He bent the bars on the gate and went inside.
But when he arrived, Jessie was already on the ground.
He lifted and hurled a tire iron, striking the vampire and charging in, snarling and grabbing as it turned. The tire iron had ricocheted off of the vampire's head and smashed a car's door.
He felt the bones give under his fingers, but the turn continued and the vampire spun loose, dodging a weak punch, glaring at him and disappearing through a barred window. They fought slow, but on the run, they had Tset beat.
However, he could care less for the parasite, more immediately, there was Jessie. His friend.
But Tset was far too late. She lay there, partly under the car, her neck neatly splayed, showing cartilage and bone. Her eyes were open in surprise. The blood pooled thickly.
Tset sighed, not wanting to go with the feeling he had in his chest - one of the shimmering visions of humanity, one of the most beautiful things he'd witnessed, had gone, but then there was a crunch, a distant pain, and he had blacked out.
Tyler heard a familiar voice say, "Shit!" Over his TV from the street. He looked out his window and wounded Tset was hobbling along.
Tyler took the stairs, knowing something was wrong. He arrived outside his building and hurried past the parking gate, and then saw the bars were bent. He paused. 'What is Tset doing?'
He went below, silently, creeping along, he lifted a slightly bent tire iron from beside a badly dented car.
Then, in the dim fluorescents, he saw Tset, crouched over the still form of Jessie.
Tyler approached, Tset was motionless. Tyler saw Jessie's form, saw her wounds. He suddenly realized what had happened. Tset was a thing like the one in the cage. That would explain the appetite, the eyes, the strength, the speed. He didn't wonder why, or how, he simply raised his weapon and struck Tset with all his might.
Tset awoke briefly in the police cruiser and vomited.
He awoke again, being aware of being sick, being tired, and being dizzy. He threw up onto his pants.
He smelled terrible, and this smell intermixing with that of industrial disinfectant made him dry heave.
With a mild shock he found he had been moved into a cell.
He watched the floor weave for what could have been hours or minutes. A warden walked by and sneered at him.
Tset ignored him. He couldn't think through the grating, metallic pain in his head, or the hunger burning in his stomach. He shook from food deprivation.
Some time later, after Tset had blacked out again, there was a police officer standing in front of him. As soon as his eyes opened, the man began talking, explaining why Tset was here and what was expected of him.
Tset coughed, dry puke in his throat making his voice rasp, "I don't care why I'm here. As soon as I can stand, I'm leaving."
The man stopped talking for a beat, then left.
A few minutes later Tset was aware he was being dragged. His head screeched like bending steel and his muscles burned like splaying high-tension wire.
He didn't even lift his head, he simply gritted his teeth and resolve.
He was thrown into an inetrrogation room.
A portly man sat in front of him. "Son, you're suspected of quite a bit. You need to calm your ass down or we'll have you in here for a long, long time. Do you understand?"
Tset nodded and regretted it - the flashy explosion in his head was a spectacle.
"So, tell me. What were you doing in that garage." It was a statement.
Tset glared, "I was visiting friends. Someone killed Jessie. I woke up here."
"That man who knocked you out claimed not to know you. He was the husband of the girl you apparently cut up."
This stopped Tset. 'Fuck you, Tyler.' He thought.
"If that's the case, I have nothing more to say. I'm leaving when I'm good and ready. And I need food." He held out his hand, it shook badly, and the image of the bruised, shaking hand in front of the bloody, puke-stained face and empty black eyes, unnerved the cop. Tset had spoken definitely.
"Go back to your cell, I'll see what I can rustle up." "I'll need more than you think I will."
This broke the cop's freeze, "Look, you sick murdering bastard, you get brought in here, no ID, no hospital records, no fucking name, nothing, you're bloody, ripped up, just killed a girl, we think, and now you're demanding food? You have-"
Tset stood, "Gotcha." And left, through the locked door, which would never lock again. The guard and the warden followed him and grabbed his shoulders and cuffed hands, but instead of stopping, Tset merely continued. The officers felt small, being dragged along like that and so the warden broke off. Tset arrived at his destination - he stood next to his cell waiting for the remaining officer to jingle his keys satisfactorily enough to open the door. He glared at an Irish man sitting in an adjacent cell, the man glared right back.
The cop let him in, shoving him through the door and slamming it behind him. "You'll regret that." Tset hissed through his pain.
The cop, a huge burly man, turned around, "What did you say, punk?"
Tset pressed his face against the bars and tensed his neck. "I distinctly stated: You'll regret that." There was an evil leer on his face.
The man punched him, full force, shattering his hand. Tset sat back down, smiling, "Told you." The man was gasping, holding his purpling knuckles.
"What did you do?" The man pled.
The warden sauntered down the hall, "Tim, what the fuck are you doing?"
Tim straightened out and saluted with his bad hand. "Er, I was hitting the prisoner sir."
Tset smiled at the warden, a light bruise on his left cheek.
"Tim, get to the infirmary. And stop being an idiot."
"Yessir."
The warden regarded Tset, while Tset smiled at him, "Son, I got your food, but you ain't gonna like it. You got here a bit late for dinner, but there was some left over the last sitting of inmates wouldn't touch. It's yours. But you gotta eat all of it before you leave."
Tset snorted, "That's cute and country, isn't it?" Tset was wondering how an American cop came to be here in Greater Europe - the man was more hayseed than anything.
The warden ignored this comment, allowing a greasy, cock-eyed cook to bring in a six gallon pot of something that smelled of rancid oil.
The cook removed the lid after placing the pot at Tset's feet. Inside was a brownish sludge. "It's chili." The cook said, spittle flying from his lips and chin.
Tset caught the spit one-handed before it went into his food.
"Spoon?" He asked, the man delivered.
Tset got down to it, stirring the oils back in with the beans and meat it had separated from. He'd eaten worse, and this, at least, had protein and carbohydrates like he needed.
Haliburton
The warden returned the next morning, Tset was dozing on the floor next to the empty pot. The pot was clean as could be expected.
"Son." Said the cop, with his light drawl.
Tset looked at him. His eyes were unclouded, like he'd merely been resting them.
"You got your bail posted for you. That guy who got you arrested did it. You Europeans is crazier than a hen in a shithouse, I'll say.
"He left this shit for you, too."
The cop put something on the ground inside the cell and unlocked the door.
"When you're ready, you can leave."
Tset stood, feeling invigorated from the food and proper rest, but he was still injured.
He scooped up the things Tyler had left him. The top bit was a letter:
Tset smiled. His contract was ashes in a small plastic bag. Tset dropped this on the ground, with the letter, opening up the sunglass case.
RayBanz. Aviator style. Huge, dark, mirrored. Perfect.
Tset put them on. The puke and blood ruined the image, but he still smiled.
He then looked at the card:
Haliburton Co.
Call us for an estimate:
789.654.123.778
<
br /> NOT hiring
Simple block font on a woven paper card. Classy, sharp, but not too expensive in appearance, though it probably was.
Tset smiled again, and left, the sun just rising over the building tops.
He went first back to his hotel and showered, cleaning himself thoroughly.
Then, after dressing, he placed a call.
A woman picked up, "Ah, Mr. Tset? We're expecting your call. There is a taxi outside for you." She spoke eloquently with a lightly fluid French accent.
"Mmh. Coffee?"
"Sir?"
"Am I gonna have coffee and talk about this business deal or am I going to end up a in a sheltered bunker to be tortured to death. The guy I got your card from is far from happy with me right now and I may be uneducated, but I'm not that uneducated."
The woman paused, but Tset could tell she was smiling on the other end of the line, "Coffee. I'll let the driver know. Your contact will be one Francois. Should I book you for Starbucks?"
"I said coffee, didn't I?"
The woman got the edge in his voice. "Okay, something more, ah..."
"Less crap." Tset intoned flatly.
"Yes, something more less crap. Le Chateau Noir. It's a coffee parlor, I think it will appeal to your, oh, your darker sensibilities, Mr. Tset."
Tset wore a pair of black boots, jeans and a linen button-down. And his sunglasses, of course.
He went outside, it was chilly, a little cloudy, but pleasant. A man, English, very English, waved him to enter his car, a black Bentley.
"So, to Le Chateau Noir?" The man looked like Alfred, from Batman.
Tset's lips quirked in one corner. "Tally ho." He said, affecting a British accent.
As Alfred was pulling up to the curb in front of the coffee house, Tset was stepping out of the car. By the time Alfred turned in his seat to address him, he was gone. The driver huffed.
Tset did not like the English, and it amused him that they got so upset over the impudence of others when they, factually, probably were the main export of the stuff to other countries.
Inside a blatantly French man stood near the bar, sticking out of the crowd, exuding a greater, easier impudence than Alfred. He stood taller than Tset, in a heavy coat and fine wools. His moustache was thin to match his frame, and his eyes were almost half-lidded. He would have looked bored if there wasn't intensity to his character.
"Francois." Tset said and shook his hand, pushing some gothic teenagers out of the way.
Francois regarded Tset with a scowl. "'Oo dressed you, your muz-air? We wheel 'aff to change theese."
The accent made Tset laugh deep into his soul. Now this was impudence.
They ordered coffee, Francois, black, no sugar, Tset, black, brown sugar.
"Let's talk turkey, Frank." Tset sipped his coffee.
"Eh, yes, talking ze turkey. Your phraseology is American and sounds like feelms pornografique."
Tset smiled now, "Yeah, tell me what you need."
"Well, your friend, Tyle-air, he talked to someone he knows in our, eh, organization, you say, and well, he spoke very 'ighly of your skills and your, ah, instincts? Yes?" Francois waved his Virginia Slim at 'highly'.
Tset nodded.
"So, our company wishes to 'ire you for a time."
"What do you guys do?"
Francois took a delicate hit from his cigarette, barely heating the cherry, "'Aliburton, we, ah, we give ze morticians and ze coronerz, ah, zeir job. Ze 'igh class ones, anyway."
Tset smiled. "I'm game."
Francois stood and brought himself up to his full height, "But you must, eh, suit up. All our operateevz are ze best dressed, and you, my oddly American friend, look like a lunatic."
Tset laughed, "I love the French!"
He slapped Francois' shoulder and Francois pushed a card in his face in instant retaliation, "Call zeese number when you are ready."
Outside it was still a nice, foggy morning. Alfred waited in the Bentley.
Tset climbed in. "Mind if I use the car phone, Alfred?"
"Yes, you may, and my name is Geoffrey." He was clearly peeved.
Tset wore a grin, "Just pushing your buttons. I have a weird habit of putting off the English."
"I understand." He defrosted not at all.
Tset dialed the number Francois had given to him.
A voice picked up, the same one, "Ah, Mr. Tset. Come to our office. Geoffrey knows the address." She hung up.
"Geoffrey, you know where to go."
They arrived at what had to be the Haliburton HQ, if not a grand branch - it looked like it was a mile-high, this structure of glass and steel, surrounded by a cobbled moat and greenery. The front drive was a semicircle with many cars coming and going and lots of sharply-dressed individuals about, chatting with each other and sometimes surreptitiously speaking into their wrists. This structure had its own space from the clustered and tightly-packed buildings of similar appearance all around it.
Tset stepped from the car and, after a long gander up at the HQ, he went inside. A door man, a black gentleman, peeled off and followed him in, keeping pace.
The receptionist dialed a code and the golden elevator doors slid open. She smiled and nodded to him as he walked past.
He stepped into the elevator, the doorman followed.
There were no buttons inside, and the elevator chimed as the doors shut.
Tset sensed a vibration but no particular movement. Tset could find an insect on a tabletop with his eyes closed just by feeling its vibrations against the surface. This was a smooth elevator and gave rise to suspiscion.
The doors chimed again, and in front of Tset was a busy office scene. He noted that he was exactly 23 floors up, by the view he got.
The office was a large sprawl - all glass cubicles, high-tech computers and tie-wearing clerks running back and forth.
The door man, who, upon further pondery in the elevator, turned out to be a fine-tuned assassin of African descent, lead Tset pleasantly to an office in which two boring, our-lives-are-unchanging, but-we're-powerful-executive-types, business-attire-wearing men sat. Their neckties were of notable quality.
They stood, greeted Tset, and sat.
Tset took a seat in a large leather half-sofa.
"First, you're suspected of possibly being a, ah, a vampire."
Tset blinked. "A what?"
"A vampire. You fit the description. And what other vague notions of your physical skills we've gotten definitely point to a 'yes' in this area. We have a test. Will you take it?"
"Hell yeah." He wasn't a vampire.
"Good, now, immediately, take off your shirt."
Tset gave a quizzical look. "Do what I said."
Tset took off his shirt. He stood to do this.
"Good." The man waved and a clerk appeared, holding a velvet case.
"Open the case, you'll find something inside, its function obvious. Wear it against your skin."
Tset opened the case. Inside was an eight-pointed cross, sterling silver, white and pure. It was beautiful, but small. It hung on a silver chain. Tset picked it up, fiddled with the annoying clasp, put it around his neck, fiddled with the annoying clasp again and put his hands down. "Yes?"
The men waited. Then began anew, "We are simply intermediaries. But... you were proposed to be one of our assassins, as you know. You're here, now, having accepted through Francois, the terms and conditions of being one of our operatives," Tset noted there were no terms or conditions that he knew of, "There will be some preliminaries before you are fully accepted, but you will get some trainee gear to begin with. If you fail, you'll die. But, first things first, and Francois told us this," These men were obviously Euro-American, "we need to get you some clothes more suiting one of our operatives." The man on the left slid a credit card to Tset.
The right continued, "This is your card. It will have access to four accounts in your name. The first account has thirty grand in it for equipment, a second personal account, and then the other
two are hidden accounts in Switzerland. You'll figure out how to access those when you need them. We will deposit money for your tools in the first account, payments in the second and the others are for your own personal use. But they all lead back to that card and any duplicates you have made. All bank branches in Greater Europe recognize it. Needless to say, use it as a debit card when grocery shopping. It also works as an ID. The microprocessors will falsify any digital identification process you're put through." The card was black, somewhere between glossy and matte. On the back was a single gold bar, tiny, in the upper lefthand corner. 'Precinct Zero,' in tinier letters, was imprinted thereon.
The left slid a cell phone over. "That's yours. It's a fully encrypted hardline. It has GPS, but a scrambler. You'll show up exactly 1.4 miles south on anyone's screen if they pick up your signal. And, the phone and the card will disguise themselves and act normally simply by accessing the Emergency Menu in the phone. It also comes with a camera, games and text messaging. In an emergency, the phone is a flare recognized by our senior operatives.
"Now, go, get yourself some decent clothes and come back. We'll discuss your terms and conditions and the preliminaries upon your return."
Tset stood, picking up his shirt, and left, guided by the African from earlier who's name was Yonatan, he learned. The man was jovial and talkative. Tset enjoyed the company on the ride back down to the lobby and Yonatan thought it was hilarious Tset was walking around shirtless. He got looks from various people he ignored.
He left, climbed in with Alfred and Alfred pulled off. Tset dressed as the car pulled away from the curb.
They didn't speak on their way to the shopping district, but Tset did say, "You can take a break, Alfred, I'll call you when I need you, alright?" Geoffrey nodded and sighed.
Two hours and twenty grand later, Tset had accumulated enough clothes - shirts, cuff links, ties, pants, suits, belts, shoes, socks, sweaters, scarves, caps, overcoats, everything, a full gamut, running from the high-class to the working-class. Mostly in dark shades of blue, black and purple. Plus the occasional pair of boots, some denim, vintage t-shirts and a brown leather jacket.
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