by Leo Romero
Troy's answer was immediate. "There's a dreg taken up nest in an old movie theater over on Lawndale. He's starting to build a big brood. Word is the Order want it wiped out."
"We don't kill humans," Trixie retorted. "Only vamps."
Troy grumbled under his breath. "Then you better get there before the Order take care of business."
"Don't worry, we will. Anything else?"
Troy held his hands out to the sides. "That's all for now."
"Okay," Trixie said as she fished out a bunch of cash from the pocket of her pants. She counted out the money. Troy's dark eyes lit up.
"I'm giving you a bonus for handing Eddie and his dad to us and not the Order."
Troy grinned. "That's great, Trix. You know I love to help.
She handed him the money. He snatched it up.
"Go get yourself some new clothes, Troy, you're starting to smell again."
"I think I might just do that," he said with a grin. "Amongst other things." He pocketed the money. "When are you gonna raid the movie theater?"
Trixie shrugged. "Soon. We don't want to keep the Order waiting, do we?"
"We certainly don't."
"We good?"
Troy nodded. "Absolutely. You watch yourself out there, Trixie."
A shiver crawled up Trixie's spine. Troy then slunk backward, his dark eyes never leaving her. Even as he melted into the shadows, she could still see the glare of his eyes and the glint of his fangs in her mind. She shivered.
Creep, she thought to herself.
She shook it off and turned. She marched out of the alley as fast as she could, the sensation of Troy's eyes crawling all over her.
She swore she could still feel them all the way home.
PART THREE
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Trixie lowered the magazine she was pretending to read and set her stare on the old movie theater. It was perfectly still. Dark, and still. She hadn't seen anyone enter or leave for the two hours she'd been seated on the park bench across the street. She hoped Troy hadn't led her on a wild goose chase. She looked around. It was another broken part of town. Stores boarded up, houses crumbling and derelict. A few people who were as broken as their surroundings were either loitering, begging, or pushing along shopping carts full of junk toward a destination she didn't think they even were aware of. Perfect feeding ground for dreg vamps.
She let out a bored sigh. I can't take any more of this, I'm going in.
She was about to get up and step across the street to enter the back of the building when the board covering the entrance began twitching. She threw her magazine across her knees and swung her head down toward it. After a couple of tense seconds, she ventured to tilt her head up. Over the rim of her shades, she watched a skinny guy step out of the gap and glance both ways. He looked a typical fanghead. Jittery from the lack of a venom fix, paranoid if someone or something would take the source of the venom away (in other words: her).
He scratched the back of his head before he turned and closed the board up behind him. Trixie noted the time on her cell. 13:42. Going out for a bite? Most likely. So, so far she had one potential fanghead and nothing else. She watched him scurry away and vanish into the concrete jungle. She dialed Dom's number.
"Hello, Dominic Pizza, can I take your order?" he answered in a bored voice.
"Cute. I got a potential fanghead just left the building. He's headed your way."
"The guy who looks like he slept in his clothes?"
"That probably describes just about everyone in the area, Dom."
"Checkered shirt, red beard."
"Yes, that's the one."
"Okay, I'm on him."
She hung up and looked back at the building. Dom was stationed down the road, waiting in the car. Hopefully, he didn't lose the fanghead. But, with Dom you could never be sure...
She shook her head and scanned the top floor of the movie theater; she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something didn't feel right about this one. There were no signals of vamp activity. She wasn't getting that sixth sense vibe whenever a vamp was nearby; no tingles up and down her spine. Everything was dead. It was a weird one.
Maybe Troy got this one wrong, she thought to herself. Maybe it's just a bunch of hobos squatting inside who are addicted to forties instead of venom.
She waited. Waited for something to happen. Either for more activity from inside or a call from Dom.
Her radio then crackled and Dom's voice came through. "Micky D run," he said.
"You sure?"
"Well, it could be Burger King, but the massive, golden 'M' on the bag is a dead giveaway."
"Ha ha, Dom."
"He's on his way back, you should see him any minute."
"One Big Mac or more?"
"Looks to be just enough for himself. Fangheads need nutrition too, you know."
"Yeah, nothing beats the taste of cholesterol in the blood. Vamps crave for it."
"Yeah, bicep burgers and ab kebabs."
"Eww."
Dom laughed.
Trixie sighed. "So, it looks like we got a single fanghead in the brood? And that's got the Order worried?"
"Maybe they want to nip this one in the bud."
Trixie turned her mouth downward for a brief moment. "Maybe."
The guy with the red beard, wearing the red checked shirt then appeared at the end of the road opposite her. "Here he comes," she said into the radio before placing it down on the bench and picking up her magazine. She glanced up from it to see his head darting left and right, the glare of paranoia in his eyes. He was definitely acting like a fanghead, and yep, McDonald's was his preferred choice of poison. She watched him scratch the back of his head as if he had a bad case of lice before he took another paranoid glance over both shoulders. On reaching the theater, he had a final look around, before squatting down and squeezing through the broken piece of wood covering the entrance.
Trixie put her magazine down and picked up her radio. "He's gone back inside."
"I know, I'm right across the street."
She scanned the area to spot Dom loitering by a broken payphone, his back to her. She shook her head. "I dunno about this one. I'm not sensing any vamp activity. Are you?"
"No. But it's a big area inside. If the vamp is hiding deep down in there, then he might be off our radar."
Trixie turned her mouth downward. "Maybe. Troy has never been wrong before."
"I'll take your word on that."
"What should we do? Scope it more? We've been here for hours and just seen one guy go get himself a Big Mac."
After a pause, Dom answered. "I'm gonna go in. Check the place out."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. I'm getting bored of this. If it's just this one guy squatting inside, then we can rule this one out, and go back home and have a Bud."
"You've really got a one track mind..." she said shaking her head.
"It's all about priorities, Trixie. If I get any funny senses inside, I'll radio you."
"Be careful."
"Hey, I'm always careful. Not like I've ever been in danger is it?"
"You? Nooo, you're always on top of things, Dom."
"Exactamundo." The radio then shut off.
She watched Dom stuff his radio back in the pocket of his combat pants. He then turned to face her. From where she was seated, she saw him wink.
She shook her head. Where does Dad find em?
He then turned and headed for the theater. She faced it once more. The stained glass window above the fascia was dulled with dirt and neglect. The 'now showing' sign above the doorway read: STAR TREK V: THE FINAL FRONTIER. Above it all, gray clouds were starting to swarm as if a bucket load of rain was about to fall. A slight breeze picked up, trash swirling around the entrance like tumbleweed in a western. Dom reached it, acting almost as paranoid as the potential fanghead, taking plenty of glances over both shoulders. He then stepped slow and careful up to the boarded entrance. She watched him pull his dart g
un from his belt. He held it by his face as he bent down and squeezed himself through the gap in the wood. A shiver raced up her spine. Not a shiver of venom, but a shiver of fear.
Dom then disappeared from view and she grabbed her radio and held it tight in her lap. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath of inner city air before she opened them and stared intently at the silent, creepy movie theater across the street.
Once Dom made it through the gap in the doorway, he stood upright and held his dart gun out in front of him, ready for action. He stared at the shadows of the foyer with wide alert eyes as if something could jump out at any second. It was what, the third, fourth time he'd stepped into the vamp's nest? But his nerves still played up. They squirmed like tentacles in his stomach. An aged smell of damp and musk like old, wet cardboard hit his nostrils. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his flash. He flicked it on and the whole foyer was illuminated. To his left were abandoned ticket booths. In his mind's eye, he could see lines of kids, guys, and gals getting ready for their first dates, excited to get in the theater and catch the latest movie. Now, it was all distant memories, just a shell without an ounce of life left.
Above the booths in block letters read: ADULTS--$4.95, KIDS--$1.95. THIS IS A NON-SMOKING AREA.
Now it's just a non-area, he thought to himself with a rueful grin.
He swiped his forehead with the back of his hand, licked his dry lips, and then began venturing further into the foyer. His feet squelched on the damp-riddled carpet, every now and then crunching on broken glass. Now on his right was a hot dog and ice cream stand; the cartoon image of a pooch licking on an ice cream stared at him in the gloom. The very thought of dogs and ice cream for once made him feel nauseous. He kept moving. Up ahead were various corridors leading to the screens. There were eight screens in all. He still wasn't getting any venom tingles, but with so many screens, it could happen near any one of them.
He steeled himself and decided to go straight for screen one. He dipped into the corridor leading to screens one and two. It was tight, dingy. A broken bench was lined up on the right-hand wall. On the left was a giant 1 in faded paint. Up ahead was a door.
"Let's go," he whispered to himself.
He went and eased open the heavy door; it squealed as it went, making his ears prick. He stepped into the darkness beyond. He rounded the corner, and down the thin corridor, his flash illuminating the whole area. Rows and rows of seats came into view one line at a time, all slanting downwards toward the huge stage at the front. The screen had been torn to pieces; it hung there like a ragged curtain. Dom trained his flash around; he lit up the backs of empty seats, some broken, others missing entirely. He turned and looked up to see more rows of chairs above him. The whole screen had an eerie, claustrophobic atmosphere. This once would have been full of movie goers; he could see the kids eating popcorn at the front with mom and pop, the horny teens at the back, their hands unable to keep still; movie connoisseurs enjoying the latest film noir; old timers catching the Saturday matinee.
He brought his flash around. He still wasn't getting any tingles, and the lack of any kind of activity was starting to concern him. Was that red headed fanghead really the only one in this massive place? That in itself was creepy.
He shook off the jeebies plaguing him, turned away from the screen, and headed back to the corridor. Once out, he checked out screen two, his dart gun at the ready. It was empty, exactly like one. The stage was covered in glass, the curtains half-drawn across the screen, ripped and torn. He sighed, finding himself strangely disappointed to not be locating any fangheads and vamps. It was almost like the tension was worse than the actual confrontation. He headed back out, stepping on the occasional piece of broken glass, the popping sound reverberating around the hollow room. Once out, he headed back for the foyer. While there, he thought about radioing in Trixie to update her but then decided against it. Any radio crackle would be amplified in such a hollow place, alerting any vamps and fangheads.
If I need her, I'll call.
He took a moment to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his forehead. His heart was hammering at a faster than normal rate.
"Keep it cool," he told himself, patting the air ahead of him in a 'calm down' gesture. "Keep it cool."
His chest loosened up a notch and he got going again. He lit up the sign reading: 3-4. He took the corridor the sign indicated, the carpet there stickier than the foyer. Old, torn posters surrounded him; Batman, Indiana Jones & the Last Crusade, Hellraiser. Pinhead's vicious scowl and black eyes glowered at him. Beneath, the strapline read: He'll tear your soul apart. Dom gulped, those nasty eyes were worse than the eyes of a vampire.
"You stay right away from my soul, pal," Dom told him as he went past. Pinhead just continued to watch him. Without thinking, Dom made the sign of the cross on himself using the hand holding his dart gun; it was a gesture he hadn't made since he was a kid. He left the demonic depiction behind as he stepped into three. He moved out into the screen floor, his feet like Velcro on the sticky carpet. He looked around with hopeful eyes. Again, a broken, empty cinema screen. And once more, no venom tingles. He growled in frustration. He wanted the tingles, just to make him feel better about stalking around in a creepy, abandoned movie theater. All this second guessing made things worse, kept everything in the realms of the unknown.
Come on, Mr. Vampire, where you at, bro?
He wiped the grime from his forehead and turned back the way he came. He made it to the corridor and headed over to the big '4' painted on the wall. In his mind's eye, he could see the ghostly remnants of ushers collecting tickets and handing back the torn stubs with a smile and an 'enjoy the movie'. He followed the queue and handed in his own imaginary ticket before pulling open the door that led out to the screen. The moment he did, he stopped. His ears pricked. There was a sound in the near distance. Words; ineligible, but definitely words. A faint glow from somewhere up ahead was doing its best to illuminate the theater.
He glanced up to see one or two of the overhead lights were switched on, one of them flashing on and off in a random sequence. A small peal of laughter filled the air and in Dom's mind it was more akin to a scream. His eyeballs rolled, his lips were dry.
This is it! Get ready!
He tightened the grip on his dart gun. He went and hugged the wall next to him, before easing himself out into the theater, the whole time looking up, left, and right. As he made his way closer to the screen, the voices grew louder. There was a movie playing.
What the--?
He craned his neck upward while standing on tiptoe. From there he could see images flashing across what was left of the screen. Some black and white slapstick movie was playing: Abbott & Costello or The Three Stooges, something like that. He stopped, turned off his flash, and began taking tiny sidesteps out, his alert eyes taking in everything. As the seconds passed, the whole theater came into view. He pointed his dart gun at the rows and rows of empty seats ahead of him. He froze, his heart skipping a beat.
There was a solitary figure seated in the front row, facing the screen.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Trixie's heart began picking up pace. Anxiety gnawed away at her like termites. Something wasn't right. She'd been doing this long enough now to know when things weren't what they seemed. She shook her head, unable to rid herself of the apprehension suddenly plaguing her. She stared at the movie theater; it was now some kind of wild animal; a ferocious crocodile or hungry lion that had just swallowed Dom whole. It glared back at her with its windows for eyes, its teeth the row of wooden sheets covering the entrance. Black clouds had swarmed overhead; ominous, foreboding.
"No, no, no, something's not right here," she said to herself, her instincts spiking. In her mind, she could see Troy's sly grin in the gloom of the alley. His eyes glimmered with deceit, his contemptuous grin splitting her mind in two.
He lied, he lied, HE LIED!
She gasped, her mind and eyes coming back into sharp focus, the world aro
und her a goldfish bowl. From nowhere, a Jeep with tinted windows came screeching down the road to a sharp halt on the sidewalk outside the movie theater. Before she had a chance to take her next breath, doors were flying open and a bunch of stocky thugs, their faces hidden behind balaclavas, torsos draped in black tees, legs clad in combat pants, jumped out onto the sidewalk with deadly purpose. In their hands were submachine guns.
Trixie knew what they were: mercs. And they meant business.
Her eyes bulged. Oh, crap!
Without hesitation, they raced for the wooden sheets covering the movie theater entrance. A swift boot toward them and the path was clear. They stormed the darkness beyond a single file, disappearing from view in moments.
Trixie's mind fizzed with terror. She grabbed her radio. "Dom! Dom!" she said into it without drawing breath. "Dom, get out of there! It's a trap! Get out of there!"
She was replied with crackle.
"Argh!" She growled in frustration, throwing the radio to the side. She flicked her eyes back at the jeep and the movie theater. Dom had no idea they were heading his way.
Her instincts screamed. She had to do something!
She grabbed up her radio, jumped to her feet, and raced across the road toward the jeep. On reaching it, she checked inside. It was empty, the engine still running. A radio on the back seat crackled with chatter. She pocketed her own radio and grabbed her tranq dart gun. She'd have to take them out before they found Dom. She darted straight for the movie theater entrance and poked her head inside. It was a dark, damp foyer, the smell of musk barely registering above her sense of alarm. At the far end, she could hear the grunt of mercs communicating. She pulled out before they had a chance to spot her.
Not getting in that way. Think! Think! She licked her lips. There was no other choice; she'd just have to evade them. She sank low and scuttled through the entrance before melting in with the shadows constructing the inner sanctum of the foyer. She pushed tight against the wall and waited in the dark like a thief, waited for just the right time, just when she had the best chance to elude them.
