The Vampires Of Livix Twin Pack (Volumes #2 & #3)

by Smith, J Gordon

  Garin moved the mouse down and clicked on another minimized window. A camera view popped up showing papers with bright red crayons. Anna’s pictures taken from her refrigerator on someone’s desk. Four little pieces of colorful papers with “Anty Ana We <3 U” on them.

  “How do we find out where this other computer is at?”

  Brett said, “There’s a reflection of a bowling trophy or something on a plastic bezel. Can you move the camera?”

  “I’ll have to touch the keyboard,” Garin said to Branoc.

  “Go ahead.”

  Garin typed at the keyboard and brought up a text screen. It flashed some code, “They have a nifty virus program that’s allowing them to do this on that computer.” He clicked on the mouse to drag the text screen aside and made the camera window larger. He typed a few more commands on the keyboard and the lens on that far computer zoomed in and refocused.

  “Not a bowling trophy. A marksman award, if I’m reading this right, it’s backward in the reflection. Big Bruce’s Range is on there. 2010. 2009? No, 2010.”

  “Still blurry to me.” I said, squinting.

  Garin changed the zoom and brightness and contrast controls but the angle of the camera to the award and other reflections on the award plate washed the rest out.

  “Big Bruce is one of the Livix Militia leaders,” Brett said, “His name is likely on everything.”

  Branoc said, “But we know it’s someone tied into that group. I’ve met Bruce before. I agree his name is on everything like that. But Big Bruce might remember who won that award in 2010.”

  Branoc snapped a photograph of the display and the desk. He sent an email from his phone with the picture, “I need to tell my team we touched this unit. They won’t like it.” He put the phone in his pocket and said, “We need to visit Big Bruce.”

  -:- Eleven -:-

  Branoc drove into the Livix Duck Club parking lot and the three of us got out.

  A guy stood up from a camp stool by the door, “Brett, your Dad isn’t here.” He wore faded army surplus trousers and a dark brown T-shirt. “Who are your friends?” his eyes only glanced at me but kept staring at Branoc and Garin.

  Brett said, “We’re here to see Big Bruce.”

  “See Sammy at the grill.” The guy pushed back the door, still fixing his eyes on the two vampires.

  The dark interior sparkled from old shiny varnished tables and chairs reflecting color splashes from the bright neon beer and tobacco signs hanging on the walls. Sammy scraped the top of the grill in long practiced strokes. Vapors of water steamed off it and into the hood.

  “Looking for Big Bruce,” said Branoc.

  Bruce set the sandwich he half finished on the plate at the bar near Sammy. Two rubbery pickled eggs spun like yellowed eyeballs nudged by the released crusts of his sandwich. “Branoc. You caught me having a snack. Sammy can make you a burger too if you’re hungry.”

  “Not necessary,” he pulled out a stool next to Bruce and sat down, resting his elbow on the shiny bar edge that swooped in a baroque ogee curve to comfortably fit elbows.

  Bruce looked at the others, “Hi Brett. I haven’t seen your Dad in a week or so. Did he send you for supplies?”

  Branoc answered, “No. We’re tracking down some concerning recent events.”

  “– That sounds ominous,” Bruce picked up one of his eggs and a flash of yellowed albumen like a third eye shown from his mouth until his lips wrapped around it and he chewed.

  “Do you remember who might have won a marksman award in 2010?”

  Bruce chewed on the fiery egg, “Ooh. Sammy those eggs are extra hot this batch.”

  “– Only way to make ’em.” said Sammy as his scrapper ground into a fresh area of the grill. “You want an egg? Fire on both ends!” Sammy winked at Brett. He went back to scraping.

  “Marksman award in 2010 …” Bruce pushed his hands against the bar, “A busy year, 2010. A lot of people got that award,” Bruce leaned closer to Branoc, “I make it easy to get that award as they build a lot of confidence in the members.”

  “I’m getting confident one of your survivalist award winners is doing some bad things.”

  “What kind of bad things?”

  “Could be simply wire-tapping fraud or even accessory to murder.”

  “Both of those activities are serious.”

  “The level of accessory involvement can be big, Bruce.”

  “Now, let’s be civil, Mr. Branoc.”

  Sammy paused in mid stroke of a scrape.

  “I’ve got murderers and one of your members has hacked into Faceplate accounts searching for something. It wouldn’t be a problem for my investigation but one account has ties to the vampire community.”

  I realized I became that tie to the vampire community.

  “Sammy, put the scraper away. Can you get me the award book from 2010?”

  Sammy set the scraper aside. He rubbed his hands clean on his apron and left through the slot at the end of the bar.

  “It will take Sammy a few minutes to get the book,” Bruce stood up and went to the small fridge behind the bar, “I think we’ll have some time to talk. Can I ask you if you’re thirsty like a good host?” He put a pair of nearly frozen pops on the counter and then reached under another counter and retrieved a pair of blue bottles, “I apologize. These are warm because we don’t have many takers.”

  Brett took one of the pops and handed me the other. I waved him off. Garin and Branoc stared at the two crisp blue bottles sitting silently on the counter.

  “What’s the date on those?”

  “Date? They are sealed. I think they stay good for years that way.” Bruce lifted one of the bottles and spun it around. He leaned over under a little light and found the small print, “Looks like three years old. Vintage like wine,” he chuckled offering it to Garin.

  Garin took it and scanned the bottle. He set it back on the bar.

  “Thanks for the offer,” said Branoc, “but we’re alright for now.”

  “Suit yourself.” Bruce put the Massai bottles away. He trudged back around the bar and sat in front of his plate. He idly spun his second egg. Thinking. Contemplating. Then he popped the yellowed fireball in his mouth and chewed on it. He slurped at some of his beer. “Whew! Those eggs are hot. Cleans the pores out though. Better than a sauna.”

  “Sammy is a good clerk?”

  “Yes. I keep a messy office back there,” Bruce leaned back. He touched my arm and said, “Brett, why don’t you show your lady the juke box? One of the guys in the club converted it over to play a pot full of songs from a computer server he bolted in it. Sounds real good.”

  “Mp3’s or Ogg?” asked Brett.

  “– Ogg Vorbis of course,” Bruce offered.

  Branoc said, “What’s that?”

  I even knew this part of technology, “Mp3’s have patent restrictions. Ogg formats are open and free to use. We had a big discussion on the music industry in a class last winter.” I strolled over with Brett. He set his pop down and thumbed through the screen modified under the glass dome.

  “A good class. Not like the bus mechanic school I went to,” said Bruce.

  “Your nails don’t look like you’ve been under the hood of a diesel in a while.”

  “I started the Duck Club after I got twisted out of the mechanics union. Too much politics and not good for the common man. The leaders go to party at off-site resorts using money from the member’s dues. All about building teamwork. But that is what we do here.”

  “You fight for the common man?” Branoc asked.

  “That’s what we primarily attend to. Have to protect the common man. Otherwise, who’ll save them from the predations of the vampires?”

  Sammy’s wiry body scrambled through the door. At his shoulder he held a strange looking crossbow. Two bows oriented vertically and strung with the wheels and pulleys common with compound bows. Long bolts knocked from the outside toward the stock. A steel cable tying a razor between the bolts dangl
ed loosely.

  Big Bruce said, “As you guess, that contraption facing you –” a second agitated man banged through the door behind Sammy with an identical crossbow. “– is meant to either pin you against something or best case take your head right off.”

  “You know what agency I work for.”

  “Of course Mr. Branoc. But we are defending our house. Nothing wrong with that.” Bruce wrenched a dusty tap at the end of his arm and a Claymore sprang up to his hand from a spring loaded hidden compartment. The scrape of steel on steel ground out as he pulled the weapon from its hole and across the bar.

  “A Scottish Claymore goes well with your red hair, Bruce.” said Branoc. He remained at ease. The kind of ease that one has from being constantly around this kind of danger. Garin already leaned forward on the balls of his feet with his fists clenching and unclenching the sword grip while his eyes darted.

  “It fits well.” Bruce spun the blade about its long axis in nervousness. The six feet of razor sharpened steel flashed with a red glow from a pair of neon beer signs. His voice remained calm, “I think you two should leave.”

  “You know that’s a weapon for open fields. You’ll never get a good swing with it in here. And did the Isles know about Damascus steel when they forged that weapon?”

  “It’s not so old. It only looks old. It’s made from old plowshares by one of the guys in a group that makes knives to sell at art fairs,” Bruce stopped spinning the sword and gripped it tight in both fists, “It’s been tested completely. Other vampires have fallen from its edges. As for an open field, that’s why the chairs barely come above the tables.”

  I looked around and saw how the chair backs slunk below the table’s height. A friend had chairs like these that made my back hurt. But for his purpose now –

  “– I’m not trying to cut your shoe laces either.”

  My phone rang. And rang again.

  “You should answer that,” said Big Bruce. His eyes unwavering from Branoc’s.

  I reached into my pocked and retrieved the phone. My sister’s name scrolled across the caller ID, “It’s my sister.”

  “You should answer that,” Bruce repeated.

  I touched the side of the phone and put it to my ear.

  “– And put it on speaker.”

  I complied, “Hello?”

  -:- Twelve -:-

  “Anna! These men have us!”

  Branoc stood erect. The crossbows fidgeted at his movement.

  “Where?” I asked. My palms already clammy and smudging the glass on the phone.

  A grin spread across Big Bruce’s face.

  “They want to talk with Garin.”

  “I’ll negotiate with them,” said Branoc. “What are their demands?”

  I heard my sister whimpering. My mind flashed to yellow tape wrapping my friend Bethany’s house. Her murder. Still unsolved. Dread filled my heart as these guys might be the ones that made that hole.

  A gravelly voice took the phone from my sister and demanded, “We want Garin and the other vampire businesses gone from town.”

  “That can’t happen in any kind of rapid manor. It’s not like you’re robbing a bank.”

  “He can make some calls and shut the plant down. His will be easy as we know of the financial struggles already.”

  “– Fabricated by a pair of executives that are no longer with the company,” Garin said.

  “That bank needs to close down too.”

  “You realize that business makes a lot of economy in this small town? Jobs?”

  “Yes it does. For the vampires. How else do they fund those blue bottles? And covering up the human deaths?”

  Another voice on the far end of the phone said, “Humans won’t survive with these thirsty parasites draining life and manipulating the economy.”

  Garin said, “Read your history. Three vampires founded Livix.”

  Branoc glared at Garin.

  “Founded as an unholy nest of evil at the outskirts of Detroit. Now home to many upstanding humans only because they don’t know about the vampires.”

  My four little nieces and nephews wailed out of fear somewhere in the background. My sister tried comforting them. My brother-in-law Michael attempted hushing Joanna with his voice. The strain and fear in their voices palpable and not effectively distracting the children.

  Branoc asked, “How many do you have?”

  “The whole family of this girlfriend of Garin’s.”

  “No. How many partners do you have there?”

  “Enough to do our work should you not meet our demands.”

  “Fair enough.” Branoc said, “Are you kidnapping people at the business owner’s homes?”

  “Only some of the more prominent.”

  “Difficult to shut everything down. It takes time. And others will come to defend.”

  “That’s where Massai is the tool.”

  “You poisoned the vampire’s food?” the second crossbowman said, his crossbow dipping slightly, “Shit. That’s a bad plan, man.”

  Big Bruce’s eyes flamed, “The vampires must be destroyed. Too dangerous for our families.”

  Branoc said, “Massai keeps people safe.”

  “How so? I think it’s like going to the park and seeing signs warning against feeding the bears. The bears become dependent on the artificial food source but also strengthen and multiply. They become friendlier. Then one day the friendliness ends sharply –” Bruce looked at me and then slid his eyes to Branoc, “and they turn.”

  Garin said, “That’s why we have the Vampire Rules. We have to protect the humans as much as ourselves.”

  “Poisoning Massai does the opposite. No vampire will trust the Massai supplies.”

  “Unable to trust the Massai the vampires will quench their thirst on humans. Do that and people die –”

  “– but they also learn to rise up and defend themselves.” Bruce said, “They know that vampires live. Not some myth haunting childhood fairy tales as easy to shut out as closing the book before bed.”

  Garin mouthed, “Torches –”

  “– and pitchforks” Branoc finished.

  “No one wins.”

  “We watched your terrorist cell.”

  “I didn’t have a cell.”

  “Then a rogue vampire terrorist cell. They set up shop above that aluminum caster.”

  “You’ve killed them all.”

  “Good. They built some sort of massive virus.”

  “Computer virus?” Garin asked.

  “No. Real virus. Against humans.”

  Branoc’s shock came through his voice, “What virus? We saw only detonators.”

  “How else do you violently spread something like that?” Bruce leaned forward. “We’ve talked enough. My arms don’t have the stamina of a thirsty vampire to hold this sword for long. Better if I swing it with an adrenaline rush.” He eased forward, “Joe, get the van and bring the cuffs in.”

  “Yes, sir.” Joe pushed the door outside. The bright daylight burst into the darkened club. A chugging engine halted with a screech of brakes outside the door and Joe returned with chains and manacles.

  Bruce said, “Joe, now put those on our vampire friends like we showed you. And Mr. Branoc and Garin please assist Joe by not moving. I’d hate to clean up this bar, again.” Joe dropped one of the cuff systems into a pile of chains and steel cables. The second one he hefted and wrapped around Garin’s neck and pulled his arms back and clamped the shackles on his hands and feet. “These are like prisoner manacles. However, we know your strength, so they are not only made of titanium alloy but reinforced with cutting blades. Try to break out and they slice through your neck. Wonderful Engineering.” Bruce gripped his sword, “We’ve tested these too, by the way.”

  “Mr. Branoc –” asked Joe. Branoc turned, lifting his hands for Joe. The chains jingled as Joe hefted them and arranged the ends on the floor and hung the loose ends on Branoc’s wrists. He untangled one of the chains before he could lock
them in place.

  My sister screamed.

  An explosion ruptured across the phone for an instant before the sound and the phone went dead.

  Big Bruce blinked his eyes at Sammy and Joe, “Our guys didn’t have any explosives.”

  Branoc said, “I didn’t have any people there.”

  Sammy said, “Must be the vampire terror-cell.”

  “But we got everyone at the plant,” mumbled Bruce.

  “They must have had reinforcements or a second sleeper cell hidden somewhere.”

  “My cousin Eddie is there.”

  Branoc dropped to a crouch and swung his leg out knocking Joe on the floor. Branoc vaulted up and snatched Garin and burst out of the front door. Wood splinters shattered in a cloud of debris. The modified crossbow bolts fired and wound around flying chunks of the door slicing them into smaller pieces before slamming into the wall and the door jamb. Bright orange fletching quivered in the dust. A blur swept through the door and scooped up Brett and me thrusting us through the slivers of wood and torn metal still bouncing on the industrial terracotta ceramic floor tile at the entrance.

  Branoc dropped us like flour sacks and grunted, “Get in the car.” His eyes blazed like Garin’s had in the slaughterhouse. I saw only the swiftness of his black coat swirl through the billowing dust filling the opening of the shattered door. We clamored into Branoc’s car in time to see him exit the building with the crossbows. Like magic the Dodge roared to life with a remote start. Branoc tossed the crossbows up like a coach tosses a softball to bat to his outfielders. A flash of the claymore across them sheared the cables and bows into pieces that fell to the gravel. He moved to a big boulder ringing the parking lot where he gripped the pommel of the sword and with speed and power I could only guess at, he slammed the point of the sword into the rock like a climber’s pinion. Or like a contractor drives a nail through concrete. The impact and force of the blade carried the metal into the rock to the hilt. Branoc brushed off his coat and flung it in a ball at my feet on the passenger floor.