Donors

by C. M. Sutter

  “Here we go. Those people sitting must be the donors,” Sullivan said. “The ones with the knives are going to cut them and drink their blood.”

  I was glued to my binoculars. “Humph…this stuff actually takes place in our modern world. This is the first time I’ve ever witnessed such an act.”

  “That holds true for all of us, I expect,” Sullivan said.

  I wiped the lenses of my binoculars with the thumb of my glove. The damp cold air had fogged them over. “That’s so messed up. What I want to know is what’s inside that big box.”

  After more chanting, that particular ritual began. We couldn’t see the actual cutting, but I did get a glimpse of people pushing back their sleeves. Moments later, the group that performed the ceremony wiped their mouths with the towels they held then returned to the table. Each person reached into the box farthest to Alex’s left. The largest box, in the center of the table, remained unopened. They pulled out gauze pads and tape, then they walked back and bandaged each donor’s bleeding arm.

  “Anytime now,” I said as we waited to learn what was in the middle box.

  Alex finally opened the lid of the largest box. He reached in and pulled out a dozen or so small glass bottles and a tray. Each was filled with what appeared to be blood.

  “Bingo, there it is,” I said. I was ready to leap from my spot when J.T. grabbed my arm.

  “Hold your horses. We have to see what they’re going to do with them first. Just because they’re oddballs doesn’t mean they’re doing anything illegal other than trespassing.”

  “Sorry, you’re right.”

  We continued watching as, one by one, Alex placed the bottles on the tray and walked to the last group of people and handed them out.

  Andrews spoke up. “I guess those are for the people that would rather not cut and drink right from the source.”

  I added. “We have to get down there before all the evidence is consumed.”

  “Not a problem,” Sullivan said. “There will be plenty of residue left in the bottles. We have to see them actually drink it first. For all we know, it could be tomato juice.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Yeah, but let’s give them five minutes, anyway, then we’ll move in.”

  We waited and watched until the tray was passed from one person to the next and the empty bottles were collected.

  With a wave to get everyone’s attention, Sullivan gave us the okay to move in. We had no intentions of drawing our weapons as we approached unless they gave us a reason to. I kept in mind the lengthy rap sheet Sullivan said Alex had. Having dealt with Alex in the past, Sullivan approached him first, and J.T. and I followed. We ran down the hill, completely taking the group by surprise. In speedy fashion, the officers gathered the twenty-five or so stunned people into one area, where they were told to sit and wait. J.T., Sullivan, and I laser beamed our sights on Alex before he could slip away unnoticed.

  “Alex Everly,” Sullivan shouted, “we need a word with you.”

  Alex spun toward us with a surprised look that quickly turned into anger. He resembled a rabbit ready to bolt. With a quick charge, I grabbed his arm before he had too much time to think of an escape plan. I bent his arm high behind his back and held him in place.

  “What the hell do you want? Is this some sort of religious harassment?”

  “Last time I looked, being a vampire, or vampire poser, as you call them, wasn’t a religion. Turn around and put your other hand behind your back.” I spread his legs with my foot and snapped the cuffs over his wrists.

  He laughed in my face. “What grounds do you have to arrest me?”

  “Actually, I’m under no obligation to tell you anything yet, but for now, we’ll go with trespassing on private property. How’s that? Tell your friends to go home unless every one of them would like to be fitted with cuffs tonight too.”

  He snickered at me. “Tell them yourself, pig.”

  I yanked on his cuffs, and he stumbled backward and fell to the ground. I leaned in next to his ear. “That’s Ms. Pig to you. Last chance, Massimo,” I chuckled. “Tell them now, or you all go to jail.”

  He jerked his body away from me. “Everyone, go home. You’ll hear from me tomorrow.”

  I patted the top of his head. “Good boy. Let’s go.”

  J.T. grabbed one arm and Sullivan the other and lifted Alex from the ground. “This way,” J.T. said as he tipped his head in the direction we had come from.

  Sullivan yelled out to the officers. “Squelch that fire and make sure all those trespassers have left before you return to the station. Andrews, Fitch, gather all of this evidence and get it to the forensics lab immediately.”

  “Yes, sir,” Fitch said.

  Alex sat in interrogation box number one a half hour later. I could almost see the steam coming out of his ears. We watched him for a while through the one-way mirror. I wanted a sense of his personality other than the already noted smart-ass attitude. According to Alex’s rap sheet, he was a jack-of-all-trades whose skill set included B&E, assault, and burglary. Now we could add the misdemeanor trespassing and maybe more to the list.

  With the residue from the bottles being tested in the forensics lab, we had plenty of time to hold and question the head honcho of this so-called vampire clan. We needed to know whether the source of the blood was human or animal. There was a chance Alex would be turned back out onto the streets with a stern warning, or he could cozy up to a nice roommate and become a new tenant downstairs in the city jail.

  I tossed my cardboard coffee cup into the trash can. “You guys ready?”

  J.T. and Sullivan nodded, and we entered the cold, steel-gray room.

  Alex sat on the other side of the table, his cuffed hands in his lap. “Does somebody want to tell me why I’m here?” He spewed the words at us as if he’d done this dance before. “I’ve put in my time for every offense I’ve been convicted of.”

  Sullivan pulled up a chair and plopped down next to him. “We know that, and you’re only here because we’re looking for information.”

  “Ha! Why the hell would I help you? You’re the pig that threw me in jail on four separate occasions.” He turned toward me and snickered. “And who are you two wannabe cops? Don’t believe I’ve ever come across you newbies before.”

  I raised a brow at J.T. “This guy is a rocket scientist.” I looked back at Alex. “We aren’t from your neck of the woods, smart boy. We’re FBI agents, and I’m sure if we dug deep enough we could find some type of federal charge to pin on you.”

  “Whatever.”

  I jerked my head and chuckled. “Now he shuts up—funny how that works.” I stood and gave J.T. the other vacant chair. I leaned against the wall and locked eyes with Alex.

  J.T. took over. “We need information about the recent murders. I’m sure you’ve seen something about that on the news. You do watch the news now and then, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, sure. So what about the murders? Don’t even think you’re going to pin them on me.” Alex leaned back in the chair and flicked his long, greasy hair as he stared at the ceiling.

  “Feeling guilty about something?” J.T. asked.

  “Hell no.”

  “We want to know what the talk on the street is. Women’s bodies are turning up nearly drained of blood, and that’s far from normal. You know, run-of-the-mill murderers just go ahead and kill people. This guy has a reason. He’s using the blood for something, maybe even drinking it.”

  “I don’t know shit about that.”

  “We’ll see. We’re testing the blood residue left behind in those bottles from your little party. I’d be sweating my ass off if I were you, especially if the test results come back as human blood,” J.T. said.

  “That doesn’t mean anything. We donate our own blood and store it.”

  “So it will come back as human blood. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Maybe.”

  “We certainly can test the blood residue against your followers and
see if their DNA matches. If there isn’t a match, you may be going away for human blood trafficking. That’s black market illegal stuff, Alex, and a big no-no. We need you to start talking. If we have to match all of your groupies to the blood left in the bottles, you know how long we’ll have to hold you here until we have the results? Hell, it could be weeks, even months,” J.T. said.

  “Fine. I used to buy blood, but I don’t trust it anymore. There are too many diseases and drug addicts out there.”

  “So you’re a responsible vampire now, is that the story you’re going with? Who did you buy it from?” I asked.

  “That was years ago, and from a guy that worked at a blood bank. He would skim from the top, so to speak.”

  Sullivan nodded. “It’s true. Paul Olsen, the son-in-law of the director of the blood center, is serving six years in the state pen for selling blood. It was quite a scandal.”

  I walked over to the table and took a seat on its edge. “So, who currently sells blood, and who buys it?”

  “I don’t know who supplies it, but cults, like witches and warlocks, buy any blood they can get their hands on. They don’t care where it comes from because they aren’t drinking it. They may smear it over their bodies and do crazy-ass blood dances while bathed in it, but for a sacrifice, they’d want the actual body.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and heaved a sigh. “They wouldn’t drain the blood from the body, would they?”

  “Probably not. They’d slice it open and dip their hands into the cavity, but I’ve never heard of anyone locally doing an actual human sacrifice.”

  “So that takes us back to you and your clan. Maybe you screen the blood better now.”

  A knock sounded on the door, and Sullivan rose. He exited the room, then he came back a few minutes later and peeked in. He signaled for J.T. and me to join him.

  I looked over my shoulder as I crossed the room. “Don’t go anywhere, Alex.”

  “Yeah, real funny.”

  With the door closed behind us, Sullivan announced that the blood results were in. “Here’s what the lab said. A few of the bottles had traces of human blood, but the majority was pig blood.”

  “That’s pretty disgusting but understandable. Pig blood is relatively similar to that of humans. So what do you want to do about Alex?” I asked.

  “We’ll turn him loose but with conditions. He has to let us know if anyone contacts him about buying blood. Just in case he opts not to reveal any intel he may get, we’ll put a tracker on his phone and monitor the websites he visits,” Sullivan said.

  “Maybe we can go one step better. He has to imply on those sites that he’s interested in buying blood. We’ll see if anyone bites.” When J.T. chuckled, I realized what I’d said.

  “Nice play on words, Monroe.”

  Sullivan rolled his eyes then dug his fists deep into his pockets. He jiggled his change. “Yeah, I like it. Let’s go tell him.”

  It was one thirty in the morning when we finally cut Alex loose. He rubbed the redness on his wrists as he listened to our conditions.

  I cocked my head and gave him a smile. “Cuffs too tight?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  “Good, and here’s how you can keep those tight cuffs off.”

  Sullivan explained that Alex had to inform us if he was contacted by anyone wanting to sell human blood. His face contorted. He said he didn’t like the idea of setting anyone up, but he was told in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t work with us, we’d find a reason to throw him into county lockup. With his criminal record, it wouldn’t be difficult to find something that had previously been missed.

  We showed him to the door, where that same van from earlier waited at the curb.

  Chapter 21

  Sam yawned as he checked the time—1:40 a.m. The house was quiet, and everyone was tucked in for the night. Adeline and Molly had eaten dinner separately hours earlier. A fresh pint of blood had been drawn from Molly’s arm and given to Adeline just before bed. Now they were both asleep.

  The two upholstered chairs from the secondhand store had been secured to the wall and floorboards with five-inch nails. Nobody, once bound in those chairs, would break free. Sam would escort them to the restroom several times a day, and that would be their exercise. He had never kept anyone prisoner and was sure there would be a learning curve. As long as it didn’t involve another escape, he’d deal with it.

  Now, as tired as he was, Sam had to find at least one girl to take home that night. Bars closed in Gary at three a.m.—there was still time—and that night happened to be ladies’ night. With half-priced drinks for women throughout the evening, he was sure to find somebody on the verge of passing out. A little Rohypnol would go a long way in helping him get a woman home without a fuss. Several places he had frequented in the past came to mind. Paul’s Tap was the closest, about a twenty-minute drive. Not too far and not close enough to his house to connect him to anything. In the bathroom, with cold water cupped in his hands, he splashed his face, combed his hair, and changed clothes. It was time to leave and introduce himself to a lady or two. He grabbed the baggie of quartered Rohypnol tablets and left the house.

  Paul’s Tap was still packed when Sam arrived. He pulled into the pea-gravel parking lot and found the only available space just as someone else left. He had forty minutes to pull out his bag of tricks and put on the charm.

  Patrons huddled near the entrance as they smoked cigarettes. The night was cold and brisk, and snow was forecasted by morning. With his collar pulled a little higher and his shoulders involuntarily stiffened, Sam quickly crossed the parking lot and entered the building. Plenty of bodies, neck to neck and shoulder to shoulder, warmed the bar space. The standing-room-only crowd and loud music made his job that much tougher. Getting the attention of a bartender could take some time.

  Sam scanned the room and saw two young women sitting together at a bar table fifteen feet away. He’d play the accidental-bump ruse, as if somebody had pushed him into their table. He’d apologize and offer to buy them a drink before the last call lights came on and everyone was funneled to the door. The free-drink approach was a guaranteed icebreaker, especially when it was well into the night and everyone had their guard down. Hopefully, the girls didn’t ride together. If they were in an impaired state, it could be difficult, but not impossible, to overtake both of them.

  Pushing through the crowd and calling out apologies, Sam inched closer to their table. He noticed they were drinking bottled beer. That could make his task of slipping the Rohypnol into their drinks a bit harder. He’d play up his charm and offer them a more sophisticated cocktail, something in a rocks glass.

  As if someone had pushed him forward, Sam bumped the blonde on his right. Her beer bottle teetered, and he grabbed it before it tipped over.

  “Nice save!” She grinned, clearly admiring his attractive looks.

  “I guess I’m good at something—I have a quick hand.” Sam shook back his blond hair and smoothed it with his left hand while sticking out his right. “I’m Sam, and I’m really sorry about that.” He glanced over his shoulder at the imaginary person who had bumped him. “Man, it’s packed in here.” He extended his hand to the second woman. “You two look like you invented the word mischief.”

  The brunette laughed as if taken aback. “Who, us?” She hiccupped and reached out to grasp his hand. “I’m Bethany”—she pointed at the blonde—“and she’s Kristen.”

  “Looks like your beers are almost empty. How about I buy you another drink, something fitting for classy ladies such as yourselves?”

  Kristen smirked. “Damn, nobody has ever called me classy. Okay, sure. What do you have in mind, Sam?”

  He scratched his chin as if in thought. I don’t care what you drink as long as I can slip the roofies into it.

  “You ladies look like the single malt scotch type—something nice and smoky.”

  Bethany’s eyes widened. “Ooh, that sounds delicious.”

  “Then it’s settl
ed. Don’t go anywhere. Those are expensive drinks, and if I have to down them myself, I’ll fall flat on my ass. I’ll be right back.”

  Sam heard them giggle as he walked away. Luckily, the cash he’d pulled out of Heather’s wallet Friday night would help pay for the frivolous drinks he would never have purchased otherwise. It was the cost of doing business.

  He reached into his jacket pocket and thumbed the zipper seal of the baggie as he walked toward the bar. The pills needed to be dropped into the drinks as soon as he got them. It would take several seconds for the chunks to dissolve, but with a few swishes of the stirring sticks, nobody would be the wiser. Especially the two women who had no idea what the drinks were supposed to look like, anyway. Sam called out and waved to get the bartender’s attention. “Two Laphroaigs, neat, in rocks glasses, please.”

  “Coming right up. Don’t often have requests for that—nice choice.”

  Sam watched as the bartender was generous with a decent pour in each glass.

  “Here you go. That’ll be eighteen dollars.”

  Sam handed him a twenty. “Keep it and drop a stirring stick in each. My friends like to chew on the ends.”

  The bartender nodded his thanks and put a red plastic stick into each glass. With the pill pieces wedged between his fingers, Sam dropped two chunks into each glass as he walked slowly to the table. He kept a watchful eye on the drinks and tried his best to mix the dissolving roofies into the alcohol. By the time he pushed his way through the crowd and reached the table, the Rohypnol had dissolved.

  Now it’s just a waiting game. Hopefully, by the time the bar closes, they’re going to need my help getting to their cars.

  “Wow, I’m in luck,” he joked as he set the glasses on the table. “You ladies stuck around.”

  “Well,” Bethany said, “I was curious about this classy drink you mentioned. I’ve never had scotch before. I hope it’s good.”

  “Scotch is something you learn to love over time, but the smoky taste is the real attraction. I think you’ll enjoy it. Anyway, cheers.” Sam held up an imaginary glass and toasted the ladies. “Sip it and swish it in your mouth. You’ll get the full flavor that way.”