Johnson put his phone away and proceeded at a brisk pace, going west on Windsor Lane. I gave him a minute’s head start. With my contacts out, I would have no problem tailing him.
He cut left and right through the neighborhood, stopping occasionally to pretend he was making a phone call, as he scanned back over where he’d been. I was able to hang back a block and track him by glimpsing his aura. When he halted, I stayed behind the cover of garden shrubs lining the sidewalk. Because of the shimmer of his aura, I could tell he was only being careful, though I wondered why he seemed to be taking these precautions against being followed. Why had he left his Mustang at the Bottoms Up and where was he going?
Had he spotted a tail, meaning me, his aura would’ve flared in alarm. Instead it remained at an even, nervous burn.
Johnson continued in a westerly direction. When he reached Caroline Street, he stopped and glanced around.
He walked the last block to the marina and got on the dock. He unfastened the lines of a twenty-foot cruiser and got aboard. I kept in the shadows and darted across the marina. A bank of lampposts lit the dock and I couldn’t get closer without being spotted.
Johnson nudged the throttle and drifted from the dock. He turned the running lights on.
The harbor was full of boats and I needed something before Johnson motored out of view. Closest to me was a rust bucket of a powerboat. It was an older hull, the cracked vinyl seats mended with duct tape and the windshield missing one panel. Empty cans and the ragged pieces of a Styrofoam cooler littered the floor.
I checked the tank—it was full—and lowered the outboard Evinrude into the water. The lock on the throttle lever was no problem to break. I reached under the instrument panel, hot-wired the ignition, and fired up the engine.
Johnson cruised past the buoys and out of the harbor. I kept my distance, at least a quarter mile back. He sailed around Wisteria Island and then southwest into the open sea. His running lights blinked off. Against the darkness, his aura was as obvious as a red signal flare. A half-hour later, he turned east, toward a cluster of small islands.
He slowed and beached his boat on the sandy shore of the center island, about three hundred meters wide, with a dense cover of vegetation. I idled my engine and drifted. The surf splashing on the beach masked the noise of the Evinrude.
Two men crept out of the brush, assault rifles at the ready. Johnson greeted them. All their auras burned with worry and excitement. I tried to listen, but against the churning surf, their voices were but murmurs. The three of them melted into the darkened interior of the island.
Now I had these armed men to consider. I motored forward quietly and anchored in a dark little inlet swaddled in mangroves. I stepped off the boat and into the peaty muck. A cloud of bugs settled around me. Swathes of mosquitoes landed on my arm, tickled my skin, and took off. Why didn’t they bite? Professional courtesy, I guess.
I lashed the bowline to a mangrove knee, climbed out of the inlet and onto sandy ground. The mosquitoes must’ve passed the word, because as I moved about, the bugs kept clear.
Johnson and the two other men moved noisily through the brush, fronds, and branches. I followed in the shadows.
They stopped in a clearing. One of the other men spoke into a handheld radio. “Bueno. Estamos listos.” He spoke with a Cuban accent. “La noche es bien lindo.”
Of course the night was beautiful, that’s why they carried guns and sneaked around. This was code for what?
Was Johnson here undercover? I couldn’t believe it. The man was sleaze; I could almost smell it on him.
I stepped forward. A palm frond rustled against my leg. One of the men panned his gun in my direction. They hushed and studied the gloom.
I froze until they seemed satisfied no one else was out there. I needed a form better suited to sneaking through the darkness. Like a wolf.
I backtracked and found a clear spot of sand surrounded by saw grass. I took off my clothes, stowed them under a stunted pine, and lay in the sand.
Summoning the transformation, I tensed my fingers, then my limbs. A searing pain racked my body. My bones twisted and re-formed. My spine elongated into a tail. Skin burned as fur pushed through. My jaws stretched and my teeth grew long.
For several moments I lay still, letting the agony subside as I gathered strength and oriented myself in this new flesh.
The air was rich with fresh smells. My hearing caught the tiniest of sounds. I rolled onto my belly and pushed up on my paws. I padded through the darkness. My feet avoided anything that could betray my presence. Leaves and branches brushed silently against my fur.
I circled downwind of the men. They reeked of insect repellent and greasy meat. The odor from their oily guns cautioned me to keep my distance.
The tallest of the strangers gave Johnson a satchel; he opened it and counted piles of the green paper humans hold more dear than life. Johnson looped the bag’s strap over his head. The three got up and headed to the south side of the island, where they stood on the beach. One of the men flashed a hand lamp toward the water. A tiny light answered.
A dark shape pushed a curl of water. The shape turned into a boat crowded with human auras. The men aboard called out to Johnson.
The boat crossed the surf and bellied into the sand. Men jumped off and formed a line from the boat to the trees. Others lifted bundles that were handed down the line, to be piled among the trees.
I sniffed and caught the sharp smell of cocaine.
Slinking around them, I kept watch on my prey: Johnson. These men had many weapons, which meant I had to corner Johnson alone and unsuspecting.
A thumping echoed faintly in the sky, a noise still too small for humans to hear. I perked my ears. Motor sounds approached from the water. More humans were coming, though Johnson and his companions hadn’t yet noticed.
Weapons. Cocaine. The paper they valued so dearly. There was going to be trouble.
But how to get Johnson? If trouble started, he would be in the middle of it. I might never get at him.
The thumping grew loud. The men on the beach dropped their bundles and shouted in panic. Their auras raged like fire.
A beam shot upon them from overhead, a circle of bright light that held steady on the boat. The whirring wings of the flying machine reflected the light. The loud thumping made my guts tremble. More beams flashed over the water and the men scurried across the beach.
The light stung my eyes. I retreated into the shadow of the palmettos.
A lone figure, tall, his aura bright with desperation, sprinted up the beach. Johnson.
A beam of light snagged him.
Johnson raised his arm, pointed his gun into the beam, and fired.
Chapter
12
Weapons chattered and their deadly stingers hissed through the air. In the glare of the spotlights from the water, men on the beach staggered and fell. Their boat exploded and threw a ball of fire into the night sky.
The heat splashed against my snout and I melted into the shadows.
Johnson ran across the sand toward me. Tufts of sand erupted around his feet.
No, Johnson was mine. My front paws clawed at the ground in anticipation.
When he was close to the brush, he screamed and fell to his knees, wounded by a bullet. Another beam ensnared him, the two shafts of light holding him like pincers.
I yelped in distress at losing my prey. Bounding from the shadows and onto the edge of the beach, I lunged for Johnson and leaped into the brilliance surrounding him.
Our eyes met and his opened wide with terror. I wanted him to whimper and wet his pants in fright. I locked my jaws on the garment around his neck and dragged him into the brush, my vampire-wolf strength easily handling his weight. His human odor swirled through my nose, bringing the smell of warm blood, insect repellent, gasoline, and terror. Johnson grasped my foreleg and I shook him until he let go.
Wild and noisy shooting surrounded us. One of the lights sweeping over us went dark. The
second light swung across the beach to follow the men dashing from the burning boat and toward the brush.
Hurriedly, I pulled Johnson deeper into the undergrowth. Branches and stiff reeds scraped against us. Letting go, I stepped away, not sure of what to do next. I needed him to answer my questions, and, as a wolf, I couldn’t hold a conversation in English. I doubted he would wait patiently while I transmutated back into a vampire.
Johnson brought his legs under him and kneeled. He clutched his side and grimaced with pain. In a pathetic human gesture, he clung to the bag of money strapped around his neck. He gazed at me and back to the beach, looking amazed that I had saved him. His aura blazed with frightened confusion and then with angry determination.
He brought his hand weapon up and fired at me. I sprang to one side. He lurched to his feet. I readied to pounce on him.
The flying machine roared over us. The thumping of its wings pounded my ears. A bright light stabbed through the trees and dazzled me. I leaped into the shadows. When I turned around, Johnson was gone.
The flying machine circled above, the wind from its whirling wings beating the treetops and scattering palm fronds. Its light hunted for prey. A swarm of bullets snapped at the brush.
I darted through a dark grove of tangled vines. I sniffed deeply, turning my snout from side to side. To my left, I found the meaty scent of Johnson’s blood.
Mindful of the flying machine, I kept low and padded out from the vines and through a thick patch of tall grass.
Up ahead. The red haze of a human aura. Johnson.
I sprang into a gallop. Johnson’s scent grew stronger.
As I bounded over a fallen log, I saw Johnson running to where he had left his boat. He clawed at branches whipping against his face. I circled to ambush him.
Johnson reached a clearing and slowed to a limp. He looked over one shoulder back in the direction of the shooting. The flying machine hovered over the fighting. Its beam of light sliced through the night.
I crept into a black hollow between two palmettos and waited.
Johnson emerged from the clearing and came straight at me. He limped, favoring his right leg. He held the money bag tight against his chest while a stain grew on the side of his torso. Moonlight glinted off his weapon.
I flexed my legs and bared my fangs. The muscles on the back of my neck tightened and the fur bristled.
Johnson stopped. He looked about, as if realizing that he was being watched.
Silently, I stepped forward, closing in for the attack.
Johnson’s shiny eyes searched the gloom. The two black orbs of his pupils locked upon me. He raised his weapon in my direction.
“What are you?” he whispered to himself. Adrenaline and desperation tainted his scent.
Being a wolf, I couldn’t answer.
Johnson winced, his expression distorted with confusion. He adjusted his grip on the bag.
I put one paw forward.
Johnson motioned with his weapon and I stayed still.
I stared at his neck.
Johnson’s aura shimmered with deliberation, as if he was wondering what to do about me. His aura flared, signaling an attack.
I jumped away. His bullets pumped at the brush and the blasts slapped my ears. I bounded around him, weaving back and forth to confuse him.
His weapon went silent. I lunged and jammed my paws against his chest. His arms beat my flanks. My teeth snapped at his throat, tearing flesh and tasting delicious blood.
Johnson fell. I tumbled over him. I set my jaws for the final bite. Something hard thumped against my skull and I staggered away, momentarily dazed.
Johnson crouched, keeping the weapon high over his shoulder to use as a club. Blood seeped from his neck.
I circled, looking for the chance to strike again. Like any wounded animal, Johnson was desperate and still dangerous, but so was I.
The flying machine returned, a noisy blur of wings and flashing lights. Its noise beat my ears and shook my insides. The beam of light speared Johnson. He bared his clenched teeth and looked like a cornered rat.
Holes appeared on his chest. Blood sprayed into the light. Johnson fell backward, his legs twisted beneath him. His aura burned with terror and pain, glistened vainly for an instant, then vanished.
My best lead in this case was dead.
Chapter
13
A shaft of light hunted for me. I slunk back and hid until the flying machine left.
I sniffed Johnson’s body, now a lifeless, bloodied heap.
The humans in the flying machine had cheated me. I snarled at them, frustrated. Angry.
In the distance, lights swung through the brush, silhouetting a line of men and their weapons against the glow of the burning boat. The fighting on the beach had stopped, the last echo of gunshots disappearing into the night. Above, the flying machine circled with the chop, chop of its wings drumming against my ears.
I didn’t have much time to search Johnson, and I couldn’t do so as a wolf.
I lay in a smooth patch of sand. Closing my eyes, I summoned the transformation back into a vampire. My legs stretched from their sockets, elongating and twisting as pain surged through my bones. Skin burned where fur retracted into flesh. The worst of the agony was when my snout blunted and my skull and jaws re-formed.
I opened my eyes. The pain ebbed and my muscles relaxed. As I gazed about, the world seemed emptier, the sounds duller, the smells fainter.
Naked, I rolled to my hands and knees.
The line of men moved closer. Radio calls and static crackled through the night. The helicopter hovered above, shepherding the group with its searchlight.
I crawled to Johnson’s body. I pulled the satchel with the money from his shoulder, opened the bag, and thumbed the pads of hundred-dollar bills, estimating a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. No sense in wasting the cash. I looped the satchel’s strap over my head. Searching his pockets, I found a magazine of ammunition, cigarettes, a lighter, keys, a coke spoon, coins, and his wallet.
A loudspeaker boomed over the island. “This is the United States Drug Enforcement Administration and the Monroe County Sheriff’s Office.”
The Sheriff’s Office? Johnson, the stupid criminal bastard, had betrayed his own. This death might have been a favor.
The loudspeaker continued: “You are surrounded and outgunned. Put down your weapons and come out with your hands behind your head.” The message was repeated in Spanish.
Red auras floated through the brush like a string of glowing balloons. The auras belonged to police agents advancing closer, now about two hundred meters away. No time to go through the wallet. I stuffed it inside the satchel.
The agents called to one another. There was no doubt this was a drug war; they were as well-armed as infantrymen and very trigger-happy. Laser pointers from their guns traced before them, like glowing red feelers probing the shadows of the brush.
Except for the bag of money slung over my shoulder, I stood naked with my dork hanging in the sea breeze. I crouched to hide behind a bush. To escape the island, I had to get to my boat, which was moored in a swampy inlet behind me, about a hundred meters away. The agents were fifty meters away and moving closer. I could slip into the brush and make it to the boat except…my wallet and ID remained in the pile of clothes I had stashed when I had transmutated into a wolf. Damn.
The clothes were to my left, somewhere within a grove of palmettos and saw grass. The agents hadn’t reached the spot yet. I counted fifteen red auras, clumped into groups of three. One group turned in my direction.
“The grass here is trampled,” an agent said. The optic tubes of his night-vision goggles gave him a lobster-face. “And I see shoe prints.”
Despite his night-vision goggles, I had the advantage with my vampire eyes. But they had the advantage of numbers and guns.
“The copter nailed one of the assholes around here,” a companion added.
The first agent stopped. “Hold on. There’s anothe
r set of prints. Someone barefoot.”
I glanced at my naked feet. Those were my prints.
These agents were no more than twenty meters away. A laser pointer swung toward me. The red line quivered across the branches and leaves above my head. Careful. Steel-jacketed lead slugs could hack my flesh as effectively as silver bullets.
If they were looking for a barefoot suspect, I’d give them one. I lay on my back next to Johnson and shut my eyes.
Brush scraped against fabric. I smelled perspiration from the agent, and hot oil and burned ammunition from his recently fired gun.
A strong light played over my face, making the insides of my eyelids glow. “Here’s the second guy.”
Boots scuffed the earth by my head. “Son of a bitch is naked.”
“You noticed?” Another man’s voice. “You feds got a real grasp of the obvious.” A gloved hand touched my shoulder. “Don’t see a mark on him.”
The first man said, “Don’t recognize him from our list of suspects. Maybe he’s got ID in that bag or shoved up his ass.”
His breath and the odor of a menthol cigarette puffed against my face.
I opened my eyes.
He crouched beside me. His nose was inches from mine. I hit him full-force with vampire hypnosis.
His aura flared like a match. His pupils dilated and his expression went slack. He fell on his ass. The submachine gun slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground.
The other two agents stepped back. I rotated on my heels, zinging upward in the classic vampire fashion.
“What the f—” one gasped and then froze when I zapped him.
His companion jerked an M-16 to his shoulder. I locked onto his gaze and instantly hypnotized him as well.
Their jaws drooped and they stood slump-shouldered. Hypnosis would hold them long enough for me to escape.
Another group of agents moved toward where my clothes were stashed. I had to act fast.
The palm trees grew close together, the fronds overlapping. I sprinted for the nearest tree and hustled up the trunk, where I leaped to the next tree. From that tree I bounded to the next.
The Undead Kama Sutra Page 7
