The Book With No Name

by AnonYMous

  ‘You gotta guy staying here who answers to the name Jefe?’ he asked, pleasantly enough.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, I’m not at liberty to give out that sort of information.’ Dante came back with the hotel’s standard line.

  Elvis leaned in and slipped a fifty-dollar bill into the young man’s hand. ‘Don’t make me ask again, huh?’ There was now a gravel quality to his voice.

  ‘Sorry, but I still can’t give you that information, sir,’ Dante replied, making no effort to offer back the fifty-dollar bill.

  Elvis digested this news, then majestically pulled a gun from a holster that nestled beneath the jacket of his lilac-coloured suit. He pointed it at Dante’s throat and growled, ‘Gimme my fuckin’ money back and tell me where to find Jefe. He’s an ugly fuckin’ slimeball and I heard he was stayin’ here.’

  Dante handed the money back. Suddenly sweating, he gulped, ‘Room seventy-three, sir, on the seventh floor. Have a nice day.’

  Elvis winked at him. At least, it looked like he winked because his left eyebrow went up and down in one swift movement behind his sunglasses. Then he turned and headed for the elevators behind him, sliding his gun snugly back into its home inside his jacket.

  As Elvis was pressing the button to call the elevator to take him up to the seventh floor, Dante was anxiously making a call on his cellphone. There was a pause while he waited to be connected, followed by a ringtone. It only sounded once before someone answered, but Dante didn’t wait to hear a voice at the other end.

  ‘Baby, get your ass outta there,’ he whispered urgently into the phone.

  ‘What? Why?’ came the reply.

  ‘There’s some fuckin’ guy with a gun comin’ up there to see that Jefe guy, and he looks real fuckin’ nasty!’

  ‘But I haven’t found the stone yet.’

  ‘Fuck the stone! Get your sweet ass outta there. This muthafucker will kill ya.’

  ‘Okay, honey. I’ll just have one last look around.’

  ‘Kacy, no …’

  It was too late. She had hung up. Dante watched as Elvis stepped into the elevator. He turned and stared back at the receptionist through his big dark sunglasses as the doors closed in front of him. Dante could hear himself breathing hard, as if he had just run a marathon in a particularly heavy chicken outfit. He had to make a decision fast.

  Fuck it. He had to take the stairs and make sure he got to Kacy before this Elvis-looking-freak got his hands on her. Impelled by terror, he jumped over the reception desk and headed for the stairs, which were situated behind a swing door to one side of the elevators. They were big chunky stairs covered by a thick beige carpet, and they were probably just the right height to be taken two at a time. And two at a time it was going to have to be, because this was an emergency. He could see from the indicator that Elvis was already up to the first floor. Dante wasn’t so fit that he actually believed he would get to the seventh floor before the elevator, but there was the possibility that it might have to stop at a couple of floors before it reached Elvis’s destination, so he had a chance.

  He was already exhausted when he reached the fourth floor. He continued to climb the staircase, but his pace halved with every new flight. Finally, as he reached the seventh floor, with his lungs practically hanging out of his mouth, he stopped and peered around the corner into the corridor. Elvis was standing outside one of the apartments about thirty feet away. He was pointing his gun at the door.

  Dante really didn’t know what to do. His first instinct was self-preservation, so he tried his best to control his breathing. If Kacy was in that apartment and he had to go to her rescue, the first thing he needed was to have surprise on his side, so he didn’t want Elvis to know that he was there. He took a step back to ensure he was completely out of sight on the stairs and tried to get to grips with his situation. After getting his breathing under control he looked back to check on the situation in the corridor. Elvis had put his gun away and stepped back from the door. Then he lunged forward and gave the door one almighty kick with the heel of his blue suede shoe. It was a fairly sturdy door, so the kick had little effect. Elvis took a few steps further back and waited a few seconds. Then, like an enraged bull, he threw his entire body at the door and knocked the crap out of it. It came clean off its hinges and the giant hitman lurched forward into the apartment, and out of Dante’s sight.

  Dante waited a couple of seconds, not sure what to do. Then he heard a gunshot. A fucking loud gunshot, too. This was immediately followed by agonized screams from inside the room. He couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman because the screams were so high pitched. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement further down the hall. It was the door of another apartment opening. Kacy came running out of it, carrying a heavy-looking black leather suitcase. She ran past the busted door that Elvis had charged through and bounded on to the stairs. Dante breathed a sigh of relief at seeing her again.

  ‘Dante!’ she gasped, surprised to find him lurking on the top step. ‘Come on, let’s go!’

  Before he knew what was happening, Kacy had handed him the black leather suitcase and started dragging him down the stairs with her.

  ‘Baby, you’re okay?’ Dante panted.

  ‘Of course I’m okay, honey.’

  ‘Did you manage to get that blue stone?’

  ‘I sure did.’

  Kacy was really racing down the stairs now, and Dante found himself struggling to keep up. Carrying the heavy suitcase that kept bouncing off his shins as he descended the stairs was proving to be a real nuisance, and a bruising one at that.

  ‘Oh God, I love you, baby. You’re the greatest,’ he yelled down to her, as the suitcase continued digging a groove into his lower leg.

  ‘I know I am,’ she called back.

  Dante had the best girlfriend in the world, and he knew it. Although, if the suitcase he was being attacked by turned out to be full of hair products or shopping vouchers he might have to reconsider that. Whatever was in there was pretty heavy.

  ‘So what’s in this suitcase I’m carrying?’ he called out as he saw the love of his life disappear around a turn that marked another flight of stairs.

  ‘That’s the best part,’ she shouted back. ‘We’ve hit the jackpot, baby!’

  Fifteen

  Jensen was pleasantly surprised by the manner in which Somers received what he had to tell him. Half the reason he had been happy to tell him the truth was that he hadn’t expected Somers to believe any of it. He had come to the conclusion that he couldn’t really lose either way. If Somers believed him, then great; if he didn’t, then that was fine, too. Jensen’s only real concern was that if a lot of people found out and believed what he had to say, it would cause widespread panic throughout Santa Mondega. Fact of the matter was, Jensen couldn’t prove or disprove any of the information with which he had been burdened. That’s why he was in town, to prove or disprove what his Government masters thought they knew.

  Somers had been courteous enough to listen intently to the entire story, without interruption. Jensen had explained how he had been sent to Santa Mondega to discover the truth behind a secret that the governments and church leaders of the world had been guarding for centuries. Every generation of government handed the story down to the next. Every new generation doubted the truth behind the story, and usually sent its own investigators to Santa Mondega to discover whether the legend was true or not. Some of the investigators returned in one piece. Many were never seen again. All of those who did return backed up the story, and those who didn’t merely succeeded in fuelling the suggestion that there was truth in the rumours.

  Truth was, Santa Mondega was the city that the rest of the world pretended didn’t exist. It was not to be found on any maps, and no story that broke in the city was ever aired on a news station outside the city limits. The reason, if legend was to be believed, was that Santa Mondega was the home of the undead. Jensen remembered how he had felt when he had first been given this information. His insti
ncts had told him that he was being sold a load of bullshit. The fact that he heard it from a source who reported directly to the President of the United States meant that he had at least to pretend to take the information seriously. After all, when a top Government official privileges you with highly sensitive information, you’d be foolish to dismiss it as poppycock without first considering the possibility that it might be true. Could cost you your job, at the very least.

  Somers absorbed the information in much the same way as Jensen had done, which struck the latter as pretty admirable. Jensen lived and breathed supernatural activity, whereas Somers was just a regular detective specializing in murder cases. Albeit murders committed by one particular killer, if his theory was correct.

  ‘I kinda thought you’d be a little more surprised, or even dismissive of all this,’ Jensen said to the distinctly unfazed Somers, who had not moved from his seated position behind the desk.

  ‘Well, you know what? I actually heard this theory once before, years ago. And although I’ve never seen a shred of evidence to back it up, I’ve also never seen anything to disprove it, either,’ Somers countered.

  Jensen had to respect the other’s honesty. It was interesting to learn that the old boy had heard the theory before. The only issue Jensen had was that in his opinion it was more fact than theory, but then, that was how his partner felt about the Bourbon Kid. In Somers’s mind, the Kid’s involvement in the murders was also fact, not theory. They had found some common ground, other than movies, at last.

  ‘Thanks. I appreciate you not mocking me,’ Jensen said with a deep sigh. ‘Most other guys would laugh me out of town for telling them that.’ Somers smiled and shook his head.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Jensen asked.

  ‘I’ve seen some bizarre shit in this job. I only have to look at the photos of all these dead bodies to know that there’s a possibility that something not entirely human is behind all this. So I’ll go along with the theory that the Bourbon Kid is some kind of ghost that can’t be killed. If it keeps you on this case with me, helping me to track him down, I’ll believe he’s the Devil himself.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Sure. There’s one other thing, though.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I don’t believe you’ve told me absolutely everything yet. Have you?’

  Jensen considered the question for a moment. He hadn’t deliberately withheld anything, had he?

  ‘Nope, that’s everything, Somers. At least, it’s everything I can think of right now that’s relevant.’

  Somers suddenly stood up and turned his back on Jensen. He walked over to the window behind him and looked through the blinds at the streets below.

  ‘The Lunar Festival has just started,’ he said after a while. ‘Santa Mondega is due to have a total eclipse of the sun in a couple of days’ time. Two monks have just come into town, just like two others did five years ago. And we all know what happened then, don’t we?’

  ‘Yeah. A lot of people died. What are you getting at?’

  ‘You know what I’m getting at, Detective. Don’t play me for a fool. The day those people died at the hands of the Bourbon Kid five years ago was the same day as the last eclipse. Now, outside of Santa Mondega, no other city has two solar eclipses in five years. It’s not possible. Which is why I believe your story. But you’re in town because of this eclipse. The Bourbon Kid has returned because of this eclipse, and those two monks are here because of this eclipse. So why is that?’

  ‘You heard of the Eye of the Moon?’

  Somers turned round again and faced Jensen. When he spoke, his voice sounded bleak. ‘The blue stone, right? It’s what the Kid came looking for last time. A guy called Ringo had stolen it from the monks. They came looking for it, too, and somehow they got it back from the Kid. Maybe he can’t kill holy men, or something – I don’t know. But I’m guessing, Detective Jensen, that the Eye of the Moon has been stolen again. That’s why you, the monks and the Bourbon Kid have all arrived in town in the last couple of days. But what’s it got to do with the eclipse?’ His last words fell into a deepening silence, as Jensen considered how best to answer.

  ‘Well,’ he said at last, realizing that Somers had been right when he suggested that he hadn’t been told everything. ‘You might want to sit down again. This is where it gets really weird.’

  ‘I’ll stand, thanks. Go on.’

  ‘You’re right. The Eye of the Moon has been stolen again. And according to my source at Government, that stone has what you might call “magical powers”.’

  ‘Magical powers?’ Somers sounded incredulous.

  ‘Yeah, I know. It sounds ridiculous, and in fairness these magical powers are one of the greyest areas in a story full of grey areas. Apparently the holder of the stone becomes immortal for as long as it’s in his possession, although I guess I should point out that there’s less evidence to back this up than there is to support anything else I’ve told you.’ He waited a moment, wondering how Somers would take the next bit of information. ‘One of the other theories,’ he said carefully, ‘is that it controls the orbit of the moon.’

  ‘Interesting. That would make a little sense. With an eclipse coming up, a man who could control the orbit of the moon would be in a very powerful position.’

  ‘That’s right. Now think about this, Somers. If the holder of the stone can stop the moon from orbiting the earth during an eclipse, and the moon then remained stationary in relation to the earth, although rotating with it, at exactly the point at which it had been stopped, then the area of the earth covered in darkness by the eclipse would stay in darkness. For ever.’

  Somers decided it was time to sit back down. He took his place behind the desk and picked up a few of the photos he had been showing Jensen earlier. He studied them closely. This time, Jensen could see from his expression that he was looking at them in a different light.

  ‘I think I can now see what you see, Jensen,’ he said.

  ‘Really? What exactly do you think I see?’

  ‘You see people who will thrive in a city that is bathed in total darkness.’

  ‘“I see undead people”,’ said Jensen, mimicking the kid from the movie The Sixth Sense. ’Walking around like regular people. They know they’re dead, mind you – the ones in Santa Mondega.’

  Jensen could tell from the astonished look on Somers’s face that he had figured the whole thing out already. He was no slouch, this guy.

  ‘Vampires,’ Somers blurted out. ‘The one creature that would benefit from a city where there was never any sunlight is a vampire.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Jesus Christ. Why didn’t I ever consider this before?’

  Jensen smiled. ‘Why would you? It’s a totally ludicrous idea.’

  ‘It was. But right now it’s making a hell of a lot of sense. If the Bourbon Kid is a vampire, then we’d better track him down before he gets his hands on that stone.’

  Sixteen

  Sanchez had heard nothing from Elvis. Even though he knew he might not get any news for a few days, maybe even weeks, he was still growing impatient, and it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since Elvis had taken on the job. Nothing would convince Sanchez to change his mind and call Santa Mondega’s most feared hitman off the job. At least, that’s what he’d thought when he had given Elvis the unenviable task of exacting retribution on his behalf.

  Then, typically, something happened to change Sanchez’s mind. He had an unexpected visitor to his bar. It was early evening when she walked in. He hadn’t seen her for some time, but here she was again. Sanchez couldn’t have been more surprised if someone had served him a glass of piss.

  Jessica had waltzed into his bar as though she didn’t have a care in the world. She was on her own, and didn’t look as though she had been in any trouble. She certainly didn’t look like someone who had witnessed the brutal slaying of two people that very morning. In fact, she seemed very calm.

  ‘Coffee,
please, bartender,’ she whispered as she took a seat at the bar. It seemed to Sanchez that she hadn’t recognized him, which was something of a disappointment to him.

  ‘Hello, Jessica,’ he said.

  She looked up, startled by the notion that the bartender could possibly know who she was when she recognized neither him nor the bar she was in.

  ‘You know me?’ she asked, unable to mask her surprise.

  ‘Yeah. Don’t you recognize me?’

  ‘No. Have I been here before? It doesn’t look familiar.’

  She looked around at her surroundings in complete bewilderment. If she had been to the Tapioca before it must have been a very long time ago, or it must have looked different, because the place was entirely foreign to her.

  ‘Yeah, you’ve been here before, about five years ago. You sure you don’t remember?’

  ‘Nah. I don’t have a very good memory. It’ll probably come back to me, though.’

  Sanchez wasn’t sure what to make of her. Was she telling the truth? Did she really not remember? Had she some sort of amnesia? Only one way to find out.

  ‘So what have you been doing for the last five years?’

  She looked at him suspiciously. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘’Cos I remember what happened the last time you were in here. You made quite an impression.’

  ‘Yeah, that’ll happen,’ she said coolly.

  Sanchez was taken aback at this sudden change of character. From being startled and unsure of herself only moments earlier, Jessica suddenly seemed arrogant and aloof.

  ‘Oh. Right … Um … How d’ya want your coffee?’ he asked her.

  ‘Free.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘I don’t care how the coffee is, as long as I don’t have to pay for it.’

  Sanchez generally hated people trying to con free drinks out of him, but he was astonished to see Jessica awake and on her feet, and was eager to know what was going on with her, and what she might know about the deaths of his brother and sister-in-law. So he reluctantly poured her a mug of black coffee from the crusted old filter jug that had been brewing on a hotplate behind the bar for about four hours.