by Kevin Wright
“Good spot for one.”
They had harassed him, herded him as a pride of lions does a wounded wildebeest. They had toyed with him, but it was late, and they had been hungry, ravenous.
But there was no body.
They had taken him.
The sun had almost risen.
Perhaps there still was time.
At a crossroads, he stopped.
Which way? There were no signs, no scent. They ended right here, right beneath his feet.
His guns were out.
He took a deep breath in through his nostrils and looked at the manhole cover by which he stood. He holstered a pistol. Then, stooping, he grasped the manhole cover up and slid it grating, a pistol trained on the darkness, to the side.
The light of the new morning could not yet pierce its depths, and the sound of water trickled in the mists below.
A spasm of panic wriggled up his spine; he inhaled deep, exhaled, quelling it as he always did.
“Tunnels and tombs, tunnels are tombs…”
Checking his ammunition, he nodded, loosening his knives in their sheaths. He drew a deep breath, as he always did before descent, holding it, and he cherished that foul, slaughter-tinged city fume, and then dropped silently through the mist, landing, splashing knee-deep in festering, swirling, darkness.
Chapter 39.
“SKULLDUGGERY, I SAY!” Salazar moaned. “Grrrrr. A brilliant career in narcotics dispersal ruined, destroyed, by the drudgery of law school. Oh, how I hate you, dear father. You wicked man.” His teary eyes opened wide in anticipation as he eased open his briefcase on the empty conference table. He often spoke to his briefcase, and always with love, and especially when stocked with gear. “So versatile. You can shoot it, smoke it, snort it, cut it, sell it, hell, you can shove it up your — never mind.”
He took a deep breath, running his finger over the clear plastic bags full of powder. “Richer, certainly would have a better reputation, position, though, in lieu of my current position as werewolf’s assistant, that’s not much of a feat.” Salazar paused and glanced up as the door to the conference room opened. “Yes? Can I help you?” he asked, though in such a tone as to imply, “Get the hell out of here.”
The heads of the five families strode into the room in single file, dispersing, stepping to, and sitting in each of the five empty seats at the conference table.
Salazar gritted his teeth. After shaking visibly for a few seconds, he settled, managing a grin. In turn, to each of the four men and the one woman, he nodded. “Chyme, Two-fer, Lady Jay, M.J., Pearl,” said Salazar, still smiling, hideously now, and shaking again. “I suppose we’re in session then?”
“Yes, Benjamin,” said Lady Jay.
“Fine, I wasn’t busy, not at all. Only place you can get privacy is…” He reached into his briefcase and withdrew a stick and then a gavel head. Ceremoniously, he attached the head to the stick, rose, and banged twice.
“This meeting is now adjourned!” he announced as the gavel head ricocheted off the table and flew past Mungo Jerry, who ducked. Salazar watched the gavel head soar for a moment. He blinked then threw the stick in his briefcase and snapped it shut. “Ahem.”
Two-fer stood, ripping his hands out of his pockets, spilling dozens of pills scattering across the table. “This meeting is not over, Salazar!” Two-fer leaned forward and scooped pills toward himself.
“I beg to differ.” Salazar slapped Two-fer’s hand, snatched pills, and stuffed a handful into his mouth. Chewing, chomping, “I am master of ceremonies, I.E., second in charge, and therefore, I dictate when it’s over. Therefore, it’s over.”
A loud crash resonated through the room as Pearl burst from his chair and slammed his two jewel-encrusted fists on the table. “Have a seat, Benjamin,” Pearl said in a deep voice, whisking his long blond hair back. “We have much to discuss.”
“Of course.” Salazar took a seat expeditiously. He fixed his glasses on his nose, cleared his throat. “Proceed.”
“As I have said, we have many issues to discuss.” Pearl cleared his throat. He spoke with a lisp, except when he was angry. “Chyme, as is custom, you have the floor first.”
Salazar added, “Chyme, you have the floor. Proceed! Report! Enlighten us with your wisdom!”
“H-hello my, my fellows.” Chyme fairly oozed out of his chair and to his feet, his words slurring as though saliva pooled under his tongue, which it did. “I just wanted to report on the Lord Brudnoy search. As you all know, he ended up in the river after an incident at the mayor’s residence. We were able to find some trace of him along the river, but lost it.”
Mungo Jerry sniffed loudly.
“It was near impossible to track him in town,” Chyme said. “There was no method to his madness. But … it seems to me he might have been headed into … ah, Sliggtown.”
“Then he’s fragged,” Mungo Jerry said.
“Shut it, Jerry.” Lady Jay launched to her feet. “Are you sure, Chyme?”
“N-no, Lady. Just guessing, but a good guess, I think. My boys scoured the rest of the city and under-city proper. No luck, no sign, not a peep.”
“Lord Brudnoy don’t peep,” said Mungo Jerry.
Chyme frowned. “Sliggtown. That would be my guess. Anyhow, my boys are double checking, but my question is, how far do we proceed? I lost one of my trackers last night in the mills, Jacob. The others are begging to be cut loose, to find him. I’m holding them right now. ”
Lady Jay yanked the toothpick from her clenched jaw. She might have been beautiful once. “We do what we have to, to find him. Then send more men. Arm them. Raid Sliggtown. We flood them.”
“Arm them? Arm them with what?” Mungo Jerry picked at his long yellow fingernails. “Shotguns? Silver knives? Handguns? Maybe you ain’t checked lately, Lady Jay, but we’re homeless.”
Lady Jay held him with her silent gaze.
“Look, I’m not trying to be a dick, but guns are worthless,” said Mungo Jerry. “Well, they don’t stop them, right?”
“They slow them down. And with silver—”
“Yeah, and where we gonna get the silver, Pearl? You gonna melt all your pretty necklaces?” Mungo Jerry asked. “Besides, the leeches are learning. Even if we had silver ammo, it don’t bust Kevlar. The weapons we got are old, broken, obsolete,” he cleared his throat, glanced left then right, and even then spoke softly, “like Lord Brudnoy.”
Pearl bolted to his feet and roared, along with the others, but Mungo Jerry held his ground.
“Am I wrong?” Salazar put his hands to his chest. “What saved him last week? Huh? What? No! It was dumb luck! Yeah, I said it, dumb luck. And who was it attacking? Berefold? No. Custaminides? A fucking Grimgorgon? No. It was a bunch of leeches. A bunch of fucking leeches, junky-sucks at that, almost killed him. Lord Brudnoy ten years ago, five years ago, would have torn them to shreds. That night, though, while we was all huddling down in—”
“I was not huddling!” Lady Jay said.
“And a whole blob o’ good it done, too,” Mungo Jerry said. “No, I ain’t saying you wasn’t no help, Lady, but you ain’t the one who saved us. It was a stranger. A fucking stranger who saved us and a fucking stranger who saved Lord Brudnoy.”
“He is our leader,” said Lady Jay.
“He’s dead, fragged, I say,” said Mungo Jerry. “Dead, dead, dead.” He pounded the table. “And if he ain’t dead, he will be, soon. Without his collar, he’s dumber than Two-fer. Sit down, he’s dead. If not the leeches then the cops. And I say it ain’t worth making more of us dead, to make him not dead. Besides, like I said, we ain’t got the arsenal to pull him out, even if he is alive.”
“You weak, conniving priss,” Pearl said.
“Then you go traipsing down there, Pearl,” Mungo Jerry sneered, “with your shotgun and handbag, and see how long you last against them on their turf. You ever been there, even in daylight, Pearl?”
Pearl’s nails scratched along the table into fists.
&nbs
p; “It ain’t just leeches, either, Pearl. You tell yourself that, you’re retarded.”
“We owe him,” said Lady Jay.
* * * *
“Oh, my, oh, my.” Mayor James Perry paused in his pacing just long enough to stamp out the last of his cigarette butt. As of last week, he had quit smoking for the last time. Denise had insisted upon it. “People who smoke are bad,” she had said, and she was right. Well, maybe she was right. Who knows? Who cares? She smoked.
James habitually quit smoking. He quit smoking after nearly every single cigarette. He was quite proud of this and believed it set a good example, especially since he’d banned smoking in all public buildings in Colton Falls. His crowning achievement in his war on smoking had seen him stand proudly by as the Colton Falls Police arrested five men for smoking in the Pleasant Valley homeless shelter.
“It sets an example and a precedent,” the mayor had declared to the press gathered on that auspicious day, and it did. “I, myself, quit today,” he had said proudly to the members of the cheering press and the five homeless dregs as they were handcuffed and led away. The sound of sharp rhythmic clicks outside the thick rusted door, which was the only entrance to the room, a cell really, broke James from his nostalgia.
Lil, it had to be Lil. He could hear how long her legs were by the sound of her high heels clicking and grinding on the floor. Oh, how he wished they would click and grind into him. The bolt mechanism slid from the outside as someone turned a key, and the thick door screeched as it opened inward, an obvious fire hazard.
“I just relieved your men, James,” said a voice that was all butter and cream. “Are they all so tense?”
“M-my police guard? You relieved them?” James asked, a stitch of fear in his voice at the meaning behind the word ‘relieved.’
“Oh, James,” Lil sauntered into the room, “don’t you trust me?”
“Wh-why, y-yes.”
“Dear, sweet, stuttering, James, I mean that I sent them home.” Lil’s lustrous hair shone in the dark. “They were so tired, and they so needed to rest. They wanted to stay, but I told them no. No, the city will need them. Their Mayor will need them rested this evening so that they might carry on their duties once again when the great blue sky settles once more into our realm of deep, dark pleasures. I told them I personally would see to your well-being.”
“Oh?” James perked up. “Well, that was kind of you, Lil. I was thinking that—”
“James,” Lil stretched out a hand, a finger, touching his pudgy lips to silence him.
For the briefest instant as her finger touched his lips, before the sensuality of her soft skin soothed and entranced him, before her green eyes hypnotized him, before her perfume enveloped him, for just one instant, upon his lips, James felt the writhing briny prickle of a sea worm’s spiny needle feelers tasting him; then it was washed away, forgotten.
“James, you really shouldn’t think too much,” Lil said, “or even at all. No good shall come of it, truly. Thought, I believe, is considered taboo in your profession.”
James couldn’t stand it anymore, and he blurted out, “Make me a vampire, Lil. Please. Oh, please, I need it. I need it so bad. Brudnoy’s broken his chain, and I can’t — he’s missing. Tried to kill me last night. Ruined my wife’s dinner party, ate the help, the guests. He’s coming, Lil, oh, he’s coming!”
“I heard all about it, dear James.” Lil rolled her eyes. “You were attacked, and so you came crawling on your belly to me for protection. Get on your belly, James. Now.” Her hands were on her hips. “Do it,” she commanded, and for all her beauty, her physical perfection and grace, all her sensuality, alluring eyes and mystifying scent, she was horrible to look upon in that moment. The room shrank around her.
His knees creaked as he eased himself down onto the dusty, rust-caked floor. He was wearing his best suit.
“Now James,” said Lil when the mayor was finally prone. “This is a position more suitable to my tastes, if we are truly to discuss your intellect and decision-making prowess.”
“My? My intellect?” James said.
“And decision making prowess, James. Please keep up,” Lil said. “You were hunted last night by Brudnoy. Yes? Yes, James, nod your head. It was no mistake that he found you on the very day he broke free. Was it, James? Do you know why?”
“Uh … he hates me?” James ventured.
“Everyone hates you,” Lil said. “Aside from that, the werewolf’s vengeance is matched only by its ability to hunt. They’re the greatest of hunters, James, and once one has your scent, no amount of running or hiding can save you. Thirty years will make no difference in your scent, or the raw hatred that fuels the werewolf stalking you. He remembers. And as long as he lives, your life is in jeopardy, James. If his legs were shorn off, he would crawl on his belly slug-wise through fields of rusted razor blades to sink his canines into your bloated carcass. You learned that tonight, and yet you still came to me.”
James blinked. “I’m sorry.”
Lil cut him off mid-sentence with a chop at the air. “Do not speak out of turn. You are not sorry, James, not by half, not yet. You don’t understand.” Lil set about strolling in a circle around James. She examined her long nails as she moved. “I don’t mind the werewolf, James. They are pleasant in their own feral way. Quite mad. It is what this werewolf brings with him that annoys me. The man. Winters. He does not amuse me. He is a demon hunter and possesses something — never you mind. The wolf follows you, and the man follows the wolf.”
James wiped his brow with his sleeve.
“We really must erect a monument to your stupidity,” Lil said. “First, you fail to bring me the gun, the one thing I desire. And when you do fail, what do you do to make up for it? You leave a trail of breadcrumbs to guide a demon-hunter into my very home. Then you have the temerity ask me to give you the gift of unlife.”
“I had Winters fired, though,” James blurted out.
“Cut him loose from any form of control or influence you could have exerted over him, you mean?” Lil said. “Now not even the pitiful excuse of the law holds sway over him. And I still do not possess the gun.”
“What’s so special about that gun?” asked James.
“You only need to know that I wanted it,” Lil said, “and you failed to retrieve it for me. You continuously fail me, James.” She shook her head back and forth.
“Maybe if I were a vampire?”
“I would have no use for you as a vampire, James,” Lil said. “Be glad you still are of some use to me as a man, if that is indeed what you are.” Lil strode out the door. “Come James.”
James pushed himself up slowly, and Lil’s voice cut through the thick steel door. “No, stay on your belly James,” echoed her voice. “We’ll find quarters more suitable for you. And perhaps a use as well.”
* * * *
“Oh, yeah, that looks good. Mmmmmm, yummy.” Sid peeled the wrapper halfway back on his egg, cheese, and bacon sandwich. He took a hefty bite and chewed slowly, eyes closed. Then he placed it back on the empty passenger seat of his car. Sid opened his eyes; the light ahead was green, and he drove on, glad to be alive. Glad to be watching another sunrise. Glad to be eating another tasty breakfast sandwich.
Last night had been close, real close, too close. Sid was not a connoisseur of the finer things in life, perhaps just the finest: freedom. Freedom, the only thing Sid really cared about, and it was reflected in many aspects of his life. His job, for example, as a taxicab driver was one aspect. He drove around all day driving people where they wanted to go. Except for the occasional cranky customer, and they could all go fuck themselves, and he had no problem explaining that to them in those exact terms, Sid was his own boss. He drove and owned his own cab. No one told him when to punch in or out.
“Hey, jackass!” he yelled out the window. “Move it!”
For the most part, Sid was content, if not happy. It was when that freedom was taken away that he lost it. When he was pushed around that th
e walls started closing in on him, and he found it hard to breathe.
Last night he had found it hard to breathe. Last night, for a time, he had lost his freedom, and, he knew, very nearly his life. He took a deep breath and the last bite of his sandwich. Then he crumpled the wrapper up and tossed it out the window.
Sid hated a mess in his cab, and these past few days had been trying. Last night had been very trying. A man on the side of the walk hailed him as he drove on, not stopping.
“Screw you!” the man screamed.
No, Sid made his own hours, and right now, he was off duty. Yup, he was going home, taking a nice long bath, and then getting some serious shuteye. He hadn’t had any last night.
“Straight home, no delays.” He turned the taxi onto the bridge. “Ah, shit!” He pulled up alongside a bus stopped near the middle of the bridge. Its red stop sign was out, and so Sid could not go past, legally. He glanced behind for cops. He couldn’t afford a ticket.
With a click, he turned the knob on his police scanner and turned up the volume. Police scanners were a source of entertainment for him. Nothing better than listening to a high-speed chase unfold over the air. He loved it, loved hearing about someone down, someone who had it worse than him, and the guys being chased always had it worse, or would, real soon.
“Car 18, car 18, your location?” chirped the police dispatcher over the radio. Sid knew the female dispatcher’s voice and wondered what she looked like. She sounded like a babe, but you never could tell.
“Operations, car 18, at the intersection of Basswood and Casa Verde,” answered the officer.
“Respond to the Joyce Bridge, in the center, for the possible jumper,” the dispatcher continued on, “approximately 16 to 25-year-old male, reportedly brandishing a gun. This came to us from a school bus on scene. Car 25 and 34 will be your immediate backup. Sergeant Grimes will also be responding, but you are closest. Proceed with caution, sir.”
Sirens blared over the radio even as the officer answered, “Ten-four. Joyce Bridge. Armed and dangerous.”