by AnonYMous
‘Let’s get out of here right now and head straight to a brothel. Last night’s feast is gonna seem tame compared to tonight’s.’
Hunter led the way, polishing off the bottle of whiskey as he went, looking to screw another out of Sanchez on the way out. De La Cruz followed hard on his heels. A newfound hunger and lust was already taking them over. It was uncontrollable. Benson could feel it too.
‘I’ll catch up with you in a while,’ he called out after them. ‘I’m just gonna rebandage the cut on her arm. I don’t think it looks tight enough.’
‘Whatever,’ De La Cruz yelled back as he disappeared down the stairs.
Benson looked around. No one in sight. This was the perfect moment. He was alone in a room with a Queen who was out cold. Opportunities like this didn’t come along every day. His heart was racing as he undid the belt on his yellow shorts. Jessica was gonna be an amazing fuck, coma or no coma. He looked down upon her sweet pale face. Those luscious lips, that perfect skin and beautiful long dark hair. Not forgetting the breasts and legs and all the rest hidden under the thin white sheet.
Panting, he pulled his yellow shorts and filthy off-white underpants down to his ankles, then reached for the sheet. Slowly he peeled it back, savouring the moment. Beneath it, Jessica was naked, and as he laid eyes on her silky white flesh Benson was unable to contain his excitement. He tentatively reached a hand towards her right breast, almost salivating as he prepared for his first squeeze.
Then she opened her eyes.
‘You wave that cock anywhere near me and you’re gonna lose it,’ she hissed. ‘Now get the fuck out!’
Benson reeled back in shock. Somehow he managed one last quick look at Jessica’s naked body before wisely taking to his heels and heading for the exit. With his shorts and pants around his ankles he resembled a penguin as he waddled in terror towards the stairs as fast as he could. Eventually, after tripping over once and frantically pulling his shorts back up, he reached the head of the stairs and took a look back. Jessica had closed her eyes again. Maybe he had imagined it? Even so, this woman was the Vampire Queen. Raping her while she was unconscious was one thing, but doing it after she’d seen his face and was fully awake was not an option.
Not just yet, anyway.
Twenty-Six
When Dante arrived at the Nightjar for his second night with the Shades he was relieved to find Obedience and Fritz standing at the bar. He had on the trademark wraparound shades they had given him the previous night, and he’d come out in just jeans and a thin black sweatshirt, hoping they would supply him with one of the cool black leather jackets that marked them out as members of their particular clan.
Tonight the place was fairly quiet, at least in comparison with the previous night, but even so he still didn’t manage to make it to the bar without knocking into someone. This time, however, it didn’t seem to be his fault. One of the white Rastafarians appeared from nowhere and banged into his shoulder.
‘Whoa! Sorry, man,’ said Dante instinctively.
The Rastafarian was a fairly short guy in a baggy black karate-style outfit. His dark dreadlocked hair hung at the same length all around his head, hiding most of his face.
‘Why’re you here?’ he asked Dante in a half whisper.
‘Havin’ a drink with the guys,’ Dante replied, throwing the fellow a confused look. What did this guy expect? He was in a fuckin’ bar, fer Chrissakes. Why else would he be there?
Anxious not to get caught up talking to a member of another clan he turned his back on the Rastafarian and carried on making his way to the bar, where he could see Obedience and Fritz were waiting. He couldn’t help thinking that the guy’s voice sounded familiar, though. Still, it wasn’t worth dwelling on. Right now he had more important things to worry about. Like trying to find Peto the Hubal monk. And staying alive.
The Nightjar’s owner, Dino, was sitting at the far end of the bar in a smart blue suit, sipping at a glass of red wine, while two young bartenders in black trousers and pristine white T-shirts did the work. One of them was behind the bar polishing glasses and the other was cleaning a table in the far corner. There were no more than thirty customers scattered around, most talking quietly among themselves. Tonight, everyone seemed to be dressed more or less normally. No clowns. No Maori tribesmen. And as far as Dante could tell, no drag queens.
‘Hey guys, how’s it going?’ he asked as he approached Fritz and Obedience.
‘What did Chip want?’ Obedience asked. He sounded suspicious.
‘Who?’
‘That Rastafarian you were just talking to.’
‘Oh, him. He was just tryin’ to get me to join his clan.’
‘Yeah?’ asked Obedience. ‘Even though you don’t have dreadlocks like the rest of them?’
‘Yeah,’ said Dante, pulling a surprised face. ‘What a moron.’ He hurriedly changed the subject. ‘So, anyone wanna beer?’
Despite the unsettling questions about Chip, the two members of the Shades seemed pleased to see him, which was a good start. Dante dimly recalled that the previous evening had gone well enough. He seemed to have fitted in okay, so unless he had misjudged the whole thing through that night’s excessive intake of alcohol, all was well.
Responding to his offer of a beer, Obedience spoke for both vampires. ‘We were just about to head into town and pick up some young meat, actually,’ he said.
‘Young meat?’
‘Yeah, we were gonna head down to a strip joint in town and feast on a couple o’ hookers for supper. You in?’
This was not at all what Dante had in mind. Not even close. It was one thing to be able to blend in with the vampires thanks to the serum he had injected in to his bloodstream, but if they were expecting him to sprout a pair of fangs and bite a hooker’s neck in order to drink her blood … well, they were going to be mightily disappointed. And he was going to be mightily dead.
‘Er – I dunno, guys. I’ve got a bit of gut ache. Reckon I’ll just hang out here an’ have a few beers. Thanks for askin’ me, though.’
‘NONSENZE!’ yelled Fritz. ‘YOU VILL COME VIZ US. VE HAV SOMEVON WHO VISHES TO MEET VIZ YOU!’
‘Yeah? Who?’
‘ZE BOSS! VANITY, ZE LEADER OF ZE SHADEZ, VISHES TO MEET VIZ YOU TO DISCUSS YOUR INITIATION INTO ZE CLAN!’
The whole bar fell silent, it being impossible for anyone not to have heard what Fritz had said. The thirty or so customers all waited to hear Dante’s response, and since The Psychics were on a break there wasn’t even any background noise to distract them.
‘Oh, right. Okay,’ said Dante. ‘I’ll pass on supper, though.’
‘You’re not hungry at this time of night?’ Obedience was clearly baffled.
‘Nah, I had a Chinese before I came out,’ said Dante, rubbing his stomach.
‘Aaah.’ Obedience and Fritz nodded in unison. They had both suffered from bad guts due to feasting on Chinese in the past. They were tasty, but hell on the digestive system.
‘So, where’s the other guys?’ Dante asked, tactfully changing the subject.
‘NEVER MIND ZEM!’ bellowed Fritz. ‘VE HAV CLEAVAGE UND MOOSE VIZ US ZIS EVENING!’ He pointed at two female vamps who were just making their way over from the rest rooms at one end of the barroom. One was a fairly stunning brunette with enormous breasts wedged tightly together inside a tiny white T-shirt. At a guess, thought Dante, that’s gotta be Cleavage. Her friend was a tubby unattractive blonde with a huge nose and one eye much bigger than the other. Moose, Dante thought. The two of them attracted a number of admiring glances as they trotted back to the bar in their short skirts.
‘Hi Fritz, is this Dante?’ asked Cleavage as they reached at the bar.
‘YES, ZIS IS ZE YOUNG MAN VE MET LAST NIGHT. VE ARE TAKING HIM TO OUR LEADER. YOU COMING?’
‘Sure,’ said Cleavage, eyeing Dante as though he was a piece of meat. ‘Hi Dante, I’m Cleavage. People call me that ’cos I have a great cleavage. Or mebbe you didn’t notice?’
&
nbsp; Dante hadn’t noticed much else. He was staring right down at her breasts as if they had him in a trance.
‘Great cans,’ he said out loud instead of in his head.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Nice to meet you.’ Dante reached out and shook hands with her, finally making eye contact.
Cleavage smiled back at him. She was used to people talking to her boobs all night, so she was pleasantly surprised to meet someone who even looked up. ‘This is my friend Moose,’ she said, pointing to her hideous companion.
Dante shook hands with Moose, who beamed a ridiculously gummy smile back at him.
‘People call me Moose because I put loads of the stuff in my hair to keep it like this,’ she said, patting her enormous blonde bouffant, which looked as though it was held in place with marine varnish.
‘Ha ha! Yeah, right,’ laughed Dante. A confused look came over Moose’s face, and Dante realized immediately that he shouldn’t have laughed at her. She hadn’t actually been kidding.
‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.
‘Great to meet you. You have great hair.’ Dante offered his most winning smile.
‘Aw, thanks,’ she simpered, beaming back at him. The compliment had the desired effect, erasing the previous gaffe from her memory.
In the course of all the meeting and greeting, Uncle Les, the older of the two bouncers, had made his way over to the group. Tonight, he was wearing blue jeans and a matching sleeveless denim jacket with a white T-shirt underneath. It showed off a rippling set of muscles and a six pack that was moulded by the thin T-shirt. He was in need of a shave, but no one was in a hurry to mention it.
‘If you folks ain’t gonna be buyin’ any drinks in here tonight I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,’ he said sternly.
‘We were just leaving, actually,’ said Obedience. ‘We’re heading for Vanity’s place. If Silence or Déjà-Vu turn up, can you tell ’em where we are?’
‘I might.’
‘Thanks.’ Obedience turned to the others. ‘C’mon. Let’s get outta here, before things turn ugly.’
Uncle Les took a look at Moose. ‘Bit late for that, ain’t it?’ he quipped. Fortunately Moose was incredibly thick-skinned, and was so certain of her attractiveness that his spiteful remark went over her head.
The group made their way out of the Nightjar, Fritz leading them down the quiet street towards the Swamp, a strip club owned by Vanity. Dante hung back with Obedience.
‘Reckon that bouncer’s a Grade-A prick, ain’t he?’ Dante ventured.
‘Yeah, but he’s a real badass. You wouldn’t wanna mess with him, trust me,’ the vampire replied.
‘Yeah?’
‘Oh yeah, he’s a hardass, all right.’
‘He ain’t no Wade Garrett, though, is he?’
‘Who the fuck’s Wade Garrett?’
Dante shook his head in disgust. ‘It don’t matter.’
‘Well, maybe they should employ this Garrett character down here. Lord knows we could do with someone to keep all the fuckin’ werewolves out.’
‘You don’t like werewolves?’
Obedience was clearly surprised that Dante even had to ask. ‘Shit no! Do you?’
‘No.’
‘Good. Those hairy stinking muthafuckers should stick to their own side of town. Last thing we need is the likes of MC Pedro in the Nightjar trying to rap with The Psychics. Fuckin’ nightmare, that was.’
Dante carried on walking along at the rear with Obedience. It was unnerving that every question he seemed to ask had an answer that he felt any vampire worth his salt was supposed to know. How the hell was he going to find out anything about the Eye of the Moon or Peto, or any crap about the clans, without sounding like a fool? Or, worse, an impostor.
Well, there was probably no way of asking without looking stupid. And since he was never normally one to worry about making an ass of himself, he just asked.
‘So tell me, Obedience. Any idea where the Eye of the Moon is these days?’
‘What?’
‘The Eye of the Moon. Y’know, that blue …’
‘I heard what you said.’ Obedience stopped dead in his tracks in the street and grabbed Dante by the arm, holding him back until the other three vampires were safely out of earshot. ‘Don’t let Vanity hear you ask any shit like that. In fact, don’t you let anyone else hear that kind of talk, either. Talk like that’ll get you killed quicker than a silver crucifix will. People here don’t talk about that stone. Brings nothing but misery with it. And if you’re asking about it, people are gonna think you have it, or know something about where it is. And that ain’t good.’
‘Shit, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Obedience started walking again. ‘Just don’t ask anyone any questions, man. Ever. I introduced you to the clan. If you show me up I’ll be in deep shit. Just be polite when Vanity asks you anything and keep your answers brief. Don’t ask any questions yourself. Keep it simple and he’ll initiate you into the clan. Okay?’
‘Okay. I can do simple. Simple’s my middle name.’
Obedience stopped again and took off his shades to reveal deep-set dark brown eyes. ‘Man, you’re nervous tonight, Dante. You were cool last night. Now you’re like a bag of cats, all fucking edgy and shit. What the fuck’s up with you?’
‘Aah, y’know, I just haven’t had a drink yet, and I wanna make a good impression when I meet this guy Vanity. Just a bit of nerves, I guess. Nothing a few shots of tequila won’t cure.’
‘Right. Fuck it,’ said Obedience. ‘Let’s stop in at the Painted Lady and have a few drinks there first. You can ask me all the stupid questions you like, get them out of your system. I’ll prep you on what not to say when you meet Vanity, and we can get tanked up while we’re there. How’s that sound?’
‘Yeah! Sounds great, man. The Painted Lady, I ain’t never heard of that place.’
‘It’s an underground joint. They got all sorts there. Alcohol, drugs, gambling, strippers and tattoos.’
‘Tattoos?’
‘Yeah, it’s a tattoo parlour by day, which is why it’s called the Painted Lady. How about getting a cool tattoo on your arm? I know Vanity’s got one of our jackets waiting for you at the Swamp. It’d be kinda rude not to have some ink on your arm to show off when you’re wearing it.’
‘Cool. I’ve always wanted a tattoo.’ Dante had visions of surprising Kacy by getting her name tattooed on his arm. She’d love that. Might even cheer her up a bit.
What actually happened when they got to the Painted Lady wouldn’t have pleased Kacy at all. Dante and Obedience stayed a little too long. They drank too much. They dabbled in some drugs and they watched the strip shows.
And when they were done with all that, Dante, in his drunken state, made a horrific error of judgement.
Twenty-Seven
The report compiled by Stephanie Rogers contained all the information that De La Cruz, Benson and Hunter required on the whereabouts of the Bourbon Kid. She had dug deep, and where so many others had failed, she had come up with an answer. For almost eighteen years a man with no name had been resident at the local mental hospital. He was living there not as a patient, but as a lodger, having checked in there shortly after Halloween eighteen years earlier.
Although the three detectives were scared of no one, they saw no need to go and collect the Bourbon Kid themselves when they could pay someone else to carry out the task for them. Muscle for hire. Specifically, the two most reliable contract musclemen in Santa Mondega: Igor the Fang and MC Pedro. They weren’t just strong, they were super strong. And supernatural. Werewolves, sent to do a vampire’s job with the promise of a few sips of blood from the Holy Cup in exchange for their services. De La Cruz had briefed them, but, lowlife that he was, he hadn’t mentioned to them that the man they were to break out of the mental hospital was in fact – if their information was correct – the son of Ishmael Taos. A man also known as the Bourbon Kid.
Ig
or parked their camper van in the far corner of the main parking lot outside Dr Moland’s Hospital. The top half of the van had been sprayed blue, but the lower half was a pea-green colour, due to a botched respraying job a few weeks earlier, when they had run out of paint halfway through. It was nearly midnight, but even in the dark the two-tone effect was clearly visible.
The parking lot wasn’t well lit, and with a bone-chilling wind coming in from the ocean it was unlikely that too many people would be loitering around outside a hospital that happened to be situated in the middle of an area of deserted wasteland. The lot had just over forty spaces, but there were only three other vehicles in it and they were all parked out front in the special ‘reserved for staff’ slots. Now was as good a time as any to break a patient out.
Both men pulled balaclavas over their faces, then tiptoed their way up to the glass doors of the hospital’s front entrance. Igor led the way, his huge, six-foot-five-inch frame hardly the best qualification for a discreet approach. MC Pedro, shorter by nine inches, followed, stooped over and trying to keep his face out of sight of any hidden cameras by covering it with his thin hairy hands. He was the smart one of the two, although only in terms of self-advancement and self-preservation. Igor was fearless because of his size, so being seen and identified bothered him less. Pedro was sneakier, and happily allowed his partner to take the lead, letting him be the first to deal with any problems they might encounter.
Pedro’s sneakiness had allowed him to climb the ladder of power among werewolves. He stuck to the simple-minded Igor like glue, using the giant as a kind of unofficial personal bodyguard. It wasn’t that Pedro couldn’t handle himself, it was just that he liked to work his way up the ladder unnoticed, picking off his enemies by first gaining their trust. Whereas if Igor ever chose to try to better himself, all he had to do was use his fists. As things currently stood in the undead world, he was unwittingly using his fists to help Pedro advance himself.
The light from the moon shimmered down on them as they crept along. Luckily it was not yet a full moon, so there was no chance of them turning hairy halfway through the operation.
