80 Proof Hex_Deckland Cain 2

by D Michael Bartsch

  I smiled and tried to look as innocent as possible, which granted, isn’t very innocent.

  “Wallace, I would never, ever, ever insert myself into an FBI investigation. It would just be plain rude and clearly a violation of your trust.”

  He stared at me stone-faced. Standard issue for government hard asses I believe.

  He rolled up the window. The lady agent moved across the seat, looked me up and down like she was considering stabbing me, and closed the door. I smacked the roof of the SUV twice as if I was telling them they were good to leave. The best part was they drove off and left me there, alive, breathing, and with zero bullet holes. Not an utterly terrible day in the grand scheme of things.

  I did a quick scan of the street. I couldn’t see any nondescript government issue surveillance vans or any cars that looked out of place.

  I made it all the way to the apartment and locked the door behind me before I lost it. My heart was hammering, and I felt like I could hardly breathe. I’d been way too damn close to never seeing the sun again. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, just breathing. Sweet, sweet free air, well as free as you can be when you have the government breathing down your neck, the Venatori lurking around somewhere in the city, and a pack of Vampires that’s been murdering its way across the country all surrounding you. I could feel the itch of an invisible noose settling around my neck.

  I walked to the kitchen and set my bags down. I walked over to the cabinet and ripped it open. I pulled out my carton of oatmeal and set it on the counter. I stared at it for a minute, fighting my jackhammering heart. Everything I did made things worse, but my options were still the same. I had to help Alastair find the damn Rifts, get paid, and get the hell out of town. Two more days was all I needed. Two more days of Vampires, Feds, and Venatori.

  “What could possibly go wrong?” I said. “Three groups of powerful people that all want you dead. At least I have Carl, right? That’s totally even odds.”

  I shook my head, violently enough to rattle my brain. I put the oatmeal back and got out a Redbull instead. The back of my mind had a concern that I may induce a heart attack by drinking stimulants with my heart rate as high as it was. The rest of my brain wasn’t sure that a heart attack would be the worst thing in the world.

  I cracked it open and started to drink. I pounded it, throwing the can at the wall, breathing in as I did. I walked to the sink and splashed some cold water on my face. I stood there, water dripping down my face, staring into the sink. The odds that I wasn’t going to see the end of the week as a free man or even alive were going up by the hour. I could feel that noose around my neck tightening.

  I smacked my hand against the wall in frustration. Jerry pounded the wall below me a second later, two quick blows.

  “Fuck it,” I said. “I’m gonna kill him.”

  I pulled open the cabinet and grabbed my oatmeal. I walked to the kitchen table, popping open the carton as I did. I dumped the container on the table. A fifth of Jameson tumbled out with the rolled oats. I grabbed the bottle and ripped off the cap. The musky scent of whiskey wafted up as I stuck my nose to the bottle and breathed deeply. I felt my mouth water. I closed my eyes and was transported, the fumes starting to melt my brain and sear my lungs.

  A cold chill went through me as I thought about what I was about to do. I shook. I could still go back. I could put the bottle back in the container. Hell, I could pour it out and throw it away. I wasn’t going to though. If I was going to be forced into a cage, I wasn’t going to go sober. I was going to drink the whole bottle. Then, I was going to go downstairs and plug Jerry full of holes.

  I wrapped my lips around the bottle and took a pull. Fire filled my mouth. I pulled the bottle away and looked at it, doing my best not to spill any of the amber liquid. Wiping my mouth, with the back of my hand I could feel the warmth spreading through my chest as the whiskey worked its way through my body.

  I don’t know what I was expecting to feel, but what I did feel was the pang of guilt. There was something in me that asked what Carl was going to think. Part of me was screaming for more while the rest was asking why I would give up all the hard work and effort I’d put into putting the booze behind me.

  I decided to drown the guilt.

  I took another drink, deep and guzzling. I came up for air and closed my eyes. For the first time in a long time, something was starting to block out the noise. I took another drink and set the bottle down.

  “Time to get to work, Deckland,” I said. “Get ready for tonight. Then you can kill Jerry.”

  Grabbing my bags, I walked into the living room. I got the tv trays and coffee table situated around my chair. I put on an awful sci-fi movie and got to work.

  The first thing I started on was the silver forks. Between sips of whiskey, I used a pair of pliers to cut the prongs off of the forks. From there, I opened up a couple of 20 gauge shotgun shells and dumped out the shot. I put three of the prongs into the shell and carefully poured in some silver nitrate powder. I closed it up and made three more of the shells with my other forks.

  They would work nicely in my sawed-off Mossberg. The thing was cut down, and the stock was carved to resemble a pirate pistol. The KSG packed more power and rounds, but it was also harder to conceal. The Mossberg could be slipped into a pocket I’d sewn into my trench coat. Plus, it was just so damn cool looking. The only downside was ammo capacity and the bolt action. I cut up the rest of the forks into pieces and repeated the process with some twelve gauge shells for the KSG, just in case.

  Setting aside the shotgun shells, I pulled out a box of .45 hollow points. I grabbed a piece of paper and poured out some discount white glue onto it. I dumped silver nitrate on top and began to work it around with my hands, forming a sticky paste of silver nitrate. I filled each of the hollow divots in the .45 caliber rounds with a small amount of the paste.

  I polished off the fifth somewhere during the process, getting white glue all over the bottle. A movie about a mutated iguana fighting an octopus came on, and I kept working.

  I pulled out my vest. The ceramic plates were filled with holy water, which would be useless against the Vampires, but would be vital if I was going to be dealing with any Hellions coming out of the Rifts. That meant I needed protection from both. I used liquid bandage to paint sections of the vest. I then sprinkled the silver nitrate powder over the wet adhesive. When I was done, it looked like a craft fair had sneezed all over my stuff.

  The two khukri’s sheathed in the vest were coated in a healthy dose of anointing oil. I didn’t feel like messing that up with silver nitrate powder. There was still a chance I was going to have to deal with another type of Hellion at either of the remaining Rifts. I settled for breaking out my SOG knife and coating it with some silver. I left the edge clean but clumped healthy amounts of silver nitrate paste to the length of the blade.

  When it was all said and done I had a couple of cans of silver nitrate left over. I don’t know if it was my alcohol soaked mind or just a moment of pure revelation, but I knew exactly what to do with it.

  I stood up and went to walk to the kitchen. The building shifted beneath my feet, and I took a few steps diagonally before righting myself and making it into the kitchen. It was a little hard to focus with my brain soaked with the sweet, sweet whiskey. I washed my hands, peeling off the remnants of paste and powder.

  I pulled out a spray bottle that Carl used to clean the kitchen. I dumped out whatever non-GMO, chemical-free concoction he’d filled the bottle with and filled it with water. I opened up a can of silver powder and used a piece of paper to funnel the entire can into the bottle. I put the sprayer back on and shook it up. I twisted the nozzle from spray to stream and squirted a few pumps into my hand. I bent forward and squinted at the water. Little specks of silver nitrate floated in the water as it slid down my hand and fell into the sink.

  “Who needs a suppressor?” I asked, chuckling at myself.

  Work done, I rewarded myself by going back to my ch
air and closing my eyes. I’d kill Jerry after a little nap. I’d need the rest for the night. Sleep took me in the gentle embrace that it reserves for those who’ve indulged in a healthy amount of booze.

  17

  There’s nothing worse than being rudely awakened while drunk. Typically, I can hold my own when it comes to liquor, but eight months of forced sobriety had robbed me of my hard-won tolerance. So, when Carl shook me awake, I opened my eyes, disoriented, confused, and more than a little pissed.

  I shook my head and looked up into the Holy Man’s face as it floated above me.

  “Deckland!”

  He spoke louder than any human being should be able to. I questioned whether or not he was a real man or some figment of my dream soaked mind.

  “Deckland!”

  “I’m right here. You don’t have to shout.”

  I shook my head, regretted it, and leaned forward. I took stock of my surroundings. I was still in the apartment. The supplies I’d been working on were spread out all around me. The TV was on, blaring some show about a British phone booth or some nonsense like that. Carl was knelt down beside my chair, wild-eyed.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Almost ten.” He said. “You’ve been drinking.”

  It was a statement, not a question. The worst part of it was that it wasn’t even an accusation. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to be pissed at me for it. Instead, he looked worried. Asshole.

  “Just a little.”

  “You drank the whole bottle.” He said.

  “Yea, but it was a little bottle,” I said, looking around.

  I found the remote and turned the TV off. Darkness shot through the room, the only light coming in from the kitchen. Carl stood up and turned on the lights. I winced in pain shading my eyes with my hand.

  “Hey,” I said. “Easy with the lights.”

  “What happened?” Carl asked. “You were doing so well.”

  Here it was. Riot act time. “Long story,” I said.

  “I have time.”

  Of course, he did. Bastard had no social life. He needed to be out on dates or saving the lost.

  “Look, it’s been a helluva day alright. Things haven’t exactly been going as planned. Besides, you were supposed to be back here before dark. What the hell?”

  “Don’t try and shift this to me. What happened to you? Was it the Vampires?” He asked.

  I shook my head gingerly, sighing. He wasn’t going to leave this alone. Carl disappeared and came back with a glass of water. I took it from the overly kind and polite asshole. He shoved a couple aspirin into my palm. What I really could have gone for was a little hair of the dog, but Hell would freeze over before Carl would let that happen. Bastard.

  “You kept it in the oatmeal?” He asked.

  I nodded.

  “Clever.” He said. “I never eat the stuff.”

  He moved to the couch and plopped down. “Well, you gonna tell me what happened or not?”

  I sat there for a moment, drinking the water, wishing it was booze or Gatorade or both. I was trying to think of a way to put it delicately but decided that I didn’t care enough to do that.

  “We’re in the shit.” Might as well set expectations. “I got picked up by some guys in black suits today, black bag over the head and everything. They took me to some shady CIA hideout. They’re after the leader of the Vampire pack. He’s been killing people and leaving bodies behind all across California, and now, he’s here. They said they were tracking a serial killer, but I saw the equipment that they had in that place. They knew they were hunting a Vampire. They knew I knew, and I knew they knew and no one admitted anything. These guys were pros.”

  “Venatori?”

  I shook my head. “I’d be dead or back in Purgatory by now if it was the Venatori. No, this was something else. They were definitely from the government, some shady black ops part of it anyway. They’d have to be. They had state of the art equipment and plenty of trained killers on the payroll. All of them were operators. Definitely taxpayer funded.”

  “What does that mean for us?”

  “It means we’re screwed and need to get the hell out of here. They knew about both of us. My ID held up cause I’m not in the system. If they decide to run your prints, you’ll pop up in a couple minutes from your little statue debacle in college. We need to get gone before that can happen.”

  “Tonight?”

  I shook my head. “I wish. We need disposable income. If we run without money, these guys will be able to find us. The only way I know how to get a decent amount of it is from Alastair. I walk him around a couple more Rifts, and we’re up a hundred grand. That’s more than enough to ghost out of this place and never look back.”

  “But the last Rift you went to had Vampires there, along with a Hellion.”

  I nodded. “So that means that you could run into not only a Vampire, a Hellion of any kind, someone from the Venatori, but now you could run into some Seal Team Six for Hellions.”

  “Yea,” I said. “Hence the booze.”

  “Idiot.”

  I looked up, shocked more than anything else. That was practically cursing for Carl.

  “Everything is falling apart around you, and this is the time that you choose to lose your edge?”

  “Seems like a pretty damn good time to start drinking again if you ask me. I may not get a chance to do it again. I could be dead by tomorrow you ungrateful prick.”

  “The odds of you getting yourself killed only go up when you’re drunk or hungover. I’ve seen what you can do at your best. You stand a chance with your mind and your body at one hundred percent. Like this, I don’t even know.”

  I wasn’t used to getting scolded, not from Carl. Plenty of people in my life had told me that I make piss poor decisions, and after I sold my soul to a Demon, I don’t think any of them were wrong. I still don’t appreciate having it thrown in my face, especially when I have a headache.

  “Look. It’ll be fine. We get some cash, we skip town, we start somewhere new and keep a lower profile.”

  Carl didn’t say anything. He clasped his hands together and looked down at them. I wasn’t a fan of the conversation, but he finally appeared to be taking everything seriously. I suppose that was the only good thing that had come out of the last few days.

  “We can’t just run away.” He said, almost whispering.

  “The hell we can’t!”

  He looked up at me. “You’re the Pale Rider, Deckland. Where you go, Hell follows.”

  I didn’t have a comeback for that. Carl looked as defeated as I’d ever seen him. I think he was finally starting to see that some people are beyond saving. Thankfully, my phone rang, and I didn’t have to worry about coming up with any excuses or philosophical responses to Carl calling me one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse.

  “Hello?”

  “This the guy from DC Investigations?”

  “Yea,” I said. “Who’s this?”

  “Vince from Sanctuary. Just thought I’d let you know, your girl showed up about ten minutes ago.”

  Veronica Owens. I’d forgotten all about her. If she was at Sanctuary, I needed to stay away. Sorry, Charlie.

  “Appreciate the heads up.”

  “Sure.” He hung up.

  “Who was that?” Carl asked.

  “The bartender that I paid to let me know if someone showed up. I got a case to help find a runaway. Not gonna happen though.”

  “Why not?” He asked. “You just said we needed the money.”

  “Yea, but she’s at the bar the Feds just told me to stay away from. The bar that’s Vampire central. I’m pretty sure it’s being used as a front for their little blood den. And besides, the kid only had a thousand bucks. I’m not dying for a grand.”

  “Kid?” Carl asked.

  “Dammit,” I said. I just had to go and open my mouth.

  Carl looked at me, eyes hard. “Kid? You took money from a kid?”

  “It
wasn’t a lot of money,” I said. “You should have seen the house he lives in. He’ll be fine.”

  “You took someone’s money and made them a promise didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question. “On top of that, even if you didn’t, this girl is at a bar right now that you said could literally be filled with Vampires. Which means she could be in danger of getting eaten alive or turned into a Vampire at this very moment.”

  I raised my hands defensively. “What do you want me to do? The Feds just threatened to disappear me if I go back there.”

  He stared at me. He had his judgmental religious guy face on.

  “I’m coming with you.” He said.

  “I’m not going!”

  Carl stood up. “You’re going, and I’m coming with you. We aren’t leaving this poor girl there to get eaten alive. You made a promise, and even if you didn’t, how could you live with yourself?”

  “I won’t have to worry about living with myself if I get killed,” I said.

  “We’re going.” He said, turning to leave.

  “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Yes, you do. Besides, you need someone to watch your back.” He called out as he walked down to his room.

  “It’s dangerous out there right now.” I pleaded. “It’s after dark, and we are going to the one place guaranteed to have Vampires in it.”

  “Which is exactly why you aren’t going alone.” He said.

  I stood up, wobbling a bit. “You aren’t coming.”

  Carl reappeared with his jacket and met my eyes. “I’m not asking. I’m coming whether you like it or not. I can come with you or I can follow you. Either way, you aren’t going out there alone. Not tonight. Not after everything that’s happened.”

  I considered punching him. If I could catch him right below the ear, he’d drop like a sack of rocks. I’d be long gone before he came to. I couldn’t bring myself to do it though. Righteous, do-gooding bastard. Besides, I may end up needing someone to drive. My head was killing me.

  “Fine. But if you get yourself killed, it’s not my fault. If you get me killed, it’s one hundred percent your fault.”