Blood Conspiracy (Brooklyn Shadows Book 2)

by Brock Deskins

  “You can bet I’m going to look at that footage.”

  Castillo ends the call and looks as though she is about to hurl her phone against the wall.

  I quirk an eyebrow and ask, “Is there a problem?”

  “You knew that sample was crap!”

  “Did I?”

  “I don’t know what you did or how you did it, but I’m going to bury you, Malone.”

  “Well, while you are out buying a new shovel, I’ll be taking my client home now,” Will says.

  Castillo gives us an imperceptible nod, and Will escorts me out. She doesn’t bother to issue any more threats and just sits staring at the wall, likely trying to decide whether or not to just shoot me next time.

  “So, what is with the blood in your fridge?” Will asks once we’re outside.

  “Like you said, I have a medical condition.”

  “Just for my own curiosity, are you a serial killer?”

  “Would it be a problem if I was?”

  “Are you kidding, defending you if you got caught would make my career. I would be the white Johnnie Cochran.”

  “I don’t think you have the rhyming skills or endearing personality.”

  “I can be endearing!”

  “You are the only person I know who is less likeable than I am.”

  “That’s very hurtful. I’m glad I have your money to wipe away my tears.”

  ***

  (Castillo)

  “I had him!”

  “You did, but you shouldn’t have,” Captain Starks insists. “I just spent the last half hour getting my ass chewed off by Judge Reinholt because you tricked him into issuing a warrant under false pretenses!”

  I knew this was coming the moment Parker told me of the lab results, but that foreknowledge does nothing to calm my fury or ease my humiliation.

  “They weren’t false! I saw him!”

  “According to every other person on scene, you saw the back of a hooded head poking out of a hole in the floor.”

  “They don’t know him like I do. I know it was him.”

  “I don’t care what you know or your gut tells you. The next time you arrest Malone, you had better catch him in the act, standing over a body, with a weapon in his hand, and a videotaped confession. Do you know who judges talk to? Judges talk to mayors, mayors talk to governors, and governors talk to senators who talk to the president. When shit rolls that far downhill it’s a building-sized pile by the time it lands on my desk! You’re a good cop, but your obsession with Malone is going to cost you your badge and maybe even get you put in jail instead of him.”

  “Malone is maybe one of the biggest problems plaguing this city, and no one else seems to realize it. He has a refrigerator full of blood for fuck’s sake!”

  “In jars or something?”

  “In bags, like from a hospital. He says he has a medical condition.”

  Captain Starks grins. “You think he’s a vampire or something?”

  “I think he’s Dexter fucking Morgan! Maybe he does have a medical condition, or maybe those are his trophies.”

  “I don’t care if he’s the next Osama Bin Laden. You need to back off unless your evidence is concrete enough to build the foundation for his prison.”

  “I won’t arrest him until it’s a sure thing, but I’ll never back off. He’s a killer, and I’m going to prove it.”

  “Just make sure you can prove it to the point even his own mother thinks he’s guilty.”

  CHAPTER 3

  (Leo)

  Katherine is parked in front of my loft and waiting for me when Will and I arrive. Not only is she a striking blonde bombshell and the assistant DA, she’s a half werewolf who could do a lot better than me. Even after a year, I wonder how I got so lucky in finding someone like her who is willing to tolerate my bullshit.

  “Hey, Kat,” Will calls through the open window of his car.

  “Hi, Will. I guess you didn’t need me.”

  “Naw, Castillo had jack shit like usual.”

  I lean into the open passenger door after I get out. “Thanks again, Will.”

  Will sticks his arm out the window and waves as he drives off, and Katherine wraps me in her arms.

  “Shouldn’t you be at work?” I ask.

  “Shouldn’t you be in jail?”

  “Of course not, why do you think I pay Will so much and bang the DA?”

  Kat pushes me away and punches me in the chest. “Ass.”

  She hooks her arm in mine, and we walk into my loft. I growl when I see my place looks as though someone burglarized it. My armory door is still closed, so I assume they didn’t find it.

  “Goddammit,” I curse when I see the open door of my refrigerator.

  Castillo’s people obviously got word to leave it alone and “accidentally” forgot to close the door.

  I toss the ruined blood bags into my furnace. Most of the ashy contents are strewn onto the floor where they were obviously raked through quite thoroughly. I need to call in for a resupply. Our blood people belong to the same section that does our emergency body cleanup, so I get the typical amount of shit from the guy before he places my order. Other than keeping them busy, I don’t know why they give me so much grief.

  “Are you going to go out again tonight?” Katherine asks.

  “I have to. This guy is a real problem, and he’s smarter than most of the others I’ve brought in lately.”

  “Are you going to have to feed?”

  Kat accepts the requirements of my nature, but it doesn’t come easy. I’d probably like her a whole lot less if it did. It’s a nasty business but unavoidable if I don’t want to die a horrible, lingering death while being driven into madness. Vampires can live on bagged blood for a time or take enough fresh stuff from victims without killing them, but only for so long. At my age, I only have to do a full feeding, meaning to the death, three or four times a year depending on my activities. Fights like ones I’ve been in the last year bumps that number up a bit. The need also increases as I get older. I don’t want to think about how many times elders like Vincent have to take a life in order to maintain a healthy existence. It’s a good thing there’s not many of us, and it’s not that hard to go unnoticed when there’s seven billion cattle to feed on.

  “Yeah, I can’t let him get the jump on me again. I know he’ll have done a full feeding after I shot him, and I’ll have to do the same to be on top of my game.”

  She smiles at me coyly. “Speaking of being on top, I still have half an hour left on my lunch break.”

  It takes less than a minute before we’re naked and gripped in the throes of passion. Until I met Katherine almost a year ago, I had done a good job of keeping everyone away from me. Kat was the kind of woman who would not let anyone or anything deter her when she set her sights on something. For some reason I have yet to understand, those sights got set on me, and she broke through my emotional walls despite my best efforts.

  Our liaisons are often these short visits on account of my tendency to try and kill her, or anyone near me, in my sleep. I’m sure we both wonder if I’m ever going to shake my flashbacks, but we don’t talk about it much. She accepts it as part of my nature, which is just one of the many things I love about her.

  Our lovemaking is short and fierce, driven by the animal within each of us, an animal we both fight to suppress but let run free when we are together. It is a rare time when Kat can embrace her werewolf nature and I feel truly alive. I can go an eternity without taking a breath except to speak, but during sex, I completely forget my vampiric nature and find myself gasping in ecstasy. We lie in other’s arms for only a few minutes before Katherine jumps up and puts her clothes back on.

  “I better get back to work. Try not to get arrested again today.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I doubt it.”

  She’s right. Even if I try to avoid trouble, trouble has no problem finding me.

  ***

  A knock at my door just as I’m getting
ready to head out for the night illustrates my earlier point perfectly. My blood order arrived a couple of hours ago, so I’m pretty sure it is someone I have no interest in seeing. A client would have gone upstairs to my office, and Kat isn’t likely to be coming back tonight since she knows I am going out.

  Given the fact I pretty much have no other friends, it isn’t hard to deduce the likelihood of it being an unwanted visitor. It’s also unlikely to be a threat since few assailants bother to knock, but I slip my blade into the sheath sewn into my trench coat and make sure Shalonda is resting comfortably in my pocket holster.

  I lift the hundred-pound steel bar from the cradle and open the door. As I suspected, it’s unwanted visitors. Three Sheriffs stand outside with their hands crossed in front of them. Two more Sheriffs stand next to a black van parked a few yards away with the side door open.

  “Is it prom night already? Damn, I’m not even dressed yet.” Sven doesn’t seem to have a problem not smiling at my joke.

  “Vincent requests your presence,” Sven says with a strong Swedish accent.

  “Why doesn’t he ever just call? It would save money on gas.”

  “You have once again forgotten to update your contact number.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t forget.”

  “You will come.”

  It’s hard to tell if Sven is asking me or telling me given his lilting accent. I assume it’s not a request despite what he said earlier, so I lock up and climb into the vehicle. The van lurches into motion with a spray of gravel before the sliding door slams shut, and we’re soon speeding across the Brooklyn Bridge on our way to Lower Manhattan. We stop before a black skyscraper on Madison Avenue which looms over Central Park.

  Alicia, a young black woman, who is attractive despite her shaved head, slides the door open, and we all pile out. Alicia is one of the few vampires from team Percy who managed to comply with the enclave’s rules and became a Sheriff. She and another former accomplice, Bryan, are still on probation and likely will be for at least a couple of more years. I was surprised at the council’s leniency given the severity of their crimes, but they felt it would be easier to bring in the others if they knew they wouldn’t be summarily executed. It’s a damn sight more forgiveness than I would have shown.

  We enter the three-story atrium designed to intimidate or awe visitors. The twenty-foot, white marble angel cradling an infant stands in stark contrast to the black marble walls. It looks down at the babe in its arms with a smile that is both serene and predatory.

  I smile at one of the two security guards manning the desk inside the foyer. “How’s the leg?”

  He answers my inquiry by shooting me the finger. Apparently, he is still sore, at least emotionally, after I nearly blew it off with Shalonda last year during one of my epic temper tantrums. I guess I can respect a grudge holder. I’m a lot of things, but a hypocrite ain’t one of them.

  Sven uses a key to call the private elevator, and we’re soon rocketing up to the top floor. No smooth jazz or other obnoxious music plays to entertain our brief trip up, and I do mean brief. We ascend nearly eight hundred feet in less than half a minute. The doors slide open and deposit us in another gorgeous foyer although not nearly as grand as the atrium. My escorts and I reach Vincent’s office where his secretary tells us to wait outside.

  I stare impatiently at a pair of tall, highly polished doors and begin pacing around the room. It’s odd how I can stare through the scope of a sniper rifle for hours without twitching a single muscle, yet it takes all my reserve just to keep from kicking in Vincent’s doors and storming into the room. I “accidentally” knock a crystal clown off a shelf just to break the boredom…and the clown.

  “Mr. Van Graff will see you now,” his secretary says.

  I set the crystal piano, which was next to have an accident, back on the shelf. Sven and his posse do not follow me in when one of the doors swings open and I walk into Vincent’s office. I still can’t help but be impressed by his office. It’s nearly as big as my loft and much grander, which is good because it reminds me to dislike him.

  “Six minutes,” Vincent says as he leans back in his high-backed, leather swivel chair. “It took you six minutes of waiting before you started breaking things.”

  “Yeah, I got laid today, so I was pretty relaxed. Was the clown important to you?”

  “Not at all.”

  I walk over to a lighted cabinet prominently displaying several ancient bowls, tools, and stone weapons. I pick up a clay vase with Egyptian hieroglyphs painted across its surface.

  “How about this one?”

  “Must you always be such an insufferable little prick?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never tried not to be, but I suppose it’s possible.” I put the vase back on the shelf but out of place, knowing its misalignment will drive Vincent insane for the rest of our meeting. “What did you want with me?”

  Vincent’s eyes flick between the vase and me a few times before locking onto my face. “I hear you had a run-in with another of Percy’s rogues but failed to apprehend him.”

  “That almost sounds like a rebuke.”

  “Forgive me; I shall change my tone so it sounds precisely like a rebuke.”

  “I’ve brought in or put down fourteen of these assholes in the last year, and that’s post-Percy and gang. How many have your Sheriffs taken care of, seven, eight? I think I’m doing pretty damn good working on my own.”

  “Having the police chase you halfway across New York while you are doing it defeats the primary purpose for which I hired you. Perhaps you have forgotten that the reason I contracted your expert help was to avoid precisely this kind of attention. It was not to shoot your way across Brooklyn and beyond to carry out executions.”

  “Even when I get the job done you still bitch. I swear it’s like we’re married. You can do that now you know? You don’t have to drive to Massachusetts anymore. You can do it right here. Not with me obviously, but some other poor schmo who doesn’t mind you nagging him all the damn time.”

  “The only thing worse than your discretion is your failed attempt at humor. While I appreciate your diligence, we cannot have you arrested in the process. If this latest character is proving beyond your abilities, I can assign you one or more of the Sheriffs to assist you.”

  “Great, can I pick the Swedish chef, or is it a grab bag for one of the other Muppets?”

  “Involve the police again and they might all be coming for you. Good day, Mr. Malone.”

  I know a dismissal when I hear one and leave. I pause outside the door, perform a left face, and pace off five steps. Executing a perfect right face, I mule kick the wall. The barrier quivers beneath my assault, and I’m rewarded with the muted sound of breaking pottery and toppling artifacts.

  “Oops, muscle spasm.”

  I stride briskly for the elevator with Scooby and the gang chasing after me. I spy a figure out of the corner of my eye, make an abrupt halt, and backpedal. Wyatt was the former head of the Sheriffs, but he backed the wrong horse. Due partly to his last-minute change of heart, his execution was commuted to spending the rest of his life riding the pine in The Tower.

  “Wyatt, how’s the desk job treating you?”

  “Far better than having my head cut off for treason. I find the dullness of my duties surprisingly relaxing.”

  “You look better.”

  “I suppose that was you making that racket?”

  “Yeah, just a little parting gift for Vincent.”

  Wyatt shakes his head and grins. “You’re going to go too far one of these days, Leo, and you have stepped on far too many toes to expect any kind of leniency.”

  “It’s all part of the plan. I’d rather lose my head than have my balls cut off and put in a desk drawer.”

  “At least I know where to find them.”

  “You have fun. I’m off to chase down some baddies. Try not to get a paper cut.”

  Wyatt shoots me the finger as I leave. Team Edward shows me to the d
oor but of course does not offer me a ride home. It’s Friday night in Manhattan, and I don’t have the patience to wait for a cab. I also don’t have my wallet as I tend to leave it at home when I know I’m going to be hunting. Pro tip: if you plan to kill someone, empty all your pockets before you leave. You would not believe all the shit people leave behind at crime scenes. Damn amateurs.

  That leaves the subway, which I despise beyond few other things in this life. Of course, it too takes money, but that problem is far easier to get around. I descend the steps and shut down my olfactory senses as I join the chuds migrating to and from the platforms. Luckily, this platform doesn’t have the floor to ceiling turnstiles. I don’t even have to flex my knees to hop over. Just a quick twitch of my ankles catapults me to the other side without breaking stride. Unfortunately, I’m stopped dead in my tracks when my face pushes against the broad chest of a subway cop. I look up into the black face displaying not a hint of amusement.

  “Buddy, you’re lucky I’m about to go off shift. Go back and pay your fare before I slap you with a five hundred dollar fine.”

  “Can you cut me some slack? I forgot my wallet. I’ll pay twice next time.”

  “You can pay once this time or you can walk.”

  I glare but fail to intimidate the man. With little recourse other than causing a scene that will surely get me another invitation to the principal’s office, I do an about-face and hop back over the way I came.

  “Hey, buddy, can you spare a fare?” I ask a guy.

  “Fuck off.”

  “Hey!” the cop shouts before I can launch a retort. “Leave the paying folks alone.”

  “I pay your check with my taxes!” I shout back despite knowing how stupid that argument sounds. “That should be enough!”

  “From the looks of you, I doubt your taxes are enough to pay for my doughnuts.”

  It’s a valid point, but it still pisses me off. I storm away and stop in front of a vending machine. Looking around to make sure there are no more cops, I place a few solid kicks to the coin box and finish it off by tearing it open with my hands. I grab a fistful of change before it all clatters to the ground and feed them into the turnstile a minute later.