“Did Yashar show you the business losses accruing?”
“I know the austerity measures and budget compressions we deal with.”
“What’s the strategy on R&D here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Companies spend months debating and arguing how to spend R&D. Two camps are always at odds. Continue spending on research because that’s the future products of the company or cut it because if existing operations flounder there will be no future company to produce those new products.”
“That’s always the problem. We’ve been at it tooth and nail.”
“Yes. I imagine you have.”
“But we still cannot show you the books because of the nature of the business.”
“Even if the books are cooked?”
“What do you mean?” Sandro caught his back against his chair. The metal rivets squawked.
“Take a look at this printout.” Garin shoved a half sheet of paper to Sandro from his folder. The page’s ragged tear shouted violence and anger.
Sandro scanned the partial page, “Where did you get this?”
A knock rapped on the door.
“Come in,” blurted Sandro.
The receptionist opened the door and brought in a pair of dark blue bottles of Massai drink the vampires consumed to keep the hunger at bay. The bottles jiggled on her little tray. Garin could smell her fear. She obviously had a certain level of security clearance and knew truths about vampires. Her fright issued from sensing the dangerous charges flicking around the room’s tight atmosphere. She had seen vampires in this mood before. She helped clean up a mess of accidental encounters before – in this room.
“Thank you.” said Garin.
She nudged the tray two inches from the edge of the polished granite conference table. Two inches more than she wanted to stay. Her fingers touched the smooth stone as she withdrew. The surface as cold as the vampires staring at each other across its expanse. She fled.
“This isn’t from any quarterly report,” Sandro leaned forward, “this is the Engineering Department R&D account from last year.”
Garin stared at Sandro, “I thought you’d recognize it.”
Sandro glanced at the accusing numbers arrayed across the torn page, “Possession of the other parts of this page could be grounds for the FBI to detain someone.”
“Possibly true.”
“Where did you get it?”
Garin stood. “I know Yashar approached the Bank of Draydon to sell the company and my Mother refused. I’m certain that’s why someone killed her. I see evidence of the financial train wreck escalating since her murder. I’m the majority investor and I’m demanding to see the books.”
“Ahh …” stammered the VP. “I’m head of Engineering. Not much to do with the financial accounting.”
“The anomaly you see is in your department. You’ll also know who in Finance is taking over Yashar’s responsibilities.” Garin reached for the door’s handle, “I want to see the books. Tomorrow at eight AM I want the books. If not then you’re fired. I still own this foolish place.”
Garin drove into the lot wrapping around Commerce Bank and Trust at the end of Main Street in downtown Livix. He tugged on the entry door and quickly found the special service desks to the right of the teller windows. A few customers hovered like ghosts about the bank’s deep quiet.
“May I help you?”
“Yes.” Garin slid a sheet of paper across the desk to the branch manager. “I need to see the signature card for this account of mine.” He arrayed additional papers across the desk including death notices for his mother and corporate transfer documents associated with the will. “Here is my driver’s license and passport.”
The bank manager returned with the signature card and frowned as she handed it to Garin. “There are quite a few people on here.”
Garin looked down the list of names. His mother plus another he didn’t recognize along with Yashar’s and then Sandro’s flourishing signature. Sandro’s signature had been dated two days ago. Garin realized using my own money to buy my company! Garin set the card back on the table, “As owner of the account I want to rescind these signatures and create a new card with my signature alone.”
“Any reason?”
“I found someone cooked the company books and these other names were involved.”
“Oh!” The bank manager brought up the account details on her monitor and spun the signature card around and collected it in her hand, “Good. Your mother’s signature is clearly the owner on the account, through the company. The others are only assistant signatures for the day to day business deposits and withdrawals.” The manager dropped a fresh card in front of Garin and he signed it. “I’ll also clean up the other account details.” she typed rapidly on the keyboard and Garin watched the flashing screens reflected in the round glasses dancing on her nose. “There. All set. Anything else?”
“I wanted to confirm the balance in the account,” Garin wrote a number on a slip of paper, “Is this close, plus or minus five percent?”
“Oh, yes. That’s close. Pennies different.”
“Good. I might as well get a safe deposit box and tuck these papers in there. You can have the box fee automatically withdrawn from the account?”
“Oh, yes. But your balance in that account is sufficient to waive the fee.”
-:- Five -:-
A black SUV bounded over the curb into the bank parking lot as Garin backed his car out of the parking space. The passenger window slid down and a chrome pistol thrust out by gloved knuckles, squeezing several rounds out of it. The first bullet hit Garin’s windshield and spun through the passenger seat into the rear seat pinging against the body sheet metal wrapping around the suspension well. A second bullet careened through the driver’s head rest but Garin had already ducked. The third cut through the top of the window and dug a trench through the headliner until it hit the underside of the roof metal and ricocheted into the rear seat and the heavy sound absorbing floor pan mastic vibrating the chassis with a thud.
Garin planted his boot to the floor and spun the car in a tire smoking curl. His driving reflexes engaged as he tromped on the clutch and snapped the shifter through the gears. He dove into the supermarket parking lot behind the bank. The SUV bounced over another curb and chased behind him. The parked cars smeared into a blur. He narrowly missed a few elderly shoppers leaning on their carts. The SUV bashed through a family’s cart rounded up with several hundred dollars of packaged food. Frozen pizzas and pressed hamburger disks flew into the air like skeet shooting targets while broken jugs of milk burst upon the pavement. Garin’s accelerating speed transformed the huffing woofs of air breaking between the parked cars into a rapid machine gun staccato. Garin shifted into another higher gear. He pulled the wheel hard to avoid a row of kids sitting on a bench eating ice cream with their bikes sprawled about their feet. He became funneled between the store shipping docks choked with semis on one side and the rising turf embankment on the other. Garin down shifted and turned into an excessive speed mogul that lifted the car over the short wall and onto the grass. His momentum slid him up the embankment until his tires dug in. He pushed forward over the ridge between a pair of landscaping boulders and onto the service drive outside the grocery store property.
The SUV crashed through the wall throwing red bricks thumping against the parked semis. The black vehicle bounded up the embankment with its four wheel drive close behind Garin.
Garin navigated his car through a few more intersections while the SUV smashed the front of a red Sebring spinning it around into a blue ten-year-old Mustang. Garin could see the reflections now from other cars and buildings lighting the SUV interior enough to identify Sandro driving and three guards in black anti-vampire armor. He pushed his car faster. He might be able to outrun them on the freeway. But the Dodge they drove likely had a Hemi motor and it could keep up if Garin made any slight mistakes. He needed to use another advantage his car had. But first some di
stance. Garin launched onto I-6 and spun down I-25 taking M-4 toward Ann Arbor. They passed other speeding cars now with the same huffing woof warning of air velocity exchanges – baying like dogs on the pursuit. Garin used the Nelson road exit as its ramp turned sharper than other nearby ramps and had little banking as it came to regular street grade. The SUV’s higher center of gravity might entice the machine to flip and end the chase.
Three guns pointed out the windows of the SUV and fired at him. Garin weaved among the other cars and stirred gravel and dust up from the sides of the freeway as he flew forward. He needed a sword to kill the vampires. “Why didn’t I pack one in here yet? Too sure of civilized resolution.”
Garin came at the ramp and rounded to the left shoulder. Inches from the guard rail. Then he cut across the inside of the curve to snatch at any piece of banking the highway designers inspired themselves with when creating this exit. He came up the ramp and floated across the inflection with slivers of vaporous air under his tires. The wheels contacted the cement again and skidded through his steering. He spun the wheel about and righted the trajectory of the machine at the intersection light. The light flickered from green to yellow and red. Other traffic started up from the cross street.
The SUV slammed on its brakes and still skidded around the inside of the guard rail. Sparks trailing like pheasant feathers. The rail held and forced the vehicle up the rest of the ramp and directly at the approaching light.
Garin picked his path. A long low semi trailer pulled across the lanes carting a menacing Detroit Tiger stadium statue headed for downtown display. A few cars honked their horns at being cut off but the long trailer fought with the sharp turn.
Garin came at the intersection. His speed and curling car demanded three lanes to make the turn. A small rusting Toyota with a driver that had gone on the gravel around the truck while busy flipping the driver his finger and swearing and honking didn’t see Garin’s shiny car flitting toward him. Garin’s rear fender grazed the Toyota and left streaks of nano-paint across its bumper. Then the SUV smashed into the side of the Toyota. The little car rolled over and over and over across the other lanes of traffic. Garin spun the steering wheel and his car straightened. The SUV careened through the opposite lanes as Sandro tried turning his vehicle and swerved between a delivery truck and two motorcycles. Garin nosed his car through the next two lights and turned west. He shifted into another gear as he crossed under the blinking light on the strip leading from town.
“We’ve got him now,” said one of the armored passengers to Sandro. “There’s no road out of the old landfill except this one.”
Garin accelerated and backed the steam off slowly draining down to a hundred. The SUV followed him quickening its pace assured of closing the gap. On the straight and flat section of road the SUV could catch up. Minor undulations in the blacktop at fifty miles an hour became little ramps and jumps. Garin’s car took them with ease. The SUV bounced. But that wasn’t what Garin waited for. He spun through the deeply banked turn at the end of the straight section and fought hard with his car up the tightly twisting road leading to the heights of the tallest hill in the county. At the second corner the charcoal remains of what had been an impressive oak tree thrust like broken fingers to the sky – angrily accusing the heavens of the lighting that rained down destroying it. Garin’s rear fascia kissed the charred trunk and spun his car in ever widening circles as he brought the nose around on the flat gravel and drove up the hill. He listened. The dull thump of the sound of a fist hitting a pillow cracked through the air. Jangling metal and plastic debris scattered. Garin pushed his brake to the floor and spun his car around.
Dust billowed both hiding and revealing views of the SUV. The vehicle flew into the air and tumbled end over end while spinning on its axis like a drunken ballerina. Broken and unbelted vampire bodies split through the air. A bullet grazed across the hood of Garin’s car from a bounding side-arm. But the SUV landed upside down crushing Sandro’s torso and legs. The other bodies settled in the dirt. Dusty bodies ripped in pieces and wetly red at the tears like chunks of chicken rolled in dry batter before frying
Garin sprinted from his car. He didn’t see any swords about the SUV. Only handguns lying askew in the dirt, as they are more easily concealed than long swords meant to decapitate a vampire. But he needed something sharp.
Garin remembered his metallurgy. He reached behind the wheel of the SUV laying upside down and yanked one of the longest leaf spring leaves out of the broken rear suspension that hung loose of the battered body. A knife edge gleamed along the jagged tip of the high carbon steel in his hand. He knew under a microscope what the cut edge characterized, why the metal fractured at the angle it did, how the softer core provided toughness while the much harder outer surface gave it strength and sharpness. He knew the methods used to impart these product features into the steel from heating them up in a furnace and dropping them in an oil quench before pushing them through a secondary annealing furnace treatment. But now only the sharpness of the edge mattered. Garin used this blade to take the heads off the dazed guards before returning to the pinned executive Sandro.
Sandro said as Garin approached him, “There’s more than you think going on.”
“Of course.” Garin knew what they both understood.
“I can help you.” Sandro’s crushed body already furiously knitted itself back to health under the heavy iron pressing him into the hard dirt. Sandro talked to snatch time from their conversation so he could get the strength necessary to escape.
“Not the kind of help I need.” Garin stroked the spring down through Sandro’s neck. He turned and threw the bloody spring like a helicopter blade. The jagged strip of metal spun over the arch of the hill and deep into the forest beyond. Anger or pain. He did not know what made his killing so mechanical. The vampire blood flowing stronger in his veins, the continued threats from these radical vampires, or what Anna did in leaving him? He couldn’t reason them individually but whether singly or combined the result remained – he felt more like a vampire now than ever before.
Turning his car around on the crunching gravel he saw his fuel gage indicated a need for gasoline.
-:- Six -:-
“Really nice car.”
Garin looked around the gas pump to see the owner of the voice until he saw her. “Thanks.”
“Did you make the tribal design and the color choice? Or do you have a number I can call to detail my pickup?”
Garin stepped around the pump hose so he could see her better. Long black hair and the unmistakable thin brown irises pushed tight against their outer rim. A pretty vampire made when young, athletic, and vibrant. A curve of a teasing smile on her face. Garin’s pump handle clicked that his tank had filled so he dragged it out of his car and rammed it into the fuel pump stand. “I chose the colors and the style. I asked a friend of mine to actually paint it. We did some computer drawings first until it looked right.”
“I like the tribal pattern. It seems like fun if I got a tramp stamp across the tailgate.”
“Fun indeed.” The fuel pump beeped at Garin. He glanced at the buttons and selected the six questions including car wash and other inane queries; he wanted it to end the transaction. “What color did you want to lay over the black paint you have?”
A breeze blew her dark hair strands across her face and she hooked them aside with her pinkie and licked her reddened lip, “I like how subtle you made the two colors, perfect for your car, but I thought I might use neon something.”
“That’s a good style too.” He also liked how her black tank-tops hugged her torso and revealed her athletic arms and shoulders, her delicate collarbones, and caressed her tight breasts.
“Do you have a business card? Then I can call you to arrange something … or look at my truck.”
He dug a card out of his wallet and handed it to her.
“Garin of Draydon Bank, nice to meet you,” she shook his hand with a smile and gave him her card.
�
�Claire Iyer, International Hostess. I can see how you might cause trouble.”
“Always fun trouble. Give me a call sometime, if you want.” An easy smile on her face.
Garin watched her get back in her truck. She gave a little wave as she drove out.
He put her card in his wallet and sat in his car. Then a twist of his key and the engine growled. He might give her a call in spite of their history together.
-:- Seven -:-
I sat on the steps of my apartment building wearing a scalloped skirt and a lightly woven sweater. More of a knit shirt cut with tan and pink and yellow color bands. My fingers fiddled with a costume pewter and tiger stone collar necklace I purchased a few months back. I checked the time on my matching tan watch. I waited too early.
On time an older blue Mustang approached. An ugly gash of red paint amid a painful crumpled fender marred the car. It rolled to a stop at the curb in front of me. The passenger door seemed rumpled and violated but not like the mess of the fender.
Brett came across the sidewalk to me, “Sorry about the car.”
“What happened?”
“This afternoon an SUV chasing a car off the freeway – and my bad luck – the SUV hit a red car that spun around and hit mine. They never caught the SUV. I got stuck with police reports this morning and had to call in to miss work. But the car still runs and I’m all right so the car did its job.”
“That’s bad. Some kind of racing?”
“No the guys in the SUV shot pistols at the guy in the first car.”
“Did the police give you any clues?”
“They didn’t know other than driver calls reporting reckless driving on the freeway. I ducked down when I saw these guys wearing black military armor and firing semi-autos. You’ve got to either be involved with military or have serious cash backing to afford that kind of gear and drive like they did.”
The Vampires Of Livix Twin Pack (Volumes #1 & #2) Page 22
