“Mr. Saunders-” Del didn't like the idea of killing men for hire.
“-It's Bill. And I'm not paying ya' to kill people, just to defend yer'self the way you defended me tonight.” Bill interrupted Del's train of thought.
“But what if someone starts asking what happened to these men?” Del asked Bill.
“That they just left one day and we hadn't seen them since.” Bill smiled at Del. He knew his explanation was spotty at best. “Besides, no one would ever think I could fend off this many of them. Let alone kill them like this. Hell, it’ll make them think twice about roughin’ me up. From now on, you work for me Marin.”
“But I can only work at night. I have a condition that prevents me from being in the daylight. Is that acceptable?” Del was attempting to be discrete about his body.
“Hell, if I thought you were normal, I’d have to introduce myself as a leprechaun. Shit boy, whatever the hell you are, you’re a godsend to me. I won’t pass something like that up either. You're hired!” Bill clapped his hands together. “Now let’s take care of this before anyone starts asking questions. Help me load the bodies onto the long boat over there.”
A twenty eight foot fishing trolley lay at the far end of the dock. Painted a pale, water logged blue and white. Its fishing mast hung high in the night wind. Inflatable pontoons rigged on the sides to keep it from scraping against the dock. It appeared barely functional to Del. It was a beaten, almost broken boat. Del saw it as an interesting project.
Del decided to agree to Bill's request and assisted him with repairing the boat while guarding the area. In doing so, Del gained an honest job which he could make the tuition money he needed to go back to school. He researched the area and found a local college that gave law classes that ran during the night. Del had Bill track down all the paper work needed to start up on his degree again. Bill willingly helped Del pursue his goal, although he didn't see a reason for it.
Six years transpired as Del finished his law degree. The dock no longer had late night assailants anymore. However, the nearby cow population had declined greatly. Del had to eat something. When a random thug did come around, Del obliged them by having them for dinner, or a late night snack. Eventually no one dared to get near the fisherman’s property. So, Del went to his tried and true method of fulfillment, cows. With Del's completion of what he set out to do, Bill wanted Del to move on from the docks, but Del refused. He wanted the comfort that repairing the same old boat brought him.
Graduation as a tax lawyer was fitting for Del. It was simple repetitive tasks that earned him an original living and tax law was none the less repetitive. It was a path that was in suit with Mr. McHugh’s words, something Del prided greatly. The year was 1934, the economy was still in a depression and Del was working sparsely as an attorney. He put his weekend nights into helping with the dock, doing little chores. Bill wanted him to leave, saying that with his talents he could be used anywhere and have a far better effect than there. Frankly Bill had no way to pay Del for his work.
One day Bill voiced his opinions directly. He had enough of Del's generosity. The boat was sparkling. It had been repainted with a proper ocean blue. Its small cracks and barnacles were no longer there. Del had even cleaned up the dock itself, resurfacing the old wood and cleaning the entire area itself. The place was amazing, a different location to anyone that didn't see it as it once was six years ago.
Bill asked Del to come over to discuss the future. Del arrived early as usual and sat down on a newly reupholstered seat in the captain's deck of the fishing ship. He was dressed in a nice, expensive black suit. He wore a black short brimmed fedora. His hair was trimmed short and combed back smooth. His black leather shoes creaked as he stepped through the boat. Bill was dressed in a new, but already well used yellow fisherman’s slicker. Nearly the same clothes he was in the night Del saved his life.
Bill spoke up. “You’ve done well for me, you’ve killed off all those damn bastards before they got a chance at me. In my book, you will always be my friend Marin. But get the hell outta here and keep doing what you’re ‘doin.”
“Why? Haven't I done a good job for you all these years?” Del replied.
“That's the problem dammit. You did too good a damn job.” Bill gestured to the boat and the whole dock. “Just look at this place! This would have cost me a fortune to rebuild like this. Instead, I had you and your never ending sense of loyalty. I've abused you Marin. This has to end.” Bill stood up and opened the door for Del.
“But you did do things for me. It was fair compensation.” Del argued.
“I filed some paper work for you. That's all dammit. What you did here, this is worth way more than running some errands for ya' is.” Bill held the door open. “Now go. You're wasting yer' life here.”
Del tipped his hat to Bill and left. “Goodbye Mr. Saunders. Thank you for letting me work here.”
Del traveled up north to New York city. A steady body count of thugs and mobsters kept him heavily nourished. Everywhere Del went, he seemed to attract attention from the wrong people. It wasn't that he enjoyed killing people, it was just that he preferred killing only people that were detrimental to society. In essence, Del was doing the country a favor. Where ever he went, the crime rate dropped. Despite his aversion to feeding on humans and killing people in general, he had become quite good at it. He was as efficient with it as he was with farm chores. He found that living alone best suited his needs and came to reside in an abandoned hotel over the course of ten years.
Slowly Del became a myth to the local population. He was the reason no one was mugged within a ten mile radius of the run down hotel. Those that witnessed one of Del's feedings called him the ‘Instant Assassin’ due to the sudden and direct ways in which he killed those who preyed on him and others. He only fed on them at safe locations. He would drag the body either back to his hotel, or find another dark place to finish what he started. Del was a boogie man to most criminals. A story to tell the naughty children at night to keep them in their beds. It was said that he killed his victims before they became afraid of him. In the first moments of recognition, Del acted to end their lives quickly and gruesomely. He would leave large amounts of blood at the scene of everyone that he came upon. Del went through a lot of new black suits because of this. He was terrifyingly fast and cold natured. The legend grew of the ‘Instant Assassin” and the rumors too. It became outlandish and over exaggerated during his ten years at the hotel. The people said that he was seven feet tall, had hair down to his ankles, and teeth the length of sewing needles. This of course was pure myth. Del’s hair had grown long, but to his shoulders. He was tall, but only six foot one. He had fangs, but they were only a centimeter longer than the rest of his teeth. Del felt that the lie was now so unique that he could reintegrate into society again. Since the police never arrived at the front door of the hotel asking questions, Del figured that they either were afraid of the stories or they just didn't mind losing a few bad guys over the years.
The world war was in full swing and Del wanted to practice again. To be a tax lawyer in a time of war was nice to Del. To do the job at hand and nothing else. The idea of taking on cases at night was not so much of an issue as it was compared to Del’s age. Every man in the country had joined up for service. Del had to think of a way to explain why he wasn’t on a plane, a ship, or a sub fighting against the axis powers.
Every time Del was asked by a perspective client why he wasn't in the army, he answered truthfully. “I burn in the sun, and can’t serve because of my severe condition. So I fight by helping push papers.” And Del would smile and take their case at a discounted rate for asking.
Del handled everything from tax disputes to tax evasion, all from his little one room office in upper New York. For two years that was all he did, until the war ended in 1946. Then most of the men in the nation came back to their jobs they left at home. Suddenly, no one came to Del anymore, because the larger law firms were absorbing all the business in the city.
Very quickly, Del found he couldn’t pay the rent. He was able to make ends meet with the vast amounts of money he had saved. Del was in no way lavish. His only heavy expenditure was new black suits when things would get messy on the streets during one of Del's nightly walks.
One day a young cocky man named Ed Fisher walked into Del's office and offered him a job at one of the local law conglomerates. He was dressed in a tan suit. His short blond hair and brown eyes complemented his fake smile. He was thin, five foot ten, and athletic. Del saw him as the type that constantly strove to gain a promotion. He sat down in Del's one front desk chair and told him what his law firm was offering a job. Del was to be given a desk in a back room with stacks and stacks of tax cases to work on day and night. The room had no windows, no bathroom, and not even a chair. He was to use the same boxes of case files he needed to finish to sit on when he required a chair. The man was very upfront with Del. No one was going to bother him, or even invite him to the annual Christmas parties each year. He was to be given a job and that's all. Del accepted immediately, it was a real job. A tedious, simple task that fit him well. Del moved his small collection of case files into the cramped back room of the high rise law firm the following Monday.
The young lawyer ushered Del into the room and treated him as a child with no education. The young man made it seem like the position was more of a joke than a job. Del didn’t mind. He liked the small room drab with manila shaded walls and no windows. It meant Del didn’t have to sleep every day. He could stay up for several hours and work. Sunlight was the only problem with his old office. He could only be in the room at night. During the day, he had to turn away potential clients with a closed sign. At Del's new desk sunlight was never an issue. He had no limits.
The young nameless lawyer gestured to a huge stack of case work on Del’s new but very old desk. There were more than two hundred files from the last three years that needed to be settled. The smile on Del’s face was difficult to contain. The young lawyer chuckled and left him in his room alone. Del wasted no time.
By morning one hundred and twenty seven cases had been closed. Del was a machine. The entire firm couldn’t believe it and challenged it. Del had eighty two cases left and they wanted him to finish all of them that night without leaving his desk to prove he actually did them all. The night passed and Del had the files on the lead lawyer’s desk, along with the ten files that were given to him that day for spite. There was no real way to check all his work. There weren’t enough lawyers employed at the firm to check everything. The sheer amount of files would take a team of men working months just to check if everything was correct. The lead lawyer only looked at a few cases to sample what Del had done. Del had completed two hundred and nineteen cases in two nights of work. He was immediately awarded a medal for best new hire of the year.
When asked by the chairman lawyer if Del wanted a new office, he replied, “I’m quite comfortable where I am thank you. But could I have a chair?” The man laughed and actually gave him his personal desk chair.
Del had instantly gained the faith of his fellows and the admiration of his peers in the city. The two hundred cases Del closed affected a great deal of people. Del Marin was becoming the ‘go-to’ man in the tax industry.
By 1949, after just three years at the firm, Del was asked to take a semi-permanent position in Cuba to do taxes for the vacationing Americans that didn’t want to stop partying until after tax season. It was going to only be a five year assignment. Del requested two things at his new job. That it would be an office room with no windows and that he would be able to travel to another foreign position immediately following his time in Cuba. Del had gained enough clout to ask for much more and didn't. The chairman told him that if he was going to specify working conditions, he would have to stay for ten years instead. Del agreed and took the next boat to Cuba. Del was supposed to be thirty at the time he left the states and knew his young age was going to be a problem for him eventually. The foreign assignment was a way to hide what he really was.
Del spent the next ten years in Cuba. In the firm's eyes he was now forty. To the Cubans that had come to know him, Del was thirty five. Del didn’t make friends in Cuba, only acquaintances through work. He kept to himself other than killing a few local thugs and rural goats that he happened to come across in the country side during his nightly excursions. Despite his time in the region, Del did not learn Spanish. He got along with gestures and smiles. With the majority of his clients all speaking English, he didn't have much to worry about. At the end of his assignment, Del’s firm found him a position in Madrid, Spain, a location that Del found very appealing. He liked the idea that he could feign away from interpersonal relations in almost any situation with the same phrase he had used in Cuba: No Espanol.
Ten more years passed, it was now 1969. Del was supposed to be in his mid fifties, though he forever remained a twenty five year old. The Spaniards there thought he was a young looking thirty five year old. It was becoming a creeping problem, so Del thought of another location in which to hide from the very law firm that had employed him for the last twenty three years. He was going to move again and try out Russia. He lived with communism in Cuba and thought it might be somehow similar, but with a different accent that he didn’t understand. Unfortunately, Del's plans were interrupted.
One night, a man from Del's past came to Spain knocking on his office door. The scent of cologne and after shave was strong in the air. Del knew the man knocking.
“Is Del Marin here?” A man in his late forties called out from behind Del’s closed door. “It's Ed Fisher.”
“Coming.” Del said calmly.
Del’s speed had increased steadily over his years of drinking blood. He was sitting at his desk when he spoke. By the time Del had closed his mouth he was standing and looking through the peep hole at this older man. Del opened the door. The cocky man with short blond hair and brown eyes appeared to be highly impatient. He was five foot ten, slightly overweight, and breathing heavily. Ed had changed.
“Where’s Del Marin? I have a letter for him.” Ed was dressed in a nice, tailored tan suit. Del had no idea who this man was, but he did look familiar.
Del spoke without accessing the full situation, a mistake that he would later regret. “I’m Del Marin.” Del had not changed his style of suit for the last three decades. It was black and white with a red tie nearly identical to the one he received from Mr. McHugh.
“You’re him?” A look of sudden confusion overcame Ed. “You are him, aren’t you?” The man surveyed Del up, then down. “You’re Del Marin, our overseas tax lawyer.”
Del was silent. He slowly walked back over to his desk and sat down.
“You are the same young spitball lawyer that I met in 1946.” Ed asked Del.
Del remained quiet.
“You haven’t aged, not one day. Our records say you’re fifty five. Yet here you are in the same suit as the day you started.” Ed was getting angry.
Del did not shiver. He never shivered. He was trembling with unease.
“What the hell are you?” Ed was beginning to shout.
Del understood exactly who Ed was. The same cocky lawyer that offered him the position at the law firm. The man that was nearly ten years younger than him was an old man before him. It was a mirror into what Del had actually become. The blood was preserving him, sustaining him in a way that was highly unnatural. This prick of a man that was before him knew Del's secret. In a sudden rush of emotions, Del over reacted. An anger swelled in his body and provoked pride. Del drove his entire right forearm through the man in the tan suit, pinning the rest of his body to the far door. Del’s hand pierced clean through to the other side. There was no blood, yet. Del had struck the man with such power that the pressure of his arm against the door behind it prevented the wound from bleeding. The man was still breathing, for now. Del's fangs poked out from behind his lips as he watched the man's chest fall and rise.
“What are you? A vampire? What kind of fr
eak are you Del?” Ed was getting weak, slumping into unconsciousness. His brown eyes wondering why Del would do such a thing and why he had to die in such a way.
Del stood unknowing. “Am I a vampire?” He was seriously asking. After all these years he never posed the question to himself.
“Your age, strength, fangs.” Blood began to trickle out the left side of Ed's mouth. “All you need is a cape.” He smiled, his face slumping down. He was dead. Ed was a nameless rival from a long forgotten time. He was there to deliver a Christmas bonus in person to an overseas attorney. Ironically he was murdered by the hand of whom he was suppose to shake.
Del hung his head low. Blood poured on to the ground, and saturated the brown carpet Del had once picked out. With the death of this nameless man, he knew there was no longer a place for him in Spain. Del removed his hand letting the body thud to the floor. His head landed on the side of one of the many filling cabinets in the room. Del slowly picked up the letter, his bloody fingers stained it with every movement. He took the time to read it. After he was done, Del struck a match normally used for the lantern at his desk. Instead of burning the letter, he let the match fall, setting a small and climbing blaze to the cramped office room.
Del nonchalantly walked outside to the front of the tiny building. He came up to one of the mid-sized trees in the area and placed his arms around it. Del lifted the two foot trunk with ease. The tree was torn from its roots with no more than a smile on Del’s part. This was a testament to the strength he had accumulated. He laid one end of the tree down, repositioning it over his left shoulder. He walked the short distance to the office building and drove the tree through the side wall where he had placed the now dead body of his former co-worker. Del surmised that the Spanish government and the American investigators would conclude Del burned to ashes in the fire. And that at some point a tree fell on the entire building and concluded the unfortunate accident. As for the circumstances, to pick up a tree and thrust it through a building was insane. No one would dare postulate that something even close to that was possible.
Demon Vampire (The Redgold Series) Page 21
