by David Lee
Once Ortega was back to the wall, Finkelstein turned and put a round through a blue glass bottle perched on the edge of the old bar where Ortega was standing. The sound was deafening in the basement room and glass shards ricocheted off the wall and ceiling. Ortega could see a hole in the wall behind where the bottle had stood.
“See, it works,” said Mr. Finkelstein.
Nonchalantly, Arabella said, “Chest please,” and undid the buttons of her black silk blouse, dropping it from her shoulders to her waist, exposing herself to the men. She pulled her arms back thrusting her chest towards Finkelstein, who aimed and fired a round directly between her breasts. She staggered back as 400 foot pounds of force slammed into her, going down to a knee.
Ortega’s eyes bulged and he shouted, “You’ve killed her,” as he dove to the floor for his gun.
Arabella righted herself and shook her shoulders. Observant Finkelstein turned his face to preserve her modesty, while Ortega openly gaped at the dime-sized hole perfectly positioned between the curves of her breasts. As he stared, the wound began to close and sealed itself till there was only a small drop of blood to mark the spot. With her fingertip, she wiped the drop from her pale white skin; holding it to her lips, she daintily licked her fingertip. Looking directly into Ortega’s eyes, she slowly buttoned the blouse, starting at the bottom and working her way to the line of her bra, where she stopped.
“Never look directly into a Vampire’s eyes,” she said, “and if you do manage to shoot one, shoot again and again, a head shot is best.” She blinked, severing control, and he slumped, released from the connection.
Ortega pointed his gun at her saying, “Be careful lady, this is a real gun.”
“Go ahead,” she said, unbuttoning again and pulling her top down, “just don’t put a hole in my blouse; it’s French and I really like it.”
“You are both crazy,” he said, absent mindedly waving his gun, “I’m not shooting you. What is this, some trap?”
She walked up to him and stood toe to toe, “No tricks, no traps, just the truth, Detective Ortega. Do you want the truth or do you want to go home and be safe?”
“Make up your mind, Detective, I’m getting chilly standing here,” she whispered.
He looked down at her bare chest and stood mesmerized by her and frozen at the weirdness of the scene. Off to the side, he watched Finkelstein close his eyes and begin mumbling in a strange language as he bobbed his head towards the wall. He felt Arabella’s hand cover his and lift up the gun until it pointed at her chest.
“Go ahead,” she whispered, “if you are afraid look into my eyes and I will help you.” Lifting his face from her chest he felt her eyes on his and remembered too late not to lock eyes with a Vampire. His felt his finger squeezing the trigger of his service revolver as he fought the impulse, willing the movement to stop. For a moment, the pressure on the trigger lightened then, from a distance, he heard a bang and the gun kicked in his hand and Arabella lurched backward.
She seemed to stumble and went down on one knee, her hands at her chest, “Damn, she said, “you got me in the same damn spot as Finkelstein; that hurt.” She stood and, once again, he watched as the hole in her sternum sealed itself. He stared at her, unable to look away.
Finally, she said, “you’ve looked at my breasts enough, show’s over,” and began buttoning her blouse. “Sorry, Rabbi, didn’t mean to be crude,” she said, looking over at Finkelstein.
“It was necessary,” Finkelstein replied, “to get his attention.”
“Yeah, well you’ve got it now,” said Ortega, walking around and waving his gun, “I’m really paying attention now.”
“Good,” she said, “but why don’t you put the gun away before you shoot Finkelstein, him we need.”
“That is a good idea,” said Finkelstein, “unlike our friend,” bobbing his head toward Arabella, “I don’t think I would recover from a gunshot, right? Please.” Ortega holstered his gun but continued to stare at Arabella.
“In very simple language, one of you, explain to me what is going on,” said Ortega.
Arabella and Finkelstein exchanged a glance then, after an imperceptible nod from her, Finkelstein said “Why don’t you sit down and I will tell you a story.”
“No stories,” barked Ortega.
“Sit,” ordered Arabella, “sit and learn.”
Ortega hunched over on an old rickety bar stool while Arabella brushed the dust from a banker’s chair, grumbling all the while about Finkelstein’s lack of housekeeping.
“So how are you two connected?” said Ortega.
“We each seek the same thing, each in our way,” replied Mr. Finkelstein, “I seek origins through the study of the ancient texts, she through scientific research.”
“Getting anywhere?” asked Ortega.
Ignoring the sarcasm, Finkelstein launched into his explanation, “Two scholars breathed life into a golem. Unfortunately, they decided to keep it and the Golem escaped, mating with daughter of man. The progeny was the first Monster,” lectured Finkelstein, “the Vampire Adam, if you will.”
“Golem,” said Ortega, “What’s a golem?”
Ignoring his question, Arabella said, “I’m attempting to isolate the factors that cause the change, hopefully to reverse it.”
“Vampire assassin by night, humanitarian by day?”
“What happened to the first one?”
“The surviving scholar, his partner had been eaten by then, managed to erase the first letter, killing the Golem, but of course by then it was too late.”
“Of course,” said Ortega, “what happened?”
“That first made others, by mistake and indiscriminately at first, resulting in the Vampire society existing today.”
The Rabbi paced between them, morphing with each step from skid row barkeep to a lecturer in ancient languages and the history of the Western World, until he stopped in front of the hunched over Ortega and said, indicating dramatically, “You see before you a stylish woman dressed in the fashions of today who can apparently withstand a gunshot wound to the chest without any effect, someone who is able to heal herself before your eyes from what should be a fatal wound. You are confused and perhaps afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” blustered Ortega.
“That is because you are ignorant,” replied Finkelstein.
“I’m not stupid,” barked Ortega.
“No, you are not,” replied Finkelstein, “but you are ignorant and if we are to move forward you will need to develop precision in your thinking.”
“I think he might just be stupid,” commented Arabella from the sideline; “he does look like the dunce on that stool.”
Ortega stiffened.
“This is not helpful,” shushed, Finkelstein, “I have a lot of history and we don’t have much time. Our studies predict an attack within a week, so it is imperative that Mr. Ortega receive his education and be trained as your assistant immediately.”
“Oh no you don’t,” said Arabella, standing so quickly Ortega didn’t see her move, “I am not working with him.”
“I’m not anybody’s assistant, especially not hers,” rejoined Ortega, coming to his feet.
“Excellent,” said Finkelstein, “we are making progress. Sit, sit, both of you sit; I have more for you.” Over the next hour Finkelstein recounted the history of the Vampires, the emergence of the Queen as the Vampire ruler of Seattle and Arabella’s position as enforcer for the Clan.
“You expect me to believe she’s a four hundred year old Vampire who has been working as a hit man, excuse me, woman, for warring Vampire Clans and has retired to Seattle, like everyone else? Say, you’re not from LA are you?”
“No, of course not. France originally,” she primly replied, obviously trying to placate the dullard and help him along with his education. “Pay attention”.
Jesse continued his flawed summation, “Ok, and here’s the best part, a local Vampire has risen from the dead, gone rogue and is starting a civil war
against the leader, a Queen of the Vampires no less, who lives in a mansion on Queen Anne Hill. Now this one, swinging his arm back to Arabella, wants to hunt him down and what, bring him to justice?”
“No, we are going to drive a stake through his heart, cut off his head and burn it,” Arabella replied. “You have a minimal attention span, are you ADHD?”
“Of course,” snarked Ortega, ignoring her last remark, “and you need the assistance of the Seattle PD to further your private assassination plot. And,” continued Ortega waving his arm at Finkelstein, “our local skid row bar keep rabbi’s family has been in the Vampire murder business for the last century and will be providing technical support as needed.”
“Yes, I think you understand the basic outline of the situation,” beamed Finkelstein, smiling happily at the apparent consensus. “Perhaps we should move on to tactical considerations now that the strategic mission has been defined and accepted by the relevant parties.”
Ortega looked at him like he was speaking Chinese; Finkelstein, in an attempt to clarify his comments, said, “You two being the relevant parties, if you know what I mean.”
“Actually, I neither want nor need his help,” Arabella snarked. “At best he will be a hindrance, at worst a liability and he will most assuredly get himself killed.”
“I can take care of myself, lady,” he said.
“We’ve already established that you are ignorant, why are you lobbying so hard for stupid,” she snapped back.
“I’m getting tired of this.”
Attempting to placate him, something she wasn’t all that interested in, “All I really need from you is to keep an eye on SPD; I’ll do all the field work; you don’t have to be involved in the hard work.”
Well good, I thought for a moment you wanted something serious but now I understand it’s no big thing, spy on the department while you assassinate people,” sarcasm dripping from him he leaned back against the bar.
“Not people, Vampires. The streets are gonna get a little bloody; I’ll go alone and do what must be done.” Acknowledging her future evaporated her anger, “It wouldn’t be right to involve you; I apologize for Mr. Finkelstein, he was only trying to help.”
Finkelstein clucked his disappointment but moved closer, supporting Arabella’s wishes.
“I was afraid you might want something a little shady, but as it turns out its straight up crime with some murder to boot. Oh yeah, count me in.”
“Tactics always the difficult part,” observed Finkelstein, pleased with the progress, “you two will need to coordinate your activities.”
“Let’s coordinate,” said Ortega grinning at Arabella.
CHAPTER 11
Slithering down the narrow tunnel, Ratman felt safe with the velvet of his tribe brushing his cheek as the horde again moved its home nest. Creeping through narrow crevices, the river of felt engulfing him, he led them to pockets deep within the earth safe from the marauding Vampires. Setting home so far from the refuse of the City meant foraging far for food, but the breeding mothers and offspring would be safe. Able to breed their way out of catastrophe, the horde faced the latest calamity with a vengeance, producing the soldiers necessary for survival. Grown fat on the garbage of the city above, sleek in the safety of the underground, the pack had reconstituted from the disaster of the fire many times over until Rattus Norvegicus was master of the basements and everything below.
Until the scourge arrived that is. Once they arrived, everything changed and the horde became the hunted. At first there were the disappearances, normal losses that the vermin naturally suffered in an urban environment due to poison, trapping and predation, generating a sustainable population loss. The selective breeding program he’d instituted more than made up for the loss and, if anything, relieved him of the continuous challenges to his rule since young males were most likely to push to the boundaries and hence most likely to die. It had not been surprising or even noteworthy when a few didn’t come home. That all changed when the scourge descended on the nest, invading and feasting upon the plump bodies of his brethren as they panicked, scrambling to escape.
Now, they had an ally if she was to be trusted. Many of the rats resisted and he’d had to be quite harsh disciplining the several who balked at his orders. Relations with the Vampire community had never recovered after the fire; the Queen’s uncertain role in the blaze not fully understood, the horde chose to remove any contact lest they draw her attention and suffer from her erratic policies.
Summoning his subordinates, he commanded the scouts to leave the nest and return to the deep below. The reports had been disturbing and Arabella had been insistent that he locate the home of the scourge, that and an accurate count of their numbers. Find the invaders, he ordered, seek them out, discover where they nest at night; determine the size of their pack.
Counting was a more complicated task than hide and seek, a game all young rats excelled at from birth. Rat math focused on greater or lesser; when the horde sensed a numerical advantage it attacked, when less it retreated. Strategy and tactics were solely a function of a chemically linked perception of numbers.
Ratman knew his part was to come; once the patrols located the enemy he would have to go; go and count them. Instructing the scouts to search, locate and return, Ratman turned his attention to securing multiple home bases within the underground accessible by tunnels too small for Vampires to access. The horde would survive, though many would starve and many more would lose their lives foraging for food until Arabella fulfilled her commitment and rid the Underground of the plague.
Already, disturbing reports of bold and aggressive incursions into the Underground were filtering back. A group of yearlings foraging into tunnels recently explored brought back tales of the Vampire scourge foraging in the open. He questioned them as best he could, eliciting a frenzy of squeaks and chitterrings which spoke of humans running and screaming through tunnels pursued by the Scourge, of blood and feedings with blood spurting until the very ground, and here it became hazy as they used the word for rain, and ceiling were drenched in blood and it dropped down on their heads like they had never seen blood before and food abandoned by the Vampires. Food they were afraid to approach let alone eat.
He could make no sense of what they said and ordered them to take him to the scene. Nearly all were afraid, but two of the braver agreed and they scurried off until they came upon the first body, a mutilated corpse with its throat savagely mutilated. It was lying in the tunnel still holding what Ratman thought to be a toy gun in its grip. More bodies were farther down the tunnel culminating in two that were close together. These had guns near them and seemed, from the bites about their arms and necks and bodies, to have been consumed by a ravenous pack.
He tried to communicate as best he could that the bodies drained of blood were no longer food to the Vampires but the concept was beyond his children, who insisted that the bodies were food.
He could do nothing but wait and plan, wait for his scouts to locate the home nest of the Vampires and plan for their final destruction. That, and practice his numbers as Arabella had suggested; he was up to seventy-six and wondered how far he should go. When asked, she vaguely replied, “I think you will need to reach into the hundreds.”
CHAPTER 12
Crawling from the depths up through secret or forgotten passages, they came with eyes not yet fully opened. Their tactile touch felt the vibrations deep in the rock that was their home. At first, they cowered until one then another left the rest, following up through the tortured earth. None had been to the surface since the time of their making; stolen and spirited to the Underworld, they lived in darkness, anonymous and forgotten. Subsisting on the blood of vermin and the hope of redemption, they waited for the call.
Summoned from deep spaces undiscovered by Humans and forgotten by most Vampires, the drum brought them to a cavern lit by Christmas lights strung on rocky walls. Most were naked, clothed in dirt, decorated in filth; many dangled rat skulls, even skeletons, as
jewelry. A few had managed to scavenge a rag or an actual shirt or pair of trousers, which they wore with pride, a badge of their prowess and symbol of their strength. If Humans had upside and Vampires the Underground, theirs was whatever was left, the depths.
The twinkling, blinking lights hurt their eyes, causing them to cower submissively as they funneled between two lines of Vampires resplendent in tuxedos and shiny shoes and shirts so white the glare hurt their eyes and almost burned their skin to reach the front, where the one they waited for might be. The sight of the Vampires startled them; well fed, clean and powerful, they were a vision of what the future might be, serving to remind them of what they were. Made by Oliver as his private army, they’d been forced into hiding on his disappearance, lest the Queen exterminate them.
Hidden for a century, fed lies and inferior rat blood, they’d warped into beasts concerned with survival, haunted by the memory of human blood. All remembered Upside, for they had all been human once. Now they were nothing, hiding in the depths lest Her Majesty the Queen learn of them and hunt them down. The long years of deprivation and cold and darkness had stunted them so that prior lives were conflated with feeding, until they were driven by hatred and manipulated by hunger.
At the edges deep within the rock, timorous noses peeked from cover anxiously watching. Frightened, the rats flattened their bodies till they resembled dirt accumulated in cracks rather than living beings. Hyper alert senses fueled by constant hunger led many of the weakling Vampires to stop as they caught a whiff of the rats, but the constant call urged them on and they passed, ignoring the hint of food.
Jason had staged the show well, thought Oliver, as the cavern filled with the Weakling creatures. Miserable for now, but soon they would be the vanguard of his new world. Truly, there was nothing like creatures with no hope and no future, desperate beyond hope they existed, for you could not call what they had a life, scrabbling through the dark to trap vermin, then defending the tattered rat from the others. Without the power of Vampires still, they were stronger than Man and compliant. These that had survived were tough. He stood in the wings, waiting to mount the elevated stage once they’d assembled and waited for a time. Time to know that they were subordinate but not too long that attention wandered and boredom set in.
