“You have vampire friends?” asked Frank.
Max shook his head—a bad idea. It sent waves of pain through his body and almost made him vomit.
“We aren’t his friends,” replied Kearny. He gave Frank a look that almost made him back away.
“Damn….” Tritter groaned when Skyler started to move again. He found Max’s errant pocketknife on the bloodied floor and jammed it into Skyler’s eye. Frank winced and turned away. The sound of the blade piercing Skyler’s eye and brain even bothered Max a little, though it was kind of satisfying to see him twitch and spit up blood before falling still. “I forgot how hard we are to kill.”
“He still isn’t dead.” Max steadied himself with his hand on the bar. “Take him back to Dwayne.” Max liked the idea of handing a white supremacist over to a sadistic black vampire. “He’ll figure out something to do with him.” As long as they left the knife in his brain, he’d be harmless.
Kearny turned to the now silent, trembling Michelle. “What do we do with her?”
Max put his hands on his knees and looked at the floor. It was still spinning, but not as fast. He saw a trail of blood leading from his feet to a smear next to the couch. The side of his face felt like it was stuffed with cotton.
“Call the police?” offered Frank. “If they haven’t been called already…”
“Do you have her?” Max looked up at Kearny slowly. The vampire nodded. “Make her think her boyfriend got into a fight with one of his gang buddies and she kicked them both out.”
Kearny nodded and stepped over to Michelle. She looked up at him with a flinch, but didn’t move.
“Make sure she doesn’t give a very good description of her boyfriend, in case the cops do come.” Max looked at Tritter. “Can you smell her drugs?” The vamp sniffed the air and nodded. “Find them and flush them. And get her pipe.”
“Go to Hell. You shot me in the head.”
“Do it,” Kearny snapped. He turned his attention to Michelle. Tritter obeyed.
“I need a hospital,” Max said. “I need to go to the ER, I might have a concussion.”
“Might have?” Frank supported him as they eased across the room. “What’re you going to tell them?”
“I fell down some stairs.”
“Fell down some stairs?”
“A lot of stairs.” Max made Frank stop at the door. He turned and looked at Kearny. The vampire was holding Michelle by the shoulders and whispering things into her face. Michelle nodded and took it in like she was watching a scary movie.
“Hey, guys?”
Kearny and Tritter stopped what they were doing, which for the latter was carrying a baggie of meth to the bathroom. The vampires gave him matching confused looks.
“Thank you,” he nodded to them.
Kearny went back to washing Michelle’s brain after saying, “Moonshadow told us to do it. Thank her.”
Not likely, he thought as Frank guided him through the door. The air made his sweaty flesh prickle. He pulled his jacket around his body and took a few deep breaths as the throbbing in his gut subsided.
The houses weren’t built very close together here, but they were close enough that most of the neighborhood would have heard a woman screaming. Some lights were on and people were watching from windows, but so far no sirens. No one came out to help them, either. Max kept his face down and gestured for Frank to do the same. Since they’d parked out of the streetlights, it was unlikely anyone had gotten a look at the license plate of Frank’s Vibe.
“I’m going to call Sadie to meet us at the hospital,” Frank said as he opened his car door. “You want me to tell her you fell down some stairs, too?”
“No.” Max winced and moaned as he climbed into the seat. “She knows what I was doing.” She was also impossible to lie to, though not over the phone. Still, she’d have seen right through it.
“Was it worth it?” Frank buckled his seatbelt and turned on the car. Max reached into his coat and withdrew three photographs. He handed them to Frank after he pulled away from the curb.
“We’ll see.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
In 1944, Boone still had a full head of dark hair that pitched to black in the rain. If he’d been less than what he was, the chilling downpour would have made him shiver. He stood resolute, along with four others of his kind, and a fifth. Boone didn’t know what he was, but his name was Pollus, and he wasn’t bothered by the cold, either.
Tonight, they had a special mission.
“They’re in there,” said Pollus, in perfect French. He gestured to a cottage at the top of the hill.
Boone and his men hunched behind a stone-and-mortar wall, despite being too far for anyone with human eyes to see in the rain. Pollus stood full at the edge of the wall, unconcerned with being seen.
“More than a half-dozen?” asked Luc, the oldest of the French vampires.
“I certainly hope so.” Boone pushed a handful of sopping hair from his face and grinned. Luc’s lips parted over two rows of perfect teeth accented by long, pearl-white fangs. “It’s hardly even worth our time otherwise.”
Luc was also the only one Boone cared anything about. Guille, Remé, and Beau could die right now as far as he cared but Luc was useful, even enjoyable company.
Pollus stepped over Boone and gave him a long look. He only had one eye visible, the other was covered with a black patch. Somehow, the rain didn’t seem to touch him. His presence made Boone uncomfortable. He tried to hide it, but it was pointless since his fellows were visibly shaken by Pollus, too.
Boone arose, giving him a look that asked more than he was willing to voice. Fear wasn’t something Boone was used to. Not for a while.
Pollus wasn’t human, but he wasn’t a vampire. The eye-patch suggested he couldn’t regenerate, which ruled out werebeasts and most other augmented humans. He didn’t smell like a demon, quite the opposite actually. In fact, if he hadn’t been here with them now, in the muddy French countryside, planning a savage ambush with a pack of vampires, Boone might have thought he was in the presence of something… holy.
He nodded to them, and Boone’s team rose, holding the stocks of their Model 38 sub-machineguns to their chests. Boone was the only one not so armed. He favored a pair of Mle. 1935A auto-pistols. His hands went to the handle of each at his belt.
“I am here on behalf of the Fuehrer—”
“You’re not a German,” interrupted Luc. The stranger didn’t seem annoyed by it, but he didn’t take his eyes off Boone as he spoke, “You’re not even SS. How do we know you aren’t an Allied plant?”
Boone nodded. “He raises a valid point.”
“And why would the Germans send you?” asked Remé, the most talkative member of their group. “Why wouldn’t they send one of their own?”
“That I am not a German is precisely why they sent me,” he replied, again in perfect French. “Things aren’t going well for your Maréchal Pétain. He has already publically distanced himself from the actions of the Franc-Gardes, fearing prosecution as a war criminal if the allies retake this wretched little cow-dung of a country.”
Boone tested a theory and spoke in English. “How do we know you aren’t an Allied spy?”
“I fight for the gold the Fuehrer pays me, you can trust that.” Pollus nodded. “What about you, American?” He switched to English and gave Boone a quick once-over. “What are you doing in France, so far from your country?”
Boone’s hands slid from his pistols. “Race ain’t got a country,” he replied, in English.
Pollus laughed. “Indeed!” He patted Boone’s shoulder and turned him to the cottage. His touch was disconcerting, like standing near a light bulb. “What very few know is that the Soviets have sent an agent to France to assist the Bolshevik leaning elements of the resistance.”
“One agent?” Remé twisted water from his hat and slapped it back on his head. “The entire Red Army could only afford to send one agent?”
Pollus looked at Remé across
Boone’s shoulders. Though the rain seemed to ignore his skin, it soaked his heavy trench coat and ran down the sides like a drain-spout. “He’s enough.”
“So, five vamps with light arms and…” Boone looked at Pollus. “Whatever you are…” Boone looked him over and couldn’t tell if he had a weapon under his coat or not. “Against one red bastard?”
“Beau still has that panzerfaust,” added Remé. Beau gave an excited nod and lifted the tarp-covered rocket-launcher from its seat by the wall.
“We’re not going to need a panzerfaust for one guy.” Luc raised his hand as if he would smack him. “Not unless our plan is to blow up the house.” He twisted his moustache. “Not a bad idea… We could take it from here and have coffee after.”
Boone chuckled.
Pollus shook his head. “That’s not the plan, we need to get close.” He looked at Beau. “And you will definitely need that.”
“Are you joking?” Boone winced at him. “We’re going to need five vamps and an anti-tank weapon to dispose of one human Communist? What’s this son-of-a-bitch’s name?
Pollus turned his uncovered eye to the cottage. “His name is Vitaly Koldrun,” he explained, unbuttoning his raincoat. “And I never said he was human.”
Boone made a clicking sound in the back of his throat. Now it made sense. Why wouldn’t the Russians send a non-human? He’d heard stories about Stalin sending packs of werebeasts into the Balkans. The Germans and Americans sent trained vampire agents all over the world for this war. It was naïve to think the Red Army wouldn’t follow suit in occupied France.
“So, is he a vamp?” Luc asked, thumbing the stock of his gun. “Or is he like you… whatever you are?”
Pollus shook his head. “He’s not a vampire, and he’s not like me. He’s something different. Used to be human, but…”
Remé laughed. “Is he like the Frankenstein monster?”
Pollus took a moment before answering. “Maybe if Doctor Frankenstein raided a tank depot instead of a cemetery…” He trailed off with a wave. “It’s not important. He’s going to die here, tonight. We can’t have the Soviets fomenting a Bolshevik uprising the minute the Reich leaves.”
“Fair enough,” Boone said with a smile.
“Hey.” Luc nodded to the cottage.
Pollus and Boone followed his eyes to the front of the cottage. A husky man in a dark cap lit a cigarette under a thatched awning. He had a rifle against his chest, suspended in the fold of his arm.
The rain began to let up. Boone threw back his wet hair.
“More to kill,” snarled Remé, rubbing the stock of his weapon. Guille and Beau chuckled with him, flashing their sharp, pearly fangs. Luc remained stalwart after the look he got from Boone. They were old enough to dislike surprises.
“I’ll take care of him.” Pollus opened his jacket, drew a Nagant revolver, complete with a cigar-shaped suppressor affixed to the barrel. The M1895 was, as far as Boone knew, the only revolver capable of being effectively fitted with a silencer. What surprised him was the embossed red star on the grip. Their new friend grinned when he realized Boone noticed it.
“You’ve been killing communists for a while, eh?” he asked in English.
“I’ve been killing lots of things for a while,” Pollus replied in kind. He cocked the hammer and switched back to French. “Get into position. When the doorman goes down, that will be your cue. Get in fast. If you see Koldrun, hit him with everything, up to and including the panzerfaust.”
“Wait.” Boone stopped him. “When we’re in, how will we know which one is Koldrun?”
“The big one.” Pollus’ eye met Boone’s. “Koldrun will be the big one.”
With that, he was gone exactly as he’d come, in a flash of light.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“You really hit those stairs hard!” The nurse pressed an ice pack to Max’s head and wrapped a bandage around it. His eye hadn’t quite swollen shut, but the whole left side of his face was purple. Max grinned and nodded—sending ripples of pain through his body.
“I know you from somewhere.” Max could only see out of one eye with the ice pack affixed to his head. The rather chubby, dark haired RN looked very familiar, but he couldn’t place her face.
“We met at a party.” She’d figured out who Max was right away, but didn’t seem happy about being recognized. “I’m Lisa. I used to be friends with Megan Crunk.”
“Oh yeah! You left before the pool fun… wait, used to be?”
She didn’t give him any further explanation.
Sadie picked that moment to arrive. She walked into the white examination room and noticed Lisa right after she got a look at Max. The two women exchanged curt glances. Max had no idea what the hell that was about.
“I didn’t know you worked at the hospital.” Max tried to sound like he hadn’t noticed any of that.
“Six months.” Lisa went to a cabinet and started putting away tools.
Sadie came to Max and put her arms around him. She didn’t squeeze very hard, but it still hurt enough to elicit a groan. Frank came in right after her but didn’t give Max a hug. He’d been in the lobby waiting for Sadie to arrive while Max’s chest got x-rayed. No broken ribs, just some really serious bruising.
“Can you give him something for the pain?” Sadie asked, like Lisa was holding out on him or something.
“We can’t give him anything heavier than aspirin or he’ll fall asleep.”
“I have a concussion.” Max leaned into Sadie and felt her breasts against his face. “So no sleep for a few hours.”
“Better if you can stay awake for the next six,” Lisa replied, not looking at him.
“Not much chance of that.” Max yawned. He winced when the stitches almost tore out of his lip. He put his hand to it and Sadie gave him a sympathetic look.
“How is Meg?” Lisa asked. Max couldn’t tell if they were still giving each other dirty looks because he had his face buried in Sadie’s tits.
“She’s great. Really great!”
Max grinned. She was overdoing it. He started to remember how much of a bitch Lisa had been that night, though there was probably more to it than he knew. Sadie was the queen of passive aggression.
“That’s good to hear,” her voice was small.
“Yeah, she and Garrett have been to Europe on vacation and everything is just really wonderful for her. She is so lucky.”
He squeezed her side to let her know to cool it. Like that would work.
She stuffed a piece of paper into Max’s hand. He looked at it over Sadie’s shoulder. It was her phone number, with a message for him to ask Meg to call her. She said please. Max looked up at her and nodded with a weak smile. Sadie appeared oblivious to the whole exchange.
“Well, tell her hi for me, since you apparently see her more than I do.”
“I sure will,” replied Sadie.
Lisa closed the door on her way out. He didn’t know if it slammed because it was heavy, or because she was a bitch. Maybe both. He lifted his head, expecting sympathy. He didn’t get it.
“I God-damn hate you,” she whispered through clenched teeth. Max widened his eyes, which hurt. She bit her lip and leaned back. “The bruises are kind of sexy, though.” She moaned and ran her finger over one on his face.
“All right,” Frank threw up his hands. “I’m going to the waiting room.” He left quickly.
Max gave Sadie an apologetic look.
“I brought Poppy,” she explained. Max nodded. Frank had a crush on Sadie’s kid sister. She was cute though, and might have just been neurotic enough to work out as a partner for Frank. She didn’t appear to share Sadie’s gift, which was good for her.
Sadie cupped the unbruised side of Max’s face. Before he could speak, she gave him a little kiss.
“You taste like blood,” she whispered after pulling back just enough that their lips still touched.
“I’ve been bleeding.”
“That’s hot…” She grinned and kissed
him again. “Did you get what you needed?”
Max pulled the photos out of his jacket and handed them to Sadie. She pressed her forehead against his as she flipped through them. Max didn’t need to be an empath to know what seeing the little girl in the pictures did to her. It did the same thing to him.
“She’s so little.”
“I know.”
“God…” She handed the pictures back to Max and stepped away.
“Are you all right?” he asked as she leaned against a cabinet and closed her eyes.
She took a little time before answering.
“I guess it didn’t really hit me until…” She didn’t open her eyes. “It didn’t hit me that people do this kind of thing to children—”
“These aren’t people, Mercedes.”
“Not in this case no, but there are people who do this.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. Max nodded slowly so it wouldn’t hurt as much. She noticed him wince and gave him a worried look. “Why do you do this?”
“To which this do you refer?” He tried to grin without tearing his stitches. “Breaking into a crack whore’s house or getting my head stomped by veepees?”
“This job. How can you do any of it?”
“Oh, don’t do this.” He put his hand on his face. “I hate this.”
“What’s this?”
“This is Jacqueline Bisset and Steve McQueen in Bullitt beside the highway after she walks in on a murder scene.”
“Am I McQueen or Bisset?”
“Bisset.”
Sadie scrunched up her lips. “I’d rather be McQueen.”
“I do this because it’s my job.”
“You don’t like it.” She shook her head. “Don’t even try to tell me you do. You’re totally miserable doing this.”
Max adjusted his back and leaned against the hospital cot. “I’d be miserable with just about any job.”
“Does anything make you happy?”
“You do.”
“Besides me,” she sounded annoyed.
“You’re welcome.” He rolled on his side and adjusted a pillow so it supported him. It kind of hurt to breathe, but the pressure helped. “I’m not miserable. I’m just not sunshine and lollipops all the damned time. You knew that about me from the beginning; if I remember, it was one of the things that drew you to me.”
The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 44
