by Declan Finn
Zeng stepped closer to Marco, dropping his voice. “Marco, we don't need to talk around her. In fact, she may not want to know.”
“Amanda needs to tag along. Trust me. She can take care of herself. And anyone who gets in her way.”
As they walked and talked, the two leaders were looking at Marco as though he had grown three heads and a tail. They hardly looked at Amanda since Marco started speaking, and that was an achievement.
“Marco,” Zeng said, “no disrespect man, but what the hell?”
“Seriously,” Vega added, “vampires? I know these dudes have been vicious, but still—”
Marco's glance was enough to cut off both of their complaints. “What? You want evidence? You want proof? I'll give you proof. I'll give you solid, flesh and blood proof that you two can choke on. So can the rest of your guys.”
Amanda internally cringed. Is he going to expose me right here, in front of all of them?
“Come here,” Marco said, then pushed into another room. It was a patient room, but empty. However, it had a TV and a DVD player.
Marco slipped out a DVD from his coat pocket, and then put it into the player. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “There are some things they won't miss in the security office.”
The film was Marco, looking through a microscope until he stopped and looked around. Then someone walked in. After a brief scuffle, the other guy went out of frame, then back into frame, only to have Marco garrote him with a rosary, and the body turned to ashes.
“Now, unless you think that I spent a lot of time and energy putting together a movie production so I can screw with you guys, I think this is fairly compelling evidence that I'm not lying to you. It's time to apply Marco's straight razor.”
Amanda chimed in. “What is that?”
“That the simplest solution to accept my story rather than to be on my bad side.”
Vega nervously stretched his neck to one side, then the other. “Yeah, okay, they're vampires. So what?”
Zeng rolled his shoulders, trying to hide his discomfort at the new concept. “They're vampires. How does that help us, other than letting us know we’re screwed? Seriously? These are killers. We don't know how to deal with this kind of…people.”
“That's okay, because I do.” He started to move outside, backing up into the door, using his butt to open the push bar. “Come on. You two have work to do.”
Zeng crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah? And the first step is?”
Marco held the door open. “You're going to get all of your thugs and smart-ass fellas together as soon as possible. You're going to meet me when I get out of classes. We're going to meet in Washington Square Park. I know it's the city, but if you guys can't face up to the thugs who inhabit the area, you should all give up and go home.”
“Then what?” Vega asked him.
Marco's eyes flashed. “I’m going to teach you to fight monsters.” He jerked his head to one side. “Come. We have an army of darkness to fight, and no Bruce Campbell to do it with.”
Amanda smiled to herself as followed the other two out the door. She enjoyed watching Marco at work. His words were sharp and fast and precise. There would be no misunderstanding should he have to kill someone. The inflection was enough, but his words took the extra step. He moved through the hall with speed, as though he owned the place. He knew where he was going, a man on a mission, so blocking his path was unwise. Those that wouldn't, or couldn't, move fast enough, he stepped around with grace.
It is odd, Amanda thought. He is almost more military than men I’ve died with in world wars.
It was almost like he was eager to go to war with something. He was elegant, and graceful, and for the first time his movements matched her first impression of him–that he was more like a dancer than a wrestler.
“Where are you going to find the time?” Zeng asked, catching up to him. “Aren't you supposed to be this hotshot med student?”
Marco came down on the forward foot, and pivoted, scooping Zeng up by the lapels of his leather jacket and brought him up against the wall. Marco held Zeng there, bringing them eye-to-eye. “I'm not a med student. I'm a Physician Assistant student. Get it right, and don't insult me like that.”
Vega hung back, and Amanda could smell his fear, which had the bitter taste of adrenaline and the sour taste of sweat. It was odd how they both reacted to him. Why were these two so afraid of Marco?
She figured she might as well ask.
“Why are they so afraid of you?”
“They're not afraid. They are merely wary of my currently energetic condition.” He dropped Zeng and said, “Come on, there's work to be done!”
The three of them let him go bounding off. Amanda rolled her eyes and turned to the gang leaders curiously. “Would you two like to tell me why you're so worried about him?”
Zeng snickered. “You want the list?”
Vega nodded. “He's a scary dude. You want it in fifty words or less?”
If these two are going to be like that, I will have to make do. Amanda shrugged. “That would be nice.”
“Have him tell you about the thing with Lily,” Zeng said.
“Only, do it nicely,” his counterpart put in, “and don't tell him we suggested it.”
“Seriously, don't.”
“You're the one dating him,” Hector told her.
“So you can get away with it,” the Dragon leader agreed.
Amanda looked from one to the other. “We are not dating.”
The two gang leaders shared a glance. Their silence said more than any smart-mouth response could have.
She rolled her eyes, and followed after Marco, considering what little information she had. Lily again? If she was not already gone from Marco's life, I would be worried that there was competition.
Then again, what competition? I am not dating him. Nor do I want to. Why would I? He has already made it clear, we are merely friends.
“Go, catch up to Marco, I suspect he will want his vassals to tag along,” Amanda joked. The two of them nodded, and left.
Amanda casually walked after them. Why would Lily be the key to understanding Marco?
* * * *
Marco walked into the family brownstone late. He was able to watch the sun come up from the wrong end.
“You know, when I asked you to look at the problem,” said his father from the living room, “I didn't expect you to take all night.”
Marco looked left and chuckled. His father was sitting in the dark, still waiting for him. “I came across some issues.”
Doctor Robert Catalano folded the newspaper in front of him, laying it neatly in his lap. “Did some of these issues have something to do with Amanda?”
His father was smart, fine, but if he was serious with that comment about Amanda, it was an intelligence leap of epic proportions. “Why would you think that?”
“Because she's highly intelligent, and I'm certain that you can make the time go faster if she were around.”
“Uh huh.” Marco thought a moment as he sat into the couch. Was his father still working on playing matchmaker, or did he suspect that something more was really going on? It was hard to tell. “In any event, you don't have a bacteria, you have a virus. Hemophagic, instead of necrotizing fasciitis.”
Robert chuckled, and shifted at his chair. “You're taking the whole 'flesh eating bacteria' title a little too literally, aren't you?”
“No, I know the difference, but I think this virus literally eats blood. Which means that you were right in the first place, the holes in the blood culture plate were done on the microscopic level.”
His father the doctor was silent for a moment, thinking this over. “If a microscopic organism can go through that much blood in two days, the virulence must be—”
“I tested it,” Marco interjected. “The virus cells have already starved to death. Without blood, they only hang around for a short amount of time.” Marco thought a moment, wondering if he could us
e information he had from Amanda to add to his theory.
It couldn't hurt.
“Or, there was just not enough of a virus to make it stick,” he suggested, thinking out loud. “It could be something like having a bit of a cold. We're exposed to viruses every day, and few hang around in the body in any strength, or to any effect.”
Marco wondered if that could even be possible to attribute that characteristic to something in a lab, and not inside a human being. He wondered why he was so off. Then realized he had been up for almost twenty-four hours. “Am I rambling? Or making any sense?”
“Yes, and sort of, in that order,” his father answered.
Chapter Ten: Application of Fear
January 5th
Amanda Colt had long become inured against the long looks of men, and the envious glares of women…well, some women. There were others who tried to hit on her; especially when she was walking through Greenwich Village. There was a time, not too long ago, when she considered shaving her head, and trying to mar her looks with acid. However, any damage that she had ever taken had healed. It struck her as odd that she made some adjustments to her wardrobe today. She had picked out a white hooded sweater that she had always found a little snug, but would help against the cold. She spent nearly an hour with her hair, as opposed to her standard wash and wear evenings. It felt strange to behave this way; she was only going to Washington Square Park to meet Marco.
Washington Square Park was not far from Hudson University. As a park, it didn't rate in the top five in New York City. It was stiff competition when one factored in all five boroughs and the overwhelming grandeur of Central Park. As a park, however, it would suffice.
As a training ground, even better. Hooligans from other parts of the city gravitated towards Washington Square.
As Amanda closed in, she spotted Marco Catalano from a distance, sitting on the edge of the fountain. A backpack sat next to him on the fountain, and a briefcase sat on the ground. He was early, pocket knife in one hand and an old chair leg in the other. The leg was thicker than his wrist, and over a foot long. It was pleasant to watch him work. His eyes were focused on the chair leg, as though he were working on a mathematical problem. She tried to remember the last time she met a man that detail-oriented. She was even more amused as she sauntered up to him, and he didn't even look up.
“Are you whittling?” she asked.
Marco jerked out of his concentration, and blinked at her a few times. “Can you think of a better hobby to have right now?”
She motioned to the chair leg. “Where did you get that?”
“Oh, you'd be surprised what New Yorkers will throw out. The chair had four perfectly good legs, though the back was broken.”
She slid next to him on the edge of the water fountain. “You want to make that a knife?”
He shrugged, and put some more details on the leg. “Knife, short sword, something like that. I prefer it be something I can throw.”
“Humans can dodge throwing knives, what makes you think that vampires cannot?”
“That assumes I'm only going to encounter smart vampires, and no humans.”
“So, have you had to deal with many muggers? Aside from our first outing?”
Marco's hands kept moving, though his eyes no longer focused on the task. His eyes were somewhere else, something Amanda did not know about.
Another mugger Marco had to deal with? she thought.
“Of course,” he finally answered, surprisingly casual. “You saw me deal with those two the night we had The Talk. Did you think I was unskilled? After all, I live in Brooklyn, where only the strong survive.”
“Da. I saw that shirt. By the way, the others are here.”
Marco looked up, then around, then squinted at what Amanda knew to be Los Tigres and the Dragons, led by their respective heads. “I'm going to ask you to bite me again sometime soon. I miss having twenty-fifteen eyesight.”
She smiled to herself, and leaned in close to him, her lips almost kissing his ear. “All you have to do is ask.”
Marco blinked, taken off guard, then shivered. He cleared his throat. “By the way, I should probably ask, vampire anatomy is no different from regular human, right?”
“Oh yes,” she said, her voice low.
“Good, I'll need that for the pressure points,” he said, stretching his neck, deliberately moving his head further away from her. It meant exposing his neck, but it took his ear out of her lip range.
Amanda blinked, then settled back, away from him. “Oh! Yes, of course. Um, that should work.”
“Good.” He stood as Hector and the others came close. “Hey there, everybody, how are you?”
He looked over the collection of other men. Maybe a third of them were younger than twenty, but most of them seemed interested in staying in the “gangs” for as long as they could—possibly a matter of boredom on a Friday night. Stay in and read a book, or kick some ass? What a choice.
Some of them had jobs in EMS, others in the fire department, and a few moved far away from jobs that could be considered “street level.” The least blue collar worker was Kellen Capone, who was the oldest, at thirty-five, and the foreman at a construction company. He was adopted when Vega's crew had discovered him beating two thugs into another incarnation with a piece of rebar.
“Everyone up to speed?” Marco asked.
“Ye-up,” Kellen answered. He looked around the others and smiled. “You kids sure are interesting.”
“You have no idea,” Marco said dryly. He looked over the crowd and winced. This was going to become crowded rather fast. “Does anyone here have combat experience?”
No one was surprised that Kellen raised a finger. “I spent some time in the reserves, that count?”
“Close enough. Anyone else? Fist fights? Schoolyard scuffles? Mild training in an obscure martial art when you were ten? Anyone?”
There were more than a few volunteers from the crowd. He sent back anyone whose idea of a scuffle was five guys beating down two muggers. However, a quarter of them had put time in the military, including actual military service. He nodded, trying to keep all of them in mind.
He finally turned to Amanda and whispered, “How much of this do you want to handle?”
She shrugged. “You are the human.”
“Gee, thanks. Big help you are.” He looked back to them with his customary, amused smile. “Anyway, Vampires 101. Let's start with everything you have ever needed to know about vampires, you learned from Bram Stoker.”
“Who?” one of the younger ones said.
Marco rolled his eyes and sighed. “Screw you, Marvel Comics. Okay. Vampires are not cute biological anomalies. They do not sparkle, they do not glitter, they are not shiny, and they are more like the ones from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and less like what you see in the Blade movies. You can fend them off with any holy object. You kill them with decapitation, with fire, and with a nice solid stake to the heart.”
One of the smartasses laughed. “You want us to go shopping at the meat market now?”
Vega smacked him upside the head. “Wooden stakes, for nailing things down.”
Marco held up the wooden chair leg, which already looked like it was on the way to becoming a short sword. “In this case, nail them through the heart.”
Amanda nodded. “Metal does not damage them as badly as wood does. Damage inflicted by wood will take them longer to recover from, unless you are cutting off a limb with a bladed weapon. Also, do not go through the ribcage if you can avoid it.”
Marco grinned broadly. “Exactly. If you can stab them at an upward angle, you can go underneath the ribcage to the heart.”
Hector Vega looked over his gang and smiled. He asked Marco, “How do you feel about machetes?”
“I assume you are not stabbing with it?”
“It sure as hell ain't a fencing foil.”
“Sure. Just make sure you're cutting off heads. Religious artifacts are good to carry. Crucifixes—not crosses
, I mean the one with the person hanging off of it. In my case—” Marco reached into his shirt and pulled out what he wore around his neck, a rosary—“a rosary is not jewelry, it is a religious artifact. It makes it harder for someone to rip your throat out. I suggest you don't get that close if you can avoid it.”
“I ain't Catholic,” one of Zeng's people in the back said. “I'm a Uighur Muslim, a Turk.”
Marco looked at the guy in the middle of the Dragons. “Funny, you don't look Turkish.”
Zeng waved it away. “That's what they call his people in China. Turks.”
Amanda cut in now. “It doesn't matter what you are. This is not a matter of faith. The object itself is what is important. God can come into the world of His own accord; a booby trap, if you want. A cross is easier to use as a weapon than smacking someone with a Torah.”
“Exactly,” Marco said, backing her up gratefully.
Amanda smiled at him, about to say something else, but hesitated. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted a small band forming near the arch leading to Washington Square. They didn't look like they wanted to join in with Marco and company. In fact, they looked decidedly like the folks that Zeng and Hector's people would beat up on a regular basis. As more people joined, they started flashing hand gestures at each other.
That sure isn’t ASL. Gang signs, great. Her eyes flickered to Marco's, and she gave him a slight nod.
“I love working with you,” he said under his breath, so softly that even Amanda had trouble hearing him. Marco flashed her a smile, then looked back to the crowd of Dragons and Tigers. “Now, in addition to crosses and such, holy water is also recommended.”
He bent down, and picked up his bag, taking out a glass bottle of what had been a Starbucks iced coffee. The bottle just barely came out the top of his hand, filled with water. “Filled fresh with water from the baptismal font at St. Patrick's Cathedral. Who here has played baseball?”
Easily a third of the crowd raised their hands. Marco nodded. “Good. When you're out in squads, you guys should carry at least a six pack of these with you every night. In fact, I'd say carry twelve. Just pretend they're baseballs, and throw them at full force and direct impact. Now, we may need an intermission, as I think we have company.”
