The Devil's Gunman

by Philip S Bolger

  “I meant no offense,” I said quickly, remembering that I was the one getting the transfusion. “You can come with me.”

  “That was not up for negotiation,” she spat. “I had hoped you would be a little bit more enthusiastic about my presence.”

  “Oh,” I said. “You’re probably my favorite vampire right now. Maybe of all time!”

  “Pup, I was dishing out backhanded compliments before your grandparents were alive, so spare me the passive-aggressive bullshit.”

  She released my arm. I rubbed it a bit and noticed some bruising.

  “I have other skills,” she said. “Mental dominion over the minds of mortals. The ability to absorb the life force from those who are asleep. That’s to say nothing of my considerable knowledge of the arcane arts, and you’ve already had a taste of my knack for strategy. I am quite powerful.”

  “You don’t have to convince me,” I said, putting one of my hands on her wrist. Her porcelain skin, unsurprisingly, was cold and clammy. “I believe you, Lotus. I’m sorry I laughed. I know you’re dangerous.”

  She smiled slightly, a trace of a tear again appearing in her ancient eyes for just a millisecond.

  “Yes, well,” she said. “Thank you for the respect. I am sorry I got mad. I suppose it is amusing to watch an old woman hop around.”

  That’s when understanding dawned. This ancient vampire, a woman who had lived lifetimes longer than I had, was lonely. Not in a sensual way, or anything like that. She was simply struggling for companionship. I wondered about her position in Roseville.

  “So,” she said. “When are we going?”

  “I need to get a night’s rest,” I said, “and I’ve got another person I’m going to bring on this mission. If you’d like, and I’m trying to be careful, I’ll extend you an invitation into my house.”

  She grinned. “Certainly,” she said. “I am going to bring some cards. I have a tournament this weekend I need to prepare for. If I lose to one of those snot-nosed children, I will be ashamed for weeks.”

  I nodded as I got out of bed. One of Lotus’ thralls opened the door for me, and we walked out. I pushed Lotus’ wheelchair.

  As we passed Doctor Zhang in the hall, I slipped her a note with my phone number on it. I doubted she’d call me, but I hoped I’d made an impression.

  Much to my surprise, she smiled when she read it.

  “We’ll see, Nick,” I think I imagined her saying as I walked out the door.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Six: Supernatural Sleepovers and the Art of Collectible Card Games

  Lotus dismissed her thralls when we got home. They went off to do thrall stuff somewhere away from me. As Lotus wheeled herself in to the living room, she made tsk-tsk sounds of disapproval.

  “Your couch, what happened?”

  “Lyndale Coven,” I said. “What’d you think?”

  “Target practice?” she asked, uncertainly. “Mortals have strange habits. I try not to judge.”

  She wheeled over to the coffee table and put down her bag. She withdrew several stacks of cards and began shuffling them. I walked over to my bar and whipped up a martini.

  “You want anything to drink?” I asked.

  “Why?” Lotus asked. “Alcohol has no effect on jiangshi. But I’d love some tea, if you have it.”

  “I think I’ve got some iced tea,” I said. “Would that be okay?”

  “Ugh, you upstart barbarian,” she said. “I’ll pass. One of the nice things about being dead is that you never get thirsty.”

  I shrugged and took a sip of my Martini. I hadn’t gotten the mix quite right, so I speared a few extra olives to cover up my misbalance of gin and vermouth.

  She had two decks of cards, and she set them out in front of her. She started arranging them in some formation I didn’t recognize, covering my table with a panoply of different colors.

  “Anyhow,” she said, “we’ve got a bit. Care to play a card game? I’ll let you use my best deck.”

  She motioned toward the cards she had in front of her.

  “No thanks,” I said. “My ego’s still hurting from that war game you whooped my ass in.”

  “Very well,” Lotus said as she continued laying out the cards. “If you wish to neglect your strategic education, I won’t attempt to change your mind. What, then, shall we discuss?”

  I didn’t really want to hear a bunch of personal stuff, though I was confident that, spending this much time with her, I inevitably would. But I could at least start this conversation in a way that would benefit me.

  “Any chance you’ll give me Zhang’s number?” I asked.

  Lotus chortled, a dreadful sound that was as much a croak as it was a laugh.

  “I suppose I could,” she said, “if you’re worried she’ll ignore that note you passed her. Collette Zhang is my relative, so I could get in touch with her. If you’re asking for matchmaking advice from an old woman…stop.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll leave it alone. We can talk about something else. I didn’t mean for you to play matchmaker.”

  Lotus shook her head as she shuffled her deck of cards. “I’m sorry, Nick. I’m sure you meant no offense. You’re obviously smitten with Collette, and you want me to recommend you to her. The problem is, I have no idea what to look for in a romantic partner, or for that matter, what traits Collette would look for in someone.”

  She sighed.

  * * *

  “Mortal love isn’t something I know much about. My experience as a human was…troubled. Clouded, I guess you could say. I did a lot of opium. I mean a lot. It was very easy to acquire in China at the time. My knowledge of what would constitute a good match for any mortal, let alone my kin, is lacking. Many assume, because I am an old, Asian woman, I must be brimming with folksy wisdom about happy marriages, smiling children, and other fortune cookie nonsense.”

  She looked right at me. I was still getting lonely vibes from her, but the look in her eyes wasn’t loneliness. It was acceptance. For reasons I still don’t quite understand, Lotus, perpetual survivor and strategy savant, older than at least half of the fifty states, had decided I was trustworthy.

  “You, though, you don’t see that,” she said.

  “No, I see someone who beat me black and blue in a board game.” I hoped that sounded like praise.

  She smiled. “That is my calling, Nick. Strategy, that is, not board games, obviously. I am a much better jiangshi than I ever was a mortal.”

  She sighed, deeply. “The Roseville Coven does not truly appreciate my full contributions. They use me, day in and day out. Lotus, do this. Lotus, plan that. Lotus, coordinate the solstice festival, but you can’t go because you don’t have the right look.”

  She angrily shuffled her cards and began to lay them out again. I feared another rant, so I tried to change the subject.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not from around here, are you?” I asked.

  Lotus narrowed her eyes. “I am more Minnesotan than you, pup. I’ve lived in these lands for a century, since I came over from China as part of my clan’s exchange with the Roseville Coven.”

  Fuck, 0-2 with awkward shit! This was exactly why I tried to avoid having personal conversations. They’re minefields of unintentional awkwardness, and any Minnesotan worth their salt knows the only feeling worse than sadness or pain is the feeling you get when you’ve been impolite without intending to.

  “I didn’t mean to—” I hurriedly said.

  “I know you didn’t,” she said. “I’m sorry. I get cantankerous. But, much like people presuming I’m a matchmaking maven, I get that a lot. Especially from coven outsiders. Oh, the poor, little old Asian lady, she must not be from here, better talk extra slow.”

  She looked at me. “I learned English when William McKinley was President. I watched some of these pups’ grandparents immigrate to this city. I watched the locals get upset about the new immigrants. Now, generations later, people assume I’m not from around here and giv
e me grief, or even worse, pity about it. That wasn’t why I accepted this damned exchange in the first place, to come over and be some pitiful spectacle.”

  “It’s fine. Can you tell why you did agree to the coven exchange?” I asked. “I can’t imagine it was like school.”

  “No,” she said flatly, the anger in her eyes telling me I needed to ask about something else. In baseball, a third strike meant I was done and had to return to the dugout, but since Lotus didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave, I suppressed my feelings of awkwardness and tried to engage her in something I thought might be happier.

  “Do you ever miss China?” I asked. “I get it, you’re Minnesotan now. But I miss St. Cloud sometimes, and it’s just an hour north of here. And you definitely like qipaos…”

  She looked at one of her cards before looking at me.

  “I can’t explain it easily but no,” she said. “The China I knew was destroyed long ago, arguably before I was a jiangshi. I feel more allegiance to my family than I do my heritage. The heritage I do respect is that of the jiangshi. My family is Chinese, so I am Chinese, but in terms of the nation and the government…I left it too long ago to have real bonds.”

  She smiled. “You are right, though. I do like qipaos. Such a nice garment. One of my few remaining memories as a mortal was admiring some nice silk qipaos in a store in Shanghai. Back then, I couldn’t afford them, but now I can afford as much silk as I want.”

  “How, uh…” I said, trying to find the words to ask her how she became an undead mage.

  She smiled as she figured out what I was trying to ask.

  “There’s a lot of lore out there about becoming jiangshi. I don’t know how all compacts work. For mine, the corpse, lacking a funeral, must be struck by a bolt of lightning, or the person must be ritually indoctrinated by one of the senior jiangshi.”

  “Which were you?” I asked. I probably shouldn’t have. It was a dumb thing to ask, and I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but I felt compelled to ask. We could either talk or play her damn card game, and my ego was already bruised badly enough.

  She looked at me. “I was told I rotted in the gutters of the Shanghai slums for a week before the weather managed to help me along.”

  That was a vivid image.

  “Well,” I said, “you look great now.”

  She frowned. “Yes, but I smell so foul. I can’t ever shake the scent of grave rot.”

  This caught me by surprise. She wasn’t wrong about an overpowering smell. She smelled like a truck containing the entire Sephora perfume line t-boned the flagship vessel for a major body spray company, but I suspected that’s not what she meant.

  “I can’t tell,” I said, which was technically the truth. She smiled, a casual social concession proving we could move forward with this and stop dwelling on the nastiness.

  “Anyway,” she said, “I’ve told you a lot about me. Thank you for letting an old woman vent. There is no one in the coven who will even give me the time of day. Tell me something about you.”

  “Well,” I said. “I’m a Sagittarius, and I really dig fluffy pillows. I used to like golf, but I think that was mostly because I associated it with making deals, which translated to money. I appreciate the 1980s as a decade and would vote for Mark Mothersbaugh for president. I was married once, though not anymore. I’m generally a shallow douchebag who’s more likely to judge you by how you look rather than by what you say.”

  Lotus chuckled.

  “No,” she disagreed. “That may have been who you were once. There’s still some holdover from that life, sure. But were you like that now, you would have refused me immediately.”

  She smirked at me.

  “I also wouldn’t have felt badly about offending a jiangshi who confided I’d never heard of a vampire with self-image issues. The idea of an insecure vampire seemed ludicrous—they were supposed to exude confidence and control. Then again, I’d never talked with one at length. Typically, we exchanged threats, then engaged in violence. Maybe they were all like Lotus.

  “I, uh…” I stumbled through my words. “I think we should talk about something less personal.”

  She smiled, awkwardly. “Okay, let’s talk about how tomorrow will work.”

  Finally, an escape from that damned minefield.

  “Well,” I said, as I pricked my finger with my pocket knife and dribbled a drop of blood onto the summoning stone. “That depends on whether I get the driver I asked for…”

  After we discussed the plan, we both kept to ourselves. I put a movie on in the background to help the illusion of normalcy. She kept messing around with her cards. I cleaned a few of my weapons, and overall, we spent a few hours being civil to each other. I kinda liked it. I mean, let’s be honest here—Lotus is a strange cat, but she’s very authentic. She’s unpretentious. For me, perhaps the least authentic, most shallow, personality-of-the-day motherfucker, at least in my past life…it was nice to be exposed to that kind of person.

  Maybe as payment for listening to her ramblings, Lotus gave me Collette’s number. The doc and I texted a bit while I talked with Lotus, and we agreed to go on a date on Thursday.

  It was about half-past midnight when there was a knock at the door. I roused myself from my battered couch, stopping to put down the VHS bolt I was cleaning.

  I opened the front door and saw that my summons request had been answered.

  “Amalfi,” I said, warmly, hugging the small, muscular woman. “You must come in. I have a guest.”

  “A guest?” Amalfi inquired as she walked in. Upon seeing Lotus, Amalfi immediately reached for a holstered handgun, drawing it with speed and aiming it at Lotus.

  “Are you mad?!” Amalfi said. “She’s a jiangshi! She could be in league with the enemy!”

  “Yes, yes,” Lotus said, waving her hands. “Relax. This mortal and I have a contract, we’re business partners. Sit down, have some booze.”

  Amalfi looked at me, the look in her eyes suggesting she wondered if I was incapable of making good judgments.

  “She’s been helpful,” I said.

  “Your funeral,” Amalfi said, relaxing a little bit. “For all you know, she’ll report to Lyndale as soon as she leaves.”

  “I don’t work for Lyndale, monster,” said Lotus. “I’m with Roseville.”

  “Your tribal distinctions are meaningless to me,” replied Amalfi. “I wasn’t the one who invited you here, nor would I ever invite your kind anywhere. Should you step out of line, I’ll eliminate you without a second thought.”

  “Save your posturing,” Lotus said, waving her hand dismissively. “I’m not scared, and we have to work together, so I suggest you make peace with the idea.”

  The two women stared each other down. Finally, Amalfi nodded, nearly imperceptibly, then looked toward me.

  “Take a seat anywhere,” I said.

  Amalfi flopped down on the couch, which creaked, but she didn’t seem to notice. She helped herself to what was supposed to have been my fourth martini.

  “You keep interesting friends, Nick,” Lotus said.

  “Very,” Amalfi said, sizing up the old woman. “Why have you summoned me?”

  “You said you were up for some adventure, last time you were here,” I said.

  Amalfi’s eyes glittered with anticipation, and as I told her the plan, she nodded enthusiastically.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Seven: Night Raids by Daylight

  I checked the chamber on the VHS and saw brass. I was getting a little tired of the weapon. It weighed too much and was a bitch to carry outside the range. I realized the bullpup configuration meant I wouldn’t be able to lie prone with it, at least not comfortably, which eliminated my most stable firing stance. However, it was the only weapon I had that was blessed by a saint, and thus invaluable against vampires.

  As usual, I was wearing non-descript clothing—a purple Vikings hoodie with a matching cap, a light blue painter’s mask over the bottom half of my face, and aviator sung
lasses over my eyes. I had a few extra magazines concealed in the hoodie’s pouch and some medical equipment on my belt, along with a knife and my VP9.

  I wasn’t carrying any ID except my Burnsville PD badge, which I hoped to use for a quick escape. I had some cash, but no wallet.

  I was sitting in the back of a panel van. Amalfi was driving, and Lotus sat across from me, but she wasn’t in her wheelchair. She was dressed in an ancient Mandarin uniform, sky blue, with a decal of a crane on the front. Chinese seals of warding adorned her odd, little round cap, but they were more ceremonial than purposeful. Her excess of perfume was still sharp, but at least she’d gone light on the body spray. She had covered herself in a cloak, but I had few concerns about her being noticed. Like her western cousins, she wouldn’t show up on tape. I would.

  “We’re here,” Amalfi said, pulling the van up to a pump outside the Road Angel station. She didn’t get out, and she kept the engine running.

  The station wasn’t too heavily populated—midafternoon on a Wednesday meant low traffic, which worked to our advantage. Security cameras were focused on the pumps to record license plates of people attempting to flee, and there was one behind the counter. I’d expected exposure. I didn’t think it would be a problem, but any exposure would still add complications I might have to deal with later.

  I pulled the van’s door open and nodded to Lotus.

  “Ladies first.”

  Lotus hopped out next to the gas pump and shed her cloak, leaving her full features visible in the afternoon sunlight.

  The station was in the middle of Uptown, and police response would be quick. We had three minutes to kill Anders and exfiltrate. I hit the timer on my stopwatch and moved quickly as soon as my feet hit concrete. Lotus hopped alongside me.

  Amalfi drove off as I laid down and raised my rifle to a high ready stance, scanning for targets. The plates on the van could be traced to a small moving firm based out of St. Paul that didn’t keep their motor pool locked.