Night Things: The Monster Collection

by West, Terry M.

  Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 6 played on a turntable in the room behind Johnny. The music washed over him. It was his favorite piece and his staff was subjected to it every night around this time.

  Glass, a muscular and quiet African-American man who was currently Johnny's right hand, appeared in the reflection next to Johnny.

  "Who does this one again?" Glass asked, having recently taken an active interest in his boss' music.

  "Tchaikovsky," Johnny replied. "Symphony No. 6 in B minor. Pathétique. This is Adagio lamentoso- the finale. If this doesn’t stir you inside, you have no soul. It was performed for the first time in 1893. Same year as the Lizzie Borden trial. It was a dark and interesting time. What does your ear make of the music?"

  Glass absorbed the melancholy tune. "Sad, but poetic," he said. "Bittersweet, I guess."

  "Well, this piece was written shortly before Tchaikovsky's death, and many think it was his farewell to the world," Johnny explained.

  "How did he die?" Glass asked.

  "On the books, it was cholera. But some say he killed himself and this symphony was a transparent suicide note. He was a homosexual and prone to depression. And the world has a way of making those who are different believe they are monsters."

  "My cousin works for an electronics chain. I could upgrade your system, so you don't get all of that needle noise," Glass said.

  "No, I like it better this way. The imperfections give it character. I have no respect for someone who doesn't recognize the value of a scar," Johnny said.

  "We are ready to move Sheila," Glass reported, as if the music had distracted him from the reason he had entered the room but he was back on course now. Johnny understood how the music could sidetrack someone.

  Sheila Gillings was an adult orphan whom Johnny had taken in as his ward. She was the daughter of Felix Gillings, a camera assistant who had perished on a zombie gangbang movie set. It was an inspired piece of monster porn that had claimed a few causalities, but was his most profitable film to date. Even if it was highly illegal and dangerous.

  So he had taken the girl in, because he wasn't heartless and who else would care for her? Sheila had Down's syndrome, but she was a bright flower and Johnny adored having her around.

  "Bring her in so I can say goodbye," Johnny instructed.

  Glass' reflection shrank away and Johnny followed it. He went to the phonograph and pulled the needle gently away from the vinyl record. He went to the bar and made a martini.

  He finished it just as Sheila bounded ahead of Glass into the room. The usually cold bodyguard always wore a half-grin around the girl.

  "Uncle Johnny!" she said, rushing up and wrapping her arms around his waist.

  She released Johnny, bent back up and smiled at him. She wore a very pink and girly sundress and her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Sheila had the most beautiful green eyes. It was nice for Johnny; having a person around him who saw nothing but a trusted benefactor. If Sheila ever spotted a monster in Johnny, she gave no hint. Maybe it was her condition. He didn't know for sure, but whatever it was, it made Johnny feel more human. He tried really hard to keep the creature from her sight.

  "You ready to go to Piermont for a few days?" Johnny said.

  "Yeah, but why aren't you coming?" Sheila whined playfully.

  "I have some business to settle. But if I finish it early, I'll join you. We'll eat at the seafood place you like," Johnny promised.

  "Pier 701?" Sheila beamed.

  "Yes ma'am."

  "Can we go apple picking, too?" Sheila asked.

  "If there are still apples on the trees this time of year," Johnny replied.

  "Or we could tie some to the limbs if there aren't any," Sheila teased.

  "Where there is a will, there's a way," Johnny said with a chuckle.

  Sheila motioned with her finger and Johnny smiled and arched down. She planted purple lipstick on his grey cheek, and then she left with Glass. Johnny watched her go and he smiled. He took a handkerchief from his jacket and mopped the lipstick off of his face.

  He had to prepare for his meeting with the mafia. It was time to squelch the beef the human mob had with him. Just as he wondered if the conference room was dressed, his butler, Victor stepped into the room.

  But, of course, Victor was more than a butler. He was one of Johnny's closest friends. He was a mute and feral hunchback. Johnny had discovered Victor in a sewer in France two decades ago. He didn't know the man's real name. Victor had been Johnny's damnable father's name, but it made the hunchback feel like kin to dub him so.

  "Everything ready in the conference room, Victor?" Johnny asked.

  Victor nodded his head, his light red wisps of hair waving in the air.

  "Good. You can knock off early tonight," Johnny said.

  Victor grunted in defiance and shook his head, parading his stringy hair in another direction.

  Johnny walked to his man Friday and put a heavy hand on his shoulder. "I can handle this, Victor. I have tripled the security. I can't afford to lose you, my friend. I couldn't tie my shoes without you."

  Victor sighed and turned, reluctantly trudging toward his basement level apartment.

  Johnny felt lighter, taking his family out of harm's way. He would be hosting a sit down with the most powerful mobsters in the city. Chefs from Babbo were preparing a feast in Johnny's extensive but seldom used kitchen. He would either bring these men to his cause or he would bury the fuckers.

  Glass reappeared. "The car is on the way to the bridge," he announced. "And your guests are in the elevator."

  ***

  Johnny let the men dine and mingle without him. Johnny appeared just as the caterers poured after dinner drinks. The men stood when Johnny walked into the conference room. He waved them back to their chairs and took his position at the head of the table. He knew they were all armed, and that didn't frighten him. Glass and five other sentries stood like stone at the walls and watched the proceedings. Johnny noticed enough hair petroleum and bad cologne in the room to blow his penthouse to the heavens.

  "Sorry it took me a bit to join you," Johnny said, lighting a cigar. "I had some business to attend."

  The men nodded, assuring that they understood, and Johnny took them in. He knew the smiles they pointed at him were insincere and that fear and hatred was pulsing just beneath their skin. There was a mixture of family bosses and captains. The older guests weren't as friendly as the younger ones who were no doubt playing catch as catch can. He knew the hungrier ones would seek gains from this meeting, while the elder guard would be more abrasive and hard to rally.

  A rather sour looking old mobster raised his hand for attention. It was Joseph Caci, the boss of Brooklyn's Caci family.

  "Please, speak, Joseph," Johnny encouraged.

  "It is a mess out there," Joseph stated, wiping at a food stain on the sleeve of his tailored jacket. "We got Night Things worming their way in on every corner. The vamps claim you back them."

  "That's bullshit," Johnny cut in. "I don't employee Night Things on my crew. Sure, I may hire one or two for a freelance errand, if it fits their skill set. But I don't back fangs, dead skin or fur on the street."

  "You are taking it all," another mobster declared, standing and slamming his hands down on the conference room table. It was Sammy Accardo, another old school thug who was closing in on seventy. Accardo ran the Jersey family. "We were here long before you freaks crawled out of the dirt. And we are willing to fight for what is ours."

  "Sammy, is that any way to start off a pleasant business meeting? Can't we at least act civil? Pretend we are all gentlemen?" Johnny said, in a mock tone of disappointment. "I hear your daughter, Sarah, is getting married. Congratulations. I have a wedding gift for you to take when you leave."

  "I'm not interested in gifts or veiled threats, Stücke," Sammy continued, standing over his colleagues, twelve in all (an even number of seasoned made men and young turks), who watched on in a reserved and interested quiet. "We can barely
feed our families out there. We are tangling with shifters, fangs and dead meat everywhere. Now, you say you want us to coexist with you? Then pick a side. Us or the monsters."

  "I want thirty percent of everything you have going," Johnny proposed. "Drugs. Anything off the back of trucks. Prostitution. Thirty percent and I will help you keep the monsters at bay."

  "That is a big bite," Sammy said. "And for what? The privilege of starving?"

  "You know, mafia ranks very low on the spook totem these days," Johnny said. "You are the least scary thing out there. You are lucky I don't squash you completely. I would, at the least provocation, but I feel I can learn from you and your organizations. I have studied your history. You always find ways to pan the gold from the water. Improvise. Find something that will make us all fat. But I get my cut and that price of doing business is thirty percent."

  "What about pornography?" Sammy said. "We used to wet our beaks in that, too. But you been hogging that up for yourself."

  Johnny nodded. "That is where my main passion lies. True. And there is no give there. You aren't getting any of that action. So come to terms with it."

  "It's a big loss for us," Sammy replied, finally dropping back to his seat.

  "I can think of much bigger losses you could take," Johnny said, with a raw grin.

  "Don't think we are afraid of a war," Sammy said, heating up.

  "Wars are unproductive," Johnny said. "And the casualties are hard to live with. You got Sarah. I got a daughter now. Wars get innocent people killed. We all need to think of our families."

  "There it is again," Sammy said, and he looked ready to explode. "The threats. Yeah, I got a daughter. But don't compare her to that retard orphan you took in."

  There was a hush that immediately followed Sammy's words. Apprehension suddenly stank up the room. Johnny left his chair and strolled slowly toward Sammy. Johnny settled next to the belligerent looking man, who glowered unapologetically at his monstrous host.

  Johnny clamped his big hand over Sammy's head. Frightened eyes peeked from between Johnny's fingers. He knelt down to Sammy's ear. "I am going to pay a visit to your daughter on her wedding night," he whispered. And then he crushed Sammy Accardo's head like a ripe melon.

  Gore, brains and thick strings of bloodied greasy black hair splashed the men sitting closest to Sammy. When Johnny removed his hand, the mobster's head was gone. A gunshot blast from that range would have done less damage. Someone gagged loudly. Johnny wiped his hand with a dinner cloth and politely covered the remains.

  "I have a thick skin. But you don't attack my family that way," Johnny said to the rest of the men.

  "He was out of line, Mr. Stücke," Joseph Caci finally said. "He had no right to speak to you that way. Especially in your home."

  "Very disrespectful," another man chimed in.

  "Anyone have a problem with what happened here?" Johnny said, his old eyes sweeping the room.

  Glass and his men stood motionless and continued to watch in gritty indifference. Accardo's peers were silent. If there were any grievances, the men were too petrified to air them.

  "I don't expect an answer tonight," Johnny said, striding back to his seat and taking it calmly. "I'll give you forty-eight hours to get your crews on board. Gentlemen, I assure you that your cooperation and loyalty in this matter will yield gains for us all."

  Johnny picked up a champagne glass and toasted his guests. "Salute."

  Before the men could lift their glasses, the conference room door ripped open.

  A group of vampires stepped into the conference room. Their gray faces stared at the proceedings menacingly. Johnny counted fourteen leeches and there was an even balance of male and female vamps. Their mouths and chins were wet with the blood of Johnny's security. Behind them, an old gypsy woman leered at Johnny with one good eye- an evil eye, actually. The gypsy smelled human and the vamps seemed to be protecting her, which was unusual. The Night Things hated gypsies.

  Everyone in the room, save Johnny, pulled a weapon. Glass and his men immediately fell back toward their boss. The mafia guests pointed their guns between Johnny and the vamps. The mobsters loudly demanded an explanation.

  Johnny ignored his invited guests and focused on the Night Things who had crashed his party. "How the fuck did you leeches get in here?"

  "We found the dummy owner you thought we never would and tortured an invitation out of him," a tall and lean vamp with blonde hair that seemed to be the leader of the undead band explained. He smiled widely, resembling a mutant clown, and stretched his fangs at Johnny. "The master sends his regards."

  "You boys packing silver?" Johnny asked of Joseph Caci.

  "Have to these days," Joseph said, pointing his weapon at the lead vamp. His men mimicked his aim.

  The vampires charged without warning. Two of the vampires fell as the mobsters in the room shot wildly into the undead crowd. Johnny kept his eyes on the old gypsy, whose lips moved silently. She recited an incantation.

  Just as Johnny was about to warn about the words on her lips, a funnel cloud appeared in the air in front of the woman. The dark mass, at least ten feet high and wide, spun toward him. Its numerous fangs snapped in the air and large red eyes leered evilly from the center of it. The demon split the middle of the massive conference room table as it sped at Johnny. A few vampires and mobsters were sucked into it and spit back out in piles of mangled flesh and bone.

  "Look out!" Johnny said to his men. He pushed Glass aside, who was firing madly at the demonic cloud, and Johnny punched the thing.

  His fist made solid contact and it startled back. The red eyes in the wind flinched and fluttered. Then they cleared and grew angry. All of the fanged mouths howled, and Johnny feared their angry song would shatter the bulletproof windows of the conference room.

  He swung again. This time, the beast caught his arm. It lifted the huge man and smashed him into the wall length window. The glass cracked and scars stretched across the pane. Johnny tried to free his arm, but the demon picked him up and sent him into the window again. The glass began to bulge outward and Johnny felt as if a thousand teeth devoured his arm.

  Johnny brought his other arm around and punched the thing again. It released him and backed off. Johnny had no time to appraise his injured arm, which was barely there.

  One of his men shot silver into the demon cloud. It screeched, then snatched him into its center. Johnny watched as his man- Leonard, he believed his name had been- churned inside and was reduced to a red-stained skeleton. The thing spit the remains of Leonard at Johnny.

  It hesitated before attacking again and Johnny prepared himself. He reached down and snapped off Leonard's femur bone and raised it into the air.

  "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's finish this!" Johnny challenged.

  The demon sprang at him and then suddenly dissipated into the air, revealing the old gypsy woman behind it. Her good eye was wide in pain and surprise. Her hands gnarled and reached over her shoulders. She fell forward, and Victor stood behind her. He held onto the large butcher knife in her back as she went down. He then rushed to his master.

  Johnny realized that the creature must have been exiled to wherever it had come upon the death of the gypsy. He looked around, and saw only Glass and one more of his crew alive. They pointed their weapons at the grizzly remains of men and vamps on the conference room floor.

  "You okay?" Glass asked, as more security piled into the room.

  "Yeah, relatively speaking," Johnny said, as Victor lingered near him.

  "I want security quadrupled," he said to Glass. "Get on the horn and send Sheila to a different safe house. Preferably somewhere out of the country. Find out who is next in line to hold the building title and get a lawyer on it before morning. We have to revoke that God damn invitation. Put silver clips and holy water pistols on every man we have."

  Johnny pointed to the security camera. "Take the footage and download it to my computer. I want to see if we can translate the Gypsy's spell.
Might be able to make use of a monster like that one day."

  Johnny pulled a cigar from his jacket. Glass lit it.

  "Boss, your arm is fucked," Glass whispered.

  Johnny glanced down. There was barely any muscle left on it. The bone that showed had several gnaw marks. "Get my doctor here pronto. Tell him to bring a left arm from the freeze."

  Johnny glanced around at the pieces of mobsters strewn across the room. "Tell him to salvage what he can in here. Waste not, want not."

  Glass delegated to one of the men and turned back to Johnny. "Who were they working for? Who is their master?"