Blood Conspiracy (Brooklyn Shadows Book 2)

by Brock Deskins

  “I don’t know. I don’t really think much beyond getting what I want, and what I wanted more than anything in the world right now was to kick that bitch out of the back of this airplane.”

  “Is she dead?”

  “I sure hope so; otherwise I’m in some real shit when I get down there.”

  “We’re moving past the drop zone. Go now!” the fed orders.

  I flip Meat and the agents a one-fingered salute and jump. My chute snaps open, and I bounce a few times as the canopy arrests my fall. I see Meat jump a few seconds after me followed by a plastic crate containing what I assume is our weapons. Dropping into a desert at night is like jumping into the ocean. Thankfully, my heightened eyesight is able to pick out the details of the ground without a problem, and I make a good landing despite not having had any practice for over forty years.

  I pull my harness release and let the light wind pull it and my chute away. Meat performs a decent PLF and does likewise. I pull out my sat phone and tap the “find” button. I get four blips on the screen. The two next to each other in the center I logically guess are me and Meat. Two others blink to the north and south. Since we came in from the south, I assume the one to the north is our gear and the southern one is whatever is left of Lesile.

  Meat glances at my display and starts hoofing it south. With little recourse, I follow him. The terrain is rocky with a covering of sand. Low dunes lie in mounds where the wind piled up the sand like snowdrifts. Our blips almost converge on the screen after half an hour of walking. I turn in a slow circle and look for some sign of Lesile. I’m beginning to think she lost her GPS in the fall and her body is somewhere else, when the small dune behind me explodes in a spray of grit.

  Lesile moves so fast I only turn halfway around before she punches me in the side of the head. I reel under the assault then find myself flying through the air when she kicks me in the ribs. I land flat on my back and look up at the sky. I barely manage to roll aside when her body blocks out the stars and she falls to the earth like a meteor. She craters the ground where my head was a fraction of a second before.

  I reverse the direction of my roll and land a punch to her right ear. “Ha, bitch, take that!”

  My victory is short-lived. We both roll to our feet, and I’m soon on the receiving end of a severe ass whooping. I dodge or duck two out of three kicks and punches coming for my face, but when there’s twenty of them in the span of two or three seconds it’s still a substantial beating.

  A kick to my chest sends me flying and crashing to the ground again. I roll and push myself into the air when she tries to do a flying axe handle. I twist around, drop onto her back, and put her in a chokehold.

  “Meat, how about a little help?”

  “Naw, she looks like she’s doing fine on her own.”

  “You son of a—!”

  Lesile launches into the air with me clinging onto her back. She arches back and crushes me to the ground. Her head whips forward then back and brutally smashes into my face. I try to get to my feet when she rolls off me, but her legs wrap around my neck and right arm in a figure four. She punches me in the head and face several times, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

  “You tried to kill me, you bastard! I’m going to make you regret your failure.”

  “My only regret is not yelling ‘this is Sparta’ before I kicked your psycho bitch ass out of the plane!” My defiance earns me a few more hammer blows to the face.

  I don’t know if Meat comes to my rescue out of pragmatism or pity. “Lesile, we’ll probably need him, so you might want to wait until we’re done before you kill him.”

  Lesile releases the vice-like leg lock from around my neck and delivers one last kick to my side. I lie on the ground looking and feeling like I was run over by a car on the expressway.

  “Our gear is a few miles north of here,” Meat tells Lesile.

  “I’ll need to feed at the next opportunity. Malone’s childish little stunt has sapped all of my reserves and then some. He too needs to eat. I can tell by his feeble punches he has been denying himself.”

  Meat isn’t thrilled with the thought of our requirements and doesn’t respond. He walks over to where I’m still lying on the ground and offers me a hand up.

  “Come on, killer, we need to get moving.”

  I grip his hand and let him pull me to my feet. “You could have said something sooner.”

  “Naw, it was way too much fun watching you get your ass beat by a pretty little girl.”

  I scowl. “She’s no girl. She’s a psychotic bitch and an elder. The odds weren’t exactly in my favor.”

  “That means you’re weak and stupid. Don’t pick fights you can’t win.”

  “Better to be dead than bored.”

  “Damn, you really are stupid.”

  “This from a guy with a neck tattoo.”

  “What’s wrong with my neck tat?”

  “Nothing if you want to advertise your intentional failure at life. Neck tattoos are a sign to the world that you have chosen to aim for the bottom of the social and economic barrel.”

  “Yeah, you’re a real Warren Buffett of success. I bet bums stop and give you money.”

  “You are both losers,” Lesile snaps. “I’m starving, so you two girls stop your catfight and let’s go.”

  I bare my teeth and hiss at her, but I lose what little cool points I have when she takes a step toward me and I flinch away. See, I’m not that stupid. Meat quickens his pace and falls in step beside her.

  “You think I’m a loser?”

  Lesile threads her arm through his and smiles. “Don’t worry; I am not above slumming it when given enough incentive.”

  Meat grins lasciviously. “Baby, I got enough incentive to wreck a camel.”

  I groan in disgust. I can’t wait for people to start shooting at me. I walk in a small circle and find my tracker thingy with its screen smashed.

  “Way to go, bitch, you broke my phone!”

  She and Meat ignore my complaint, and I have to jog to catch up with them. I feel like a little kid chasing after his older siblings, and it doesn’t help my mood. Being even less techno-savvy than me, Meat gives me his tracker, and I hone in on our stash. It takes nearly an hour to find the box wedged between a stand of rocks, but the flapping parachute makes it easy to spot.

  Meat tears away the chute, drags the plastic crate into the open, and pops the top. Inside are three black, flowing robe-like garments with shemaghs. I put one on and feel like a ninja in a prom dress. My mood improves when I spot the ordinance. Not only am I reunited with Shalonda and my blade, but an H&K MP-7 rounds out my ensemble quite nicely. Going up against three rogue vamps with elite military training makes me wish for an RPG, but it’s hard to conceal those.

  Lesile dons similar garb but of a finer, more feminine make, along with a dangling gold necklace. She conceals her H&K and rapier, with its shortened blade and simple hilt, beneath her robes. She tells us to hide our guns but display our swords.

  “I am a wealthy Bedouin woman, and you two idiots are my bodyguards. You don’t talk—ever. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them you are mute eunuchs.”

  “I’m sure Malone will have no problem convincing anyone he’s a eunuch, but I seriously doubt he can shut the fuck up long enough to convince anyone he’s a mute,” Meat says.

  “Go to hell.”

  “We’re already here, dumbass.”

  “Right? Who makes black clothing in a country that’s hotter than Satan’s nut sack anyway?”

  Lesile looks like she’s ready to jack slap the crap out of both of us. “Shut up and let’s go. I smell food in that direction.”

  She leads us with eagerness in her step. It doesn’t require a great deal of empathy for me to understand why. Her little fall caused significant damage, which probably took most, if not all, of her blood reserves to mend. Throw in kicking my ass and she is literally starving, and I’m not far from it myself.

  I’m not nearly as ea
ger as she is, despite my hunger. I know it is unlikely we’re going to stumble upon a small Taliban camp. The poor bastards we find aren’t going to be terrorists, murderers, or thugs. Just some people in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I’m not squeamish or sentimental enough for it to stop me from doing what I have to do. It’s nature, and nature can be a cold, unforgiving bitch.

  We hasten across several miles of sandy, rocky terrain. Just three shadows rolling across the moonlit desert. In the distance, a single, large tent is silhouetted against the star-filled sky. Only the occasional clanging of a bell from the large herd of goats breaks the silence.

  Lesile sticks out her tongue as if tasting the air and motions for us to move to the downwind side of the tent. We pad clockwise around the tent and hunker behind an outcropping of rock about a hundred yards away. Despite our stealthy movements, the goats begin to shuffle as a sort of sixth sense alerts them to the presence of a predator.

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll wait here,” Meat whispers.

  Lesile nods, understanding that while he may tolerate our requirement to kill in order to survive, he will not be a part of it. While I might take a gloomy acceptance of it, I’m not thrilled with it either. In New York, it’s easy to find people I can judge as being kill-worthy, or at least someone who won’t be missed and who likely places little value on their life anyway. But here, I don’t know who these people are or what crimes they may have committed against humanity to warrant their deaths. From what I can tell, they are just a couple of guys moving some goats. My conscience is assuaged only by the fact that they are men; no women or children. Kids would have been an instant no-go for me and likely would have resulted in another fight between Lesile and me.

  Moving with the speed and silence only our kind can achieve, Lesile and I stand next to the eastern side of the tent seconds later. I can hear three distinctive heartbeats thrumming beneath the heavy breathing of deep sleep. I use my blade to cut a slit in the side of the tent. I nod and we both rush in. The men stir the moment we lunge, but their eyes cannot penetrate the total darkness of the interior.

  Forget what you see in the movies about vampire attacks. We don’t grab someone by the arm and head and chomp down on their necks. That would be way too messy, and we don’t like a struggle. I leap to the far side of the tent and clock the man farthest away with the hilt of my blade. He crumples back down before he can get beyond a sitting position. I spin and punch the man behind me in the forehead. He also falls stunned to the ground. Lesile, having only one person to deal with, wraps the man in a chokehold and gently guides him to the ground as he loses consciousness.

  My thumbnail is about an inch long and filed to a razor’s edge. I use it to cut a neat slit into my first victim’s neck and sever the carotid artery. I use my thumb to apply pressure to keep the blood from spraying all over the place until I place my mouth over the wound. I look over at Lesile while I drink in the man’s blood and find she has done much the same thing. It takes less than a minute for the heart to quit beating, but I continue to pull the coppery liquid from his body for several minutes.

  Vampires can consume a vast quantity of blood. Not only will our stomach stretch to accommodate more than a gallon of the stuff, it quickly drains into our intestines and is shunted throughout our body and tissues. When I was running rogue in Vietnam, I had, on many occasions, consumed the greater contents of three or four people. Granted, I was all bloaty and looked like shit in a speedo, but it didn’t slow me down.

  Even though Lesile has certainly maintained more frequent eating habits than I have, even when taking into account her much greater age, I let her take first dibs on the last victim. I figure it’s only fair since I punted her out of an airplane and probably broke almost every bone in her body. And people say I don’t possess a shred of gallantry. She doesn’t leave me much, but I don’t really need any more than what I got from the first guy. The slight rosiness and puffiness in her cheeks give clear evidence to a recent feeding, and I resist the urge to make a fat joke. See, I’m a regular Prince Charming.

  The deed is done in half an hour. We aren’t in a big hurry. Meat doesn’t make eye contact with us when we return. I seem to have developed a strange emotion I have heard referred to as empathy, and I actually feel a little guilty for his discomfiture. I have to assume it is linked to my relationship with Kat and the veritable wellspring of new or forgotten emotions it has produced. The price we pay for love… Our phone thingies chirp, and I’m over it. Lesile and I fish the devices out of our pockets. I wait to see that the encryption icon is displayed and hit the receive button.

  “What is your status?” Agent Snow asks.

  “We’re on the ground and have picked up our gear. We should make it into Shuqrah in about two hours,” I answer.

  “I understand you made a commotion during the jump. What is Ms. Savard’s condition?”

  “Alive and still a cunt.”

  I note a stressed pause before his clipped answer. “She is in charge. Any further disruptions or disobedience will result in immediate execution of the failsafe protocol. I will not allow you to further jeopardize this mission.”

  “I’m sorry, could you repeat that? I kind of zoned out and was fantasizing about cutting off your head and using it for a fuck puppet.”

  “This is your last warning.”

  I shrug unconcerned and slip the phone back into my pocket.

  Meat asks, “Do you really think it’s smart to lip off to the guy who can push a button and turn your brain into cream of wheat?”

  “Probably not, but if I always did the smart thing I’d never have any fun.”

  “You heard what he said,” Lesile cuts in. “I am in charge, and you better behave yourself.”

  “You know who else was in charge? Gaddafi. You know what happened to him, right?” I make an upward stabbing motion with my thumb. “Right up the poop chute.”

  “Leonard, before I forget…” I find myself face down in the sand before I even register the blow. “Do not ever call me a cunt again. I find the word very offensive.”

  “I’ll try to remember, bitch.”

  “That’s better.”

  Meat crouches down next to me and grins as Lesile stalks away. “Hey, that little girl just laid you out again.”

  “Shut up.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “Ugh, not only is this country hotter than Satan’s nut sack, it smells twice as bad,” I complain as we walk down one of Shuqrah’s dirt streets.

  As if one could call the space between buildings streets. A street generally runs a straight line and sections a city into easily navigable squares. The buildings and homes in this town have all the organization of scattered goat droppings.

  “At least you have the option of not breathing,” Meat reminds me.

  “Okay, leader, what now?” I ask Lesile.

  “I thought you were the expert on catching rogues?”

  “Baby, we’re a long way from Brooklyn.”

  “Lawrence darling, can you pick up their scent?”

  Meat tugs at his shemagh to expose his nose and takes a whiff. “There are too many smells in the air to pick out one unless I happen to walk right into it. This place isn’t that big, so I can do it if I shift, but that’s probably not a good idea until it’s dark.”

  “Yeah, if you thought an American werewolf in London was problematic, imagine one in Yemen,” I quip. “They’d have to cut his head off twice.”

  “Leonard, shut up. You are supposed to be mute.”

  “No, I’m supposed to be in New York tracking down some dipshit, but Uncle Sam decided to draft me into another war started by their stupidity and tossed me into Mother Earth’s stanky ass crack.”

  “You whine worse than a child. We will stroll around town and observe until nightfall. Perhaps we can learn something in the interim. I am serious about you two stooges. It is time to play your parts.”

  “Why do I always get called names when Malone acts li
ke a prick?” Meat asks.

  “Do not take it personally, Lawrence. You are a man and therefore fundamentally flawed.”

  “Gee, I feel much better now.” He looks at me. “Was that an apology?”

  “It’s as close as you’re going to get and far more than I have ever received.”

  “Yeah, but you’re an asshole.”

  “Did I ever tell you about how she strapped me to a table, broke my bones, and gouged out my eyes?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, so quit bitching about a little name-calling.”

  Lesile spins, her incredibly beautiful eyes glaring out of the slit between her veil and head cover. “Both of you shut the fuck up!”

  I tilt my head at Meat. “He started it.”

  Lesile steps toward me and glowers with such intensity I think she is trying to make my head explode by sheer force of will. I cast a wink, and the corner of her right eye twitches in restrained fury. I take great pleasure in getting under her normally icy façade despite knowing I could pay a heavy price for it later.

  She spins and storms off, and Meat and I have to hasten after her. People Crowd the streets, going about their daily business, shopping, hawking wares, or just milling around with nothing better to do. To the casual observer it might look like an ordinary day, but there’s an underlying tension within the crowd. Eyes cast about nervously, and the people’s movements are direct and purposeful. I see the faces of children peering out of windows instead of playing in the street. Despite the number of pedestrians, there is little in the way of talking. Not even the vendors are shouting to draw the customers’ attention. These people move like a herd of spooked antelope which knows there is a lion nearby watching them, but they don’t know where or when it will strike next.

  We’re strangers here, and everyone’s eyes show they know it. People move away as we approach, creating clear paths of egress as we navigate the labyrinth of streets. They watch us guardedly as if we might be one of the lions in disguise just waiting to pick off the unwary. They aren’t far from the truth.

  Lesile browses numerous stands, pretending to be interested in their wares and attempts to draw the proprietors into conversation. Most are recalcitrant when the topic moves away from anything not pertaining to a sale and outright hostile when she attempts to ask about the attacks.