Nocturnal

by Mark Allen

  T-all’s bladder emptied right there.

  The last thing T-Ball saw on this Earth was that fearsome mouth rushing forward and down. The fangs punctured the flesh over his carotid artery. The lower jaw clamped down over his windpipe, cutting off his air and his ability to scream.

  Oxygen-rich arterial blood pumped from of the left ventricle of T-Ball’s fading heart, pulsed upwards and through the open gash, past the vampire’s lips and teeth, over his tongue, down his throat, and into his stomach. The junkie’s blood tasted terrible, bitter and brackish, but the vampire needed to feed now. He needed strength for what would come next.

  But his stomach could only hold so much. When the vampire had his fill, he wrenched T-Ball’s neck until he heard a familiar, sickening crunch. He lithely tossed T-Ball’s limp body aside. It landed hard, a tangle of arms and legs, head wrenched twisted at an angle incompatible with life.

  T-Ball was dead now. Dead as a doornail; deader than fried chicken. His eyes glazed over in that unmistakable blank expression of a corpse.

  Once a person has seen the eyes of the dead, the truly dead, he or she will remember it all the days of their life. One never forgets the cool smooth skin, limp body, dead weight. Eyes open because all the muscles, even the ones around the eyelids have relaxed.

  T-Ball’s eyes stared outward, looking into forever, seeing nothing.

  Although T-Ball’s heart had already stopped beating, blood continued to pool from the deep wound on his neck. It spread slowly along the concrete, obeying the laws of gravity, and the physics of warm liquids.

  The vampire stepped back, not wanting to get blood on his clothes. He did not want to track blood around, leaving footprints the police could trace. He also did not want DNA of the victims on his person, or any of his possessions. He pulled a dark blue handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the blood from his mouth and chin.

  Above the dock, on board the Sulu Sea, Donnie walked slowly around the main deck, looking for trouble, sensing it but finding none. That pleased him. Now that he had decided to get out of this life, he didn’t want some bad shit to go down where he got killed on his last day of work. He pulled out a cigarette, quickly lit it, then continued walking. The cigarette smoldered lazily, dangling from the corner of his mouth.

  As he strolled down the port side, going aft, he glanced out across the bay, barely able to make out the lights of Coronado Island to the southwest. Looking North East, the dark docks and old Port buildings eventually gave way to Downtown San Diego and it’s famous Gaslamp District. He could barely make out the Convention Center. Petco Park was dark – the Padres were on the road in Kansas City – but he knew it was out there, lurking in the gloom, waiting for the next event to ignite its lights.

  Donnie rounded the edge of the aft cargo hold, strode port to starboard, and gazed past the gunwales to the dull dock below. All appeared quiet. He eased slowly forward, alert for any changes. He knew from listening to the earlier radio traffic that Rudy was checking out the old office buildings. He could not see him from his position, but he knew he was there, doing his job, a true professional.

  He drew on his cigarette, let the smoke waft out the opposite corner of his mouth. He ignored the stinging smoke that drifted into his eyes. He stopped at the gangplank and looked down at the edge of the shipping containers.

  No one was there.

  Donnie frowned. T-Ball was supposed to be there. It was all part of the bigger security coverage for tonight’s business. He drew deeply again on his cigarette, flicked it onto the deck, ground it out with the toe of his boot.

  Donnie keyed up his walkie-talkie. “T-Ball. Come in.” He waited.

  No response.

  He double-checked the radio frequency, then keyed the mic again. “T-Ball. This is Donnie. Come in.”

  In the shadows of the shipping containers, the vampire squatted near T-Ball’s corpse. He listened to the radio transmission coming from the device stuffed into one of T-Ball’s jacket pocket.

  “T-Ball, this is Donnie. Come in.” A burst of static, then nothing. A pause. “T-Ball, where the hell are you?” Another burst of static, then silence. He noticed Donnie’s voice was beginning to show strains of both impatience, and concern.

  On the South side of the compound, a rusted metal door swung open with a grating protest. Rudy stepped outside, going from the darkness of the buildings to the gloom and mist of the night. The buildings were clear, and he felt much better for it. He had fought off the temptation to cut corners, but had instead gritted his teeth and taken the time to do the job right.

  One of his old Drill Instructors had once told him that integrity was the ability to do the right thing, even when no one else was looking. Rudy had never forgotten that.

  He grabbed his walkie-talkie off his belt. “Donnie. It’s Rudy. Report.”

  “T-Ball’s not at his post and responsive to radio,” came Donnie’s response.

  Rudy frowned. “Where did you see him last?”

  “The shipping containers.”

  Rudy glanced in that direction, roughly north of his position. The containers, hulking black rectangular metal cubes, sleeping monsters stacked three high and six wide, waited to be loaded tomorrow. All was quiet. Quiet as the grave, Rudy mused.

  But now something felt different. Heavy. Threatening. His muscles contracted, his breathing deepened. His pupils dilated. Pulse and blood pressure elevated. The hairs on his forearms and neck stood up.

  Something was out there, all right. Something he could not see; something he did not want to see.

  Whatever it was, it was Evil, and Rudy Valdez was afraid of it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  By the gloom created by shipping containers, the vampire squatted low, motionless. He knew the young Latino, Rudy, he believed his name was, standing in the distance could not see him in the gloom. Although the vampire saw him with perfect clarity, to Rudy, the vampire was simply a part of the fabric of the night. Indistinct. Nonexistent.

  Human eyes were simply not like vampire eyes. The vampire had rods and cones on the retina in the back of his eyes just like he did when he was human. But now, as a creature of the night, he possessed more rods than cones. He could see in near total darkness.

  The vampire considered his options. He knew Rudy was no degenerate like T-Ball had been. Rudy had military experience, as evidenced by the way he carried himself, how he moved. How he handled the weapon in his hands. Like it was an old friend. Like he had been born with it in his hands. He also exhibited an admirable work ethic in executing his duties.

  The vampire respected that.

  It was rare for him to see that kind of dedication when so many people were simply lazy. They lived mundane lives, settling for second best. Their existences punctuated by mediocrity, they mistakenly believed that “good enough” was indeed actually, good enough.

  More was the pity.

  The vampire respected the brave, and believed discretion the better part of valor. So he stayed where he was, waiting to see what this Rudy would do.

  Still alert, with a heightened sense of his environment, Rudy continued staring to the darkness in the distance, expecting to see movement that would give away the position of an enemy spy, or law enforcement. Without taking his eyes of the dark, he held the walkie-talkie close to his mouth.

  “T-Ball. Come in.” He spoke in a low tone.

  Silence.

  “T-Ball. This is Rudy. Come in, Goddammit.”

  Silence.

  Rudy rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Donnie.”

  “Go ahead,” came Donnie’s response.

  “Something’s not right.”

  “He’s probably taking a dump or something.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Rudy detected movement to his far left. He turned his head to see a faint yellow glow coming from the other side of the hill near the dockside entrance. The glow grew, became more intense.

  Headlights approaching.

  Rudy im
mediately jogged towards the tiny guard shack by the entrance. It was a good one hundred fifty feet away.

  “They’re here,” he barked into the mic. “We’ll deal with T-Ball later. You and I will have to handle this.”

  “No problem,” Donnie replied. “I just hate having to carry the guy, you know?”

  Rudy was almost there. “He’d better have a damn fine explanation when this is over.”

  Rudy slowed to a walk. The guard shack was really three metal walls and a roof, slanted to one side for water runoff. The fourth wall was missing, acting as both window and door.

  Headlights pierced the darkness, yellow beams bouncing upwards into the fog, dissipating quickly. The front of the car appeared over the ridge, cresting over the top of the road. The high beams plummeted downward as the car continued towards Rudy’s position.

  Rudy grabbed the gate. It had been reinforced cyclone fencing once. He pulled hard. The gate slid back, protesting with squeaks and rust vibrating off the metal. He yanked again, and the gate slid back wide enough for the oncoming car to drive through the checkpoint without slowing down.

  Another twin group of headlights pierced the darkness and bounded over the top of the hill. A second car was coming, coming a bit too fast, trying to close the distance between itself and the first car.

  Rudy stepped across the gate entrance and stood, gun at the ready, at a vantage point where he could unload on the driver without a second’s hesitation if he sensed danger.

  The first car, a dark full–size American four-door sedan, slowed as it neared. The driver’s window opened. Rudy heard the faint whine of the motor inside the door pulling the window glass down.

  Mongo, the driver, leaned his head out and nodded to Rudy. Rudy recognized him instantly, nodded back. Mongo was black, bald, close to seven feet tall and three hundred pounds. His face was pockmarked from acne as a kid, and a delicate latticework tattoo traced its way around his left cheek, eye socket, and ear. An ex football player with a weakness for the ladies – the younger the better, age was no boundary! - he had been El Gecko’s driver and bodyguard for close to three years.

  Mongo drove by. The window rolled back up. Rudy turned his attention to the next car, which was pulling forward.

  The second car, a black Mercedes four door sedan, slowed to a stop. The window rolled down. Rudy recognized the driver. A thin, rather effeminate-looking Latino named Aldo. And if Aldo was driving, that meant Juanito Lobo was in the back seat with his bodyguard.

  Rudy nodded to Aldo, motioned for them to pass. Aldo rolled up the window. The car moved on towards the dock while Rudy grabbed the gate and pulled it shut on its rusty wheels and corroded ground guide with all his might.

  Juanito Lobo was a poser, a clownish buffoon, as far as Rudy was concerned. First off, his real name was John Wolf, which became “Johnnie Wolf”, or sometimes “Johnnie the Wolf” because Johnnie was definitely an alpha male type. Loud and proud, he made it a point of perverted honor to do his own killing. He was new to the drug business, and “Juanito” was about as Latino as an apple pie. Hell, he had blonde hair, blue eyes, and had never been south of San Ysidro.

  But he had money. Lots of it. He always paid in full. He never cheated on a deal. That was why El Gecko dealt with him. He knew Johnnie’s word was good as gold.

  And it is exactly why Rudy did not trust him. He could not put his finger on it, but there was something simply.... off about Johnnie Wolf. He was, in a word, too honest! In this lousy business, there was no such thing as honor among thieves. No fraternal obligations, no true loyalty. Everyone tried to fuck over, double cross, or kill everyone else at one time or another. It was just the nature of the business, and Johnnie Wolf simply did not fit the role.

  Rudy looked behind him, scanning the crest of the road for movement. Seeing none, he trotted towards the dock, still scanning backwards, providing rear security as the cars pulled up next to the ship. Red lights flashed bright as the cars stopped.

  Rudy jogged towards Johnnie’s car, slowing to a walk as he came up on the driver’s side. Aldo was watching him through the driver’s side window, his gun hand inside his jacket. Rudy, his weapon pointed downward, halted. He swung outward, away from the car, raised his weapon to the ready position.

  Inside the car, Aldo relaxed. He opened the door and stepped out, instantly feeling the cold and dampness seep in past his clothes, icy fingers wrapping around his legs, tickling their way up.

  Aldo gasped softly in surprise. He closed his door and stepped to the rear door as Rudy studiously kept watch, covering their position.

  By this time, Mongo was also out of his car, senses adjusting to the night. He looked around. Something was off.

  “Hey, Rudy,” he called.

  “Yeah?”

  “Where’s T-Ball?”

  Mongo noticed Rudy hesitate for just a fraction of a second. “Oh, he’s around.”

  “Why isn’t he here, covering our right flank?”

  “I’m here. And Donnie’s coving from above.”

  Mongo huffed out a sigh. Shaking his head, he reached for the back door handle. Likewise, Aldo reached for his. Both doors opened at the same time; a ritual that had been performed a hundred times before.

  El Gecko stepped out, all dark skin and hair, slicked back and perfect, his fashionable, expensive clothes custom fitted over his thin, muscular swimmer’s physique.

  Johnnie Wolf stepped out of his car. Pasty gringo skin, oily with a bad complexion. Blackheads around his nose, pimples on his cheeks and chin. He had tried to grow a beard, but had been only partially successful. His long hair, the color of used dishwater, hung in disheveled, nappy dreadlocks. His ill fitting, mismatched attire did nothing to minimize his massive belly, which bulged against the inside of his wrinkled shirt, and jiggled when he moved.

  After Johnnie stepped away from the Mercedes, Arthur, Johnnie’s bodyguard and lover, stepped out. Arthur scanned the area with eyes that never stopped moving. Arthur was about Rudy’s size, red hair and pale skin. An intense and quiet man, Rudy did not know much about him because the man hardly ever spoke. He had done time in the military, and had maintained his discipline after he mustered out. The fact he was gay made no difference to Rudy one way or the other.

  Finally, Jorge, El Gecko’s bodyguard exited the car, and instantly began scanning the area, alert for danger. Young, black, handsome, his caramel skin tone indicated a multiracial ancestry. So did his piercing green eyes and high cheekbones. Naturally baby faced, he had grown a beard in recent weeks. Now he looked closer to his actual age. He leaned in close to El Gecko, and whispered in his ear, “Right flank exposed.”

  El Gecko glanced to the right, nodded, then whispered back, “Right flank, Jorge.”

  Jorge pulled his .45 ACP pistol, flicked the safety off. He always kept a round in the chamber. He immediately took position on the right flank.

  Johnnie grinned from behind a pair of dark sunglasses. Ridiculous really, considering the time of day and inclement weather. “Hey. Gecko. What’s the problem, bud? Something wrong?”

  El Gecko forced a smile. “Just taking care of business.”

  “That’s good, amigo. “I’m all about taking care of business.”

  El Gecko motioned with his hand. “Oh course. Right this way.”

  The drug smugglers and their bodyguards moved away from their cars and walked towards the gangplank. Rudy moved in behind them.

  The drivers, as was customary, stayed with their respective cars. Mongo and Aldo looked at each other, and sighed.

  “Another night standing out in the cold,” Aldo said.

  Mongo shrugged. “Yeah, but if we didn’t do this for our money, we’d have to go out and get jobs!”

  They both laughed.

  The small cluster moved towards the gangplank of the Sulu Sea. Johnnie and El Gecko walked side by side in the center, flanked by Arthur to the left, and Jorge to the right. Rudy provided rear security.

  From the main deck over
twenty feet above the dock, Donnie watched as the group edged closer. They stopped at the edge of the gangplank. He stepped out of the shadows and stood at the top of the gangplank. He waved a hand lazily over his head, signaling all was clear.

  “Let’s do some business, shall we? After you,” El Gecko smiled.

  Johnnie grinned that greasy grin that secretly repulsed El Gecko. “That’s what I like about you,” Johnnie said. “You’re so polite. He’s polite,” he added towards Arthur.

  Johnnie stepped onto the gangplank first, followed by Arthur, Jorge, and El Gecko. Rudy made a move forward, but El Gecko looked back at him, put up his hand to immediately halt him. El Gecko spoke briefly, under his breath, with intensity.

  “Find T-Ball.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The vampire flowed languidly among the shadows, effortlessly blending in. He disappeared like a wraith, enveloping night itself. He rubbed a white, almost translucent hand through his hair, flicking the moisture condensing on his skin off and away from his expensive clothing. Perhaps he should not have worn silk tonight.

  From his vantage point he saw the group moving up the gangplank in sharp, garish color. His gaze passed over each of them, stopping and on a young black man carefully providing right flank security.

  Repulsed by the evil emanating off the rest of the two-legged vermin, he focused exclusively on the young man called Jorge.

  This was who the vampire had come to find.

  First things first. Kill the drivers. Disable the cars. He could slaughter the rest at his leisure.

  Rudy was coming his way. The vampire moved, faster than the human eye can follow, a black blur against the sackcloth of night.

  Rudy, rifle at the ready, moved towards the unfriendly containers. He assumed now that T-Ball was dead.

  Somehow, they were under attack. It wasn’t cops. Cops would have pounced once all the players arrived. It wasn’t a rival gang, either. If it had been, the ensuing firefight would have already happened, and everyone would be dead. But someone was out there, all right. Someone good enough to take out T-Ball without making a sound and evade both Rudy and Donnie.