Shrouds of Darkness

by Brock Deskins

  Raj, on the other hand, found the entire thing fascinating. And after assuring me that he knew the consequences that if he so much as breathed a word of our existence to another living being, including vampires—especially vampires—he would likely be killed on the spot.

  He is an unofficial informant, and if the Council ever finds out he knows, and that I told him, we will both be in a lot of trouble. Now I have someone that contacts me anytime he gets a body with the telltale signs of a supernatural cause of death.

  Raj continues the explanation for his call. “I have three bodies down here in various stages of disassembly that I really think you should take a look at.”

  “Let me guess. Three toughs, made extra tender around 123rd?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Angel mentioned it last night after Castillo grilled me and took some my office supplies.”

  The coroner replies, “Ah, yes. I just got your latest handiwork in a couple hours ago. I haven’t really had a chance to examine them. They seem fairly routine as far as gunshots go.”

  “The big furry one is a mongrel,” I inform him.

  Raj’s voice lowers in concern. “Is this going to create problems for you? Or worse, me?”

  I shrug my shoulders, completely unconcerned. “It shouldn’t, but you can never tell with weres. I doubt it. Purebreds aren’t too concerned with mongrels and he brought it upon himself, but you can never really be sure with their kind.”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure of what I have here, but I thought you may want to take a look at it and that it might interest your kind,” Raj continues.

  “Yeah. In fact I was just thinking that I might stop by and take a look at them,” I tell him.

  I don’t see any need to let him know that it is a case that makes me want to pay him a visit. Let him assume that I am interested because I care about the goings on of werewolves and vampires. I tell Raj I will come by later in the day and have to cut him off as my cell begins to chirp with another call.

  I look at the caller ID and think to myself well, aren’t I just the pretty princess at the ball, when I see it is Yuri.

  “Malone.”

  “Mr. Malone, I hope you are well. I know that taking a bullet, even wearing a vest, takes its toll on a man but I have urgent need of you once more.”

  “Hm, what is the job?” I ask with obvious trepidation.

  “I need you to find a man for me. It is very important.”

  I can’t help but smirk as I reply, “Yuri, I’m not really the matchmaking type. Have you tried eHarmony?”

  Yuri seems to ignore my little joke. “I need you to find my accountant. He is missing and he is the only one that knows how to do my taxes—properly.”

  Now he has my attention. “What’s his name?”

  “Martin Goldstein.”

  Now I am very interested. “I’m really sorry, Yuri, but I just took on a big case that’s really going to take all my time.”

  “I pay you double, triple, your usual fee. Mr. Malone, I need this man found immediately and you are the only one I trust to do that.”

  I try to make the inflection of my voice sound as though I am reluctantly doing him a favor. It’s not easy when you want to start dancing like an old prospector that just struck gold.

  “Alright, Yuri, but only because I consider you a friend.” I cock an ear towards the door. “I hear someone coming up the stairs. I’ll call you back for more info later.”

  “Good. Mr. Malone, I consider you many things. Funny is not one of them,” Yuri growls in reply to my earlier attempt at humor then hangs up.

  I flip my phone shut, toss it on my desk, and lean back in my chair. Now things are looking up. Do I feel guilty being paid twice for the same job? Not at all. I figure this will be an easy case and the double dip just makes it sweeter. Yep, this should provide me with some quick, easy cash.

  I wish vampirism provided some sort of psychic ability because I would really get a good laugh at how incredibly wrong I am. It’s been a long time since I had a good laugh.

  Half a dozen darkly dressed figures stride purposefully into my small office and suck every bit of feel good right out of me. Sheriffs never bring good news, and I’m not nearly enough of a fool to think this is a social call.

  Wyatt, captain of the Sheriffs for this region, steps in front of my desk, hand gripping the handle of a weapon beneath his duster.

  “Leo, we need you to come with us.”

  Yeah, this was definitely not a social call. My good fortune never does seem last very long. Story of my life.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Wyatt stands with his hand gripping the hilt of his undrawn blade waiting to see whether I am going to accept his invitation. Behind him, mimicking his posture and preparing to jump at the slightest hint of a threat, stands his posse.

  I strum my fingers on my desk as I ponder my options. I drag out my response in part because part of me really wants to see what these clowns are made of, but mostly I just like to screw with them. I have a rather dark reputation that makes a lot of people very nervous and I’ve earned every bit of it.

  Besides, the fifteen pounds of plastic explosives and fifty pounds of steel ball bearings backed by a half-inch steel plate that make up the entire front of my desk ensures that any attempt at force will end up much worse for them than for me. Yeah, I’d have a killer headache and my ears would probably ring for a week but I am coming out on top—on top of a bunch of dead vamps.

  Wyatt’s face is typically easy to read. He does not like being here anymore than I do. Guilt is in a three-way battle with duty and fear.

  The other clowns are also readable to varying degrees. Five in all. I pick out the second in command. He is tall, athletic, and has a smug, self-assured look on his face that makes me dislike him immediately. I find that there are a finite number of arrogant pricks allowed in one enclosed space and I like to call dibs.

  Next, I look for the weak link. There’s always one in every group and it isn’t hard to find him. Lean and twitchy, he stands nearest the door with an appropriate amount of fear on his face. I assume he has heard of me. I like it when young vamps are afraid of me. It shows they are capable of respect and smart enough to know when to be afraid.

  The other three are equally young and their respect to fear ratio varies. They try their best to keep up the poker faces, but I’ve been reading expressions a long time. When you have been where I have been and done what I have done, reading faces properly can mean the difference between a good evening and a bullet in the head. I prefer it to be my bullet and someone else’s head so I became a quick learner.

  “To what do I owe this unexpected visit, Wyatt?” I ask as nonchalantly as guy can with six highly-lethal killers ready to cut him down if he so much as twitches unexpectedly.

  Wyatt’s response is interrupted by the smug little shit obviously aching for a fight. “Shut your mouth and do what you’re told. We’ll ask the questions.”

  Wyatt knows me well enough to know that the smile that spreads across my face is not a sign of amusement but a prelude to a level of violence rarely seen outside of the Old Testament.

  The Sheriff Captain spins about with a speed I haven’t seen from him in a very long time. The weary sag of his shoulders vanishes as his hand flies away from the hilt of the sword hidden under his black duster.

  He points a quavering finger at his upstart lieutenant and barks, “Shut the fuck up, Quinn! He used to be one us and you’ll treat him with respect!”

  Quinn glares past his leader and our eyes practically shoot lasers of pure hatred at each other. We both know in that instant that someday we will cross blades and no quarter will be given. I don’t know what reason I seem to have given him that’s makes him want to fight me. I certainly don’t need one.

  My smile does not slip a bit as I reply, “Yeah, Quinn, play nice.”

  The hostile young vampire lunges forward, blade half drawn before Wyatt intercepts him.

 
“Quinn, enough! Are you so stupid you can’t see he’s baiting you?”

  Quinn glares at his leader as if trying very hard to keep from turning his blade on him instead of me. The kid is so full of rage he is actually trembling.

  Where did Wyatt find this guy? I wonder to myself.

  When I was a Sheriff, this kid’s attitude and lack of control would have kept him from even passing the initial interview. I realize that I do not recognize any of the faces in the room other than Wyatt’s. All are new and I don’t mean just unfamiliar. None have been vampires for more than a decade if my intuition is correct.

  The kid is still venting. “We outnumber him six to one! We don’t have to pander to his ego!”

  “And if I thought I was going to have to use force I would have brought another six if I had them!” Wyatt argues back.

  Through an amazing force of will or divine intervention, the kid clamps his mouth shut. Taking advantage of Quinn’s momentary control, the Sheriff Captain turns back towards me.

  “Leo, will you come with us—peacefully?”

  I give him a small shake of my head. “Sorry, Wyatt, but I can’t do that.”

  My former friend lets out a sigh of exasperation and trepidation. “Why is that, Leo?”

  “Because you didn’t say please,” I reply with a smirk.

  “Goddamn it! I’ll give you a please and thank you as I ram my sword up your ass!” Quinn screams, practically frothing at the mouth as he once more tries to pull his blade from the scabbard hidden beneath his trench coat.

  It takes Wyatt and two of the other young Sheriffs to pin the upstart’s arms to his side and force some sense of control back into him. Wyatt leaves his protégé in the grip of two other members of his posse.

  He rubs his temples as if trying to massage out a migraine—or a stroke. It amuses me to no end to know that I can still aggravate him to such levels of frustration.

  “Leo, would you please come with us?”

  “I want him to ask me—nicely,” I say, indicating the hothead with a point of my chin.

  “Goddamn it, Leo!”

  It’s not often you can make a vampire flush. And I thought this wasn’t going to be any fun.

  “Oh fine,” I say with casual flick of my wrist.

  “Leave your weapons here,” Quinn orders.

  I give Wyatt a look who responds, “Please, Leo. It will make it more comfortable for everyone.”

  I shrug my shoulders as if the request does not bother me in the least. I stand and drop my gun and blade on the desktop then give everyone an intent look.

  “If I need a weapon I’ll just take one of yours,” I promise them all.

  Quinn’s smirk says that he’d like to see me try. At this point, I do my best to ignore him. He’s a puppy just aching to try out his recently grown big-dog teeth. I really have better things to do with my time so the more I cooperate the faster I can get this over with and be on my way.

  I’m immediately flanked on all sides but my escorts are wise enough to stay beyond arm’s reach. Despite every one of us wearing heavy boots our combined footsteps hardly make a sound on the steel steps. Waiting on the curb at the foot of the stairs is one more vamp standing next to a black panel van waiting at the open sliding door. Finally, a face I recognize.

  “Greg,” I say in greeting with a nod of my head.

  “Leo,” Greg replies, trying but failing to keep a bemused grin from his face.

  Greg was a Sheriff before I joined on. He is a big man and the only vampire I have met that keeps a full beard. We get along mostly because we share similar ideologies. We both despise politics and the bullshit that always accompanies it. He is just better at accepting things beyond his control, which is one reason why he is still a Sheriff and I am not.

  I am allowed to enter first and take a seat on the long bench that runs along the inside of the van. Wyatt and his entourage pile in after me. I am wedged between an Asian girl and a lean black woman with a nearly shaven head. Wyatt and Quinn sit in jump seats that fold down from the sliding panel door. Greg flashes me a look that speaks of regret and possibly an apology as he climbs into the driver’s seat. That concerns me more than just a little.

  I’m not too worried. Despite their being numerous people that want me dead, if someone ordered me killed the attempt would have been made already. I do not need to see out of the windshield, the only viewable port in the van, to know we are heading for the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel. Nor do I need the salty smell of the air to alert me to the fact we are now crossing under the bay. I have dumped so many bodies here that if you fished them all out the water level would drop three inches.

  The benefit of taking the toll road is that it only takes us half an hour to make the fifteen-mile trip. Quinn slides the door open and rudely shoves me out almost before we come to a full stop.

  I pause for my escort, looking up at the tall, black building stretching up to the sky with its hundreds of silvery reflective windows. Blood sucker headquarters, also referred to as the tower. It is where many vampire-owned companies and corporations keep their corporate offices. It is not solely occupied by our kind. Several corps run offices out of the lower levels of the building, completely ignorant of their predatory neighbors.

  Quinn shoves me again. “Move it, asshole. What are you, a fucking tourist?”

  I just smile at him as I rehearse several splendidly gruesome ways in which I will kill him. A growled warning from Wyatt to his underling makes him back off and we march in unison through the huge glass doors and into the lobby.

  The interior is as decadent as one would expect from a den of evil. The walls are black marble and granite. Near the center of the five-story atrium, standing in mocking contrast to the masters of this warren of iniquity, is a thirty-foot tall alabaster angel standing upon a ten-foot dais holding an infant.

  The woman has her wings outstretched as if welcoming everyone who enters the building and is smiling down serenely at the babe in her arms. Few know that her smile looks exactly like the smile of a vampire just before it sucks the lifeblood out of a human.

  The two guards sitting behind the large security desk nod to Wyatt and let us pass without a word of challenge. The security in this building is all vampires; run by one of the few other vampires I consider something of a friend.

  The doors of the elevator open immediately, as if it has been waiting just for Wyatt and his crew. Which is likely since it is a private elevator reserved for use by the upper ten stories of the skyscraper. It is no coincidence that every office on the last ten floors belongs to vampires. The last thing we need is to have some human wandering about the place. It would be like the kid that that fell into the lion pit at the zoo. Wyatt uses a key to gain access to the top floor.

  Despite the towering height of the building, our ascent is swift and the doors to our elevator silently open to deposit us into another foyer, though significantly less grand than the one on the first floor. We march past another security station, turn down the first hallway on our left, and step into a large open room that occupies a significant amount of real estate of one of the floor’s corners.

  Other than a few concrete pillars, the room is nearly bereft of furnishings. The only exceptions are a couple couches, a large television, and a foosball table that occupies the very corner of the room. I am very familiar with his room. It is the dayroom and training room for the Sheriffs.

  No one is offering me any information and I’ll be damned if I’m going to ask. I wonder how hard it will be to make Quinn go for me. Probably not hard and I’m minutes away from finding out simply to break the boredom with something more entertaining than challenging someone to a game of foosball. Fortunately, the sound of a pair of familiar voices entering the far end of the room breaks the tedium.

  “I don’t understand why you’re blocking this, Vincent. We’ll have our people at the monitors at all times. It will help us keep track of not just our own people, but we can spot potential prey, clean up the
gutter trash, and most importantly, make me some damn money.”

  That was Percy LaRoche. He was one of the few people here I actually tolerate. Percy is an old southern gent that seems to hold few grudges for being on the losing side of the civil war. He is big fellow, a bit on the heavy side, and his graying hair makes him look fairly invested in his fifties.

  The other half of the polite argument is Vincent. An apt name since he looks a great deal like Vincent Price when he was in his sixties. Vincent is the head of the enclave, an elected position. That does not make him an uncontested power however. The position is mostly a figurehead though he does guide the politics and workings of the local vampire community and wields a veto power for anything brought before the Council.

  Vincent is an old vamp too. I don’t know how old but I am pretty sure he was around for the signing of the Declaration of Independence. I would bet my left testicle he supported the losing side too and is still bitter about it.

  He is not my friend and is the primary factor of my self-employed status. Several years ago, a German diplomat friend of his came for a visit and quickly began abusing our hospitality. Vincent and I had a disagreement about the limits of diplomatic Immunity. Besides, I was also tired of cleaning up his messes.

  Vincent politely asked his friend to leave. My solution was less subtle but far more permanent. Baron Von Wurst-in-ass was not only a vampire but also a “former” Nazi so sadistic his antics would make Himmler puke. While he was in his luxurious hotel suite packing for his return flight, I lined the floorboards and inside roof of his town car with C4.

  I used shaped charges so the explosion made a glorious Nazi sandwich. Other than blowing a crater in the street and shattering every nearby window, there was virtually zero collateral damage. I was justifiably proud of myself. Vincent was not.

  He told me I overstepped my authority and risked exposure of the enclave due to the overwhelming attention from the feds that my solution posed. I argued that my oath of upholding the laws of the enclave and expeditiously destroying rogue vamps overruled his political convenience. The end result was my being fired and earning the enmity of the most influential vampire in the western hemisphere.