“They have all these other nicknames. Dick, cock, member, erection, willy, one-eyed trouser…”
She raised her hands in surrender. “Do I need to know them all right now?”
“No, but keep it in mind as, apparently, penis is a bad word.”
“Thank you, Quelver. I think I need a rest.”
He nodded. “Just remember, it’s also okay and encouraged for you to play with your own vagina.”
Shava nodded, not entirely certain how to respond to that other than simply leaving. At the door, she stopped and turned back to Q. “I will say that I’m very thankful these humans only have two genders. With what we just did, I don’t think I could handle more bodies involved.”
III
January 23, 2018…a cab in downtown Chicago, Illinois
Savannah slipped her hand into her purse. Her prize was the medal she had taken from Corporal Lifeless. No doubt he had received it in some ceremony for taking down his country’s enemies, but now it sat in the palm of Savannah’s hand.
Countries…if only these humans knew how useless of a concept that was.
She sighed and looked out of past the messy car windows. Snow was piled up along the sidewalks and had begun to melt under a warmer than the usual sun on this particular day. It would not last, however, as the sun began to play hide and seek moving west behind some of the skyscrapers.
The cab pulled up to the curb in front of Nelson Andrews Savings and Loan.
Cracking open the door, Savannah placed her first booted heel on the wet pavement. “I’ll be right back. Just getting some cash.”
The driver’s name was Tommy, and he had often taken her to the swingers club. Stopping to get cash was not an unusual request and, considering the alternatives of fees for card usage, one he was more than happy to allow.
Clouds drifted over, blotting out the remaining sunlight.
Stepping from the cab, her red skirt fell to her knees with long black stockinged legs vanishing into ankle-boots with stiletto heels. Her black leather jacket, with seemingly random placed silver zippers, crinkled as she moved. She walked around a big puddle and down a small corridor before entering the bank.
Immediately opposite the door was a bay with five instant teller machines. The left offered a door into the bank where, when open, actual people would be waiting to take their money in case the machines were not convenient enough. The right wall had a community corkboard with many advertisements listed.
This location had been a good choice, Savannah felt. She could work unobserved because of the entrance being far away enough from the street. Sure there were cameras in the bank, but the odds of any guardians having access to those cameras seemed low.
Arriving on Earth, only the first clue had been easy to find. It had been a key in an envelope left in the mailbox of an abandoned home outside of Dylan, Colorado. That key had been for a locker at Shreveport Regional Airport in Louisiana. From there, Graven had left her a trail of breadcrumbs that took her from Bangkok to Melbourne and back. The final clue, until now, had been a brochure for Nelson Andrews Savings and Loan that had been held by the concierge of a high-class residence on the east bank of Limmat in Zurich.
That had been six months ago.
No word since then.
She glanced at the corkboard and her eyes immediately found it. A small yellow sticky note began with the word “Limmat”. This was followed by two words beneath it:
“Where?”
“When?”
It was time.
“Three days,” she whispered. “Just three more days.” Pulling a pen from her leather coat pocket, she turned the yellow scrap over and wrote her own message:
“Jan 26. Club Flamme. Griffintown.”
Outside, rain began to fall heavy, beating against the bank’s glass doors.
Dread crept into her as her eyes turned red.
IV
January 26, 2018…Montreal, Quebec, Canada
Club Flamme was a tiny place with a basement entrance around the back of a small office building in Montreal’s downtown core. From the street, the red brick building looked out into the Bassins Peel from just beneath Autoroute Bonaventure.
“I can see why you like these places.” Graven looked at the people slowly getting drunk around them. “Amazing I never thought of this.”
Savannah looked up at Graven. She had known he would be happy to meet in such an anonymous place. “Why do I like these places?” Her black skirt hugged her knees, but her boots rose well up underneath. Her cleavage showed well from the red scoop-neck sweater over top and the lack of bra beneath. In fact, in the underwear department, she was wearing a matching set of Emperor-style new clothes.
He glared at her. His white suit was straight out of Don Johnson’s closest and, somehow, he even had the three-day stubble down. Were it a retro-80s night, he would have fit right in with his sockless ankles and white moccasin shoes. The only flaw was the blonde ponytail down his back.
“Why do I like these places, sir?”
He glanced around the quiet lounge. ”You can find multiple prey and it is not as though many outside of here know who is here.” He had hit exactly on why she fed at swing clubs…the anonymity of the place made it easy to have people disappear without questions. No one remembered the lucky couple that would go in the private room with the brunette and never came out again. The occasional flash of light through the bottom of the door raised eyebrows, but not much more.
She wanted to roll her eyes, but he was right. ”Yes, Graven.”
“So, eviction?”
Her chest compressed with a sigh. She already felt there was some convincing to be done. “We need to abandon the eviction.”
His eyes shot over to her with a chuckle. “Why the fuck would we do that?”
This was a problem. Savannah had no real answer for this question. She knew Graven would laugh if she announced she had fallen in love with one of their prey, never mind the fact that she had only met the object of her affection twice. “I feel they deserve to live.”
“They’re not space-faring. No one from the Association will miss them. Eviction means we can harvest…”
“Humans have been to the Moon.” Savannah interrupted.
Another chuckle. “Bullshit. It was all a hoax on a Hollywood sound stage. I was here through the entire event.”
“Yes, but I saw the planted flag when I arrived.”
“My undercover job at that time, perhaps ironic, was working for NASA. I stood behind the fucking camera and watched as they filmed the bloody thing.” He looked away. “Something is eating at you, though, I can see that. You have twenty-four hours to explain yourself. I owe you that much, at least.”
“Twenty-four hours?”
“We should feed,” he said with a curt nod.
This time she did roll her eyes. This was the reason she had come to Montreal. To show him just how easy these places were. “Of course, sir.”
“Hickory, dickory, dock.”
“Sir?”
“An old Earth nursery rhyme that will soon be forgotten once we’re through with them.”
“Oh.”
“Hickory, dickory, dock. Three mice ran up the clock. The clock struck one…the other two got away with minor injuries.”
Savannah giggled. Arrogant and fearless as Graven was, he could still be funny. “I don’t think that is how it ends.”
“No, of course you are correct. None will get away. Twenty-four hours is it.” He moved off and began to court his prey.
As the evening moved along, the music grew louder and the dance floor more crowded. The dark walls became full of wallflowers, the single guys watching the couples they were hoping to join for a play session when the play area on the second floor opened up.
Savannah became one of those wallflowers. This was part of why she had picked this place.
Montreal was a mysterious city without the seediness of American cities, like New Orleans. This city had a European flare, liberal tenden
cies, and many shadows to hide in. During her six months waiting for the next clue in Chicago, she had gone in search of where this meeting place should be. There was an old tavern in Cork, Ireland that was almost perfect, but this place was better.
Watching Graven from her vantage point, she knew it was a matter of time before he screwed up.
It did not take long.
The place, now full, was humming a thumping. Savannah fended off a few of the single men and kept a close eye as Graven played. He sat on a black leather couch between a petite blonde and a curvy brunette. The blonde was already tugging at the zipper on his pants while Graven tried to talk to the brunette. Both women, of course, would be dead before morning regardless, but it happened earlier than Savannah expected.
The brunette threw her drink in Graven’s face. He responded, as any good Emmi warrior would, by placing a hand either side of her face and giving a quick turn to snap her neck.
Savannah’s eyes popped open. She had expected death, but later in the evening and not like this. For it to be out in the open within eyesight of dozens of patrons was not something she had even conceived nor prepare for.
Graven stood and immediately struck the closest man behind him, first to discombobulate before the second strike ripped the man’s throat out.
“Damn it,” Savannah whispered, rolling her eyes with the realization she would be going hungry tonight. “Couldn’t he have waited until I at least got laid?” She stood back and watched the circle form around Graven as he began to flail out and strike those around him.
He was quite capable of taking on any human opponent without much effort. The only reason he required Savannah’s assistance was the sheer numbers of people.
Typical reaction, the few with egos were killed off quickly as they tried to attack Graven. Then the seventy-five, or so, that began to flee for the exits were Savannah’s responsibility. Her warrior training took over and twenty minutes later, she snapped the neck of the last potential witness.
In the aftermath, Graven walked back to her with blood squelching beneath his shoes. He carried a fresh drink that he had poured himself behind the bar while watching Savannah finish off the last ten.
Savannah glared at him, unable to conceal her anger. “Why, sir? Why did you have to do this?”
A human response of his own followed as he winked. “A test. I had to make sure you could be relied upon.”
“But sir, we need to abandon this mission. In ten years when the eviction ships arrive there will be ten billion souls…”
“That’s the thing,” he said with a snap of his fingers. “I called for the ships long ago. By my estimation…” He looked at his watch and spilled some of his drink. “Damn, I’ll need to get more, I was enjoying that.”
Her hands shook, but she remained silent.
“The one thing these Earthers got right was alcohol. Think we need to bring that home.” His eyes met hers briefly before he returned to point. “Anyway, the ships should be arriving in about two weeks.”
“What?”
“The mission is a go, Ms. Savannah. We’re not stopping it now.”
“But sir?” Something in her mind clicked. “Wait.”
“What is it now? We must get going.”
“They have been to the Moon. I’ve seen the proof and yet you…”
He grinned and shrugged.
“You know we can’t evict a space faring race. You know that’s forbidden.”
“No one need know. Besides, we need the nutrients and it is not as though they’re traveling faster than light yet.”
Again silent, she felt her cheeks heating up.
He pulled a small slim black device from his pocket. “Get your jumper, we’re leaving.” He pushed two buttons and his skin began to glow. The red button on top of the device pulsed.
“I don’t need a jumper, sir,” she responded in a raspy whisper.
“Of course you do, we…” His eyes widened and began to turn yellow. “Really, you’re one of those, are you?” The remaining drink in his other hand was consumed before he let the glass go to smash on the tiled floor.
Folding her arms over her chest, she could see the fear growing on his face. “You didn’t know?”
He shook his head and his eyes searched around as though hoping to find an answer somewhere in the blood. “I will say that I’m impressed. Always knew there was a reason they picked you.” His free hand stroked his chin. “Did they ever get it to where you can take another with you?”
“Don’t know, I’ve never tried, sir. I do carry one if that is ever required.”
“Yes, would be messy if you only jumped with half a prisoner.” His face melted with relief. “Well, much fun as this has been, seems I gotta flash.” He pushed the small red button on the top of the device and flashed away.
“FUCK!” Savannah screamed and slammed her hand against a wall.
V
January 27, 2018…6h00 EST
As heard on Montreal CTLL News, English Radio as rush hour began…
Tragedy last night in Griffintown. A local nightclub was the scene of, what authorities are declaring, a vicious massacre. At this point, the investigating officers are not giving many details. Rue Peel is closed from Wellington to Duke. For those traveling into Montreal, Autoroute Bonaventure is very slow as rubberneckers try and catch a glimpse.
The news report failed to mention that 207 bodies were found, most of whom, according to loved ones, were not even thought to be at such a club.
Part Six
The End is Nigh
I
January 30, 2018…Municipal Courts, Chicago, Illinois
The man with grey hair and in the rumpled grey pinstripe suit sat with a thump.
Gerald had trouble not laughing. This was a solemn matter, but seeing such anger in Oscar’s face made it difficult for Gerald to keep his straight.
This place was one where intimidation would not benefit Oscar. Anger meant he was nervous. Anger meant he was scared. Anger likely meant that Oscar knew he was in deep shit.
The fact that Gerald was indirectly holding the shovel that was about to bury Oscar made it even more difficult to hide the grin.
The rumpled suit was open, showing a poorly knotted two-toned grey tie. At least the pants matched. That black ankle socks were chosen to help finish off Oscar’s ensemble aided the comedic value. Gerald had often seen him Oscar wearing similar shirts, but open enough to hint at chest hair and topped with a thin brown leather choker around his neck. His poor attempt to appear surfer-like and still feel young and hip.
“At least he’s consistent,” Gerald whispered. He jumped feeling a hand come down on his shoulder.
“Who’s consistent?” the female voice asked.
Looking to the hand, he saw red fingernails. Then looking further up, he saw the face of Savannah looking down at him through a veil of dark hair. He stood, turned and wrapped his arms around her. “Where…?”
She held a hand to his lips. “I’ll explain.”
Oscar, from the other corner of the room, laughed.
Gerald glanced over and turned to sit back down.
“Why are you here?” She walked around the bank of chairs to sit beside him. Her skirt was knee-length with tall black boots beneath with a good heel.
“The laugher over there is suing me,” Gerald answered keeping his voice low enough so no one else could hear.
“What for?”
She crossed her legs and put her hand on top of his.
A woman Gerald barely knew and yet her hand on his felt natural. “He’s one of the mechanics my trucking company uses when things go wrong on this end. He broke his hand fixing my truck and is trying to blame me. He didn’t have his workman’s comp paid up, so the government won’t help him.
“You said he was consistent. What’s he consistent in?”
“Bad choices.”
Her eyes glanced over at Oscar. “Spends more time manicuring the shoulders and abs than the muscle
between the ears?”
Gerald chuckled. “My company even bought the silver watch he’s wearing as a thank you gift for his hard work last year. I’m not even sure he can read, so the briefcase makes no sense at all.”
As though on cue, Oscar picked up the suitcase and slammed it down on the seat beside him.
“Just a boy-man that never grows up. I’ve met a few.” Savannah lightly stroked Gerald’s hand.
The blonde in the chair right of Oscar smoothed her soccer-mom blue floral ankle-length dress and eyed Oscar suspiciously.
Ruffling through his briefcase, Oscar pulled out a thin file to flip through.
“Well, seems you’re wrong, he can read.”
“How do you know?” Gerald asked.
“His lips are moving.”
Gerald laughed.
Oscar put the file down and went back into the case. A book was his prize this time as he opened to what appeared to be a random page and stuck his nose in it.
“Why is he so angry with you? He wanted to sue, right?”
“He’d be over here yelling at me if there was no one else in the room. Likely trying to intimidate me into hitting back as further proof of our alleged abuses of him. I think he’s upset it has gone this far. He had hoped we would settle and just pay him rather than actually going to trial.”
“He’s so stoic and brick-like in his face.”
“Yeah,” Gerald said with a further laugh, “bricks are made of mud.”
The room, itself, was stark. White walls and white pock-holed access ceiling held up by white metal frames with long fluorescent lights strategically placed. The doors, coffee table, and coat rack were all made of red-stained mahogany that would take years of scratches before replacement. The carpet, short and rugged, was a mix of blue, red and green fabrics. The chairs were the hard inviting black plastic on metal frames one usually expected to find in only the cheapest bus terminals. Colour was offered solely by the unsigned children’s artwork adorning the walls that would usually be prominent upon a parent’s refrigerator.
Just Prey: Savannah - Book One Page 11