Honor at Stake (Love at First Bite Book 1)

by Declan Finn

  Amanda smiled, which made his knees weak. I’m human, all right?

  “Not quite that bad.”

  “I should hope not.” He looked this Amanda Colt over again, visibly this time. “You live in New York, I guess, but Dalf’s in Boston. For someone to have connections that deep, I’d expect you to have fangs, horns, and claws.”

  She flinched. Merle waved a hand. “I mean I’d expect you to have the full set of Goth implants, but from what I can tell, you’re all natural.” Is she ever.

  “I should hope so,” she stated.

  Merle folded his arms. “So, where do you fit in all of this?”

  “In Brooklyn, we have been dealing with certain difficulties for some time, long before the police or FBI caught on. You might be the first person to help us deal with it.”

  He braced for impact. “What are these difficulties?”

  “Do you believe in…well, what do you believe in?”

  “I believe in the tooth fairy, Santa Claus, angels, demons, God, reality, and other stuff. Anything in particular?”

  “Well, I have something a little less extreme than a belief in demons—what about vampires?”

  Gee, vampires, why am I not surprised? Aside from the fact that the body in Brooklyn was drained of blood. Question is, does she merely believe that we’re dealing with vampires, or does she have proof? Play along in either event.

  After years in San Francisco, Merle knew how to deal with dangerous loonies. “You know, you’d figure that vampires would pick someplace that looked sort of like Hell. The Sudan, perhaps. Not like anyone’d miss a few more bodies, especially those of the Christians. Granted, if they ate a few slavers, no one would cry too much either. Then there’s LA. Stuff all the vamps in there and let the whole city burn to the ground. But New York?” He shook his head. “You’d figure they’d have enough sense to be afraid of Mayor Giuliani, at least. If they thought he came down on squeegee men hard…”

  Amanda started laughing. “You know, that sounds like something Marco would say. Except Giuliani is no longer mayor.”

  “Marco…Polo?”

  “Catalano.”

  Merle nodded slowly. “Ah. What part of New York are you in?”

  “Greenpoint.”

  “Okay, and why do you need me? Why not talk to Dalf?”

  “He's evil, you're not? Did I get that backwards?”

  “That's true enough.” Merle took a deep breath. “I should’ve known it was going to be one of those days. When will you be ready to head out?”

  “Now.”

  Wow, she didn’t waste time, did she? “I suppose you already have our plane tickets.”

  “On the redeye before dawn.”

  Merle furrowed his brows in confusion. “Isn’t the point of the redeye to leave California when you’re about to go to sleep, and land in New York as you wake up? In the daytime?”

  “Let’s say that I’m not a morning person. Your ticket is in first class, by the way.”

  He gave her a smile that made him seem more confused than he usually was. “Wow, thanks. Both of us?”

  “No,” Amanda said hesitantly. “I’m in…a different class.”

  She can't afford two first-class tickets. Well, that was nice of her. “Thanks, I appreciate it. Just give me a bit to gather some things, would you?”

  She nodded, and Merle went into the back supposedly to pack, and closed the sound-proofed door. He flipped open a cell phone, dialing his favorite cop.

  “Detective Kristen Kelly,” his ex-wife answered.

  “Hey, Kris, how are you?”

  “I’m…fine. How are you, Merle?”

  “A little busy, believe it or not.”

  “Have the creatures of San Francisco finally raised a zombie plague for you?” Kristen asked with a laugh.

  Wow, that is so many kinds of not funny. “No, if that were the case, I would call brother Tal, tell him to come out of New Orleans and get his tuchus up here. Actually, the creatures are coming out of New York to see me now.”

  “Hmm, really? Anyone I know?”

  “That depends, can you look up two names for me?”

  “Anything to improve our relations with the feds, or whatever you are, but why can’t you look them up?”

  “I can, but I always like to use my status as a last resort—since I’m a little vague as to who I work for precisely. I find it generally easier to avoid using my access.”

  “Why not talk with Demers?”

  “Because she’s Federal, not local, and I’d like street cop input.” The fact that I really like talking to Kristen has nothing to do with it. Honest.

  “All right, what are the names?”

  “Marco Catalano and Amanda Colt. Apparently they’re both residents of Greenpoint.”

  “Wait a second, Greenpoint?” she said, pronouncing it Greenpernt like a proper New York native. “I think I know about Catalano. He lives in Brooklyn. Real smartass. The borough cops don’t know whether to smack him or invite him to doughnuts.”

  “Charming. What is he, then? Drug lord with a sense of humor? Benevolent hemorrhoid? Candystriper? What?”

  “He’s a student at Hudson who plays nice with the local gangs and mouths off to the cops. You want to get his FBI file?” Kristen asked.

  “Of course. Marco Catalano has an FBI file. So does everybody. You have an FBI file. I have an FBI file, but the last person who read it went insane…”

  Kristen hesitated. “Merle?”

  “Just kidding,” Merle said with a laugh. I hope.

  “As for his FBI file, what do you think I’m looking at?” she asked. “I have to tell you, I hear a fair bit about him through the grapevine. His father runs a hospital in Brooklyn, and the area is controlled by two local gangs who have watched too many movies.”

  Merle hesitated a moment. “How so?”

  “You remember Louis Farrakhan’s bowtie brigades?”

  “You mean the guys who act as enforcers, roughing up drug dealers and such when the neighborhood disapproves of them?”

  “That’s them. Apparently, these two gangs want to be them when they grow up. I think they have too many movies under their belt. One is the Dragons, the other the Tigers.”

  “Crouching tiger, hidden dragon?” he said, groaning. “God save us, this sounds like a bad movie.”

  * * * *

  Hector Vega had accepted the dirty looks from the nurses as he dealt out the cards. He had no problem using his rolling food tray for playing cards. The nurses did. Maybe they just disapproved of poker in general.

  However, as time went on, he and Zeng Nyugen got tired of getting their heads handed to them by Marco. The man had a poker face like a gargoyle.

  Hector turned to Zeng on his right, then Marco on his left. Both were perched on stools high enough for their hands to be level with the tray.

  Zeng nodded, and looked at Marco over his cards. He knew one thing that might break his poker face. “So, why did Amanda go to San Francisco and not you?”

  Marco's poker face didn't even dent as he tossed a few more dollars on the table. “I have a test. She has the money for a ticket. I wasn't in a position to argue. I'll see you and raise you five.”

  “I'll see that,” Hector said. “When did she leave then? She's going to California. I would have thought it would be about nine in the morning.”

  Marco's face didn't even twitch. “She left a few hours ago.”

  Zeng arched a brow. “Isn't it customary to leave in the morning? She'll get there in darkness. I'll see you both, and raise ten.”

  Marco looked at Zeng with the predatory gleam in his eye that would usually make him want to curl up into a corner and cry. Now it almost seemed…playful? Like a cat playing with a mouse, I'm sure. Though, for some reason, I'm almost certain he just wants my money.

  Without hesitation, Marco said, “I'll see you, raise you twenty.”

  Zeng blinked. “Okay. Listen, you have something going on with her, right? Something?
Anything?”

  Hector nodded and smiled easily. “Yeah. Hey, we’re not trying to mess with you. We’ve both known you a long time now. She's good for you, bro. I haven't felt like you were going to kill me in weeks. I'll see that and raise an additional five.”

  Marco's smile broadened. “If you don't count what I'm going to do to you right now. Zeng, you're up.”

  “You know what. You're starting to threaten us again. Only during poker. I think you're bluffing. All in.”

  “Brave words for a man who's almost out of cash,” Marco said. “Fine. All in.”

  “Aw guys,” Hector said. “I'm wounded enough, I don't have to take this abuse. I fold.”

  “Wise man.” Marco looked at Zeng, and turned over his four aces. “You wanted a reaction from me, Zeng. You got it.”

  * * * *

  In San Francisco, on the phone with his ex-wife, Merle Kraft sighed. “What about the other one? Colt?”

  “Not sure…let’s see. Okay, I’ve got an address in upper Manhattan, a name, social security number, and a birth date. She should be about twenty-one. There’s no evidence of employment, no real background though. Merle, the last time I saw something like this, it was for a WitSec client.”

  That made no sense. “Witness Protection guarding a Russian?”

  “That is something different. Possibly CIA. They were allowed by the INS to bring in over 500 people per year with fake visas and nationalization paperwork before it became ICE. Whatever they say she is on paper here, she really isn’t.”

  “Of course she isn't. Why wouldn't she be? Any thoughts on my two people?”

  Kristen paused a moment. “I've heard of Marco. He might be an ass, but he's our ass. He’s a decent guy. And there are a lot of cops starting to think something is up.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  “You'll never believe this, but they're talking, um, vampires.”

  “Of course they are,” Merle said with a sigh. There are days when my life reads like a Twilight Zone script, only without the chain-smoking, black-and-white narrator.

  Merle Kraft didn't know that by the end of the affair it would look more like a Stephen King novel.

  “Merle?”

  “Hm?”

  “Vampires don't really exist do they? Dalf isn't one, last time I checked. I always just assumed he was Hellspawn of some sort.”

  Merle sighed. “Right now, it wouldn't surprise me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Filling in the New Guy

  April 15th, 6 PM. JFK Airport, New York City

  Merle disembarked with a rucksack over one shoulder. He invisibly weaved his way through the airport terminus, his blue eyes darting from face to face, hoping to catch a glimpse of Amanda Colt. While they had been in two different sections, he thought he’d at least see her getting on and off.

  “This the one we want?” a deep voice asked.

  Merle pivoted in mid-stride to the new voice. Eight feet away was a tall, athletic, blond man with deep blue eyes wearing gray slacks and a red polo shirt.

  This face carried an almost permanent smile that reminded Merle of Sabatini’s line: “He was born with the gift of laughter, and the sense that the world was mad.” Next to him was Amanda Colt.

  Okay, this must be the legendary smartass Marco, but how’d she get off the plane ahead of me?

  Amanda smiled. “Yup, that’s him.”

  The other fellow held out his hand. “Marco Catalano.”

  * * * *

  Merle looked over the two people in front of the car, refusing to get into the car without assurance. He had done enough background research to be nervous. Marco Catalano was no one to worry about. Amanda’s social security number, however, looked about as kosher as a pig in an Israeli deli. Never mind the rest of the information on her.

  “So, how did you two kids get wrapped up in this?” Merle asked. “Vampires, and all?”

  Marco chuckled. “You must have an open mind about such things.”

  “You can't imagine.”

  Amanda cut in. “Having briefly encountered your brother, I believe I can.”

  Marco turned to face the government agent. “My father runs a clinic in town. He came across some odd blood work in the patients coming in with even stranger stab wounds. Some of the locals were being attacked.”

  “The locals?” His mind immediately shot to his Arthur and Kristen.

  Amanda nodded. “The two street gangs that inhabit the clinic’s neighborhood. They're more like the neighborhood watch than gangbangers, even though they like trying to act the part. They keep their boom boxes on low because they don’t like headaches, and both gangs answer to some really cranky local preachers.”

  Marco rolled his eyes and looked forward. “Hector Vega took over Los Tigres when his older brother abdicated leadership and went out for his law degree. Hector describes it as going from being a big cat to a bigger reptile. Zeng Nguyen, Hector’s counterpart in the Dragons, came up through the ranks.”

  “And neither one,” Amanda said, “will tell me who makes those designer jackets for them.”

  Marco shrugged. “Anyway, how good are your local contacts?”

  “Not bad. Why?”

  “Have you heard of the attacks in Brooklyn?”

  “Only the FBI mess I was invited over here to sort out. Why?”

  Marco elaborated. “People have been attacked in a blitz-attack fashion, leaving gashes on their throat, wrists, and inner thighs. It's been going on for months. Some have suggested serial killers, some have suggested gang initiation–”

  “But you think vampires, got it.” Merle settled back in the car seat, enjoying the slow ride. “I can see why no one bothered telling me about the local attacks. The FBI agents were killed in a neat, surgical fashion. All of the blood was drained, but it was from only one wound. They were assassinations. Not the sort of attacks you're talking about.”

  “We thought as much.”

  “But wait,” Marco added. “It gets better, especially when I was attacked. One jumped me at the clinic. I guess if he’d been successful, it would have been considered an assassination, since it was certainly targeted, like your FBI guys. Still, you’d think that they’d be nicer about someone merely being curious.”

  Amanda sighed, almost lovingly, in Merle's opinion, and said, “You sent samples to CDC.”

  Merle raised his hand to stop the two of them. “Back up a second. May I ask how he found you? Also, how exactly did you get mixed up in local gang garbage?”

  Marco Catalano smirked. “I’ve had my share of…altercations.”

  Merle nodded, reflecting on the FBI file that Kristen had emailed him before he left San Francisco.

  Amanda looked over and smiled at him. “He calls it aggressive negotiations.”

  “No,” Marco corrected her. “I call it do no harm, but get their attention first.”

  “So you’re a local go-between because you can crack heads together effectively?”

  “I’m from Brooklyn. Should I continue?”

  “Please do. You said something about your attacker not taking kindly to your questions?”

  Marco looked over his shoulder at Kraft, since they were stopped in traffic yet again. “I was working late in the lab, when a man came in asking about the odd blood work my father had found. When I wasn’t much help, he wanted to make me into a ‘message’ by ripping my throat out. I hit him with a chair.” Marco chuckled. “He lunged at me, I hit him again, and his fangs elongated. It wasn’t hard to conclude it was a vampire. On his next charge, I whipped out my rosary and garroted him with it. So, you can understand why we thought you’d be interested in coming back to the neighborhood again.”

  Merle tried to piece together everything they told him. He recalled what Kristen had said; there was a collection of NYPD officers who had formed a little band of believers who considered “vampire” a reasonable operating theory for some of the stranger things going on in their neighborhoods. He decided to test th
e waters and see just how much these kids knew. “I'm just surprised that the local police haven't caught onto this.”

  Amanda gave Merle a strange look. “You mean you have not heard of the police Craigslist page for vampire encounters?”

  So, they have heard. Were they involved in making it? “Do they get many hookers soliciting them for vampire roleplaying?”

  “Not anymore,” Marco said, also amused.

  “So,” Merle said, “what have you people been doing before you knocked on my door? In fact, I'm even surprised that you're bothering with me, if you have local cops on your side.”

  Amanda shook her head. “Not always. It just happened.”

  “Sort of just happened,” Marco corrected. “An officer friend of the family was attacked a few months ago. He's been putting together this little society ever since.”

  “Before that, we have been relying on the locals.”

  Merle winced. He tried to imagine local gang members as hapless as the ones described against anything big, mean and organized, vampires or not. “That must be going over well.”

  “We have few problems,” Amanda answered him.

  “Surprisingly,” Marco added. “I think it helps that we have veterans scattered throughout the gangs, and one southerner who was transferred into the Fighting 69th army unit. He came here with the rest of the fellas on leave once, and decided to stay. He brought his hunting bow and arrow set. A bow with an eighty-pound pull. He's been known to hit two at once.”

  Merle gave a short laugh. “I can believe it.”

  “All this isn't even counting the mafia.”

  Merle straightened in the back seat. “Wait, I'm sorry?”

  Amanda explained. “We had some problems with mafia thugs recently, too. They heard we had success against the attacks, and they …”

  “Moved against us,” Marco added simply. “We came to…”

  “An understanding,” Amanda finished for him.

  Marco cleared his throat. “Should we mention the Vatican ninjas?”

  “The Vatican what?” Merle asked. This conversation was going to give him whiplash.

  “Vatican strike team,” Amanda corrected. She looked back to Merle with a little smile. “You might say that we came to an agreement with them by accident. They saw what we were doing in the area, and they decided to get our attention.”