Shrouds of Darkness

by Brock Deskins

  “Mr. Malone, how nice of you to stop by,” Vincent calls out with barely veiled hostility as he breaks away from Percy and stalks towards our little group. “I seem recall telling you that if I ever found you anywhere near this building I would have you killed, you miserable little prick.”

  I look purposely at my escort. “I don’t recall being given a choice.”

  “I don’t recall having made a distinction.”

  I roll my eyes at his attempt at whit. “What’s the matter, Vincent, you miss me?”

  Vincent gets close enough to me to totally violate my personal space and it takes all my self-control not to step away. “The only thing I miss is functional kidneys so that I may piss on your grave when someone puts you down like the rabid dog you are.”

  “I’m so sorry my continued existence brings you such disappointment.”

  “Don’t be too sad, I have already commissioned a latrine for the homeless to be constructed atop your gravesite. I shall take my pleasure in the end.”

  “I always thought you did. Nice of you to finally push your coffin out of the closet.”

  I know it is not the wisest thing to do in provoking the leader in a room full of already hostile vampires, but my mouth has long overruled my brain. As I suspect, Quinn is eager to jump at me. High-strung kids like him, convinced of the near immortality and the invincibility their recently vampiric transformation makes them feel, are often quick to test themselves.

  It’s a lot like the old west. A gunslinger gets a reputation for being the meanest and fastest gunman around. Most people are smart and leave him the hell alone. But there are always a few hotshots that just have to test him, have to beat him so they can immortalize themselves. I have a well-deserved reputation for being particularly lethal and all Quinn needs to do is kill me to claim top dog.

  I know he is going to jump even before he does and I am ready for it. I already have my target picked out; the nervous kid with the shifty eyes. I lunge while Quinn is in midflight, yanking the sword free from the scabbard he keeps beneath his long jacket before he can even register the fact that I moved.

  I spin towards Quinn and catch his blade with the one I just borrowed inches from my face. The young tough would surely have pressed his attack but Wyatt punches him in the side of head and sends him sprawling to the floor.

  “Why the fuck did you do that?” Quinn shouts at Wyatt as he springs to his feet and glares daggers at his superior.

  “Two reasons,” Wyatt explains. “One, no one ordered you to kill him. You need to learn to act on orders and not your own personal desires!”

  I can’t help but feel that is partially directed at me. I give a mental shrug of my shoulders.

  “Secondly, I don’t want to have to assign someone to clean you up off the floor.”

  “He’s not that tough, I almost had him,” Quinn replies, sulking.

  Quinn thinks he has my measure now and has found it lacking or at least not living up to the hype. I have no intention of dissuading him of this notion. The fact is, he still knows nothing of what I am capable of, but now I know exactly what he is made of and I am not impressed.

  Everyone relaxes considerably when I give Shifty his sword back. “I told you I would take one of yours if I needed one.”

  Shifty grabs the proffered blade as if I am handing him a live snake and quickly backs away.

  “You may want to take care of that nasty nick,” I tell him, indicating the notch made by the colliding blades.

  “If you are through playing, perhaps we can discuss the business at hand,” Vincent says with as much snobbery as he can muster—which is considerable.

  I let out an exasperated sigh. “Cut through the bullshit, Vincent, and tell me what you want.”

  “There has been a rash of killings, mostly in your district.”

  “So? It’s Brooklyn and not the nice part either. People are always getting themselves killed.”

  “These killings are not caused by humans. You should know me well enough to know I would not inflict your presence upon myself for such triviality.”

  “I still don’t see why you’re asking for me. Send your dogs out. It’s their damn job.”

  I can see Vincent struggling to maintain his composure as he responds. “They have more pressing business, which is why I am telling you to do it.”

  “Yeah, I’d like to help but you fired me, remember? It’s a Sheriff problem, so kindly go fornicate yourself. Fornicate is my word from my word of the day calendar,” I explain.

  I see Quinn twitch almost spastically as Wyatt restrains him with a look. Vincent saves me complete disappointment as his calm façade slips.

  “You are still a warder of your district, you little shit, and you will deal with it as is required! I strongly suggest you find out what is happening rather quickly because right now you are my prime suspect!”

  Damn, he had me on both counts. A warder is like a landlord or baron. Any vamp that wants to hunt in your district is supposed to get your permission. On the flip side, you are responsible if people in your district are fucking up. And if your car gets stolen, people generally look at the neighbor that has a history of stealing cars, and metaphorically speaking, I have stolen a lot of cars.

  Vincent continues a bit more calmly. “We have cleaned up several messes over the past two weeks, but recently several mutilated bodies were found by the police before we could get to them. This last killing points towards a rogue werewolf, but I do not want to rule anything out and the previous deaths appeared vampire made.”

  On the bright side, I am already partly dealing with what he is ordering me to look into. The problem is now that the Council is involved it makes it an official issue between the vamps and the weres and that is not something that is pleasant to deal with during the best of times.

  “All right, I’ll look into it,” I reply in surrender.

  “Excellent. Now get the hell out of my building before I decide it would be far easier and preferable simply to hang it on you and have you summarily executed.”

  Quinn darts eagerly forward as if to grab me by the arm and forcefully march me out of the building, but Percy’s intervention saves him from drawing back a bloody stump before he can grab me.

  “It’s all right, Quinn, I will escort him out,” the elder vampire informs Quinn as he strides purposefully across the large room towards us.

  As we walk down the hall towards the elevators, I ask him, “So what were you and Vincent arguing about?”

  “What do you know about London?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “They talk funny, drive on the wrong side of the road, and eat the vilest food known to western civilization.

  Percy rewards me with a grin. “Certainly all true, but they also have over ten thousand security cameras watching the streets and I want to replicate that here.”

  “In New York?”

  Percy nods. “As a start, but I hope that its success will provide my company with contracts in all the major cities across the country. It would create thousands of jobs desperately needed in this economy.”

  “It would also create millions of dollars for you,” I point out, quirking a knowing eyebrow at him. “Besides, as loath as I am to agree with Vincent, having cameras record our particular activities seems like a pretty bad idea.”

  “That’s just the thing. We would know where the cameras are and my people would be the only ones watching. There is actually a lower risk of discovery because we could direct hunters to likely prey with no witnesses about. And it’s billions, Leo, Vincent is cock blocking me out of billions of dollars in contracts.”

  “You and Vincent not getting along these days?”

  It’s Percy’s turn to shrug noncommittally. “No more or less than usual. It’s all politics and there has been a shift in political tides these last few years. More people are thinking it is time to elect a more progressive member to lead the Council. Even we are not immune to this decaying economy.”

  �
��It always seems to be about money,” I reply, my lack of understanding of what I see as greed obvious in my reply. I wonder if that is because I am always broke.

  “It’s more than that. Some people want a leader that will take us higher, put us up where we belong. We are the top of the food chain but we hide inside our giant prison, afraid of the humans outside.”

  “Well, there are a lot more of them than us.”

  Percy dismisses my comment with a wave of his hand. “I’m not talking about taking over. Vampires that think like that do not often enjoy a long life. But there are key political and corporate positions we should be involved in that will grant us a great deal more influence, freedom, and power.”

  “And money, we mustn’t forget the almighty dollar.”

  Percy stops, shakes his head, and grins at me. “Why are you so resistant to showing a profit?”

  “We hate that which eludes us,” I reply philosophically.

  Percy enjoys a good laugh as we exit the elevator and cross the enormous lobby. He holds the door open for me and I step out of the building.

  “Leo,” Percy says in a warning tone, “watch yourself. There’s something off about this whole business.”

  “Rogue vampire, rampaging werewolf, what’s off about that? Seems pretty normal to me.”

  Percy shakes his head with a grin and disappears back into the building. I immediately notice that no one is waiting to give me a ride home. Oh well, I’ll just put the cab fare on Katherine’s bill. And Yuri’s of course and if I can find a way to swing it I‘ll even bill Vincent.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I take a cab back to Brooklyn since I am about as fond of subways as I am of nightclubs and for the exact same reasons. Thanks to the creative route my driver uses, it takes nearly twice as long to get back.

  The cab deposits me in front of the medical examiner’s office on Winthrop Street. I don’t know why all government buildings look like county jails to me. I guess they use the same uninspired architect.

  Raj has a visitor’s badge waiting for me at the front desk and I grab it before heading towards the examination room, something I am more familiar with than can possibly be healthy.

  I push through the doors of the exam room and barely register the sudden drop in temperature. I recognize Raj immediately despite his paper gown and blood-spattered face shield. He is hunched over a corpse, not one of mine since it is completely intact, and using an electric oscillating saw to remove the top of the skull.

  Despite the noise of the blade, he is immediately aware of my presence and gives me a nod of recognition while he finishes his gruesome task. Steady hands and exceptional skill makes short work of the procedure. He sets the top of the skull down like some kind of macabre bowl on a steel tray.

  “Leo, I’m glad you stopped by. I have those guys over here,” he tells me and motions me to the lockers as he tosses the contaminated disposable gown in a waste bin.

  Raj slides the drawer out and unzips the thick black body bag, exposing its contents. What I see inside would turn the stomach of the most hardcore veteran. The bag is nothing more than a container to keep the various pieces of anatomy together. It looks like the parts bin at a Barbie factory, only bigger and a lot grosser.

  “Jesus Christ, is that one guy?”

  “No, I put off identifying and separating them until you took a look.”

  “Thanks, you always get me the nicest things. So what makes you think this is for me?” I ask him.

  Raj pulls a metal rod out of a pocket of his lab coat and starts picking through the pieces, pointing out anomalies.

  “The puncture marks in the skin are the most obvious signs of animalistic predation. If you look closer, you can see obvious gouges in the bone. Look at the symmetry of the scratches spaced about six inches apart.”

  “Could be a dog.”

  Raj shakes his head. “Given the spacing and depth, a lion would be more plausible.”

  I shrug. “Ok, a lion then.”

  “Ah yes, the infamous yet allusive Brooklyn lion.”

  “Maybe it got away from Mike Tyson.”

  I can tell Raj is getting annoyed with me. “Mike Tyson has a tiger not a lion.”

  “Whatever, it’s still weird.”

  “I guess, not werewolf and vampire weird, but weird.”

  I give in to his logic. “What else do you have?”

  I follow Raj back to his office. He sits behind his computer, clicks around with the mouse, then swivels the monitor towards me.

  “These are images of the striations on the flesh and bones I showed you. These are of the crime scene before the bodies they bagged the bodies. Despite the rather shocking visuals, the most remarkable thing is this.”

  Raj pulls up an image of hair samples taken from the crime scene. It’s thick and wiry-looking. I recognize it immediately.

  “Shit.”

  “Officially, I’m leaning towards mastiff and Irish wolfhound mix, but I think we both know what it is.”

  “Shit!” I exclaim once more.

  It’s like being called to identify the body of a family member. You prepare yourself for the worst while praying the victim is not someone you know but in the end, it is and you’re still not ready for it.

  “Can you get a copy of these for me?”

  “Sure. Do you have a thumb drive?”

  I look at Raj as if he had just asked me if I had a tail.

  “You do know what a thumb drive is?”

  “Sure, it’s how you pop some guy’s eyeball out of the socket,” I reply with a miming gesture of jabbing my thumb at Raj’s head.

  “I’m afraid to ask this, but do you have an email address?” Raj asks with a sigh.

  “I don’t think I even have a mailbox.”

  “Jesus, Leo, what planet are you from? I would burn them onto a disk but something tells me you do not own a computer. Do you even have electricity?”

  “Off and on,” I reply with a shrug.

  “Fine, I’ll print them out,” Raj says resignedly.

  A few clicks and Raj’s printer started spewing out hi-resolution color images. He slides them into a large, manila distribution envelope and hands them to me.

  “So what do you do now, start hunting it down?”

  “The problem with hunting weres is that it’s real easy for them to start hunting you and that’s not particularly healthy,” I tell him.

  “If you don’t hunt it down then what are you going to do?”

  “Oh I’m going to hunt him down, but first I need to make sure I’m hunting the right werewolf. It’s bad enough hunting the right one, but if you jump the wrong one it creates another level of pain in the ass best avoided.”

  Raj gives me a grin. “You ever hunt the wrong one before?”

  “Once, and it was succinctly unpleasant. It left me even more unpopular with the weres than the rest of my kind.”

  “What are you going to do when you find it?”

  I sigh and shake my head. “I have no idea.”

  “Can’t you just kill him, like a rabid dog?”

  “Not only is that terribly insensitive of you, Raj, it’s a political goat screw. There are other complications attached as well. It is just now dawning on me that there is no way I’m going to get paid enough for this.”

  “You told me you have had to put people down before. Why’s this so different?”

  “If it was a vampire it would be easy. He’s in my ward breaking the law. Since it’s a werewolf, there’s sort of a jurisdiction thing involved. When one kind kills the other you can expect a huge shit storm, and that’s when it’s justified.”

  Raj furrows his brow as he asks me, “Can’t you just hand it off to whatever werewolves handle this sort of thing?”

  “It’s complicated. Not only are werewolves unsubtle, they tend to act first then think later if at all. I also have a client that has a vested interest in concluding this without folks getting torn to pieces.”

  If I went to the
weres and told them about the bodies and that I am looking for Mr. Goldstein then the wolves might also start looking for him and that had a high probability of not turning out well for him or my paycheck. Unfortunately, weres are a close-knit bunch of fur balls and if I hope to find out anything about Martin, I have few other options.

  By the time I leave Raj’s office, I know where I need to go and that does not thrill me at all. I will definitely need to pick up a few things from my office first. The cab I called from Raj’s office pulls up to the front of the medical examiner’s office a few minutes later.

  It is a short ride and within a few minutes, I’m home. I disable the alarms, heave open the steel security door, and step into the largely empty, cavernous chamber that I call home. They say a man’s home is his castle. Anyone looking at mine would think I only got the dungeon, which is fine with me. No one ever tries to rob a dungeon.

  I step into my hidden arms room once more and begin transferring some tools of my trade into various pockets and straps of my custom-made Miguel Caballero bullet resistant trench coat. At over three grand a pop, it reminds me of one of the reasons I’m perpetually broke.

  The first thing I grab is my sword and I slide it into the sheath built into the inside left breast of the jacket. Next is a can of bear spray and not the kind you pick up at your local sporting goods store. Federal regulations limit the maximum CRC to two percent. Mine is custom made at five percent.

  Then I drop a few small explosives with remote detonators into my right pocket because you just never know when you might need to blow something up. Like the old saying goes: better to have explosives and not need them than need them and not have them.

  I save my favorite for last. Opening the padded plastic case and looking upon the beauty inside is the closest thing to a sexual experience I’ve had in a very long time.

  I cannot help but smile as I lift the Smith and Wesson .500 magnum. It too is custom-made just for me. I sawed the barrel down to svelte five inches, down from the standard length of nearly nine. Anyone with less than superhuman strength would probably get their wrist broken if they fired it.