by Declan Finn
“Really?” she teased. “I must try to threaten you one of these days. Where did you learn this?”
“Like I said, Long Island. You'd be surprised how well it all works. I mean, hell, strangle me.”
She paused, wondering if he was serious. Most of the crowd was moving by, not even paying attention to them. Well, they weren’t paying attention to Marco. They all paid attention to her, whether she wanted them to or not.
Amanda humored him, and put her hands on his neck. She even pushed a little, stepping forward. He shot his right arm straight up, pressing it against his ear, trapping her left hand between his neck and his bicep. At the same time, he stepped back, and planted his left foot, stopping all backwards motion. Marco twisted, breaking the grip she had on his neck. Amanda's left hand bent backwards, still caught between his neck and arm. He then bent at the knees, almost in a squat, dropping his weight, and pulled her forward. He brought his elbow down like it was part of a hammer elbow, sweeping both of her arms down and into the waiting grip of his left hand. The left hand trapped both of her arms against his chest. Marco's right elbow swung up, and he easily jabbed it towards her chin in a slow motion side elbow, and then segued into a side hammer blow that only patted her cheek.
His left hand held her against him, her hands on his chest, their bodies close together, and their faces not eight inches apart. His expression finally changed. Marco's smile was wide, his eyes were bright, and that may have been one of the biggest displays of emotion she had ever seen from him. It was less about the simulated violence, and more about the sheer joy of teaching. He liked demonstrating something for her.
He was so happy about it, she didn't have the heart to tell him she was already an expert in Krav Maga, and could probably hurt him, if she had to.
“You know,” she whispered. “At this range, I could possibly bite you.”
Marco upgraded to a full grin. “Promises, promises.”
They had obviously lingered too long when other people around them started to give them strange looks. He let go of her, and she reluctantly pulled away.
“Funny that all of it was invented by a short, squat fellow with a police background in Eastern Europe,” he said casually, heading back into encyclopedia territory as though nothing happened. “Can you imagine trying to train those fresh recruits? They had no background at all, but were forced by circumstance to stand out in the hot sun, and burning desert, trying to figure out what this guy was trying to tell them. Strike. Strike! Strike! All the time wondering just how bad it was really going to get.”
Marco fell into a wistful look, almost as though he were recalling a distant memory.
“Recalling your youth?” she teased.
Marco shook his head. “Nah, thinking of another good memory. Come on, the dinosaurs are this way.”
Amanda watched him walk away with long, brisk strides. Without even thinking about it, she said something that made Marco come to a dead stop.
“Would you like to show me your neighborhood?”
Marco jerked and pivoted, and blinked. “The last thing I'd want to inflict on you is Brooklyn.”
“I would like to see where you come from,” Amanda said.
“I come from the Twilight Zone, but if you insist…”
A quick car ride later—Marco insisted that the trains were nice, but he had already taken advantage of the alternate side of the street parking rules for the day— they had already moved on to their next stop.
“This is an interesting place,” Amanda said, looking through an area of Brooklyn where it seemed like the property values could have improved drastically if they just invested some money in upkeep. It was just off of Manhattan Avenue, but she thought it looked nothing like Manhattan. The streets were dark, the residences were interlinked, and the local idea of a doorway must have come from designers who forgot to plan for a door, and just pounded one into the wall, and then installed one of metal and steel bars.
“I know people here. You wanted to see, didn't you?” he asked her. Marco knocked on the door once, then twice, and then kicked the door in with a loud metallic gong.
The place looked like it was unfinished, with exposed brick face. However, it was clean, and relatively neat and tidy. The furniture was obviously secondhand, but quite serviceable. The only complaint someone might have was the sporadic lighting.
Marco waved her through. “After you.”
“You do not need an invitation?” she teased, remembering the first time he was at her place.
His amused smile flickered a little wider for a second. “I've been invited in before. They haven't been smart enough to revoke the invite.”
“Who the hell?” Someone stepped out into the front room, a short, sturdy fellow, bald with a tattoo of a green Chinese water dragon tattooed on the back of his scalp. “Marco, don't you call first?”
“Zeng, honestly,” Marco drawled, “you should know me better by now. Amanda Colt, Zeng Nyugen, head of a gang, believe it or not. The Dragons.”
She shot him a sidelong look that clearly asked him if he was being serious. He nodded. “Just think of them as my minions.”
Marco looked back to Zeng. “You're not hanging out with your lesser half?”
A tall Hispanic fellow stepped out behind Zeng. “Who's the chica?”
Marco's eyes narrowed, and his smile widened slowly. Amanda felt the temperature drop several degrees, and it looked like her friend was about to turn the newcomer into lunch. “The lady's name is Amanda Colt. She will be treated as such. Señor Hector Vega, head of the glorified street gang Los Tigres.”
Now Amanda had to work hard on maintaining her poker face. “Tigers and Dragons…”
“As in Crouching and Hiding, yes,” Marco said with a nod, his humor obviously drained as he stared at Vega.
Vega raised his hands and took a step back, almost a sign of submission she had seen in wolves. “No offense, Marco.”
“Good.” Marco's eternal smile returned and he turned back to Amanda. “Before you ask, yes, they did watch West Side Story growing up, and too many other bad films from the seventies. They have their pretenses, and I indulge them.”
Zeng sniffed. “Come on, man. Why you have to be like that?”
“Because I remember how we all met. Don't you?” His eyes flicked back to Amanda, less tense. “That's a long story.”
“So, Marco,” Vega said, “she your new girlfriend?”
“She is a lady, and she is a friend. That is the extent of it. Take a picture, if you like, Zeng, it will last longer.”
“Hey, man, I meant no offense—”
“I mean it literally. Take a photo, pass it around to everyone. If she's seen, she is to be helped in any way she requires. You will not try to pick her up, you will not do anything stupid around her. You will simply be perfect gentlemen whenever she is around. Period. Understood?”
Amanda smiled. How sweet, I think this is his way of being chivalrous. The feudal lord commanding his serfs. Perfectly medieval. I wonder what comes next?
He nodded to them both when they had each taken one picture apiece, and then sent a quick text message to the others in their gangs.
As the two of them walked out, Amanda asked, “What was that all about?”
“You asked to see where I come from. They're a part of it, whether they like it or not.” Marco shrugged. “Not to mention that if you're going to be sticking around for a while, and coming through Brooklyn, then you're going to be glad you have a carte blanche from those yo-yos. They're mostly harmless, but a large group of young males with a woman like you…well, I prefer to be safe.”
She smiled. “You think I cannot take care of myself?”
“I'm sure you can, but wouldn't avoiding complications be easier on everyone?”
“If you say so. Where to next?”
* * * *
“Welcome to beautiful downtown Greenpoint—or, as the locals have called it for the last seventy years, Greenpernt.” Marco gestur
ed out over the water of the East River, at the section called Turtle Bay. Across the river was the United Nations, along with the rest of the New York skyline. “Despite all of the grief Brooklynites receive, there are some advantages to the area. Some nice sights. Ignore most of the rumors of mafia activity. We haven't had those sorts of problems since at least the eighties. Not around here, anyway.”
Amanda gave a deep, happy sigh as she looped his left arm with her right, and brought them closer together. He was nice and warm, and not so rock hard with muscle that he was uncomfortable to hold onto. She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Marco. It has been quite some time since I have gone out and enjoyed myself. ”
“My pleasure, madam. I must say that I've enjoyed it, too.”
Amanda could feel his heart pumping harder. Was it merely her proximity, or was he intending to do something about it?
And how do I feel about it?
“Yo, dude, your money and your girlfriend.”
Marco wheeled right as Amanda turned left. There were four men, and with a quick sweep of her eyes, Amanda caught a glimpse of four knives.
“I am single,” she said. She looked over the four of them. “But guidos like you are not what I enjoy playing with. So...go...away.”
“You're not grunting enough,” Marco said, his own eyes keeping track of the two on his left. “You also need to use phrases and quotes from Pacino and DeNiro movies.”
Guido Number One sneered. “Let's start with some money.”
“Let's start with giving you a higher education,” Marco said easily. “We'll talk after that. I don't speak Guido.”
“That's it!” the knife guy took a step forward, raising his knife.
Suddenly, Amanda was in front of Marco, taking the knife to the stomach.
* * * *
The knife wound was all the way to the hilt, and lodged deep in Amanda's gut. He quickly diagnosed it as fatal without immediate medical attention—by immediate, he meant right this minute, damnit.
Marco took a step forward, ready to hold the knife in Amanda's stomach before it was pulled out and left the wound open.
Doing that took his attention off of the other two losers behind him. One grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. Marco blocked with both arms as the attacker swung a knife straight for his guts.
Marco met the wrist of the knife hand with the blade of his forearm. His other arm came around in a roundhouse punch into the attacker's face. The fist clamped down onto the same shoulder as the arm holding the knife. The arm that blocked the initial strike came up and around, wrapping the arm up in Marco's own—the wrist was caught between forearm and bicep. Holding him by both points, Marco drove his foot straight up into the attacker's groin, driving his genitals into his abdomen. He twisted his entire body around, bringing the thug with him, putting his body between him and the next attacker. He snapped the arm with a sharp rotation of his body, grabbing the knife as it fell.
The other guy tried to leap over his comrade. Marco sidestepped the blade, and the attacker tripped over the disabled knifeman. Before he could get off the concrete, Marco stomped down on the back of his head, bouncing it off of the sidewalk.
Marco spun around, ready to dispose of the other two and get Amanda to a hospital, when he stopped in his tracks.
Amanda had already disposed of one them, and was disposing of the other, her mouth clamped down on his throat. A trickle of blood ran down the man's neck.
“What the—?” This was the only reaction he could manage before Amanda whirled on him too.
Everything went black.
* * * *
When Marco Catalano awoke, he had some serious issues.
Being bound and gagged wasn't that bad. He could handle that. The problem was that the knots were well tied all around. That was the annoying part.
Granted, it would have been easier if he was in a room, held hostage in a building. Unfortunately, he was on a roof with no visible access, short of climbing the side of the building. That was common with older buildings in Brooklyn, built before roof access was required so repairmen could deal with the HVAC systems.
That was disturbing.
Marco replayed the final images before the world went black. The conclusions to be reached were not encouraging. He rolled over from his shoulder to his back. Sitting on the edge of the roof was Amanda, her nice sweater ruined with dark red stains and a hole in the stomach. If he didn't know better, he would have concluded she was crying. It was hard to tell in the dark.
“You're awake,” she said flatly. “Good. We need to talk.”
Chapter Four: Dating Sucks
November 4th, On a rooftop in Greenpoint
Amanda Colt was crying.
She couldn't help it, really. The horror of that night's events had nothing to do with her being stabbed, or Marco Catalano's somewhat savage counters on two of their attackers, or that she had attacked two of the thugs, sucked their blood, and even bit Marco while nearly feral.
The most horrific part of it was that the night was going so well.
Twenty years. She'd been alone for twenty years, not counting the men who had spent more time trying to get into her pants rather than trying to get to know her. She hadn't exactly been a social butterfly for the previous decades before that, either.
Amanda faked “normal” so very well. The sunscreen let her extend her mobility by hours, at dusk and at dawn. Then she met Marco.
He was impressive. She tried to remember the last person who had such a wide variety of interests. When he started discussing historical events, she actually thought he had been there. Marco had intense focus, and an inability to care what others thought of him. He even made certain to stay in the shade when they were together, noticing her suntan lotion. He had been considerate of her the whole time.
Mind “like a computer” or not, he could anticipate her to such an extent that not even her vampire reflexes were able to sneak past his defenses.
In fencing…Of course in fencing…
Amanda, do you even believe that? Not really.
Also, he actually cared about what she thought. The last time she had discovered someone like that, the guy was a Soviet Spy and she had to eat him.
Now so much work, so much effort, had all been undone by two muggers. The night was going so well. She was even tempted to tell Marco, to explain to him what she was, and how that differed from all of the vampire stuff the culture was subjected to. She was so tempted.
Now what would he do? Report her? He had his friends take a picture of her. He could send that to anyone he liked. He could easily blow her cover as a vampire by posting her picture online. Facebook. YouTube. The Internet would not be her friend in this instance.
Things could only get worse from there.
Amanda heard Marco's heartbeat start to accelerate. He was starting to wake up. Amanda dried her eyes. She didn't have much makeup on, but there would be enough to streak. She hated that she had to use a digital web camera to apply makeup, but mirrors were sort of out of the question for her.
“You're awake,” she said flatly. “Good. We need to talk.”
Marco's extended silence spoke volumes, mostly a thousand decibels of “no kidding!”
Amanda cocked her head, studying him a moment, much like she had during their normal conversations. Yet this was anything but normal. “You are not having the overreaction that I expected.”
“O-r-re-a-on?” he muttered through his gag.
That was easy to expand into an entire thought: Is there a way to overreact to this sort of thing?
She nodded. “Da, I suppose you are right.”
Marco sighed in irritation, then rubbed his face against the roof, trying to get the tape off of his mouth. Amanda approached him.
“Stop that. I will get it if you promise not to bite.”
Marco looked at her in…his eyes read irritation, though she would have sworn that he was still smiling beneath the tape.
&
nbsp; She smiled awkwardly and gave a little shrug. “Poor choice of words.”
When she pulled the tape off of his mouth, Marco's first words were, “You wouldn't have caught me if I were aware that you were a vampire. You cheated.”
Amanda was the one who startled this time. This was not the response she had expected. “That is it? Your complaint is playing fair?”
“I've tried to not say this, but, while I am a little crazy, I'm a genius-level crazy. I'm smarter than Wile E. Coyote, and I can make my own ACME devices from scratch.” He rolled on the roof so he could get himself into a sitting position. “I've come to the conclusion that you're not going to eat me. You've had plenty of chances before now, but you chose to subdue me only after I noticed you eating your attacker. I figure I'm safe, unless you've decided that knowing is enough to get me killed. If that were the case, though, I think I'd be dead already. So, if the remaining discussion consists of whether or not I could keep your secret, my reply is: who would I tell?”
Amanda stared in wonder for a moment. His voice was calm and matter-of-fact. His manner was more annoyed than frightened. In fact, there was no fear in his voice at all. He wasn't scared. His heartbeat hardly increased since he regained consciousness.
“You are remarkably calm.”
Marco scoffed. “Do you know what a secondary sociopath is?”
“Sociopath under certain conditions, like natural disasters and soccer games.”
“Right. I’ve always suspected I'm some flavor of sociopath, which explains a lot.” He looked around at their surroundings. “Now, I can be untied and we can have this conversation somewhere else, or you can let me sleep. I'll find my way down in the morning.”
Amanda nodded, and sat back at the edge of the roof. “Pull on the ropes. Hard.”
Marco did, as hard as possible. The ropes snapped. He pulled his hands in front of him, staring at his former bonds as they dangled from his wrists. The bonds were the thick rope one would find on boats.
“That's a cute trick,” Marco muttered. He looked up at her. “You better not have turned me into a vampire while I was sleeping, otherwise, we really will have to have a talk. Possibly with sharp objects.”
