“He’s likely to just go straight home from the job,” said the woman. “We’re closing in five minutes. Why don’t you leave a message here or call him tomorrow.”
“There’s a van outside. Any other plumbers here now?”
“Charley’s in the back, cleaning up. Would you like to see him?”
“I came to see Bongo.”
“You want to leave a message?”
Within the pouch of his sweatshirt, he uncapped a syringe. “I’m afraid I don’t have a pen.”
“I have one here. Aren’t you hot in that sweatshirt?”
“I have low blood. Always feel cold.” He approached her desk. “You have a piece of paper I can use?”
“Sure.” She picked up a small notepad and reached toward him.
“Thanks.” He grabbed her wrist and yanked her across the desk, face down. She yelped with surprise, then screamed as he plunged the needle into her neck and emptied the syringe. He let her scream but forced her back into the chair and kept one arm around her neck to control her until the drug put her to sleep. His other hand brought out his gun. By the time Charley came through the back door, the woman had her head on the desktop and was making incoherent sounds. Bart was kneeling to the right of her chair, one hand solicitously placed on her shoulder, the other holding his gun out of sight.
“Doris?” Charley squinted to take in the situation. A short, muscular man in jeans and a white tee shirt, he had a brown moustache and thick eyebrows that converged in puzzlement.
“She had some kind of seizure. I called 911.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“My name’s Bart. I stopped in to see Bongo. Come help me lay her down.”
Charley came forward. “What happened to her?”
“Drugs.” Bart raised the gun.
Charley stopped abruptly. “What the — ?”
Bart shot him between the eyes. Charley toppled backward and fell to the floor. Bart wiped off the Baretta with the woman’s skirt, then placed the weapon in her right hand, manipulating it to fire off two more rounds in the direction Charley had been standing. Bart smiled, stood up, and retrieved the empty syringe. She’ll have a hell of a time convincing the police she didn’t kill him. No one will give a thought to vampires.
As he approached Charley’s body, the scent of blood put Bart’s teeth on edge. Not now! Rose will have younger, fresher blood. He found the keys to the van and a wallet in Charley’s pockets. Taking the driver’s license, he replaced the wallet. A quick search of the back room outfitted him with a tool box and a large blue coverall with the name Fred printed in yellow on a chest pocket and Pipe Dream Plumbing across the back. On the way out, he took a few business cards. He made sure the door was locked behind him and headed toward the van. Okay, Rose, now for you.
32
Man in the Hall
Bart parked the van behind the dorm. He took the box of plumber’s tools from the seat next to him and stepped out into the moonless night. The pungent scent of a garlic-eating warmblood dominated those of roses and honeysuckle.
The man guarding the back door was already out of his lawn chair. His suit jacket bulged over a holstered gun. The beam of his flashlight examined Bart’s hands, then moved upward.
“I hope you’re having a better evening than I am,” said Bart. “Another emergency call to go after this one and it’s already ten-thirty. Damn girls have stopped up the waste pipe again.”
“I didn’t hear about any emergency.”
“Probably because you didn’t have to use a toilet in there.”
“You have ID?”
“Sure.” Bart offered him Bongo’s business card.
The agent shined his light on it. “How about a driver’s license?”
“No problem.” Bart set down his tool box and reached into the pockets of his coveralls. One hand came out offering Charley’s license, the other came out hiding an uncapped syringe. “Here.”
As the guard looked down at the picture, Bart plunged the syringe into his neck. The man cursed and swiped his flashlight upward. Bart jerked away. He grasped the guard’s wrists and head-butted him on the bridge of his nose. The scent of flowing blood made Bart’s tastebuds tingle. His heart raced; strength poured into his limbs. He ripped away the flashlight and smashed it into the guard’s head. Growling with excitement, he forced the man down to the grass. Fresh blood!The kid can wait a few minutes. She’s not going anywhere.
* * *
Except she had. He stood in the room Angela had specified, tapping his fingers together in the dark as he waited to see if Rose would return from a friend’s room or the bathroom. His jaw was clenched and the guard’s blood residue had a bitter aftertaste. He’d found nothing but ordinary items in Rose’s desk, dresser and closet, and nothing at all under her mattress or under her bed. If she had Quintz’s data, she’d taken it with her or hidden it elsewhere.
Where would she go? Where does any teen go? To her friends. More than one girl here would know in which room she’s sleeping. All I have to do is ask. Convincingly.
Bart peeked out into the dimly lit corridor. Even devoid of girls, it was full of residual odors from a pine carpet shampoo, citrus disinfectants, hairsprays, and perfumes. But all those odors combined could not overwhelm the scent of estrogen-rich blood that wafted from so many rooms.
My Legionnaires could have a week-long feeding frenzy here. We could bleed and turn a crop of wealthy girls and send them back to put the bite on their parents. Don’t get distracted! Find Rose Blood!
He rummaged through the tool box and picked out a mini pry bar, then snapped the lid closed and carried the box into the corridor to the door of the next room. Gently, he turned the door handle. Locked. Not a problem. With a smile, he inserted the thin edge of the pry bar between the door and frame.
“Stop!” a girl shrieked.
Bart spun about. Just outside the bathroom, a large girl in jungle pajamas and cheetah booties stood with toothbrush and toothpaste tube in hand. She had long dark hair, a cavernous mouth, and an amazing pair of lungs as indicated by her switch from shrieking to bellowing “Man in the hall!” without drawing in a breath.
“Stop that!“ he commanded. “I’m the plumber. The girl in this room locked herself in.”
“Man in the hall,” came the shout from a nearby room. The cry was echoed from other rooms.
She’s waking everyone. Fang her! Bart dropped the pry bar and headed for the girl.
The girl waved her toothbrush as if it could flick him away.
“Where’s Rose Blood?” He bared his fangs.
Her eyes went wide but her mouth opened wider. “Pervert here!” she screamed.
Don’t kill her. You need info. He smacked her face. Her head hit the wall and she sagged to the carpet like a camel settling onto the sand.
“Pervert! Rapist! Help! Police!” resounded from rooms up and down the corridor. As he started to drag the girl to her feet, an electronic alarm screeched.
Satan damn them! That alarm will bring every guard on campus.
Doors up and down the hall were opening. The scent of so much hormonal blood made it hard to think. Then a bottle of water hit his shoulder. A book struck his head. A girl with a phone stepped forward and snapped his picture. He reached an arm out to grab her but she bolted into a room and slammed the door. Pursuing her was not an option, for at least two other girls aimed their tablets to capture his image. Around them, more frightened and furious girls were pelting him with their shoes, paperweights, books, full cans of pop and bottles of water.
Idiots! Don’t they know this crap can’t hurt me? He raised one arm to fend off the missile attack and used the other to drag his jungle pajama captive up.
“Where’s Rose Blood?” he snarled.
“Don’t know,” the girl whimpered. “An ambulance took her away.”
“There he is!” a man shouted. “Out of the way girls. Get out of the way!”
Bart pulled the girl close. “Tell a
nyone I was looking for Rose Blood and I’ll come back and kill you.” He threw her down to create another obstacle for the men forcing their way through the swarm of girls and ran for the back staircase.
Get to the van before they lock down the campus. He raced down the stairs and out the back door to the van.
Shit! He’d left the tool box behind.
He started up the van and floored the gas pedal. The van bucked and jumped forward, tires screeching.
The tool box! The plumber’s fingerprints will be on it. A stupid error. So what? Still have to find Rose.
Did Bunny take her away in that ambulance? Would the feds know which vampire took her? Maybe they’d be willing to make a deal. They have Dr. Quintz. What would they give for Rose?
3
The Boys
33
Home Delivery
Hector was more troubled by the vampire crime wave he was riding than the aches and soreness in his body. He was four days and two thousand miles away from the Sawtooth Wilderness Academy and its dungeon, yet he couldn’t close his eyes without imagining Dr. Baneful hovering over him. Now his flashbacks of torture had been joined by fears of what was to come. Wide-eyed and alert, he sat on a velvet sofa in the dark living room of the house his vampire captors had broken into an hour before. He’d not leaned back against the pillows for fear of shedding an identifying hair, nor had he taken his hands from the pockets of his windbreaker so as to avoid leaving fingerprints. But nothing in the living room offered protection from his captors or his thoughts.
Once the pizza guy comes, they’ll probably kill me and make it look like I killed him. Even if they don’t, I’ll be an accomplice to murder. More than one, if the people who own this place come back. Get out now!
Hector stood up. “I have to use the john.”
“Wait,” said Arvin from a leather recliner. “It won’t be long now.”
“Easy for you to say. You guys don’t need to piss like normal people.”
“Less fluid in, less fluid out. Sit down. You’re too nervous.”
“Not me, dude. I’m cool. I always kill for my pizza.” Hector sat down on the sofa and hunched over. If he didn’t die tonight, he’d spend the rest of his life in jail and never see Kathy again. The police in L.A. had his fingerprints. What with two assault charges there, no one would believe he was innocent here. If he started blaming what was to happen on vampires, the judge would think he was prepping for an insanity defense.
“I’m not crazy,” he muttered.
“I never thought you were,” said Arvin. “But you still look pale. I know that anemia can do strange things to a brain.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Hector grumbled. Damn vampires can hear and see better in the dark than dogs.
“Sorry. I guess being with a friend doesn’t mean that what your friend says is meant for you to hear. Next time, please let me know when you’re about to talk only to yourself and I’ll cover my ears.”
“Friend?” Hector was incredulous. “Since when are you my friend?”
“To whom are you speaking now?” asked Arvin.
“C’mon, dude. You’re a vampire.”
“Really? Why haven’t I noticed? You mean it’s not just fang breath that makes people reject me?”
“Cut the shit, Arvin. If you were my friend, you’d let me walk out of here.”
Arvin got up from his chair and walked around the glass coffee table to the couch. In the darkness, the pale moon of his face showed the hint of a smile. “Maybe you are crazy.” He sat down next to Hector and spoke softly. “Look, I’m sorry, man. I know you’re worried about what we’re going to do tonight, but use your brain. Let’s put aside the importance of our mission and what will happen to me if I turn you loose. You think Finkelstein outside would let you leave? Or if you somehow slipped by him, that he and LittleHawk wouldn’t hunt you down after she comes back from scoping out the house where the feds have stashed Dr. Quintz? And what do you think the Banefuls would do to Kathy if you run? Right now, buddy, I’m the best friend you have.”
“Dude, you drank my blood. What kind of friend does that?” Turning sideways on the sofa to face Arvin, Hector took his hands from his pockets in an open appeal. “You want to be my friend? Get me out of this. People are going to get killed tonight and it’s not something I want to be a part of.”
“You’re not. We’re not asking you to do anything violent. You’re with us to show Dr. Quintz that vampires can keep a cooperative human safe. Consider yourself a witness to history.”
Hector snorted. “To murder and kidnapping?”
“Small footnotes to our history. So, are we friends?”
“Are you nuts? How can I be friends with a vampire?”
Arvin offered his right hand. “Think of us as pioneers in cross-cultural understanding.”
“I’m no pioneer.” Hector put his own hands back into his pockets.
With a heavy sigh, Arvin lowered his hand to the sofa. “I wish you were more appreciative of my efforts.”
“You mean supplying boots and parkas for Kathy and Soo’s escape from school? I paid you in blood for that.”
“Believe me, I remember. Really awesome nectar you have there, man. True Mayan gold. But I only took the pint we agreed on. If you weren’t my friend, I’d have taken more.”
“You just like me for my blood.”
Arvin laughed. “Oh man, that is so lame to tell a vampire.”
“You know what I mean.“
“What did I get for helping you at school with your math homework?” asked Arvin. “One thank you? Is that why I visited you in the dungeon despite mega risk? You are so damn unappreciative.”
Hector blinked; his body straightened. Is Arvin right? “Maybe I haven’t given you enough thank-you’s and fist bumps, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t appreciated your help. You taught me a lot more than math when I was in that school. It’s just hard to trust anyone who wants your blood.”
“Wanting doesn’t mean taking,” said Arvin. “At least not from friends. One thing you and Lionel and Kathy did at school was to show me what friendship really meant.” The beep of his phone startled them. Arvin pulled it from the pocket of his jeans, glanced at the message and sprang off the couch. “Fink says the pizza guy just drove up. You stay put.”
Arvin switched on the overhead light and was gone. Hector blinked. Out in the foyer, another light went on.
Go now? Do something to stop them? As Hector jumped up, his leg banged against the coffee table.
“Stay there!” Arvin called from the foyer. “And you won’t save him by shouting. Not with Finkelstein outside.”
Call 911? Not even enough time to find a phone. Hector moved to the living room doorway. Dressed in black, Arvin stood like an eager spider.
“You told me it was against your principles to hunt,” Hector challenged.
Arvin glanced at him. “This isn’t hunting. This is home delivery. Do us both a favor and go sit in the living room.”
The doorbell rang. Arvin opened the door.
“Lightning Pizza,” said the young man. His jeans and sweatshirt were topped by a chubby Mexican face and a red cap with a lightning-bolt logo. In his arms, he carried a quilted warmer holding pizza boxes.
Arvin stepped aside. “Please bring it in.”
“Don’t!” Hector shouted.
“Do!” Finkelstein crashed into the deliveryman’s back, propelling him over the threshold. Dropping his bundle, the man reached out to grab anything that would help him stay on his feet.
“Dinner,” said Arvin as he scooped up the bundle while Finkelstein wrestled the stumbling man down to the carpeted floor. The guidance counselor slammed the heel of his hand against the man’s jaw.
The man uttered a panicky squeak.
“Oh, God!” Hector cried.
Arvin kicked the victim’s legs aside so he could shut the door. He put out the hall light. “Hey man, you don’t need to watch this,” he told Hector. “
Let’s go into the living room. You like mushroom or pepperoni?”
Bodies thrashed on the carpet. The pizza man was squealing.
Hector shook uncontrollably. “You’re crazy.”
“Because I like pepperoni or because vampires need blood?” He nudged Hector back toward the living room. “Go inside. I don’t like to eat standing up.”
“I hate you guys.” Tears ran down his cheeks as he went back to the couch.
“That’s okay. I don’t take it personally. I felt the same horror about killing back before I was turned.” Arvin set the warmer on the coffee table and busied himself with unpacking a pizza. “I’ve become different, but the hurt of what was doesn’t go away, man, it’s still with me… Except this is here and now.” His fangs seemed to grow larger as he opened a pizza box and tore off a slice. “See, old Finkelstein needs to juice up before we go into action. I need blood, too, but hunting humans goes against my beliefs. And voluntary donations aren’t flowing in. I’m lucky I have a guidance counselor who understand my needs.” Arvin took a huge bite of pizza and chewed.
“Arvin!” called Finkelstein from the hallway. “Come serve yourself.”
Arvin gulped down what was in his mouth. “Stay here!” He put down his slice and hurried out.
The pizza man screeched. Hector grimaced and slapped his own head twice.
Finkelstein switched off the light as he came into the room. He stepped over to the coffee table and picked up the lid of a pizza box. “You’re not eating? We thought you’d be hungry, too.”
“How can I eat with that going on?”
“Maybe you’ll be hungry later.” He let the lid fall back. “I never acquired the taste. Look, Hector. We’re vampires, but not monsters, not beyond feeling. Arvin’s starved for a good meal. You can’t blame a teen-ager for having an appetite, can you?”
“Are you crazy? He’s killing a person!” Hector clenched his fists. “He can catch animals. People eat animals.”
The Cure Page 20