by Ray Garton
"I want to go," Keoph said.
"Are you serious?"
"Getting Karen out of there is now my job," Keoph said. "I'm not going to walk away from it."
Davey sighed and unconsciously tugged at his beard.
Keoph said, "I'm serious, just tell me what to do. How do we kill them? What do you want me to do?"
"We're going to need weapons. Fully automatic weapons. Without the right weapons, there's no point going in."
"What do you want me to do?" Keoph asked again.
Davey said, "We heal fast, so if you shoot one of us with a single bullet, the bullet is just rejected by the body and the hole heals up, all within seconds. You have to keep those bullets coming, fast. That's why we need machine guns. Destroy the head if possible. If not, just keep shooting until you cut him in half. The more damage you do and the faster you do it, the better. You can't give him time to heal up, just keep firing. Pretty soon, his body won't be able to keep up with all the healing that needs to be done, and he'll die."
"I can handle that," Keoph said. "Where you going to get the guns?"
"I have no idea yet. But Mrs. Dupassie is a good place to start."
Keoph sat at the dining table with Mrs. Dupassie as Davey paced the kitchen.
"They sent me her head, Mrs. Dupassie," he said with a broken voice. "They put it in a box and sent it to me. I can't take it lying down, Mrs. Dupassie. I'm sure you understand that I have to strike back." He stopped pacing and turned to face her. "Do you understand?"
"Of course I understand, Davey," she said with a nod. "But it's so dangerous."
"I intend to get a few others together," Davey said, "and I plan to be armed to the teeth. That's why I've come to you, Mrs. Dupassie. I need some very serious guns. Do you have any idea where I can get some?"
Mrs. Dupassie put her right elbow up on the table and rested her head in the palm of her hand. "I used to know someone, Davey, but that was a long time ago, and he only dealt in handguns, nothing bigger. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't know anyone right now."
Davey closed his eyes a moment as he nodded. "All right. I have one more thing to ask. There's no way I'll do this unless I can get Norman to join me."
A frown creased Mrs. Dupassie's brow. "Norman? Involved in something like that? But... it's very dangerous."
"With all due respect, Mrs. Dupassie, I think Norman can take care of himself, I really do," Davey said. "And you said he hates brutals. When he finds out they killed Casey, he's going to want to do something."
"That's true. I know him well enough to know that. But to go into that hotel..."
"Mrs. Dupassie, I suspect that a lot of them will look at Norman and turn tail and run."
"That could be." She turned to Keoph. "What do you think of all this?"
"I think we should go in and get Karen, and kill as many of those damned things as we can doing it," Keoph said.
Mrs. Dupassie said, "I can tell by the very way you say that, Gavin—you have no idea what you're getting yourself into."
"I feel responsible for Karen's situation," he said. "If there's going to be a group going into that place, I want to be part of it."
"If you say so." Mrs. Dupassie went to the short bar and took another cigar from the box on the bar and lit up. Then she took the receiver from its hook and dialed a number. She waited a moment, then smiled and said, "Hello, Norman, honey. Whyn't you do me a favor and come on over here. Somebody wants to ask you something." When she was done, she hung up the phone and returned to the table.
Davey continued to pace the length of the kitchen. He seemed unaware of Keoph and Mrs. Dupassie. Finally, he stopped and turned to the old woman.
"Mrs. Dupassie," he whispered, "what am I going to do? How am I going to live without her?"
Mrs. Dupassie reached over and took his right hand between both of hers. "You're gonna do what we all do when death touches us, Davey. You're going to mourn for awhile and it'll seem like the pain will never go away. But time passes, and the pain slowly eases, until you can look at her picture without falling apart. Don't worry, Davey, it'll happen the same with you as it does with everyone else. Of course ..." She thought about her next words carefully before saying, "If you go into that hotel, Davey, there's a chance your pain will be brought to a halt for you, if you know what I mean."
"I realize how dangerous it is, Mrs. Dupassie," Davey said. "But I don't care."
"No," she said, "I don't imagine you do."
There was a knock at the door and Mrs. Dupassie got up and went to it.
Norman ducked through the door, crossed the living room, and came to the table.
"Pull up and a chair and sit down, Norman," Mrs. Dupassie said.
The enormous young man pulled a chair away from the table and sat down, facing the others.
"Norman, I have some very bad news," Mrs. Dupassie said. "It's about Casey."
"Where's Casey tonight?" Norman said, turning to Davey. Davey bowed his head.
"Norman, some brutals killed Casey," Mrs. Dupassie said quietly.
Norman's face slowly changed—he frowned, his chin came out, his face turned red. In his lap, he clenched both hands into fists.
Mrs. Dupassie said, "They cut off her head and sent it to Davey."
He worked his jaw back and forth slowly.
"They still have Gavin's partner, Karen. Remember her?"
He nodded once.
"Well, they have her, and they're doing things to her, very bad things. Davey wants to go in and get her. He's going to get guns. He needs help."
"I'll help," Norman said. He smiled, but it was a smile of angry anticipation, with his chin jutting, and a slight sneer on the right side of his mouth. "I can help at that real good."
"I'd really appreciate your help, Norman," Davey said. "You're stronger than any of us. We really need you."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll help," Norman said. "I got some friends who'll help, too."
"Really?" Davey said.
"Yeah, three guys I know who hate the brutals as much as I do. You know them, Mrs. Dupassie—Steve and Neil and Darin. I know they'd help."
"Are you sure?" Davey said. "This is going to be dangerous."
Norman smiled. "Those guys will like it because it's dangerous. They're bodybuilders like me. They're .. . tough, yeah, they're real tough."
"Then by all means call them," Davey said. "See if they'd be interested in going in there with us and getting Karen out."
"Yeah, sure," Norman said. "Can I use your phone, Mrs. Dupassie?"
"Of course, Norman, honey."
As Norman talked on the phone, Keoph thought of the dark, gloomy Royal Arms Hotel in North Hollywood. He thought of storming the place armed to the teeth and looking for Karen. It wasn't something he wanted to do—he felt it was something he had to do.
Vampires. He had trouble thinking the word, never mind saying it aloud.
Keoph shook his head and said, "I'm still having a hard time wrapping my brain around . .. well, vampires. I've lived my whole life without a doubt in my mind that they were nothing more than fiction."
"We're real, all right," Mrs. Dupassie said. "And when you come face to face with one of those brutals, trust me, he'll be real enough for you, too."
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The next day, Saturday, was gloomy beneath the coverage of fat dark clouds, and the air was damp, but it was still hot.
Keoph had gone back to his hotel room after leaving Mrs. Dupassie's in the early morning hours. He'd gotten a few hours of sleep, and had showered and shaved. In fresh new clothes, he felt human again as he went to a small cafe for breakfast. On his way back to Davey's house, it began to rain. It was a hot, sticky rain, not at all pleasant.
Davey came to the door in blue sweatpants and a white T-shirt.
"Sorry to wake you," Keoph said.
"You didn't. I wasn't sleeping, only wishing I could. I'm glad you're here. We've got work to do."
"What kind of work?"
&nb
sp; "We need to find Isaac again. I want to ask him if he can get us some guns. Or maybe he knows someone who can. Let me take a quick shower and put on some sunblock and clothes, then we'll take off."
While he waited, Keoph went to the fireplace and looked at the pictures on the mantel. Almost all of them were of Davey and Casey together. They'd been a good-looking couple, and they appeared to be very much in love in the pictures.
Keoph wondered how Davey managed to hold up so well. He imagined that he, himself, would be too crushed to function. But there was an anger about Davey now—it was in his eyes and the set of his jaw, in the movements of his body. Keoph suspected that anger was what continued to propel him.
Half an hour later, Keoph was seated in Davey's Mercedes. Davey wore wraparound sunglasses as he drove them to the Corner Pocket in Sherman Oaks, where they had met with Isaac Krieger the night before.
Davey went to the bar and said to the bartender, "Has Isaac been in today?"
The bartender chuckled. "I doubt Isaac's even out of bed yet," he said.
"Does he still live in that trailer park?" Davey said.
The bartender nodded. "Far as I know."
Davey took Keoph's elbow and turned him around. "Off we go again. We'll go to his house. Or rather, his trailer."
The Twin Oaks trailer park in Encino was, as trailer parks go, pretty shabby. There were a lot of trees throughout the park—silk trees, fruitless mulberries, a couple oaks—but the shade they provided only gave the park of a gloomy look. Almost all the trailers looked like they had seen better days, and some of them were so tiny, they almost looked like toys. In front of some of the trailers, cars were up on blocks. Attempts had been made to dress up some of the spaces, like pink flamingos or sunflower pinwheels stuck in wooden boxes of brightly colored flowers.
The road through Twin Oaks was labyrinthine, sometimes turning back on itself, with dead-end side streets.
"I haven't been here in a long time," Davey said, "but I think it's up here on the right."
Davey stopped the car in front of a battered old Airstream.
"He's probably still in bed," Davey said.
They got out of the car. Davey climbed the three steps to the small porch outside the trailer's door. Keoph waited at the foot of the steps. Davey knocked on the door hard. He waited several seconds, then knocked again and said, "Isaac? It's Davey Owen."
It took awhile, but they finally heard the creak of the floor inside as someone came to the door.
"Who is it?" Krieger said inside.
"Davey Owen."
Krieger opened the door and stuck his head out. He squinted his eyes so much, they were almost closed. "Yeah?" he said.
"I'm sorry to wake you, Isaac," Davey said, "but I need help. It's an emergency."
"Well. Yeah. Well. Sure. Okay. Well. C'mon in."
Davey went in and Keoph followed him.
Krieger wore a pair of khaki shorts and no shirt. His upper body was tautly muscled. He had a curved scar on the right side of his chest, and a long jagged scar, several inches in length, down the left side of his back.
The trailer was a mess. Clothes and newspapers and magazines were everywhere. The small couch was covered with blankets. The recliner was losing its stuffing from a number of holes in the brown vinyl upholstery. The place smelled of cigarette smoke and cooked grease.
"You guys sit down," Krieger said. "Just move shit outta your way. My head's fuckin' killin' me. I gotta have some hair of the dog." He went to the small kitchen area and poured some vodka into a glass, then some V-8 juice from a can, and stirred with a spoon. He got an egg from the refrigerator and cracked it over the glass, dropped the shells on the counter. He gulped down the raw egg in the first swallow, but took a couple more gulps after that.
Krieger took one of the two chairs from the small table in the kitchen and pulled it into the living room area. He sat on the chair backwards, facing Davey and Keoph, who sat on the low couch, their knees up.
Krieger took another drink, smacked his lips, and said, "What can I do for you?"
Davey said, "Isaac, I need guns. I need machine guns."
Krieger frowned. "What're you talkin', like Uzis?"
"Exactly."
Krieger cocked his head to one side. "Davey, what've you gone and done that you need Uzis?"
"Vampires, Isaac," Davey said, barely above a whisper. "They killed my wife."
"What vampires killed your wife?" He drank some more of his drink.
Davey said, "We're dealing with some vampires who run a hotel in North Hollywood, the Royal Arms."
Krieger's eyes widened and his back straightened. "The Royal Arms vampires? Fuck, man, don't tell me you got yourself in trouble with the Royal Arms vampires."
"No, Isaac, they killed my wife—they got themselves in trouble with me"
"You sure you know what you're doing, Davey?"
"Don't worry about me, Isaac, I'm fine. But I need guns. Can you help me?"
Krieger shrugged. "Well, I can't help you. But I know of somebody who can. As long as you don't mind doing business with a guy who's a little strange."
"Is he a vampire?" Davey said.
"No."
"Then I don't care how strange he is. How soon can we see him?"
Krieger frowned a little. "Well, he doesn't get up till about one or two in the afternoon. And I'll have to call him first. He's a little nervous about total strangers coming over. But I'll tell him I know and trust you guys. I should go over there with you, just to make him a little more comfortable with the whole thing."
"What's his name?" Keoph said.
"His name is Donald Melonakos. But he likes to be called Vicki."
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Frank Castlebeck hated sitting in that drab, filthy lobby. It was meant to turn people away. Once in awhile, someone came in asking for a room. If the lobby alone didn't make them turn around and leave, they were told there were no vacancies. And that wasn't a lie—at the moment, there were none.
He was waiting for Anya to arrive. She was always cranky during the day—most of the vampires were— but he was hoping that the cloudy, rainy day had eased her mood a little. If so, it might work in his favor.
It was one minute to three in the afternoon, and Anya usually arrived about three or so. Castlebeck wanted to catch her before she disappeared. She was never around when she was needed, but she always seemed to be around when Castlebeck made disparaging remarks about his superiors. He had to be careful around Anya—he knew she was Barna's squeeze.
Anya was one of the vampires who gave Castlebeck an especially large case of the creeps. She was tall, with long black hair that fell to her waist. She was stunningly beautiful, but there was something about her, something Castlebeck couldn't pin down. Whatever it was, it frightened him. Castlebeck had decided long ago that if he were ever to have the opportunity to have sex with Anya—something he knew would never happen—he probably wouldn't be able to get an erection. His penis would probably shrink up and hide like a turtle. Talking to her made his testicles ascend. Maybe it was her eyes—as beautiful as they were, they were icy, with no compassion or warmth in them, and they bordered on menacing. But he had to talk to her today.
He'd just seen some footage that had taken the top of his head off. It was a clip from a rape video that was being edited. It had just been shot a couple days ago, and the girl in the video was new. It was the mortal who had come in with that vampire. She was in her late thirties, but the camera loved her and she was a natural under the lights. She looked great, and he wanted to use her again. Her name was Karen Somethingorother, but the name on her chart was Candy Starr. Whoever she was, Castlebeck knew his customers would want more of her, because she'd been incredible in the clip he'd seen. He'd like to use her in something a little more mainstream than a rape video.
As soon as Anya walked in—an umbrella in hand, sunglasses on, skin a bit shiny with sunblock, and a grocery bag held in one arm—Castlebeck stood and hurried ov
er to her before she got to the elevator.
"Excuse me, Anya, I was wondering if I could have a moment with you," he said quickly.
She stopped walking and turned to him. "What is it, Castlebeck?"
"I'm looking for Candy Starr," he said, "but she's no longer in her room. Matthews told me you'd taken her someplace."
"That's right. Karen Moffett is no longer available to you, Castlebeck."
"I... I'm sorry? I don't understand."
"The beauty of it is that you don't have to. All you need to know is that she is no longer available to you, and she will no longer be living in her room. Do you understand?"
"Well, yes, I understand, but if I could be allowed one more—"
"Was there something else you wanted to talk to me about, Castlebeck?"
He knew the conversation was over, so he did not even try to say anything else. "No, there wasn't."
"Then I'm going upstairs to my office." She turned away and went to the elevator.
Dammit, Castlebeck thought. He wondered what had become of Karen Moffett. It was impossible to tell with vampires involved. For all he knew, she could be dead. In fact, that seemed more likely to him than anything else. Someone had drunk every last drop of her blood, or she'd died while being tortured, or something.
Castlebeck shook his head as he thought about what a shame it was, what a waste. She had looked so good in that clip, he'd immediately wanted to direct her himself, something he hadn't done in years.
As beautiful as she was, she was probably better off dead. Castlebeck knew if he had to choose between being in the hands of those vampires and dying, he'd want to check out, too.
Karen felt much better. It helped that she was now in a room with light, with a nice bed, and she was wearing a burgundy silk nightgown. There was a bathroom with a shower, which she'd used shortly after waking up in the big bed. She'd taken a long, hot shower and put the nightgown on, but her body still ached all over, and she still felt dirty. She pushed from her mind the images of what she'd endured from those thirteen men all at once, of all of them ejaculating on her. It would take a long time to wash all that away—she feared it may never go away.