The Kindred s-3

by L. L. Foster

  Gaby crumbled a potato chip. “Fucking idiots, if you ask me.”

  “I’ll say. But young people sometimes do really dumb things that they shouldn’t. It’s all part of growing up, I guess.”

  For her, growing up had meant suffering the agonizing pain, struggling with supernatural powers unknown to the rest of society, and coming to grips with a devout calling against evil too wicked to continue to exist.

  She hadn’t had time for drugs, much less stupid parties.

  Gaby studied Mort. “Did you do that kind of shit when you were younger?”

  “God, no.” Mort stared down at his hands. “I was never popular enough to be invited to parties. But even if I had been, no way would I have randomly taken drugs. I was always a coward, always afraid of getting caught or hurt.” His smile went crooked. “That’s partly why it’s so fun being around you. You’re the most fearless person I’ve ever met.”

  “Oh, I dunno about that,” Gaby told him. “I’ve seen you be pretty damned fearless yourself.” Not that long ago, Mort had been brave enough to let her escape capture by the police, and for a time, she’d been left thinking he had died for his efforts.

  Nothing had ever hurt so badly or cut so deeply as that.

  Finding him alive had been the happiest moment she’d ever known.

  “Maybe you inspire me,” he told her with a laugh. “But more likely it’s that I always figure you’ll find a way to keep me safe.”

  “Don’t get mushy on me, Mort, or I won’t be able to eat.” She picked up her sandwich. “So what’s the connection between this rave and the tattooed idiots?”

  “Word on the street is that they’re the ones setting it up.” He shrugged. “It’s been organized underground, off the radar, so police aren’t supposed to know about it. Ann had a snitch tell her about it in exchange for dropping a solicitation charge.”

  Ann again. “Good old Ann keeps herself busy, doesn’t she?”

  Mort missed the sarcasm. “She’s a really good cop. She said a lot of college kids, especially girls, were invited. I guess she and Luther hope to find a lead there. At the very least, they’ll be able to check on the group with the vampire fixation, right?”

  “If Ann’s such a stellar cop, then why are you worried?”

  “From what I could figure out, the music at raves is so loud you can’t talk. Laser and strobe lights, and even fake smoke, make it really hard to see. Everyone is drugging everyone else, so people are really messed up and not thinking straight. And . . . ” He blanched, looking away.

  “Don’t hold back now, Mort.”

  Color tinged his face. “Well, Ann said this particular group is known for throwing . . . orgies.”

  “What’s an orgy?”

  His eyes bulged and his color deepened to crimson. Lowering his voice, he said, “You know. Where everyone is . . . having sex with everyone else.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  He shook his head. “Ann could get taken from Luther and by the time he found her again, God only knows what might’ve happened.”

  “I could take a good guess.” Suffering her own turbulent thoughts, Gaby peeled the crust from a piece of bread. “I’d say you have reason to worry.”

  Gaby could have stayed home with Luther today, but he’d had his hands full. Though he said that he’d planned to take some time off with her, he was instead organizing the newest task force against a monster so reprehensible that he made women faint and men nauseous.

  Gaby knew that eventually she’d have to annihilate the fiend.

  But Luther and Ann hoped to locate him at this stupid rave first. Fools.

  The atmosphere Mort described would make it difficult for Luther to establish himself as an officer of the law. For that reason alone, he should have asked her along.

  Ann had confided in Mort, but Luther had left her out in the cold.

  Her stomach grumbled, as much from hunger as discontent, so she started to eat. Mort watched her with due caution and finally, after several minutes of silence, he cleared his throat.

  Gaby glanced up at him. “Now what are you squirming about?”

  He shifted again in his seat. “It makes me nervous when you’re so quiet.”

  “Yeah?” She downed the rest of her cola and caught him in her most implacable stare. “Tell you what then. You can fill in the silence.”

  “I don’t have anything else to talk about.”

  “Sure you do.” She put her elbows on the table and leaned in closer. “You can start by telling me where this rave is, and what I have to do to get in.”

  Chapter 10

  Dressed in jeans and a faded T-shirt that read “I have a license to kill,” and his most worn leather jacket, Luther escorted Ann into the vacated department store. At the street level, the windows were boarded shut and the doors locked. But around back, through the alley entrance, rough-looking men gave directions to the basement.

  In case anyone watched, they said nothing as they crossed the open spaces and located the stairwell that led to the underground area. Halfway down the stairs, they could hear the repetitive music and the buzz of a large crowd.

  Girding himself, Luther put a hand to Ann’s back and stepped into the rave. The second the door shut behind them, suffocating darkness crowded in. Loud, computer-generated music set his eardrums to vibrating. Artificial fog floated in and out of shadows, highlighted by flashing laser lights.

  Luther held Ann’s arm until he got his bearings. He could smell weed, alcohol, and sweat. At thirty-two, he’d be one of the older partiers, but as his eyes adjusted, he saw kids in their early teens and adults old enough to know better.

  Near Ann’s ear, he said, “Remember to stay alert. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  Blonde hair loose and makeup overdone, Ann nodded. “Yes, my instincts are kicking up a fuss big-time.” She smiled at him, looking like a very sexy knockout. Mort was a lucky guy. “I won’t take any unnecessary chances, believe me.”

  What kind of chance did she consider “necessary”?

  Luther made a noncommittal sound. The sweater Ann had chosen showed more cleavage than he’d realized she possessed, and her jeans were so tight they fit her like her skin. She’d be drawing attention, no doubt about it. Already several freaks sent her scurrilous glances filled with lascivious intent.

  His hand on her arm tightened. “If anyone tries to give you anything—”

  “Oh please.” The music blared and the strobe-light effect disoriented. “You don’t have to warn me about accepting drinks, Luther. I’m not an idiot.”

  Damn it, he didn’t like this. But Ann was as competent a police detective as he’d ever met. Only her smaller stature and femaleness made her less capable in physical confrontations.

  She turned to him. “We should separate.”

  “No way.”

  “We’ll find out more if we’re on our own.” She nodded toward a willowy woman with breasts showing through a net bra, and long legs in leather pants. The woman licked her lips at Luther. “We’ll each have our flirts and find out what we can. I’ll meet you back at the entrance in an hour. If anything goes down, you’ll hear gunshots, trust me.”

  He caught her by the nape of the neck. “Your gunshots. Not anyone else’s.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Knowing she was right, that they would accomplish more apart, Luther finally relented. “Fine. But I mean it, Ann. Take no chances.”

  “Sure thing, Daddy.” She touched his face, then faded into the gyrating crowd, swallowed by bodies and smoke and menacing jeopardy.

  Luther saw a woman accept a pill from a man, knocking it back with a shot of liquor. Another man danced with two women, one at his front and one at his back, both of them groping him. A woman climbed atop a table and began stripping.

  It was the most outlandish display of decadent immorality he’d ever seen. The majority of young people were already stoned out of their heads.

  A mostly nak
ed breast brushed his arm, and Luther geared himself for the role he needed to play. It wouldn’t be easy, because for the first time in his life, guilt attacked him during the job.

  He had to do this, but he knew how Gaby would feel about it, and damn it, that nicked his conscience.

  Doing his best to tune out thoughts of Gaby, he faced the Goth chick with the decorated naked chest. He said nothing, just stared at her.

  His scowl must’ve heightened her interest. She leaned into him, licked his ear, and purred, “Hey stud, you wanna dance with me?”

  “Not really.” Luther stepped closer, his gaze as direct as he could make it in the alternating psychedelic light and obscure darkness.

  When the lights flashed, he saw her smile and her dark eyes, dazed from drugs or alcohol, or both.

  She took his hand and led him across the floor and around a distant corner where he could at least hear himself think. Several people gyrated together, their hips grinding in a semblance of dance.

  As she tossed her head, glimmering lights shone in her inky hair. Close to his ear, she asked, “You with that other chick?”

  “Does that really matter to you?”

  She gave an insincere laugh and shook her head. “I guess not.”

  “Our relationship is an open one.” He looked down at her breasts. She had an impressive rack, he’d give her that. As a man, he appreciated the sight. As a responsible person, pity for her dulled the enjoyment. “She’s off doing her own thing . . . and I plan to do mine.”

  “Your thing being . . . ?”

  His gaze moved over her, and dismissed her near-nudity as unappealing. “You’ll have to find that out on your own.”

  She looked to be in her early twenties, and was too foolhardy to survive long. Using her didn’t suit him. He’d rather arrest her and get her someplace safe—but he couldn’t. Not yet.

  She pouted. “You’re far too steady to have any fun. You want to take some ecstasy or speed with me?”

  As if she wasn’t already flying? “Depends.” Luther put a hand to her bare waist. His skin was clammy, too warm. “Here . . . or someplace more private?”

  “Private, silly.” Laughing, she started off on a winding path through the crowd of sweaty bodies.

  Luther followed, making note along the way of things that should never occur in a public place.

  At the back of the room, she went on tiptoe to kiss a hulk in a purple G-string. Ornate tattoos covered his whole body, delineating bulging muscles and even trailing into his very brief underwear.

  The man accepted her kiss stony-faced, without inflection of any kind, and then he opened a heavy door for them to pass through. Once inside, low-burning red lights replaced the lasers and strobes, making it easier to make out their surroundings.

  Another young lady fell into him, laughing hysterically, unsteady in every way. She twisted both hands in Luther’s shirt and held on. “Oh my God. This is off the hook, isn’t it?”

  Luther pried her loose and relinquished her to a rubbery-legged young man who chortled with her. Red-faced and bleary-eyed, they stumbled off to the side and into a bean-bag chair.

  At his sardonic best, Luther commented, “Very private.”

  “It’s for special guests only.” She held Luther’s hand and walked backward, giggling at him.

  “And I’m special?”

  “Tonight, for me, you are.” She looked down at his crotch. “I’m Desiree, by the way.”

  In the corner, on a decorated twin bed, two people fucked for a small but appreciative audience. Ahead of him, a woman perched on her knees as a man, holding a leash attached to a collar around her neck, spanked her with a leather paddle.

  As crude public displays went, that was distasteful enough. But to top it all, behind a parted curtain, Luther saw a man piercing a woman’s nipple with a long, thin needle. A thin trickle of blood dripped down her chest. She moaned and squirmed and appeared to love it as the man leisurely licked away the blood.

  Luther never paused as he stepped away from the repulsive act.

  He’d expected a grisly scene of drugs and alcohol and possibly rape, but he hadn’t expected this orgy of depravity.

  The malodor of stale sweat, musky sex, and drugged excitement hung thick in the air, assaulting his nostrils and violating his lungs. The red lights cast a carmine hue over everything, making shadows shift like liquid puddles of blood.

  Luther’s stomach curdled.

  So much wickedness.

  Thank God he hadn’t broken down and brought Gaby along. He wanted to be honest, to share everything with her and build a partnership where they worked together . . .

  But he couldn’t imagine her reaction to all of this.

  Heads would roll—and then she’d bombard him with endless uncomfortable questions pertaining to sexual perversions.

  Luther no sooner had that thought than he felt the forceful stare of someone watching him. The short hairs on his neck stood on end, but he didn’t dare look behind him.

  He heard no disruption; bodies weren’t flying and people weren’t screaming. It couldn’t be Gaby.

  Anyone other than her, he could handle.

  Desiree said something to him that he missed, and then she stopped before a small, cloth-covered table that displayed an arrangement of colored pills, a few drinks, and a line of cocaine already cut on a mirror.

  A tall, thin man with long dark hair and very pale blue eyes awaited them. Given the faint creases in his face and the cynicism in his gaze, Luther put him in his late forties, early fifties.

  If his eerie watchfulness wasn’t enough, his age made him stand out in the young crowd.

  He seemed displeased with, and somewhat wary of, Luther’s presence. Desiree moved forward, put her head to the table, a straw to her nose, and inhaled the coke. Giddy, she stepped back, wiped a dainty hand over her nostrils, and laughed.

  In a too-polite, too-moderated voice that barely carried over the music filtering into the isolated room, the man asked, “Who is this?”

  Now more vague than ever, Desiree stroked a small hand over Luther’s crotch. “This is all mine,” she taunted with a squeeze.

  Revolted, Luther again removed her hand. “Not accurate at all.”

  Undaunted, she clung to his arm. “We just wanted to get a good buzz going before we get . . . friendlier.”

  The man’s gaze slid over Luther with the comfort of sticky oil. “He’s not your normal fare, now is he, Desiree?”

  “He’s bigger,” she crooned, now sliding her hands everywhere. “And strong.”

  Luther stood there, impassive and accepting, when he really wanted to strike out.

  Blue eyes took his measure. “You look like a cop to me.”

  “Maybe the shirt is misleading.”

  He read the slogan and laughed. “What other license is there for killing, if not under police jurisdiction?”

  “I have a hunting license.” Luther looked at young Desiree, now pressed to his leg. He levered her away with enough force to show his displeasure at her boldness. “And sometimes I like to hunt pretty women—but only when they know their place.”

  The man smiled in understanding—but the edge of distrust remained both in his gaze and posture. “Far be it from me to interfere. I’m not a drug user myself, and I have no idea where these came from, but I’m not the moral police, so carry on as you please.”

  “I’ll pass,” Luther said. No way in hell was he ingesting anything from this place.

  Desiree eagerly took the instruction to heart and again groped Luther’s crotch.

  Just as the older man started to walk away, something crashed behind Luther. He froze. The man froze. The woman continued to fondle him—until a slender hand reached around Luther, caught her long hair in a fist, and yanked her off her high-heeled sandals.

  Desiree screamed as she hit the ground. The man stiffened in affront.

  And Luther, throbbing with dread, slowly pivoted to confront the interference.
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br />   Eyes bright with fury, Gaby smiled, and it was a chilling sight. “There you are.”

  Her gaze went past Luther to the man. With that maniacal smile still in place, she drifted closer, put her nose out, and sniffed. “Ah. I knew I’d find you eventually.”

  Awareness rocked Luther’s very foundation, making it difficult for him to tamp down his heightened sense of alarm.

  Gaby had smelled the man, the same way she’d sniffed those mutilated, corpse-filled garbage bags.

  And now she claimed to know him?

  Was Gaby telling him that they’d just found their cannibal? If so, that left him in one hell of a predicament. Though he trusted her, he needed more than Gaby’s word on something so monumental.

  He needed actual proof.

  * * *

  Fury burned through Gaby’s veins, so hot that it even blurred her vision—but thankfully not her aggrandized sense of smell. The commingling of jealousy toward a vapid tramp, and hatred at malignant turpitude, had her muscles clamping and flexing with the compulsion to strike out.

  It wasn’t easy to stay contained, to keep from rampaging. But she wasn’t a fool. She understood that this was Luther’s work.

  She would never ruin that.

  Later she might maim him for leaving her behind, but she had other things to do first.

  Leveling her discontent on the downed girl, Gaby curled her lip. “Get up.”

  Heart hammering with fear, eyes wide and dazed with drugs, Desiree stared at her.

  Impatience detonated. Reaching down, Gaby grabbed her upper arm and hauled her to her unsteady feet. “How old are you?”

  “T- . . . t- . . . twenty-three.”

  Stupid fool. “You act like you’re fifteen.” Gaby kept her grip tight enough to leave bruises on Desiree’s pale flesh. “Find a shirt, cover yourself, and then leave. Don’t let me see you at a rave ever again.”

  The girl looked to Luther, then to the other man. “She can’t—”

  Gaby shook her hard.

  When the girl started a high-pitched protest, Gaby smacked her.

  Big tears sprung to her eyes and a red palm print rose up on her cheek. Around gurgling sobs and sloppy tears, she wailed, “That’s . . . that’s assault!”