Blood Heavy: Ascension

by S. L. J. Shortt

  After calling ahead and finding out that the yard did have some heads that would work, Jerry took a stroll over to Goose’s house so he could get a lift. Even though he was technically supposed to stay at home, these little supply runs weren’t all that much of a problem. Middle of the day, fifteen minute round trip and he was armed. Nothing to worry about.

  He was only at the auto yard for about five minutes before they were already loading the heads into Goose’s trunk along with some NASCAR rod bolts that he’d decided to pick up as well. The drive back to Goose’s place was quick and easy and driving with the windows down brought in a nice breeze. Unfortunately the stench of dead wyvern was still present.

  “Dude, this is trouble we don't need,” Goose groaned after Jerry told him about his little visit from the Feds.

  “Relax, there's no plates on the Boss at the moment so it's not like she could match it to the crash. If they actually had something on us they would have busted into our homes flashing warrants and we'd be in handcuffs right now.”

  “I guess...still, we have been blowin' a lot of stuff up lately,” he shrugged.

  “Yeah, we should probably take that down a notch,” Jerry nodded.

  “How much longer you think the car will take?” Goose asked.

  “I don’t know, few days maybe. She’ll be back on the road soon enough,” Jerry said.

  “Good because my car has been screwed up enough. We’ll use yours.”

  “Nobody is laying a finger on my car,” Jerry warned. “That includes bat guts and fairy dust.”

  “Job hazards,” Goose shrugged.

  “Speaking of jobs, your old man still in Hawaii?”

  “Yeah. I don’t think he’s even trying to work at the moment. Probably chilling in hammock and drinking booze out of a coconut,” he smiled.

  “There's gotta be some monsters we can hunt in Costa Rica or something,” Jerry groaned. Why did everybody else get to work in beautiful tropical places?

  “That would be nice,” Goose agreed.

  A few moments later they pulled up outside of Goose's house.

  “You still coming tonight? I really don't wanna be in that house alone with those two,” Jerry admitted. He wouldn't complain but he still wasn't used to seeing Joe and Claire lip-locked.

  “Yeah, I'll be over in a few hours.”

  Jerry unloaded the parts and started walking down the street back to his place and his lovely car. He had only been walking for about three minutes when he heard somebody swearing loudly followed by the sound of banging metal.

  As he got closer he saw a very old yellow Toyota on the side of the road with the hood open and a very angry over weight balding man with glasses. A second later he started kicking the front of the car while yelling at it's inability to start.

  Jerry sighed and started walking over. When were people going to learn that booting a car will not make it work better.

  “Stupid piece of crap engine! Start you yellow shit heap!” the man yelled.

  “Car trouble?” Jerry asked looking a little amused.

  “How'd you guess?!” the man spat back angrily.

  “You know it's not a football right? Kicking it isn't going to help,” Jerry smirked.

  “What, you a mechanic or something?”

  “I know a few things,” he said quickly taking a look at the engine.

  “Well, by all means, knock yourself out,” the man said still very frustrated.

  Jerry learned over the engine and started scanning the various parts looking errors. The wiring was all connected, there was no steam coming from the block and no holes in any of the pipes. This might be a little trickier than he first thought.

  He just couldn't see what the problem was. “Everything looks fine to...” Then it dawned on him...there wasn't one.

  The sound of a gun cocking made him clench his teeth together in anger. He felt truly stupid for falling for such a simple trap.

  “Let's see the cannon,” the man said.

  Very slowly, Jerry pulled up the back of his shirt revealing the sawn-off tucked into his pants. The man quickly grabbed it and then backed off a little.

  “Now the silver knife on your ankle,” he ordered, still holding the gun on him.

  Jerry growled to himself. Whoever this guy was, he'd done his homework. He'd known the 'car trouble' trick would draw him in and also knew what weaponry Jerry carried.

  “Middle of the day so I'm guessing you're not a vamp,” he said pulling the knife from his ankle and tossing it away. “Werewolf? Changeling?”

  “Plain, old fashion human,” the man said.

  “Well, my blood doesn't do jack for humans so you're probably doing this for someone else,” Jerry stated.

  “I do the odd bit of freelance work for supernaturals,” the man nodded.

  “You're mercenary.”

  “I acquire specific artifacts for a price. Sometimes that includes people,” he walked over and opened the driver side door. “You can drive.”

  Jerry walked over and got into the car. Not only was this a pain in the ass but it was embarrassing. He fought monsters that were way more powerful than he was and some how one fat little human had gotten the drop on him. Unfortunately the fact that he was human meant that he couldn't kill him which would make escaping a little more difficult.

  He definitely owed him a major ass kicking though.

  The man slammed the hood shut then got into the back seat behind Jerry. He tossed him the keys and Jerry started the car.

  “Where to Miss Daisy?” Jerry asked.

  “Just drive, you'll find out.”

  CHAPTER 12 – AVENGING ANGEL

  St. Cloud – Minnesota

  The crappy yellow Toyota was actually a lot healthier than it looked and had already carried Jerry and his kidnapper through half of St. Cloud.

  “Take a left here,” the man said and Jerry obeyed.

  “You got a name?”

  “Pope,” he said.

  “I hear the Vatican is nice this time of year,” Jerry said rubbing some attitude on it.

  “Did you choose your name?” he asked dryly.

  “Point taken,” Jerry nodded. “What about your clients name?”

  “Confidential.”

  “That's a crappy name. But then it does sound like something a Russian dick with wings named Dimitri would use.”

  “Ten points,” Pope said simply.

  Even though using a human was quite smart since he could move around in Sophinia's turf without raising suspicion it also seemed like a bit of a weak move. From what he'd heard about Dimitri, he was quite an egotistical vampire so working with a human would usually be beneath him. Maybe he was desperate.

  “So, how much am I worth?”

  “Two hundred and fifty large,” Pope said while cleaning his glasses.

  “That's it? I thought it would be more,” he said with disappointment.

  “Well, considering that some people are willing to kill for ten grand, two hundred and fifty for a kidnapping ain't bad. And that's euros by the way. The dollar isn't what it used to be.”

  “I guess. Of course, you're never going to see any of that money. Dimitri will turn around, suck you dry and leave you in a dumpster first chance he gets,” Jerry warned.

  “He'll try,” Pope grinned.

  “You have any idea what it going to happen if they get their hands on my blood?”

  “Save the noble, 'humanity is in danger, innocent lives will be lost' crap for the other exterminators. I'm just trying to make a living,” Pope brushed off.

  This guy had zero conscience. Ice in his veins. Now Jerry really wanted to kick his ass.

  “Make a right,” he said.

  When Jerry did, he realized exactly where they were. They were only a few blocks from The Nearly Departed but heading in the other direction. After about another thirty seconds of driving Pope tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Pull in there.”

  The motel was called the Gold St
ar Inn and was a sort of combination of ground floor rooms and restaurant all of which looked very rural. Jerry parked the car outside the restaurant entrance near some trees that had been planted to make the place seem further away from the city and they both got out. This was becoming more of a pain in the ass by the second. He knew he couldn't try anything here. Not with the twenty or more people eating dinner inside. If they tussled now and shots were fired someone could get hurt.

  “Room eight,” Pope said.

  Jerry walked in front over to the motel door which Pope opened with his keys jingling a little more than average. His hand shakes when he puts pressure on it, Jerry's brain clocked. Inside was a small simple room with a single bed, bathroom, table, TV and a fan on the ceiling. On the bed were two black duffel bags. Pope locked the door behind them.

  “You know we're only about three blocks from The Nearly Departed. I got a lot of friends in there,” Jerry warned.

  “Exactly, last place they'd think to look,” he shrugged.

  Jerry tried to hide his annoyance. The limey bastard was right and since he'd taken his shot earlier, they wouldn't be able to track his scent to find him. He had no doubts that Joe and Claire had realized he was missing by now and had probably already started the manhunt.

  “Take off your shirt,” Pope order while going into one of the bags.

  “Sorry pal, I don't play for your team,” Jerry smirked.

  “Take off your shirt,” Pope growled and pointed his pistol at Jerry's knee cap.

  He groaned and unbuttoned his shirt. Pope pulled a weird looking thing from his bag. It was a little flat metal box with a strap attached to it.

  “Now I hear you're real good with engineering,” he said undoing the strap.

  “I know a thing or two.”

  “Then you probably know that this has an insulated band and a pressure plate on it,” Pope said. He walked over and pushed the metal box against Jerry's chest then pulled the strap around his torso, locking it together on his back. “So if you try and take it off, you go boom.”

  “You want me to wear a bomb? You're freakin' insane!” Jerry hissed. He really wasn't expecting to end up with an incendiary device strapped to his chest when he woke up this morning.

  “This isn't just to make sure that you don't try and escape. It's also to make sure that Dimitri pays me my money because if he doesn't, I'll detonate his little prize,” he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, typed in a few digits and pressed send. A quick beeping noise came from the box on Jerry's chest then it went silent. “Six digit code, meaning there are over a million possible combinations. Keep that in mind before you decide to try and wrestle this phone away from me.”

  “Well, you've certainly covered all your bases haven't you.”

  “I'm thorough. Speaking off, where's your phone?”

  “It got blown up,” Jerry huffed.

  “How'd that happen?” Pope said checking his pockets for good measure.

  “My friend was a little too eager to use his shiny new RPG.”

  “Would that be Goose?”

  Jerry glared at him.

  “I've done my homework Daniel. I know about your uncle, about the White sisters and Sophinia and Rachel. I know what happened at Newton High, I know about the Strigoi down in Waterloo.”

  “Didn't realize my life was such an open book.”

  “You just gotta ask the right people,” Pope shrugged. “You can put your shirt back on by the way.”

  Jerry snatched up the top from the floor and put it back on. He was already starting to feel uncomfortable. Not because there was bomb attached to him but because the corners of the metal box were digging into his skin. He'd have to find a way to take the metal casing off to get at the wires underneath.

  “So what now?”

  “Well, we've got some time before the sun goes down. Lets get a beer,” he suggested lightly while tucking Jerry's weapons into one of the bags.

  “You buying?”

  “I'm handing you over to a blood thirsty vampire in less than an hour. I guess it's the least I can do,” Pope smiled.

  “Classy,” Jerry smiled while mentally cursing him.

  A few minutes later Jerry was flashing his fake I.D. at the barman of the restaurant while Pope sat next to him on one of the bar stools. The barman came back with two ice cold bottles of beer and true to his word, Pope paid for them and they sat there like 'normal' people.

  Jerry took the opportunity to do a tactical assessment. Pope was about two-hundred and twenty pounds and it was difficult to tell fat from muscle but he was sure he had both. He was clearly intelligent, researching Jerry like the monsters that they hunted. He'd managed to outsmart him before by playing on his engineering passion. He'd also been prepared for the arsenal that he always carried. However, he'd taken precautions to make sure that he couldn't get into a physical confrontation with him. Why?

  Along with his other investigations, he must have found out that Jerry had always been a bit of a brawler but had now, under Cass, Claire and Joe's supervision, become a truly impressive fighter which is why he was making sure he couldn't attack him. The extra pounds he'd picked up over the years had slowed Pope down but he wasn't always that way. The slight stretching of the tattoo that appeared on Pope's right arm under his short sleeve shirt was evidence of that; a single star under a pair of wings. Of course! He should have spotted it before. Joe had told him about them in the past. More pieces clicked together. Pope was air force, clearly retired, but trained nevertheless. This would be very difficult.

  He would know hand-to-hand combat, firearms, electronics and detection better than most. Jerry assumed the worst. Pope may have been an Intelligence Officer which would mean he'd be way more highly trained than most airmen. But he was still backing away from a psychical fight. A wound maybe?

  Permanent damage that caused him to leave the service and now made him unable to fight on the level he once did? If he had one he was very good at hiding it. This wasn't good. Pope was very clever.

  Now, Jerry was really nervous. There were way too many civilians in that place and he was a walking grenade at that point. He suspected that this was why Pope wanted to come here. He knew Jerry would never endanger all of these people. A family of five were sitting together in one of the booths, laughing and smiling. The three little kids couldn't have been older than twelve or younger than seven.

  A small pinch of jealousy crept up inside him and he watched them followed by a wave of guilt. That family and all the other innocent people in that restaurant were in danger just because he was sitting at the bar.

  That was his curse.

  “Can I ask you something?” Pope asked.

  “I thought you knew everything about me?”

  “Not everything.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Is it true that you volunteered for this life?”

  Jerry nodded and took a swig of his beer.

  “You actually signed up to hunt things that want to eat you alive? Why?”

  Jerry pointed at the family in the booth. “That's why. They don't know what's out there and if we do our jobs right, they never will.”

  “So, with you it really is just about protecting people?” Pope asked with raised eyebrows.

  “What else would it be about?”

  “Revenge,” he said. “Most exterminators I meet got into this because they lost someone close to them and wanted some payback. You lost people, right? At Newton High.”

  “Yeah,” Jerry whispered, his mind suddenly flashing to images of Steve and Sarah when they were still alive.

  “And you didn't want revenge?”

  “Of course I did,” he admitted without shame.

  “So you went after the Strigoi...see, you can play that whole heroic nobility card as much as you want. The truth is that you're just as much of a sociopath as the others.”

  “We save lives!” Jerry growled.

  “Do you? Before I was in this line of work I was working with
a team of guys in the Middle East. They'd call us in when the army couldn't be seen getting involved in something.”

  Jerry had been wrong, it wasn't an injury that had made Pope leave the service, it was greed. He'd discharged himself under whatever circumstances, probably nefarious, and become a gun for hire. He was in it for the money. But what had spurred him on?

  “Anyway, we were handling a mission that was across the boarder, extract half a dozen prisoners that had some important intel. So we go in, case the place they're being held at and come up with a plan,” he stopped to swig his beer. “Mission is a go, we enter undetected and start heading for the prisoners. Out of nowhere this technical shows up with a big ass 50. cal on the back. Sees us, opens fire. Next thing you know, the whole damn place is a fire fight. Anyway, by some miracle we actually grab the hostages and make it out of there alive. We get them over the boarder and hand them to this guy from Washington. He sets them up in this nice cushy hotel down town and we go out for a few drinks to celebrate. Two hours later, a suicide bomber blows up the whole hotel. Everybody died. We didn't save anyone, hell we probably got them killed because if we hadn't 'rescued' them, they wouldn't have been there when the bomb went off.”