Vampire Esquire's War (Book 2)

by Michael Wells Jr.

  "Hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil," Erik laughed. "In my younger days I would have blanched at such apparent self-interest, but I've come around. This kind of blatant self-interest should be admired. It is a form of rugged America individualism. In the last few years I've embraced Ayn Rand's philosophy of objectivism. See the left thinks it is selfish, but it isn't. It allows us to make lots of money so we can use it for the greater good. Don't you see?"

  Pierre fundamentally disagreed. He thought trickle-down economics was total bullshit. It was as irrational a theory as Socialism, but at least Socialism tried to help people. Objectivism would have to contradict itself to help people, and Pierre knew most objectivists rigidly adhered to their creed of veiled selfishness. Or maybe it wasn't so veiled.

  ___________________________

  Roland and Magnum pulled up to a nondescript building a few blocks from the White House. A narrow row house, it probably dated to after the Civil War when the population of DC really started to expand.

  Other than the number, 777, nothing appeared on the door. Lucky numbers, thought Roland. A lot better than 666, and this was probably intentional.

  The Society served as the guardians of the country, the secret sentinels on the lonely battle line between vampires and humans. Unlike the Maginot Line, this line could not be broken. If it were, unspeakable horror would ensue. No way around it.

  "There's the silver stake nailed into the brass plate. It's small, but it's there," said Magnum. "I haven't been to this location. They switch locations. When fighting vampires one can never be too careful. Superstition is necessary because, in a truly rational world, vampires wouldn't exist. They do exist. Therefore, superstition is necessary or at least some of it is."

  "I don't know how you all have kept this quiet for all of these years. It seems like someone would have leaked it to the press or something," said Roland.

  "Some have, but who would believe them? Even when all of this comes out, and it eventually will, lots of people won't believe it. Human nature is about denial," Magnum retorted.

  Magnum raised his hand to knock on the door, but the door opened. A tall man wearing a dark suit, white shirt and no tie stuck out his hand. "Greetings gentlemen. I'm Alexander Hamilton––not the real Alexander Hamilton obviously. Come on back."

  Roland and Magnum followed the man over a white-and-black tiled floor and then on to deep Persian rugs. They followed him down a well-lit hall with paintings along the walls. The paintings depicted romanticized scenes from American history. Washington crossing the Delaware River; Lewis and Clark heading west; the War of 1812 and other such scenes were shown. But then the scenes depicted presidents, but they were well-armed presidents. And they fought vampires.

  George Washington plunged a stake into the heart of a vampire dressed in a British redcoat. Andrew Jackson chopped off the head of a vampire in what appeared to be the Battle of New Orleans. Thomas Jefferson, clearly much older and already retired, impaled a vampire at Monticello with the sharpened end of a hoe as if he’d anticipated being attacked. He had been ready.

  "I know what you are thinking. These weren't exactly in the history books, but most history isn't in the history books. Surely you all know that. History is made not only 'great men' because there are lots of great, unknown men. If things work out properly, then very few will ever know about you."

  Roland stared at Magnum. Once again the situation surprised Roland. Not a bad thing necessarily. He didn't want to become numb and unable to view life with any wonder. In spite of these realizations, he didn't fee life had any less meaning. Quite the contrary, as life took on a more desperate and frenetic pace, he derived more meaning from the struggle.

  Before he went to war, Roland remembered hearing from enlisted men who'd seen action that you never felt more alive than when you had killed a man. The caveat was you had to kill a man you were fighting against. Someone who wanted to kill you, but you had to kill them first.

  Roland disagreed with this philosophy, especially after what happened in Iraq. He felt guilt. He felt shame. The experience made him feel worthless. But this opportunity presented the chance to redeem himself.

  Roland saw a whole new kind of bullshit here. Actually it was bullshit with another name. Fighting for a “greater cause” so more people could die and someone else could be in power.

  "Gentlemen," said Hamilton, "where I am about to take you is a place known to fewer than twenty people in the world. This is where we make the silver stakes, arrows, bows, guns and bullets used to hunt vampires."

  Then men walked down a flight of stairs lit by fluorescent track lighting on each side. They could see the end. It resembled the bunker in the TV show Lost, and Roland couldn't help but remember that the characters in the show had been dead all along. He hoped he wasn't dead too, stumbling through some sort of purgatory.

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the men gazed upon gleaming white rooms with thick fiberglass windows. Men in white lab coats and goggles appeared to be inspecting bows and guns.

  Alexander Hamilton led them down the hallway farther, and both men stopped in their tracks. They looked forward to see dozens of gleaming silver stakes.

  "These are the weapons of choice. If you want to kill a vampire better to use something that goes right to their hearts with ease. A stake is bad enough, but silver makes it more lethal. It is the vampire equivalent of a hollow-pointed bullet."

  "Where does all the silver come from?" asked Roland.

  "We bought it cheap years ago. And we've been buying it cheap for quite some time. Why do you think the precious metals market has gone up so much lately? I'm serious. We haven't bought it all using one source of course."

  Magnum already knew this, but Roland wore a dumfounded expression. How do they keep this quiet? he thought.

  It occurred to Roland certain vampire elements may pay very close attention to the price of silver as well as the purchase of silver. Silver served as the functional equivalent of "vampire Kryptonite," and it could be used to destroy vampires or to subjugate them depending upon the motivations behind it.

  Alexander Hamilton said, "I know this is new to you Roland. You've already learned more about our society than almost any living person other than those who are members. Soon enough you will be a member."

  “What does it take to be a member of the Society?” asked Roland. I've already killed several vampires, he thought.

  “Roland I cannot tell you what it takes to be a member. It is different for every person. After an appropriate feat of heroism the Society will vote in the meeting room under the Lincoln Memorial.

  “It is unlikely you will ever know the true name of any members of the Society other than the president.”

  Roland turned to Magnum and said, “So William Magnum isn't your real name?”

  Magnum laughed and replied, “Does the name William Magnum sound like a real name? It is about like Dirk Diggler or some other bogus name. I chose the name because I like William the Conquer, and my favorite gun is a magnum. There’s one other reason, but I’m sure you can guess. Once you are inducted into the Society, you will receive a code name as well.”

  Magnum, Roland and Alexander Hamilton walked farther down the corridor. The approached a room marked “Weapons.” Alexander Hamilton placed his palm on a scanner. Then a laser also scanned both of his retinas. Thick steel and technology, thought Roland.

  When the three men walked in the lights were low but neatly stacked piles of silver stakes sat in cubby holes, arranged by length. They shimmered in the low light. He could only imagine the cost of the weapons.

  “We like for members to return the stakes when their hunts are done although we allow them to keep at least one for their own protection. Once you are in the Society you will be given a stake with your code name on it to be carried at all times. It will be a side arm. We clean the stakes after they are used, and we believe in retrieving our weapons when we can, although we understand if you have to get out
quickly without your weapon.”

  “Roland,” Hamilton said, “would you like to try out some of the newest silver stakes? We've developed a dummy vampire and measured with mathematical precision to be ten times stronger than a man.”

  Roland wondered why Hamilton would want him to try out the weapon, and he asked him.

  “I want you to see you get used to it, and I want to see how you operate.”

  In truth, Hamilton didn't show any doubts about Roland's abilities as Roland's legend had spread far and wide amongst these limited vampire-hunting circles. He just wanted to see the man in action.

  Sensing Roland's hesitation, Hamilton said, “I have a confession Roland.” Hamilton paused, and then he smiled a cunning smile. “I want to see you fight. I've heard so much about it. I believe you will be depicted in paintings like the ones on the wall some day.”

  “Thank you Mr. Hamilton, but I don’t see how fighting dummies will help me or show you how I fight.”

  “No need to call me Mr. Hamilton. We both know it isn't my real name anyway. You can call me Alex. It is easier.”

  “Roland,” said Magnum, “it is important to keep up your skills with constant training. It is kind of like hitting a punching bag.”

  Alex led Roland to another room with a soundproof chamber. He opened the door, and the lights went dim. Roland heard a hiss and felt something nip him as it whistled by. It reminded him of the training in the warehouse in Chicago, the club in Chicago, the house at Lake Norman and the vampire prison in Illinois. He was no novice now. In fact, he probably had more actual hunts under his belt than man other vampire hunters, although not all of those vampire hunters were likely members of the Society of the Silver Stake.

  Roland did not have long to ponder; he found he had less and less time to think these days. He had to react but not think. Thinking too much got you killed. Thinking just enough kept you safe.

  Suddenly, a body swung at him and knocked him probably thirty feet against the wall. When he got up, he felt warm, sticky blood run down his face from his nose. It tasted coppery. It embarrassed him, and he felt rage. That rage had to go somewhere.

  He turned the rage towards the fight, and he focused it. He felt rage for what vampires had done and what they planned to do. Control your anger, he thought. Anger isn’t the answer.

  Roland saw the black-clad dummy, which stood well over six feet as it swung back towards him. But he was ready for it this time. He faced the dummy, but he parried at the last, stabbing it in the back and pulling out his stake as it slammed against the wall.

  Fake blood spattered over Roland's face, coating him. It even smelled like blood.

  He heard the whoosh of another dummy from the right. Roland stabbed the dummy dead on in the heart. This time he left the stake in. He had killed two vampires in less than five seconds.

  Roland was a good as advertised.

  Chapter 11

  Fletcher Hunter took a cab from the Cannon House Office Building to Apex.

  The marble monuments he passed harkened back to ancient days. It reminded him of Greece and Rome, and these monuments tied the United States to the grand narrative. The ornate glass buildings bespoke power and wealth that was uniquely American. If jazz was the only true American art form, as a famous writer once said, then politics couldn't be that far off. Politics usually didn't qualify as an art form, which was probably why no one said much about it. But most intelligent people agreed Americans took politics to a new level.

  De Tocqueville once wrote Americans could be defined by interest groups. This fact remained true throughout American history. Fletcher thought this demonstrated the strength of the American system, the spirit of thousands of individuals working together for a common interest.

  But interest groups had a dark side. When money and power came into play, some people got shoved aside and forgotten. The glorification of the individual tended to triumph in theory only. Powerful interests usually prevailed. And those interests were powerful because they had money.

  Of course each side always saw the other as evil. Perspective meant everything.

  Fletcher knew Lenin banked on greed and the power of interests groups. This would allow him to hide his ultimate scheme of vampire domination. He would cloak it in campaign contributions from Super-PACs. He would buy congressmen, and they would pay off like any other good investment.

  And when the time was right he would make these Congressmen vampires.

  It would be a thing of beauty. And with the swelling ranks of vampires it wouldn’t be hard. The final stage in an inevitable evolution. It had been a long time coming. Survival of the fittest indeed, Fletcher thought.

  "How are you doing Fletcher?" said Erik Dixon.

  Fletcher offered a fake smile. What do you think you know you dumb shit? thought Fletcher. Guy doesn’t even know what's really going on. He's got such a hard-on for the money it has blinded him to everything else.

  "Doing great," responded Fletcher.

  "I guess we are going to talk strategy today. We need to discuss how we're going to stay organized. Contrary to what the Dems say politics isn't so much a battle of ideas as it is a battle of organization. The more organized party tends to win. We both know most Republican ideas aren't worth dog shit."

  "Crazy," he said out loud.

  "Now, I know you are a player, Fletcher. It is about power, and we will take power any way we can. The thing about the Republican ideas is they resonate with people. Anger resonates with people because most people are angry. Most are pissed. Life's been a kick in the ass."

  And it will only get worse once we take over, thought Fletcher.

  "Okay. Let's get down to brass tacks, as Rush likes to say. The key to winning this damn thing is to win legislative majorities. In particular, I mean veto-proof majorities. The presidency would be nice too, but it isn't essential"

  "I agree," said Fletcher. Vladimir Lenin may prefer a vampire president and be frustrated if it didn’t happen, Fletcher thought, but it wasn’t essential. The numbers were the only thing that were essential. Enough vampires would carry the day.

  "The Democrats are going to be focusing on winning a second term for Thomas Elder so we should be able to swoop in and pick up a bunch of seats in the House and the Senate to gain the necessary majorities. Then we can damn well do whatever we want. Nothing will stop us short of the Supreme Court, but they already sold out in Bush v. Gore. We will be able to get it done in two years before the midterms, and I firmly believe the American people won't vote us out.

  "We will run on dismantling entitlements. The ones who vote will be so damn happy not to have to pay for Social Security or such high taxes that they will vote us back in. By the time they realize they are fucked they will be too old to do anything about it. These assholes think they can manage their money better than the government. We both know that's not true. They won't save. Hell no. The fuckers will blow it at Walmart."

  "For being a well-dressed, well educated, well bred guy you sure do say fuck a lot."

  Erik Dixon smiled. "That's what my ex-wife said. She also said I did a little too much fucking too and not with her, but that's another story for another day.

  "We need to tighten up our organization in each state. Hit the airwaves with radio ads. Hit the TV stations with Super PAC-sponsored ads. Our money is almost unlimited, and we are going to use it. Pound the bastards on the economy, gay marriage, abortion, and other ideological issues. The economy is the only substantive issue out there, but substance doesn't win elections. Not now. Not after the Neocons took over the Republicans and certainly not post-Tea Party. How the hell else do you explain the evangelicals being influential? Un-fucking-believable."

  Fletcher almost laughed as he thought, Humans are horrible predators. That's why they need technology. They are weak.

  _______________

  Fletcher needed to find more people like Erik, because they would lead the herds of people perfect for turning into vampires. Such symmetry to
this plan, thought Fletcher. Vladimir Lenin was such a genius, and this Lenin would succeed. The last Lenin did pretty well too, but he couldn't follow through. He based his revolution on the wrong ideas, and the wrong species for that matter.

  Ideas didn’t matter as much as numbers and working together. They needed mindless drones. The election and the aftermath would help, but the swelling numbers remained hidden, growing in the private prisons, the vampire prisons, and human trafficking sites.

  _________________________

  Human trafficking did swell the vampire numbers, but the vampires weren’t as resilient as thought. They were weaker for some reason, and weaker vampires would not carry the day—not when so many humans existed.

  Depleted blood line from overbreeding, thought Vladimir Lenin. No matter though. Our numbers will be so great it will not matter. This is our time, and I will not be deterred by a little setback. No matter how depleted the vampires are, they are still better than humans.

  Lenin bet the success of his plan—of the Vampire Restoration League’s plan—on vampire superiority.

  But sometimes the weak (or apparently weak) defeated the strong. David defeated Goliath after all.

  ________________________

  Inman hated kissing ass even though politicians had to do a lot of it if they ever wanted to go anywhere in politics. Now that he was a vampire he hated being obsequious even more. He didn't hate the ass-kissing solely because it demeaned him. He had thick skin. The people whose asses he had to kiss made him mad. They were such dip-shits.

  Most people in the Republican and Democrat establishments––the so-called "kingmakers"––annoyed him. Such self-important assholes, he thought. Even vampires such as David Taylor pissed him off because they had no reason to think highly of themselves. Yes, they could make money and raise money, but most of the time they did so through dumb luck or inheritance not skill. Could anyone ever be arrogant merely because something fortunate happened to them? Stupid people could, and he knew David Taylor, although not stupid, did not belong in the same room with him intellectually.