Reese gave her a five. “Keep it."
"Thanks,” she said, as she gave him a friendly smile.
"Is this what you would call a normal crowd for a Friday night?” he asked.
"It was crowded earlier, during the happy hour. But the past few weeks, it has been quiet."
"Why?” Reese asked.
"I wouldn't want to say ... but we had some bad kind of people hanging around, if you know what I mean."
"Like?"
"Oh the usual, druggies, prostitutes, drunks—you know."
"So what happened?"
"They all just ... went away."
"Disappeared?"
She leaned closer to him and spoke in a lower voice as to not be overheard. “I think the cops have some kind of thing going on. Like forgetting about due process and just rounding the bad guys up and taking them away like to another town or ... something to get rid of them."
"I think I read about that in the paper just today,” Reese said.
"You believe what you read in the paper?” She laughed. “You're a—"
"Sally,” the bartender called the waitress.
"Got to get to work. Nice talking to you. Maybe I'll see you around?"
"You never know. Thanks."
Reese watched as she walked away. She was kind of cute, he thought. Maybe he would—
"Mind if I join you?"
Reese jumped at the voice. His shock was not from the surprise of hearing a voice, but that he immediately recognized it. His own reaction confused him and made him think that perhaps he had made a mistake by coming to this bar.
"Mind if I join you?” the voice asked again.
Reese turned in the direction the voice had come from. His eyes came to rest upon who he had sought, the vampire Dimitri.
Reese's first reaction was that the civilian clothes Dimitri wore were a change for the vampire. Reese had usually seen him dressed in the camouflage uniforms the Navy SEALs had issued them. Now he wore jeans, a sweatshirt and bright white New Balance running shoes. Even in the dim light of the bar, he could make out the vampire's prominent Slavic features that even his vampirism could not change. The dark black hair, the hawk-like nose and the dark eyes on either side.
He would blend into a crowd and never be noticed—how convenient for a killer.
"Have a seat. I've been looking for you,” Reese said, trying to keep the calm in his voice.
"I know.” Dimitri said, as he sat in the chair next to Reese. “We are more alike in our ways of thinking then you can imagine, or should I say, than you want to believe. We are not very different."
"So, how have you been?” Reese asked, ignoring his statement of their similarities.
"Adapting,” Dimitri said, as if one word would suffice what Reese wanted to know. He smiled, showing his perfect white teeth.
"So it appears. I read an interesting article in the paper today. Seems the criminal element in Norfolk is suffering from an amazing attrition rate lately."
Dimitri smiled. “Yes, I saw it too. The wonders of the free press."
"You find it amusing?” Reese felt his anger flare. What evil have I loosed? What have I done?
"Yes. It is as you say, amusing in a way—from my perspective. I am over one hundred years old and the one thing that never changes is the mortal perception of things."
"What do you mean?"
"Even when you get what you seek, you still find a problem with it. We have transformed this city in a few months. We have made it safer, tourism is on the rise and everyone is happy."
"Not everyone. What about your victims?"
"They are just that ... victims. Victims of a society that has cast them away. I don't think the general public would agree with your position, at least not openly. They have their streets back again. They can go out and walk in safety without fear of being preyed upon. The undesirable element has been removed. As you say, the cleaner the better."
"I didn't let you escape so that you could come into where I live and kill people."
"What did you expect would happen?” Dimitri said, slightly raising his voice. “We must survive, just as we would have if we were back home in Kosovo. Need I remind you that it was your military, with your assistance, that brought us here? We did not come on our own. Your military sought to use us to kill your enemies—these drug cartels. You, unlike them, saw this for what it was—slavery. You freed us from our incarceration, for which we are grateful. But you knew what would happen in the end. As my kind has done for thousands of years, we prey on what society throws our way."
"Yes,” Reese answered. Dimitri's logic and rhetoric is so convincing. It was slavery and it was wrong. General Stone intended to continue these creatures without any concern for them as to their own existence. “I knew it. But—"
"No, my friend. Do not try and argue your conscience. You punish yourself for nothing. You know all the facts about us; you who have studied my kind and know that we occupy a place in society. We live as we have always lived throughout all these centuries. Our existence will go on. The only thing that has changed is our location."
"You make it sound ... so simple, so matter-of-fact like."
"It is. Are you so naïve to think that my kind does not exist here already?"
"What do you mean by here?"
"Do you believe that we would limit ourselves to only the Balkan region? My kind has been in this country for centuries. You know of your literature and film, your Interview with a Vampire."
"Yes."
"It is not far from the truth. It has the over-glorification that Hollywood does to these things, but there are some truths in between the ... how do you say ... the bullshit."
"But how have they gone unnoticed?"
"Ah ... you seek more information for your book?"
"Well ... I..."
"Your quest for knowledge is admirable. However, I will not relinquish it to you. I won't take the thrill of discovery from your grasp. That is what keeps us alive, both mortal and immortal—the thrill of learning new things. If it was easy, there would be no reason to go would there?"
"No I guess not,” Reese said. He couldn't help but feel admiration for this creature; to have lived so long and seen so much. He knows us better then we know ourselves. “So what's next for you, Andre and Illiga? If as you claim, most of the bad people—the society castaways, as you put it, have been taken care of, what will you do? Resort back to cattle and livestock?"
"As I said, we are adapting to our new environment. The article in the paper means someone has taken notice. The police will of course believe they are responsible for a lot of the cleaning up, but eventually someone will disprove it and another explanation will be sought. It is time for us to move on before it gets to that point."
"But how? You need money here, it's not like it was in the back country of the Balkans."
"We have money. Part of our adaptation has included creating bank accounts, the spoils of some our clients. Money has always been the solution to many of our problems. Regardless of the century, we have used it to buy our secrecy. Everyone has a price. We have already begun investing in real estate all around the country."
"Well, you certainly have become wise to our ways. So where are you going?"
"Somewhere,” Dimitri said. “We have one more issue we need to take care of before we move."
"What's that?"
"It's best you don't know,” Dimitri said sternly. His calm facial expression changed to a serious and perplexed look of deep thought.
Reese caught a momentary glimpse of the red glow in Dimitri's eyes as he thought about whatever the issue was he needed to resolve. He had seen that look to many times before: that red glow of their eyes before the kill.
"And what shall you do?” Dimitri asked, returning to his normal calm and casual demeanor.
"Me?” Reese asked. “I have a book to finish."
"Ah ... that is good, your quest for knowledge. This book, it is about things that most people do
not believe?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
"It is your passion ... or as you say, in your blood.” Dimitri smiled. “You seek to prove what many do not believe because you believe that people created these things for a reason, and in many cases it is based on truth of some sort."
"That's correct,” Reese agreed. “The book deals with myth and folklore. I hope it will be used in a class as the textbook. Young people need to know of these things."
"These things you refer to, do you not mean human nature?"
"People do things for a reason,” Reese began. “When we examine those reasons, we learn to understand people, their motivations for creating the legends. Whether out of fear, social turmoil, climatic changes or dozens of other reasons, people react to these changes."
"And how would you describe vampirism?” asked Dimitri.
"What all of mankind has always feared ... the penalty of living an evil life and the consequences that it brings, while for others, the escape of death for life immortal by the loss of one's soul; a double edged sword that can cut you either way."
"Interesting. I should like to read your book. I am curious to see how you portray me and my—how would you say, perhaps my outlook on life."
"Will I see you again?” Reese asked, ignoring Dimitri's statement.
"Perhaps,” Dimitri said, as he rose from the table. “However, if we should meet again, let us hope it is under better conditions then when we first met in my country. I remember the soldiers with their machetes posed to remove my head as well as their sprayers of the elixir poison, and of course, the collars."
"I remember,” Reese said. “They were following my guidelines."
"You redeemed yourself when you set us free and for that we are grateful. However, I and the others have agreed that if we ever find ourselves threatened with capture again, we will fight to the death, no matter what the cost. I assure you, we will kill anyone who tries to enslave us further then we already are."
"I understand,” Reese said, acknowledging the threat.
"We will meet again,” Dimitri said. “Our paths are destined to cross each other. Until that time then."
Dimitri walked slowly from the table he and Reese had shared and disappeared into the night.
Chapter Sixty-one
It was almost midnight when General Stone walked into his apartment in MacDill, Florida. When he shut the door, he slammed it a little harder then he normally would have, considering the hour and being conscious of his neighbors. However, tonight he didn't care who he disturbed because it had been a bad day. In his thirty-three years in the military, he couldn't remember ever feeling this way—unappreciated for his service to his country.
He unbuttoned his dress uniform jacket and draped it over the dining room chair. His eyes looked at the rows of decorations on his jacket and he felt a longing for the days when he had earned them. The real medals—not the bullshit medals they gave out today, but the ones earned for combat and real courage. Forcing his eyes to look away, he immediately went to his bar and grabbed the bottle of Scotch and filled a glass almost to the top.
"Damn fools,” he muttered and then drank deeply. “Civilians. They don't have a fucking clue how to win a war."
He walked back into the living room and sat down in his leather chair. He tried to not think about it, but the events of the day kept resurfacing in his thoughts, keeping the fire of his anger and frustration well stoked and burning hot. In particular, the pencil-necked accountant or whatever the hell he was from the General Services Administration who wanted to know where all the money had gone. Stone gave him a one-word answer to most of his questions: classified. This infuriated the little man even more and he kept pressing. Stone kept answering: classified.
If any error had been made on Stone's part, it was his treatment of the little man. He had things he could have told him that would have satisfied him and his little Congressional committee; they did it all the time. Cover stories to explain the expenditures of money to keep the government weenies happy. It had been going on for years and years—you told people what they wanted to hear and they went away happy—the wheels of democracy kept on turning. Life is good.
Stone had been prepared with all the false stories to tell the little man. But the little man wanted to feel important for some reason and spout his philosophical bullshit to make a point. Stone saw this happening and tried his usual soothing lies upon him. But it hadn't worked. The little man just went on and on. Stone sat and listened to the little man with the neatly trimmed and polished fingernails, the hands that appeared to be as smooth as a woman's, the slight lisp in his voice and wearing a suit that even Stone couldn't afford. Finally the little man said the magical words—the few words that could get right to the heart of a man like Stone; a man that had devoted his life to serving his country by killing the bad guy—the only real true diplomacy on the face of the earth. He remembered the words the little man said...
"There isn't a place for old warriors like you anymore ... the military is an obsolete arm of a dying body from an age where men were uncivilized."
Stone remembered smiling at the little man—just before lunging across his desk and grabbing him by the lapels of his expensive suit jacket and screaming at the little man. “You stupid son-of-a-bitch! What the hell do you know about me or what I do for my country? I'll tell you what you know—not a goddamned thing that's what! You masturbate at home or in whatever sleazebag bar you go to in the safety and security that I provide. Or is it when you're riding some other man and doing some rump wrangling that you sing God Bless America!” Stone smiled as the little man in his grasp turned white with fear. When the smell of urine reached his nostrils, the fact that the little man had just peed in his expensive designer suit, Stone felt fulfilled. “Just what I thought—you candy-assed prick. If only you had a fucking clue of the things I have done and what I will keep on doing to keep my country safe from the bastards in the rest of this world—you probably wouldn't be able to sleep—even when you were spooning with your boyfriend."
Commander Scott had rushed into the room upon hearing the commotion and untangled Stone's hands from the accountant's lapel collars. After some soothing by Scott and the offer of some clean pants to the little man as well as his promise to stay in the room; the meeting continued, but with Stone only replying in a single word, “Classified."
Less then an hour after the meeting had finished, the phone calls began, each one ascending in the chain of command; the last one from the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, summoning Stone to his office in Washington for an explanation of what the hell he thought he was doing by abusing someone with Congressional authority over funding. As the anger and realization of what he had done settled in upon Stone, he knew he had finally gone too far.
He got up, poured himself another drink and drank deeply. He was in between gulps when he heard the sound of the light being turned off behind him. As he turned in that direction, he was grabbed and thrown to the floor. The glass of Scotch flew and shattered against the wall. Stone hit the floor hard and rolled several feet before coming to a stop. He tried to get his bearings. The only light in the room was the filtered light from the street lamps, which plastered everything in a dark gray. As he looked in the direction of the attacker, he could make out a dark figure but could not discern any features.
"Who are you?” he asked as he tried to get back on his feet. Between the surprise of the attack and the Scotch he had consumed, Stone stood slowly but was quickly regaining his senses as he prepared to fight. The adrenaline and excitement was coursing through his veins and pushing the alcohol aside. Stone couldn't help but feel a smile creep across his lips. The idea of fighting someone, perhaps killing someone, was very appealing to him right now.
The figure said nothing. In the dim light, Stone thought that his attacker moved its arm as if reaching for something from a bag it carried. Then the arm swung in an arc and Stone heard something land at his feet. Without taking his eyes
from the gray figure, he knelt down and picked it up. When he had it in his hand, he looked down at it and recognized it immediately. It was one of the collars that had been designed by Commander John Reese to control the vampires.
"Where did you get this?” he spoke. “This is—"
Before Stone could finish his sentence, the figure in front of him blurred in movement and he felt a wince of pain on the side of his neck. He reached up and touched the spot on his neck. His fingers felt the area of skin that had been ripped open in a long gash. He drew his hand away from the moist sticky feeling. When he looked at his hand in the grayish light, he saw it was covered with the dark liquid which he assumed was his own blood. He looked in front of him and saw the figure was back to its original position. He smiled as he tossed the collar device back at the figure.
"Nice move. Pretty fast, aren't you? Score one for the bad guy,” Stone said in a calm voice. “Are you going to tell me where you got that collar from?"
Silence.
"That's okay. Don't bother.” Stone decided he would try and lull his attacker into making a mistake by talking for a while before he made his attack. “I see what's happening here. I ruffled some feathers today, didn't I? Becoming too much of a risk for some people. Time to get rid of the old war horse, is it?"
Silence.
"Why don't you speak? You're going to kill me anyway, so what does it matter? I'm just an old man living in an age that no longer needs my profession. Is there no pity in this world? Is there no compassion?” As the last syllable rolled off of his tongue, he charged at the figure.
Stone was a fit man for his age. He worked out every day and was in better shape then most of the men half his age. He was quick on his feet and had maintained and even embellished upon the skills he had learned as an Army ranger; especially his skills on how to kill quickly.
As in most life and death situations, one sees things more clearly because of the adrenaline high that accompanies it. One's own actions also seem to slow down to a crawl. Stone experienced this as he charged the figure. He did what any smart and well-trained attacker would do; he prepared for the figure to break to either side to avoid his attack. But the figure didn't move. With each step Stone took, he expected the break, but it never came. Instead, the figure met Stone head on.
Operation: Immortal Servitude From Declassified Files of Team of Darkness Page 31