“And from now on this is what happens to any Inquisitor who so much as lays a finger on a Cicatrice houseling. Anyone you meet after today, dies. Anyone you call on the telephone dies. Anyone you think about in passing and fills up your mind’s eye dies. Your punishment is exile from the human race.”
***
Scav’s eyes fluttered open. Before he could even see what was going on around him, a brick of a fist smashed his stomach and intestines to jelly. He could feel his regenerative powers acting sluggish. He had still not yet fed today and he had already lost an arm and been beaten badly.
“I’m feeling stupid right now, Sven,” Scav heard his brother’s voice intone, “Did I miss something?”
“I couldn’t say, boss,” Sven replied.
His eyesight returned grudgingly to him. He was upright – not standing, but dangling from a drainage pipe which sprouted from his pelvis like an extended penis. No doubt Benito’s goons had enjoyed that malicious little joke immensely. He must have started to topple upside-down at some point because a dagger shoved through his shoulder held him in place.
Their encampment was a mess. Several of the coffins had been toppled, and some of the goons were running their hands through muddy messes of gravedirt which had dropped to the ground. Things would be unpleasant for all of them tonight, but Scav most of all.
“Let’s see,” Benito said, ticking off on his fingers, “I saved my brother from certain death. My own kin. You would think I could trust my own kin.”
“There’s just no one to trust in this world, boss. Just you and me, and you less than me.”
Hofstra, the omega, rose from the muddy mess of his sleeping area. Adding insult to injury, his funeral shroud had been torn. He practically charged at Scav’s impaled form, but two of the other goons grabbed him and easily held him back.
“I’ll kill him! Let me kill him, Benny.”
“Shut the fuck up, Hofstra,” Benito growled. He jabbed a finger into Scav’s sternum. “I set a trap. A moron-proof trap. I provided a former pastor and cut her to pieces so she looked like a regular bloodbag. All you had to do was show up and drug an eighteen-year-old girl. If you could’ve kept her from running for half an hour we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Instead, I come back to our whole place is smashed to shit and you…”
Benito held up Scav’s missing forearm. Turning it horizontal he pressed it against Scav’s windpipe.
“Give me one good reason,” Benito said leaning deliberately forward and shattering Scav’s neck under the pressure, “One reason not to be done with you once and for all.”
Scav pointed at his neck. Benito nodded and relieved the pressure, allowing the air back into Scav’s dead lungs and his spine to begin to mend.
“I can still help you catch Idi Han. There’s still time.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
“Check my pocket. Inside my vest.”
Benito jammed his hand into his brother’s pocket, rifled around, and drew out a small remote control device.
“A transponder,” Benito said. “You planted a bug on her?”
Scav nodded.
“Right now she’s on her own. Everyone has orders to leave her alone, right?”
“Yeah.”
“If we can grab her before she gets back to the Aztec, we’ll have a bargaining chip Cicatrice can’t ignore. You’ll be able to draw him out. I guarantee it.”
“So it’s true then, all this chatter about him jumping this newborn up to his heir? And he really cares about her?”
“From what I saw, yes.”
“So Topan’s out and Rahim and the other elders just don’t give a shit?”
“Topan’s out. That’s for sure. As for the elders, when have you ever known Cicatrice to give a shit what anybody else thought? He introduced her to me as his new heir. And the way they interacted, yeah, he’ll do anything for her. But time’s a-wastin’, Benny. We’ve got to snatch her up now.”
Benito turned to Sven.
“What do you think?”
“A newborn who was eighteen when she turned? How hard could she be to bag? And even if this all is bullshit, there’s still the original plan. Torture her until she tells us what she knows.”
“Yeah, but you’d better bet every crew in this city is doing that to every Cicatrice houseling they can put their hands on. I’d sure hate to be a Cicatrice in Vegas tonight.”
“She’s not just any Cicatrice, Benny,” Scav said, “Trust me. She’s the real deal. I don’t know how much she knows, but she’s worth her weight in gold.”
Benito glanced down at the transponder receiver. It was probably telling him exactly where Idi Han was right now. Scav pushed all thoughts of betraying the poor kid out of his mind. It was his life or hers. Besides, he had given her a chance.
“Don’t I always come through for you?”
“Yeah. Maybe you do. All right, let’s bag the girl.”
“All right! The Scavatelli brothers back in the saddle again. Help me down.”
“Nah, you stay here.”
A splash of cold kerosene struck Scav in the face. Benito wasn’t even the one to light the match. One of his idiot followers tossed the cigarette at his gesture. Scav felt the flames consuming his body. He made up his mind not to scream, but couldn’t keep even that promise to himself.
Six
The town was in an eerie state of soporific silence. Nico had never seen Sin City this quiet. A curfew had been placed in effect, which Nico and Price were effectively breaking. Police cars prowled every corner, and they had been forced to hide from several. The fountains at The Bellagio and the fire show at The Mirage had been halted. Black helicopters flew very low overhead, spotlights shining down on the city. One zoomed past. Price grabbed Nico and pulled him under an overhang.
“What is going on?”
“Take a look.”
He pointed. The helicopter was loaded for bear with Gatling guns and hellfire missiles. A gunship.
“The casinos are practically on lockdown, the cops are on the rampage, and now the National Guard has been called in? Tell me this isn’t related to our mysterious Hunter.”
“I wish I could, kid. But there’s only one person in this city with the clout to do all this.”
“Cicatrice.”
Price nodded.
They continued on. Nico clenched his Lousiville Slugger tightly so that his hands wouldn’t shake. Price, rather boldly, walked with no weapon drawn. Though he had showered that morning at Price’s, an altogether unappealing affair, he was still wearing his sweat-stiffened work uniform from the previous night.
“I wish I wasn’t still wearing this stupid outfit,” Nico grumbled.
Price shook his head.
“Kid, you go back to your apartment now and the cops are going to lock you up and throw away the key. ‘Vampire’ doesn’t look like a real good cause for arson and murder on any blotter. And the LVMPD have a vested interest in pinning this sort of thing on anyone but a vampire.”
Nico scowled. There were two dead at the Fill-Up and according to the internet he wasn’t just a person of interest, he was the prime suspect. Swinging by his apartment for a change of clothes was not the smartest move right now.
“Is that what happened to you?”
“Something like that,” Price replied through clenched teeth, and Nico realized he shouldn’t have asked. “Besides, if it’s really bothering you I said you could borrow something of mine.”
“You’re like 250 pounds. And you dress like Roger Daltrey.”
“I’m surprised you know who Roger Daltrey is. Fucking kids these days. I don’t even know how you can listen to…whoever.”
“Yeah, we’re supposed to know all your bands or Western civilization is ending. But God forbid a Baby Boomer would know an artist that’s been popular in the last decade.”
“Ah, it’s all crap these days anyway. Anyway, I don’t mind the uniform. It’s kind of dorky, but kind of confusing. Throws people o
ff. Part of being an Inquisitor is stagecraft, kid. You think a nightcrawler sees me coming and goes, ‘Oh, here comes this guy in the deerskin jacket; I’m sure no bullshit’s about to go down?’”
“That might be the…”
Whatever it may or may not have been, Nico found himself caught short. They had reached The Aztec. The building was either an eyesore or an act of architectural genius. Nico had difficulty telling the difference in the middle of the Vegas Strip. What he did know was that, while gaudy, it closely resembled an angular Meso-american pyramid. Each letter in the word “Aztec” lit individually before dazzling together in a great display.
“The heart of darkness. Try not to shit yourself, kid.”
“Try not to shit yourself…yourself. Old man.”
They crossed the street and entered the sliding glass doors. Nico practically had to shade his eyes from all the glowing lights inside.
“Howdy, folks!” Price said, loudly doffing an imaginary cap at the two security guards who blocked the entrance, “I know you’ve got orders not to let me in, but I’ve got business with the man upstairs.”
Nico noticed dozens of cameras installed along the ceiling, all swiveling to point at them. The guards seemed ready to eject them, but then they both received a message through the earpieces they wore like secret service agents. They stepped aside and made it a point to gesture welcomingly inside.
“Thanks.”
Nico glanced around. The casino was oddly packed, considering the seeming state of emergency that had descended on Las Vegas like a shroud.
“It’s a publicity stunt is what it is,” he heard one of the players shouting loudly to his spouse, who wore hearing aids. “They just want to keep us in the casino and gambling is all!”
And, indeed, it seemed that the curfew had forced every tourist who might otherwise be at the Hoover Dam or taking a mule-guided tour of the Grand Canyon into packing the casino floor, bored out of their minds.
“So many bystanders,” Nico said. “Should we be worried?”
Price shrugged.
“Nightcrawlers are usually pretty discreet. Don’t live long in this game if you’re not discreet.”
“If we get into a fight with this Cicatrice, there’s going to be a heck of a lot of witnesses.”
“If we get into a fight with Cicatrice, we’re both dead, so I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Nico rolled the bat, still slung over his shoulder, back and forth in his hands. Price seemed to know his way through the Aztec surprisingly well. It all seemed like a great maze to Nico, and he understood why. He had been in casinos in San Juan that had been the same way. Guests weren’t supposed to be able to find their way out. They were supposed to stay where they were and play. That was why scantily-clad women wandered around with free drinks. That was why there were chairs everywhere and smoking was allowed.
Price, though, didn’t get caught up in the labyrinth. He made a beeline for a miniature version of the Aztec pyramid that the building was shaped like. This pyramid, of course, was made of plastic, or maybe Styrofoam, and had an artificial moat surrounding it, fed by artificial rivers running down the steps of the pyramid.
“How do you know the way?” Nico asked, “I thought you were blocked from being in here.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret, kid. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing or where I’m going. But I’m doing it confidently. And as long as you can do that, people will listen to you.”
A skeletal, haunted-looking woman in a gray business suit with her neck all bandaged up emerged from an entrance that appeared midway up the mini-pyramid. She walked down to the only break in the velvet rope surrounding the plastic monstrosity.
“Mr. Price,” the grey-suited woman rasped, inclining her head just enough to almost not quite count as acknowledgement, “I see you’ve made quite a show of bringing weapons into our casino. My name is Vizriel Hedrox. Mr. Cicatrice has asked me to meet with you. If you’ll step this way…”
Hedrox gestured towards one of the casino restaurants. Nico furrowed his brow, but perhaps the woman had a private table or even a private room in the back.
“Ah…Hydrox, was it?”
“If you please.”
“Yeah, I know a flunky when I see one. You’re not even an immortal. You’re one of these shitbrick renfields that don’t even know how fucked they are. You know he’s never going to turn you, right?”
Hedrox’s face turned stony.
“I’m afraid I don’t follow. But I’ve been asked to meet with you, and, of course, if you’re hungry…”
Price dug his finger into Hedrox’s chest.
“And I just told you, I’ve got an appointment with your lord and master.”
A smile cracked Hedrox’s stony face. She reached out and with a strength and speed that belied her unhealthy appearance, nearly snapped Price’s finger as she wrenched it away from her chest. Twisting his fist, she drove him to his knees.
“As a matter of fact, Mr. Cicatrice just told me not to let you in to see him under any circumstances. So you don’t. Really.”
The woman released Price’s hand and he staggered back, surprised at the ferocity of the maneuver. Nico took a step or two back. He had mistaken Hedrox for easy prey, but now the woman seemed like a brick wall. Still, he had seen Price face down a vampiric monstrosity only the night before. A businesswoman who knew kung fu or whatever couldn’t be an insurmountable barrier.
Instead of charging the woman like a rhinoceros, Price just gestured at Nico.
“Have you met my new partner, Nico Salazar?”
Hedrox turned and pretended to size up Nico without even really setting eyes on him.
“Charmed, I’m sure.”
“Have you heard of the ancient discipline of ho tan fow?”
“Mr. Price, if you…”
“Just humor me. Have you heard of it?”
Hedrox pinched the inside of her lower lip between her teeth.
“I have not.”
“My partner is a master. Some say he’s the master. Like what the Gracies were to jiujitsu, Nico here is to ho tan fow.”
“That is impressive.”
“He’s been all over. Trained everywhere. Dojos in Bangkok. Gyms in Rio. Almost got into the Yankees. You know the Yankees?”
Hedrox pinched her nose.
“Mr. Price, I’m happy to…”
“Do. You. Know. The Yankees?”
Hedrox sighed.
“Yes, of course.”
“Okay, good. So believe me when I say we’re not talking about some two-pump chump here. Would you like a demonstration?”
“Yes, very much so.”
Price gestured at Nico.
“Go ahead, son. Don’t be afraid.”
Hedrox turned to look at Nico expectantly. Nico turned back to Price.
“What do you want me to…?”
“Just swing away, Nicky baby. Show her you got that ho fan tow.”
“I thought it was ho tan fow.”
“That, too. Go ahead, Nico.”
Nico shrugged and steadied his bat. He turned it sideways so that the blunt bat and not the razor blades would strike. He slammed it into Hedrox’s ear, with enough follow through that Price had to jump out of the way of the bat’s arc. The renfield crumpled to the floor.
Nico turned to look at his mentor.
“Is that all you wanted me to do?”
Price grinned and stuck both hands in his pockets.
“Yup.”
“Then what was all that other shit about?”
Price raised a finger in the air.
“It’s fun to punch somebody. But to get somebody to say, ‘Punch me’ first…that’s a beautiful thing. Come on.”
Price began to climb the papier-mache pyramid. Nico glanced back at Hedrox’s ruined form.
Well, you lay down with dogs, I guess…
Price was taking the pyramid steps two at a time. Nico had to scrabble to keep pace with him.
“You know how to scare off a shark, kid?”
“Aren’t you supposed to punch him in the nose?”
“And you know how to scare off a bear?”
“I didn’t think you could scare off a bear.”
“A bear only attacks you because he’s bigger than you. That’s why they rear up on their hind paws when they attack. If you can make yourself bigger than a bear, they don’t attack.”
“So we’re making ourselves bigger than Cicatrice?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“You know, John Lennon thought he was bigger than Jesus once.”
“Yeah, I think I heard that.”
“You know how that worked out for him?”
Price stopped just a step from the entrance to the pyramid.
“Nah, how’d that work out for him, kid?”
Nico shrugged.
“Who knows? He’s dead now.”
“Fuckin’ kids. Come on.”
Two cameras disguised as torches followed Nico and Price as they plunged inside. The hokey plastic pyramid hid a high-tech warren, populated by pencil-pushers and computer operators, all seemingly wearing headsets. It didn’t take Nico long to see what the hive was buzzing with. Everyone was monitoring cameras, some were seemingly talking with the National Guard and the police and just generally organizing the lockdown that had recently gone into effect.
SWAT teams were prowling the streets, obviously on a mission. Searching for this (so-called) Hunter of the Dead, perhaps. When Nico caught up with his mentor he was standing outside a doorway. A red-haired renfield barred the way, but she didn’t matter nearly as much as the solid steel doors. Like everywhere in the Aztec (and, it seemed, Vegas) a camera eye greeted them.
“What are you expecting to happen here, Mr. Price?” the woman asked.
Suddenly the doors, hydraulically powered, slid open. If this had been a horror movie, Nico would have sworn fog would have come billowing out, but, of course, it did not.
Hunter of the Dead Page 17