moved into the doorway and stood there, staring at her. She smiled back at him but got no reply other than a frown. Moments later Manny came back with the clipboard in his hand. He handed it back to her with a wide smile on his face.
“Signed, sealed and delivered,” said Manny as she took the clipboard from him. She handed him the box in return as she got up from the seat.
“You are one lovely lady,” said Manny, lightly touching her hand with his as he took the box. “What are you doing later? I have some free time tonight.”
“I get off at nine,” she replied, smiling at him as she stared into his eyes. “I might could swing by a little bit after that.”
“Why don’t you,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye out for you, but any of the boys can let you in.”
“Thanks,” she said, as he held the door open for her. “So I can take that as an open invitation?”
“You got it, sweetie,” he agreed with another smile. “You're welcome in this house anytime as far as I’m concerned.”
“Thank you again,” she said as she walked out on the porch. The man followed and closed the door behind him. The woman sauntered down the walkway, wiggling her ass as she walked. She could feel his eyes on her as she opened the gate and closed it behind her.
Lucinda climbed into the delivery van and cranked the engine. Waving to her new friend Manny, she pulled away from the curb and into the street. An angry driver she cut off held his horn down hard. She gave him the bird out the side of the van. The driver accelerated the car around to her side and rolled down his window.
“I have your license number, young lady,” yelled the middle-aged businessman. “I’m going to report you.”
“Whatever,” she yelled back at him. He gave her an angry glare and pulled ahead of her, accelerating away in his rage.
A double invitation, she thought, a wide smile growing on her face. She had only needed one to get in the house, whenever she wanted to return. Two was not unheard of, but kind of rare.
Now I have to ditch this van, she thought, as she turned onto a main thoroughfare. And untie the real deliver man. She glanced into the back, where the blindfolded, gagged and restrained man sat still struggling against his bonds.
“Sorry buddy,” she called back to him. “But you helped me immensely. Hope I don’t get you in too much trouble, when the jerk reports the license number.”
She laughed long and hard as she drove the van toward a spot where she could park it and call the police, so the poor schmo could get free. And she still had some hours to kill before sundown, when she could kill some other things as well.
* * *
“Why didn’t you let me get her now?” yelled Monsignor John O’Connor, shaking a fist at the man seated behind the desk. “We had her, in the house, when she was at her weakest.”
“I had my reasons,” said George Padillas, looking over steepled fingers at the priest. “It will work out for the best.”
“What possible reason could you have for delaying the inevitable?” yelled the priest, walking back and forth before the desk. “Why would you want to wait, until she has her powers, to come back for you?”
“I have you here to protect me, don’t I?” said Padillas, picking up the drink on his desk. “And I really don’t fear her, Monsignor.”
“She can now enter this house, whenever she wants,” answered the priest, putting his hands on the top of the desk and leaning over to look Padillas in the eyes. “She can come for you in any of her many forms, and there is nothing you can do to prevent her penetration of your defenses.”
The priest turned away from Padillas and started his pacing again. George Padillas followed the priest with his eyes; reminded of a stalking panther he had seen at Bush Gardens. He felt another stab of pain from his gut as he swallowed more of the drink.
Pain killers not working too good, he thought, as he got up from his chair and walked to the sidebar. He glanced over at the priest while he mixed another drink.
“You sure you don’t want a drink, Monsignor?” asked Padillas, gesturing to the open bar cabinet. “Might calm you down a bit.”
O’Connor looked over with angry eyes, shaking his head in the negative. Padillas shrugged and walked back to the desk, taking a seat after placing the drink on the top. He reached into the top drawer and pulled out a bottle of pills. Taking a couple for the bottle he popped them in his mouth and swallowed, washing them down with more strong alcohol.
The priest stopped his pacing, turning to look at Padillas, a quizzical look on his face.
“You said you are not afraid of death,” said the priest, looking down at Padillas. “Why are you not afraid of death, Mr. Padillas? You don’t have much chance of entering heaven. At least not until you do some major penance. I would think the gates of hell would stretch wide for you. So why does death hold no fear for you? Is it because you are so single-mindedly focused on revenge? But you had your chance for revenge, earlier today.”
The priest turned away from the desk and resumed pacing, his hands linked behind his back.
“If only you had alerted me that she was here,” said the priest in a quiet voice. “I could have gotten her at her weakest and my job would be done. Here at least.”
“You asked why I’m not afraid of death,” said Padillas, grimacing again, then taking a strong pull on the drink. “I’ll tell you why I don’t fear death. I’m dying, Monsignor. Colon cancer.”
“I’m sorry,” said the priest, stopping his pacing and sitting back in one of the comfortable chairs in the room. “And I’m sorry about the remark about hell. Do you want to be absolved of your sins, my son?”
“Hell no, Monsignor,” laughed the crime boss, swirling what was left of his drink in his hand as he looked into it. He looked up at the priest as he tried to control the pain. “I’ll just fuck up again. I like this lifestyle. I have to admit that I love the power it gives me. The power of life and death over people. That’s a powerful addiction, Monsignor.”
“Then I will pray for you,” said the priest, bowing his head.
“Because I’m about to die?” asked the boss. “Or because I’m addicted to something you cannot understand?” The priest looked up and started to open his mouth. But Padillas put up a hand to head him off. “Don’t deny it, O’Connor,” he said. “You had the title of Archbishop, one step below Cardinal, a title you were bound to receive. And then from there you might have become th
e next Pope. But you gave that up, for what. To become an outcast in your own church.”
“I seek other rewards,” stated the priest, holdings his hands open in front of him. “Serving God is the only path I seek.”
“See,” said Padillas, gesturing toward the priest. “You gave up power to do something you thought was more important. Power was not an addiction to you. So you will never understand my viewpoint.”
“But eternity?”
“I would rather rule in Hell than serve in Heaven,” answered Padillas, staring at the wall. “I will go to whatever is in store for me with no complaint. So don’t waste your time or your prayers on me.”
“That is your choice, my son,” said the priest, his sad eyes looking at the crime boss. “God allows free will, so that men may choose their own destiny. And the evil of this world is done by men. That concerns me the most about you Mr. Padillas. The evil that you do to others.”
“What about the evil done by this bitch?” asked Padillas, his eyes turning cold. “That is not the evil done by men. She’s sent by the devil to spread evil among us.”
“She is the exception to the rule,” admitted the priest.
“And she’s the exception I need you to destroy,” yelled Padillas. “She is the only reason you are in my house in the first place, Monsignor. So I want you to concentrate on her.”
O’Connor nodded as he got up from his seat, turning to go to the door.
“One last thing, Monsignor,” said Padillas. “What happens to those she kills? Do they rise up as vampires, like in the movies?”
“Yes,” said the priest with a nod. “That part of the fiction is true. Those drained by a vampire rise again on the third day, in sinister parody of our Lord.”
“And the vampires come back with all of her powers?”
“Yes,” said the priest, “indeed they do. But she has been very careful to not allow any to rise after her.”
The Hunger Page 19