Heather raised her MP-5. Lee shot past her, a blur that hit Eric and slammed him into the wall. Blood exploded everywhere. Lee stepped back, without a drop on his suit. A bloody ruin of bone and butchered flesh slid down the wall. Heather and Lee laughed hysterically.
The assistant peeked her head in the door. She saw Heather watching Lee paint Spanish words on the wall with her boss’s blood. She wiped her mouth and made her move. Heather spun around in time to see her grab a briefcase full of cocaine from the table.
“The bitch thought she could get away.” Heather’s voice came back.
Heather re-loaded and followed the assistant into the hall. She was still laughing when she fired. Her burst hit the briefcase and sent a cloud of cocaine across the hall. The second burst hit the woman right between the shoulder-pads.
The TV went dead.
“To this day the cops think it was the Colombians,” Heather said. She looked at the misplaced big-boxed VHS tape. “Are you back yet?” She picked the tape up, groaning subtly, as if the tape had weight.
“I think so,” I said.
“What did it look like?” she said.
“You had Sharon Stone hair,” I said. “I remember the style, from when I was a kid.”
“Weird, wonder why I can’t see it?” she said.
“No idea why you can’t,” I said. “I’m not sure it’s something I want to be able to do, anyway.”
“Wait, what, Sharon Stone, that style sucked,” she said. “Well now I’m kinda embarrassed.”
“It looked good on you,” I offered.
“I don’t think I ever got to watch this one.” Heather looked the VHS tape over.
“No shit,” I said.
She put the tape back in it’s exact place in the middle of the stack. Then she evened out the sides.
“Lots of times I buy movies and stuff just in case,” she said.
“In case of what?” I said.
“In case I get bored,” she said. “I really hate being bored.”
“You should get a DVD player,” I said.
“I have like, five of those downstairs.” She made a face and crossed her arms. “I got two Blu-ray players. I called it. Knew they’d win. Now they’re all obsolete.”
*****
I followed Heather down a hall lined with bookcases. Video game cartridges were arranged on each shelf according to era. At the end of the hall, where she stored the Atari games, an open door led down to the basement. A set of sterile concrete steps led down to Heather’s real lair. I walked after her into the darkness.
“This is where I usually hang out,” Heather said.
All I could see were her eyes. I tripped over a snake nest of extension cords that ran over the floor. Heather clapped her hands and the room lit up.
“No shit.” Of course she had a clapper.
“Ha, it still works,” she said, proudly.
A five foot long, plastic box partially blocked the stairs. The stenciled writing on the side stated that it was once Air Force property. The black plastic made it look like a coffin.
“What’s in here, a dead body?” I said.
“Yup,” she said. “I gotta remember to throw that out one of these days. It’s been sitting here for like, a month.”
“Oh, what the fuck?” I stepped back.
“Don’t worry about it,” Heather said. “The box is airtight and sealed. She’s probably a mummy by now, anyway.”
“Shit.” I could almost see the putrefying body, festering inside its military surplus coffin. “I hope you mean that the body is mummified, not that whatever’s in there is going to rise again as some kind of an Egyptian mummy.”
“I’m pretty sure there’s no such things as mummies,” she said, “the old horror movie kind, I mean.”
“Well I guess you can’t mummify somebody in a sealed box.” I said. “You need salt and stuff.”
“So, you’re an expert on Egyptian burial rights now,” she said. “Lighten up.”
I sidestepped the box and had a look around. Heather’s lair was full of weapons, mostly knives. There were swords and axes too, hanging on the walls as if they were decorations. At no point were you more than two steps from some kind of blade.
I sat down on a gray leather couch, grateful that a cloud of dust didn’t cover me. Several large flat screens flanked the couch, each connected to a modern, expensive computer. An old-fashioned leather holster had been crudely bolted to the leg of a polished wood coffee table. Heather kicked her boots off and padded around the computers starting each one up. I pulled a nickle plated, Colt Python out of the holster.
“These are worth a lot of money now.” I looked the revolver over.
“Pythons were always expensive, but you wouldn’t get any money for this one,” Heather said. “They can probably still trace it. It would be just like the cops to arrest you for some shit that happened when you were six.”
The serial number had been crudely defaced. A seven was all that survived. I opened the cylinder and took out one of the bullets.
“Silver?” I said.
“Yeah, we had a guy who made thousands of those. They have silver cores.” Heather hopped on the couch next to me. “Knives are better. I’ve seen vampires shot dozens of times, their blood all pumped out, still trying to move. If we gave them a chance they might have recovered.”
She took out her cross and played with it. Smoke rose from her fingers.
“Gold seems to work too,” I said.
“Yeah it does,” she said. “But nobody would spend that much on bullets.”
“I wanted to ask you about that, the cross,” I said. “Why do you wear it?”
“Maybe I’ll tell you about it, sometime,” she said.
Heather put three different movies on, one on each screen. I focused on the only one she had the sound turned on and tried to ignore the others.
“We should be planning, or something.” I put my feet up on the coffee table and pointed the Python at the irritating John Hughes’ characters on the main screen.
“Don’t shoot my stuff,” Heather said.
“I’ll try not to,” I said. “It’s just that, I really hate the Brat Pack. My sisters used to watch this shit back when I was a kid.”
Heather tilted her head back and laughed. She took off her jacket and curled up next to me.
“The sun’s coming up,” she said.
“Yeah, and we still got alotta shit to do.” I set the Python on the table.
“Our problems will still be here when I wake up.” She yawned and stretched out on the couch.
I fucked around on my phone for a while and deleted all my messages without bothering to listen to them.
“Heather,” I said.
“Mmh, sleeping, fuck off.” She rolled over.
I absentmindedly rubbed her feet. The toes of her socks were ragged and full of holes. Her claws were out. I tested the sharpness of one of the claws and felt it retract. Her split toenail closed over it and healed instantly.
I sat back, closed my eyes and braced myself for whatever crazy dreams were coming.
*****
I found myself walking through the call center, making tedious conversation with my former co-workers.
“Yeah.” I told a group who’d gathered around me. “I got a new job now. No benefits, no retirement and I’m going to die horribly. Just like this job, but I’ll die faster.”
I couldn’t remember the names of the half-dead drones that stood around me.
“You guys look like hell,” I said.
They stared back their eyes dark and sunken.
“Aw, fuck off.” I pushed past them. “I got shit to do.”
The cubicle hive became a maze. Somehow, I kept ending up back at my desk.
*****
“Goddammit.” I spasmed awake with a stiff neck. “That was the worst one yet.” I said to the sleeping vampire.
Heather stirred next to me. I felt sick and angry. I got up and draped her jac
ket over her shoulders like a blanket.
“I’m gonna get something to eat,” I said.
I noticed two restaurant sized refrigerators in the corner. There was no way I was going to look in Heather’s fridges on an empty stomach. I had a feeling she didn’t keep human food on hand anyway.
I didn’t bother locking up when I left. It was almost four o’clock. Heather’s neighbors peeked out from behind drawn curtains as I walked to my car. The maintenance man, neighbor pretended to work on his truck while he stood watch over Heather’s house.
“There any place to eat around here?” I said, ignoring his shoulder holster.
“Eat, huh,” he said. “There’s a pizza place two blocks that way.”
“Thanks.” I looked down the street where he pointed.
“When you get there,” he continued without really listening, “you should probably just keep driving.”
“Too late for that,” I said.
“Whatever, hope you find what your lookin’ for,” he said. “Hell, maybe you’ll find what you deserve.”
I jumped in my car. He knew. Well, at least he knew something was really wrong. Up and down the street the neighbors readied their homes for the coming night. I saw religious candles burning on deserted porches. Crosses and bunches of garlic hung on doors. I didn’t even know of a grocery store that sold those things. They must have been next to the unwrapped French bread. I drove past a man who darted into the street and grabbed a stuffed bear. He saw me and ran for his house. I kind of felt sorry for them, thinking they’d really made it in life, only to have a monster move in next door.
Heather’s neighbors haunted me all the way to the pizza place. I couldn’t calm down. Then the windshield changed. The streets were gone. I could see myself, projected on my windshield, just like I saw Heather and Lee shooting yuppies on a broken TV earlier.
I saw myself standing on Heather’s street. Her house burned behind me. I knelt down by a pile of bones and ash next to a charred wooden pole. Marcello’s necklace sat, undamaged next to a blackened skull. I looked up and saw the maintenance man. Heather’s cross hung from his trembling hand.
“Motherfucker.” I pulled the .38 out of my jacket, pressed the barrel against his beer gut and shot him, three times. “Die slow.”
I walked to my car that was idling on the deserted suburban street and pulled the AK out of the backseat.
I shifted back to reality. Somehow, I was still on the road. Some part of my mind kept on driving like normal.
Then I shifted back to a Heather’s street. Every house was burning now. People lay dying in the sun they thought would protect them. A mother and her two adorable children ran across a lawn. I shouldered the AK and cut them down.
“What the fuck?” I screamed and twisted the steering wheel. The real world came back. I was waiting at a stoplight. Tears ran down my face. I felt completely alone. I knew it wasn’t real. There was no way those chumps could kill Heather. No way any of it could happen.
The light turned green and reality fell away again. Now I was walking downtown wearing a long black coat with a backpack hanging from one arm. I had a beard and long hair. Just another anonymous derelict. Apparently the police hadn’t killed me, yet.
The point of view shifted. Lee and Karla watched me from the roof of an abandoned warehouse.
“He is beyond reason now,” Lee said.
“He killed so many humans,” Karla said. “The women and children were bad enough, but those dead policemen can not be swept under the rug.”
“It was a fitting, though somewhat excessive, tribute to Heather,” Lee said.
Karla made a face.
“We have to destroy him,” Karla said.
“Others will be hunting our hunter by now,” Lee said. “Let them take the risk and the casualties.”
As if on cue, a group of black-suited feds showed up behind them. They were terrified. The heavily armed leader nodded at Lee.
I turned and focused on the rooftop. Karla hissed. Her lips drew back over jagged teeth. Lee grabbed Karla and pulled her into the darkness, leaving the feds to their fate.
The image faded and I found myself parked in front of the pizza place. My hands cramped up when I pried them off the wheel.
“Where the hell did that come from?” I said to myself.
I grabbed my phone, then remembered that I’d never seen Heather with any kind of smart phone. Calm down, it wasn’t real. Marcello said it was just a possible future. I tossed my phone in the center console and got out of the car. My knees buckled when I hit the pavement.
A middle aged woman passed me on the way across the parking lot.
“Are you OK? she said.
“Fine, why?” I wiped my eyes.
“It’s just that, you look miserable,” she said.
“Uh, no, it’s just allergies.” I kept walking. “Thanks. I guess.”
I pushed the fake rustic door open and said, “Do you guys serve beer in here?” to the first person I saw.
“Uh, yes. We have-” I waved my hand and cut the hostess off.
“Just bring me a pitcher of whatever’s got the highest alcohol content.” I had no patience left for sales hustles. “And a large pepperoni with mushrooms.”
I tipped her a twenty and wandered around the tables. A group of middle-aged suits looked up at me, then past me, like I was invisible. I helped myself to their bread sticks.
“Thanks guys,” I said.
“Help yourself,” one of the suits said, desperate to get rid of me.
I found a pitcher of beer back at my table. I chewed on the stolen bread sticks and drank the beer right out of the pitcher. A few minutes later the hostess appeared next to me with a pizza box.
“We have your order.” She gawked at my empty pitcher. “Now please, go.”
*****
Heather was already up when I got back with the pizza. It felt way too good to see her. I set the pizza on the coffee table, next to a half full glass of fresh blood. Heather stepped over the table and sat down next to me. I felt her lukewarm fingers on my neck, then she kissed me. Her lips were sort of warm. I kissed her back, awkwardly.
“You taste like cheap beer,” she said.
“I wanted to start the day off right,” I said.
“Nightmares still fucking with you?” she said. “You made noise all day.”
I leaned forward and opened the pizza box.
“I started seeing shit while I was out driving,” I said. “Your neighbors killed you and burned your house down.”
“Really.” She raised an eyebrow.
“I think you need to move,” I said.
“Do all your visions come true?” Her voice had an edge to it now.
“They usually don’t,” I said. “I think they’re some kind of warning, though.”
“What did you do, after?” she said.
“What do you mean?” I looked up from a greasy piece of pizza.
“After they killed me?” she said.
“I think, I killed them all,” I said.
“Good.” She reached over and poked at the pizza with her claws like it was contaminated. “This is fucking gross.”
“Yeah, that’s gross.” I looked over at the glass of blood.
“I’ll deal with my neighbor situation later,” Heather said. “I planned everything out while you were gone. We’ll grab some of my guns and go back and get Marcello’s book.”
“Well, your plan’s simple,” I said.
Heather got up and pulled a sliding wall panel over, revealing part of her gun collection. Dozens of automatic rifles and handguns hung on hooks under fluorescent lights.
“Check this one out.” She took a nickle plated assault rifle off the rack.
“The A-Team’s gun?” I said. “Did you steal that from the set of the show?”
“No. Prop guns are rigged to shoot blanks, anyway.” She unfolded the stock. “I had a guy customize this, back when the show was big. I think it was from the
guy who made us the silver bullets.”
I grabbed an MP-5 and a couple of pistols, two old style Beretta pistols, the kind with the round trigger guard. A bolt action .22 rifle, that looked like a two-thirds scale Mauser, hung out of place at the top of the rack.
“It was my Dad’s.” She saw me looking.
We spent the next hour loading magazines with ammunition that came off the line when George Bush The First, was president. Heather put Point Break on the main TV.
“I don’t think that’s an Eighties movie,” I said.
“The Eighties didn’t really end ‘till, like, ‘92.” She looked over a corroded 9mm round and threw it away.
“You sure this ammo’s still good?” I said.
“Hope so,” she said. “We’ll bring a few knives just to be safe.”
Chapter 10
We passed three police cars on the way back to the Society’s art-deco building, driving in a car full of illegal guns.
“What happens if one of those guys stops us?” I pointed at a squad car idling in front of a bar.
“I’ll make them go away,” she said.
“Wait, do you mean make them go away by killing them or by using some kind of vampire power?” I said.
“Depends on how it plays out.” She smiled and clicked her teeth like Iceman on Top Gun.
The Society’s parking lot had about half as many cars as the night before. This was fine by me.
“Aw shit.” Heather noticed the problem too. “We need to get this over with. I don’t want to spend the next year hunting these fuckers.”
“Let’s just get the book,” I said. “I never liked the idea of massacring a whole bunch of people anyway. I’m not sure I believe Marcello when he says it won’t be a big deal.”
“Yeah, you know Marcello doesn’t even know how many people these guys have,” she said. “We’ll just shoot a few of them, get the book and it’s over.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said, relieved.
Low-Skilled Job (Vol. 1): Low-Skilled Job Page 14
