by Gina Ranalli
“Why isn’t it attacking us?” Four Eyes asked, braving a step forward but still staying behind Helena. “Why’s it just standing there?”
“Good question,” she said quietly, her gaze never wavering from Cash’s eyes, the knife held aloft in her right hand, ready to strike the instant Cash moved a muscle.
Though Cash was not being aggressive, he noted that neither was she. He hoped he was right as the bony protrusions of his face and chest began to recede back into his flesh. His limbs slowly shrunk back to human length, his jaw and fangs following after.
Four Eyes frowned. “What the…”
When the transformation back to what appeared to be human was complete, Cash asked, “Do you know how much those boots cost?” He kicked what was left of the footwear away from himself, noting his socks were torn and useless. He made a disgusted sound. “Not to mention the T-shirt. You gonna reimburse me for this shit?”
Helena blinked at him but did not drop the knife.
“I guess you spotted me earlier, huh?” Cash continued. He offered a hand to be shaken. “Name’s Justin Cash. Pleased to know you.”
Neither of his visitors accepted the offered hand and he dropped it back to his side a moment later.
“I know who you are,” he pointed at Helena’s face. “Helena Rose. You’re pretty famous among my kind.”
Both Helena and Four Eyes remained silent and Cash could now smell the male’s perspiration. He was sweating like a pig and man, did he smell scared. Cash smiled at him. “And who might you be? Jimmy Olsen?”
He chuckled at his own joke but then the carpet stained with his drying blood caught his eye and he was annoyed again. “Son of a bitch,” he grumbled. “How am I gonna explain that?”
“You’ll be gone,” Helena said.
Cash looked at her. “I will, will I?”
She raised her chin slightly. “Yes.”
He noted that he smelled no fear on her and wondered why that was. Was she really that brave? Or was she just crazy and suicidal?
“You’re coming with us,” she told him.
“What?” Four Eyes cried. “Helena, you can’t.”
“Shut up, Quinn,” she said, her voice hard.
Cash lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah, Quinn. Be a good doggy.”
Quinn’s previously pale face now flushed pink. “Fuck you.”
Smirking, Cash returned his attention to the woman. “Where am I gonna be exactly, if not here? You planning to kidnap me?”
“Yes,” she told him.
“Why? Can’t we just chat here? Where, you know, I’m not chained down and tortured?”
“I hope you’ll come willingly,” she said, finally lowing the knife a bit, though not dropping it entirely.
“And why would I do that?”
She gave him an even look. “Because you know who I am. “Who-” she gestured at Quinn-“we are.”
“I don’t know who he is,” Cash replied.
“My name’s Quincy Cochran. I work with Helena.”
“Not for long, you haven’t,” Cash said. To Helena he said, “Your previous assistant became someone’s dinner, eh? I heard something about that.”
He was trying to get a rise out of them, but neither appeared flustered.
“You didn’t even try to kill us,” Helena said. “And you were staking out my house. There must be a reason for that.”
“I thought about burning it down with you trapped inside. Does that make you feel better?”
“You didn’t, though. I have a feeling I know what you want.”
“And what might that be?” He smiled again, wondering if his smile was as intoxicating to women as Bliss’s could be.
“Protection,” she said.
Cash laughed and finally moved, stepping away from them towards the bed. Helena was immediately ready with the blade again and Quinn fell into a fighting stance which Cash found absolutely adorable. Like a puppy playing at being fierce. He plopped himself down onto the bed and reached down to pull off his tattered socks.
“I’m kind of insulted you don’t know who I am,” he said. “I ran with Bliss for a long time. A long time.”
“Sorry,” Helena said sarcastically.
“There are worse things in life,” he told her. “I reckon it was probably to my benefit that I stayed under the radar.” He wiped at the blood that streaked his left cheek where his tusks had been. “Mind if I clean up? If you’re planning to take me somewhere, I should at least not look like a guy who just ate a raw buffalo.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Helena said, impatient now.
Her tone surprised Cash, but not enough for him to be alarmed. He held up his hands in an “I surrender” gesture. “You’re the boss, kid.”
Without taking her eyes from Cash’s face, she said, “Quinn, call Sam. Tell him where we are and to bring…everything.”
Quinn pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed.
“Outside,” she told him.
Without hesitation, Quinn did was he was told, exiting the room hastily.
“Like I said,” Cash smiled. “Good dog.”
“Why were you watching us?”
“I thought you already had that figured out.”
“Where’s Bliss?”
Cash sighed. He suddenly felt tired. Sometimes the transformation took a lot out of him. “Don’t know, don’t care.”
“Sorry if I call bullshit on that.”
“No need to apologize. I wouldn’t trust me either. I am a killer, after all.”
Helena said nothing, her face grim.
They stared at each other for a long moment, tension hanging in the air, until Quinn came back into the room.
“Sam’s on the way.”
CHAPTER 7
The Rumblers were sated and Gunnar Bliss could not have been happier with Opal’s performance this night. No hesitation, no second thoughts, as though she’d been born just to be reborn under his tutelage, which he doubted she even needed. Opal was a natural killer and probably would have easily survived on her own, which no guidance whatsoever.
He had chosen a winner, a perfect member for his gang. In fact, he already knew she would be his second for a long time coming and maybe eventually strike out on her own, be another mentor for others, increasing their family until they could wander freely, sitting comfortably at the top of the food chain, ruling the world.
They were back in the abandoned house, relaxing and patting their fill bellies, everyone in a good mood. Beside the row of candles, a boom-box sat on the mantel, soft, classical music playing while Melosia and John danced slowly, her head against his chest, arms wrapped around each other’s waists. Walt was boozing it up, not bothering with his flask, chugging whiskey straight from the bottle from where he sat on the floor by the fireplace, his back against a wall, watching the dancers with an amused, content expression.
Bliss stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, his arms folded, watching the scene but paying particular attention to Opal, back on the ratty couch, still licking blood from her fingers.
As always, they’d all gotten naked before the real feasting had begun, so while their clothes remained stain-free, their hands and faces were still streaked with crimson. Bliss, Melosia and John had washed up, using the spigot outside, but it wasn’t the most effective way of bathing. Opal and Walt hadn’t bothered as of yet. Walt probably would never bathe at all, if he had his way. The man was a savage, through and through, and probably would have been fine living in a cave in the woods, letting his hair and beard grow into wild, tangled messes, not bothering with clothing at all.
But Bliss did what he could to tame the big guy. He had to have some semblance of “civilization” if they were to continue the way they had been.
Opal caught Bliss watching her and popped her index finger from her mouth, flashing him a shy smile. Bliss tipped his hat and returned the smile.
“What’s next, Chief?” Walter asked, his voice slightly slurred. Their kind didn�
�t get intoxicated nearly as easily as human beings did, but they could indeed get drunk. It just took a lot more alcohol.
“You still hungry?” Bliss replied, dragging his eyes from Opal.
“I’m always hungry,” Walt laughed. “Hell, I could have eaten a dozen all by myself. Ya’ll are lucky I’m nice enough to share.”
“Well,” Bliss said, “I think we need to be moving on pretty quick here. Maybe tomorrow night we can feed again, depending on how far we get.”
“Aw, damn,” Walt complained. “Can’t we just stay here for one night? Enjoy the bounty for once?”
Bliss laughed. “I wish we could, brother. You know I do. But you know the rules: we gotta keep moving, especially after we leave more than one body behind.”
“You mean, puddle,” John chimed in, still swaying slowly with his wife. “We left puddles in that park.”
Walt laughed uproariously.
It wasn’t quite true, but close enough. The authorities would have quite a challenge on their hands, identifying what was left of those bodies. Bliss figured it would take dental records or maybe jewelry. The former would give them plenty of time to skedaddle, the latter could have happened already for all they knew. Point was, since they couldn’t be sure, it was best to be cautious.
“Drink you’re last drink and dance your last dance, ladies and gentlemen. We’re out of here in thirty.”
With that, he left the gang to their devices and went back into the kitchen to consult Melosia’s laptop. It was already open to a news page concerning the suicide of a pedophile named Joshua Meadows. Bliss tapped a few keys and began searching for the guy’s funeral arrangements, where he was going to be buried, if he was going to be buried, and where.
Bliss had no love for perverts but it wasn’t Meadows’s sexual predilections which interested him. He had learned that Mr. Meadows had been an underground, outsider artist and Bliss was quite fond of art. Predictably, prices for the man’s art, simplistic little paintings, mostly, had been soaring on auction sights since his suicide. Buyers, apparently, had no qualms regarding the man’s crimes, no matter how lecherous. Of course, Gacy was also a good example of how these things sometimes played out. The serial killer’s clown paintings went for an arm and a leg these days and Bliss himself wouldn’t have minded owning one or two, provided he had a place to hang them. He didn’t-at least not yet-and nor did he have a place for anything by Meadow’s, but he was intrigued nonetheless.
There was something about artists, how their minds tended to work, that fascinated him. A creative spirit that he both envied and admired.
By reading Meadows’s obituary, he was surprised and happy to learn there would be a service for the man at a cemetery called Floral Hills two days from now. He would send Melosia and John, in their funeral bests, as grieving, though, distant, friends of the deceased. Usually, where there was a casket, there was a body and their job would be to make sure that casket was going in the ground with the headstone and not being shipped back to be burned to ash.
Bliss didn’t usually raise more than one body every six months or so, but he felt he should make an exception this time. If his feelings about Opal were correct, his little troupe of troubadours would be down a man again before too long.
Which reminded him of Justin Cash.
Where had that boy gotten off to? Bliss felt betrayed by Cash-they’d run together for decades and then, just like that, Cash had had a crisis of conscience. Why?
He debated calling his old friend again but decided against it. He wasn’t in the mood to get pissed off; everyone else was in high spirits and he didn’t want to spoil it for them. Not knowing when they would next feed had its drawbacks but for now, things were good.
“Gunnar?”
He turned and saw Opal in the doorway, her eyes smiling at him. “Howdy,” he said, turning away from the counter where the computer sat. “What can I do for you, Opal?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. I just wanted to thank you.”
“For?”
She giggled in the most feminine fashion. “For raising me, silly. I swear, I have never felt so alive. And technically, I suppose I’m dead.”
“Well, it was and continues to be my pleasure, ma’am. I have high hopes for you.”
“How so?”
He considered the question but felt it was too early to deliver the answer. “All in good time, darlin’.”
She nodded, not pressing the issue. A few seconds passed, then she said, “Do you think there’s a chance I could ask you for a favor?”
“There’s a chance for anything, I always say.” He didn’t always say that but it sure sounded good to his ears right now.
“I was thinking…” She paused, maybe searching for the right words. “Umm…more than anything in the world, I would really love to pay my boyfriend’s father a…visit.” She smiled coyly.
“That so?”
“Is something like that…I don’t know…against the rules?”
She had good instincts, something else for the pro side of the column. “I’m afraid so, darlin’. At least, this early in the game it is.”
“But if everyone thinks I’m dead…”
“True. You obviously wouldn’t be a suspect unless you were seen by someone who knows you. But still, questions would arise. You never know who might get involved at that point. Could be more trouble than it’s worth and I haven’t been around this long by running around looking for attention.”
Smile gone, she was visibly disappointed. “Well, I guess you know best. But if not now, then when?”
He pretended to ponder the question. “A decade, maybe. And even that might be too soon.”
“He might not live that long!”
Bliss folded his arms and leaned back against the counter. “Tell you what. Why don’t we revisit this conversation in a year or two? We’ll see what’s what then. I promise you, the time will pass faster than light. It doesn’t run in quite the same way for us as it does for most folks.”
Opal made a skeptical face. “How’s that?”
“That’s not something I can really explain. You have to experience it for yourself. Kind of like having sex.” He grinned under his hat, wearing his good cheer like a shiny sheriff’s badge. He was the sheriff, after all. He was the lawman and the law itself. Only one to ever question that was that dang bastard Cash and Bliss hadn’t given up on him yet. Not completely.
“Sex,” she repeated wistfully. “I don’t suppose that’s something I’ll ever have again.”
Was she flirting with him? He thought she was.
“Not in any human kind of way, darlin’. Sorry if that disappoints.”
“Human kind of way?” She stepped into the kitchen now, approaching him slowly. When she reached him she grabbed at his belt. “You might have to explain that to me.”
Here was a situation even the great Gunnar Bliss couldn’t play off as just another joke. He was already stiffening in his jeans. “I think I’d rather just show you.”
“Whatever works, cowboy.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him deeply, her tongue warm and darting like a sensual, slow-moving snake.
Some things didn’t change. They weren’t animals, after all. They still had modesty and preferred to do their rutting in private. When the kiss broke, Gunnar called to the others. “In a private meeting. Disturb at your own risk.”
He thought he heard Walter laugh but he was already bending Opal over the counter and couldn’t give a damn if he tried.
CHAPTER 8
Getting Cash out of the motel and back to the house had been surprisingly easy. He hadn’t struggled at all, not even when Sam had bound his wrists with cable ties.
They had crowded him as they crossed first the parking lot and then the street, hoping no one would give the group a second glance. No one did and Cash had willing gotten into the front of the Cherokee, Helena seated behind him with the blade at the left side of his throat. Sam drove with one hand on the wheel, the other
holding an automatic on his lap, pointed at Cash’s ribs. Quinn had driven behind them in the Honda, also armed in case of any sign of trouble.
When they reached the house, they’d brought Cash in through a back door and straight down to the basement which was set up for just such occasions. Cash sat chained to a metal chair bolted to the floor, one bare bulb swinging above his head.
“Not exactly a five star place you have here,” he said. “How’s the room service?”
Helena stood a few feet away, a shotgun pointed at his face. “Funny man,” she said.
Sam, not a man easily amused, responded by punching Cash in the mouth, splitting the monster’s lower lip before shaking out his hand with a grimace of pain.
Cash barely reacted, except to taste his own blood while he had the chance. They all watched as the split lip healed in roughly a minute, leaving only the blood behind.
“You think you’re our first?” Sam asked him. “Why the fuck do you think this chair is here in the first place?”
Cash regarded the older man with interest. “Way to hurt a guy’s feelings.” He chuckled. “And not to hurt yours in return, but this isn’t the first chair I’ve been chained to either. And it’s not the first time I’ve had a shotgun ready to blow my brains out. Hell, nothing you could do to me would be my first time. You get what I’m saying? I’m here because I chose to be here.”
“Why?” Helena asked, her weapon steady and true. “Why did you choose to be here?”
Cash looked away, clearly not ready to answer that question.
Sam punched him again and Helena knew that he was hoping Cash would transform, right here, right now. If that were to happen, Sam wouldn’t hesitate to kill him, which was what he really wanted to do. He hated these creatures with every fiber of his being and would have gladly blown himself up with a grenade if he knew he could take one of them with him. Helena had to keep an eye on him. Killing Cash would defeat the entire purpose of bringing him here in the first place.