Nocturnal

by Mark Allen

  “I love you too, Eddie. I always have”.

  My heart swelling and breaking at the same time, I backed into the shadows. I left the way I had come: as a wraith, a shadow, something sensed, never fully seen.

  Danae passed away just before dawn.

  So from that night until now, I have been, and shall always remain alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Rick Oakley sat at his desk awaiting an update on the operation. Tense, he tried to calm himself, tell himself “no news was good news”. He stared at his cell phone as it lay in front of him, silently willing it to ring. And yet it refused to bring word of success.

  He had spent many years on the front lines. First as a combat Operator in the Army, followed by time as a “soldier of fortune”, which was simply a mercenary going by another name. Then, as a soldier/enforcer/executioner for Vargas.

  Events had transpired so quickly in the last few days. The bloodbath aboard the Sulu Sea still rattled him. His contact within law enforcement told him that they theorized the perp was a lone, master assassin not involved in the trade.

  Without knowing this outsider’s motives, it was impossible to predict his movements. What did he want? What was his end game?

  Oakley suspected Vargas had cashed out and bailed because he had seen the writing on the wall. He saw danger looming; knew what was coming. Oakley hated him for it, but he also admired him at the same time.

  Oakley had instructed his personal bodyguards to move the desk from the middle of the warehouse floor into the smaller office off to the side. With a solid wooden door that could close and two walls made of wood from the ground to about three feet up, and double panes of heavy glass from there up to the ceiling, it seemed a more appropriate place for “The Boss”.

  The office was easily defensible. Facing the glass, no one could sneak up on him. The wall behind him consisted of two layers of heavy metal, part of the outside of the building. He made a mental note to have the current panes replaced with bulletproof glass as soon as possible.

  Ever the soldier, his eyes systematically darted around the room. He looked for weaknesses in the construction, found nothing glaring. Rigging the office for audio and video surveillance would be simple. He also saw several places in the room to hide a weapon: a handgun here, a combat knife there. He identified where he could hide a loaded shotgun (preferably with a pistol grip) and it not be visible from outside.

  Tim, a youngish man with long hair and a cruel face appeared outside the office door. Clothed in dark fabrics, covered in a leather jacket, Oakley could tell the man worked out. Oakley motioned for him to enter.

  “Boss, you need to hear this,” he said as he walked quickly into the office. He moved fast enough for his flowing hair to fan out away from his head, bouncing on his broad shoulders.

  Oakley stood from his chair behind his desk. He took the set and keyed the mic. He heard Rudy calling for responses from his crew, and getting none. He heard the tension in Rudy’s voice, then heard him calling out to Melvin’s crew for reinforcement.

  He keyed the mic again. “Rudy, this is Oakley, come in.”

  Silence on the other end.

  “Rudy, this is Oakley. Come in.”

  Silence at the other end.

  “Mount up,” Oakley commanded. He handed the handset and earpiece back to Tim.

  “Yes sir.” Tim spun around on his heel, almost a perfect one-eighty, a military “about face” maneuver, and walked out. He clipped the handset and repositioned the earpiece as he went. No drama. No flurry. No wasted movement.

  Oakley grabbed his cell phone off his desk. He slipped it into his right front pants pocket. Just like he had done thousands of times over the years. Habit made one more efficient, more proficient. Habit reduced the chance of mistakes. This was something Oakley had learned long ago. He patted the back of his pants. His wallet was still there. He patted under his left arm with his right hand. His handgun was there, fully loaded, securely holstered.

  He stepped to one side, pushed his chair back up under the desk. Another habit. Stay neat. Stay tidy.

  He exited the office, locking the door behind him. Tim and the other bodyguard, Ronald, geared up. They each pushed their heads through the tops of their body armor, then fastened everything in place using the attached Velcro straps. Each man slid their handsets into pockets on the front, adjusted their earpieces. They picked their weapons up, snapped in fresh clips, locked and loaded. Then they each grabbed several extra clips of ammo. Loaded for bear, they were.

  “Ronald, right?” Oakley asked.

  Ronald, as black as Rick was white, nodded. “Yes sir.”

  “Background?”

  “Active duty Army, sir. Did six years. Tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

  “Any problems pulling the trigger?”

  “None I’m aware of, sir.”

  Oakley grinned, nodded. He looked to Tim. “And you?”

  “Third Marine Division. Did four and out. Two tours in Iraq.”

  “Marines?” Oakley grinned. “With that head of hair?”

  Tim grinned. “I’ve been out a while, sir.”

  Oakley nodded. “The Op tonight may be be going sideways. Bad shit’s happening at Rudy’s pos, and Melvin’s team is enroute to reinforce. We’ll backfill Melvin’s pos.”

  “We’re going to go sit on Granny?” Ronald asked.

  “By the time tonight’s done, we may have to shoot Granny right through her silver-haired head.”

  Reggie stalked through his tight, orderly apartment. He wielded a fully loaded 357-magnum handgun in his right hand. He had drawn the drapes over the window facing the front of the street.

  At the vampire’s urging, he had left the lights off except for a small lamp near the door. A small light also shown above the stove in the kitchenette. The door and the first few feet inside bathed in light, while the hallway dimmed to darkness. Anyone standing in the region at the entrance to the living room would be backlit, a perfect target, while they would only see blackness in front of them.

  Reggie admitted the vampire knew how to set an ambush. And he certainly knew how to use the night to his advantage. Like camouflage, or something.

  Reggie crept from his unused bedroom into the living room. He padded past his easy chair, his favorite place in the apartment. It was set directly in front of and about six feet away from his high definition TV. He did not have cable, but he had Internet service, and enjoyed watching movies and TV shows on a streaming media service.

  But there would be no binge watching tonight.

  Rudy Valdez, unconscious but alive, duct tape applied to his mouth, wrists, and ankles, currently occupied the chair. His face was marred where the vampire had grabbed him, his sharp claws digging into the skin. Reggie could make out the pattern of the vampire’s hand by the position of the wounds and the bruising.

  “Men coming.” A disembodied voice coming in softly from a far corner of the room.

  “You sure?”

  “Two of them.”

  “Just two?”

  “On the other side of the door.”

  Reggie began to say something more, but a discreet knock at his front door stopped him. He looked into the darkness of the room where he knew the vampire stood, a still silent shadow slightly blacker, darker, denser than the gloom around him. Then he looked down the hallway.

  Another knock sounded. This one was louder, longer. Less discreet, more insistent. The next knock would probably be closer to indignant pounding. The kind of thing that drew attention and woke up neighbors.

  Reggie sidestepped to a covered position. “Wait a second,” he called out as casually as he could. When gunfire did not immediately erupt, he pointed the gun at the door and crept down the hallway, staying to one side.

  Steeling himself as he went, he cocked his weapon, ready to fire in an instant if he felt threatened. He stopped inches from the door and listened. No sound came from outside that he could hear. He carefully placed the
muzzle of the gun right over the wood of the door. Hot, heavy rounds would punch straight through wood and pulverize flesh and bone on the other side.

  He held is breath, peered intently through the peephole in the doorway. With the distortion of a fisheye lens, he recognized the parties outside. He relaxed, flicked the safety back on.

  He opened the door. Castle and Horn waited. Reggie stepped aside, opening the door wider. The two detectives slid inside, and the door shut softly. The deadbolt shifted into the jamb.

  “Reggie, you all right?” Castle asked.

  “Barely.”

  “Where you been?” Horn demanded. “I saw that Range Rover down the street. Doesn’t look like it belongs here.”

  “It doesn’t.” Reggie motioned them into the depths of the apartment. “It belongs to a kill squad sent here to kill me,” he said as they walked down the hallway and into the main room.

  “And where is that kill squad now?”

  “Dead.”

  They all stopped in front of Reggie’s easy chair. Rudy was now awake.

  “How the hell did you capture him?” Horn asked.

  Before he could answer, Castle asked,” Who killed the team?”

  “I killed a couple of them,” Reggie stated. “The rest, well... I had help.”

  “Help, huh?” Horn echoed. “Like you had help aboard the Sulu Sea?

  There was a pause in the conversation. Rudy’s eyes glanced from one policeman to another.

  “How did you capture this guy?” Castle asked.

  “Actually, I didn’t,” Reggie said.

  “Who did?”

  “I did.”

  Everything in the room simply... stopped. A whisper, from out of the black recesses of the room. The whisper froze Castle and Horn in their respective spots, the softness of the voice somehow chilling them with a deep, unreasoning, irrational fear.

  The barest hint of a grin passed across Reggie’s lips. “Like I said. I had help.”

  Horn and Castle stared into the mercurial dark. Slowly, silently, the shadows swirled, coalesced, took shape and mass. The vampire, still in shadow, glided forward. Full coat flowing almost to his ankles, his hands in his pockets, his collar turned up. The duster was unbuttoned, and his immaculate clothing, the dark cashmere mock turtle and gray pinstriped custom tailored pants, hand-stitched and dyed black leather belt peeked through.

  He stopped in front of them. His head tilted down a bit, his wraparound sunglasses were still secure to the upper half of his face. Through the specs, he looked down at Rudy, realizing that he was hungry again. Rudy, aware of his presence, stared up at him, eyes wide with apprehension.

  “Let’s get something out of the way right now,” Horn growled. “Are you the same guy who killed all those assholes aboard the Sulu Sea?”

  “Yes,” the vampire answered, unafraid, and without hesitation.

  Horn, shocked into silence, looked at Castle. Castle stared back at him. They looked to Reggie who only shrugged.

  “Sir,” Castle started, “did you intend to kill everyone?”

  “Only those in my way.”

  “You were there for Detective Downing?”

  “Yes.”

  Maybe the stranger’s pallor came from the gloom he stood in. “But not kill him.”

  “To protect him.”

  “Yes,” Horn interrupted. “And by the way, thank you for all you’ve done to keep him alive.”

  The vampire nodded, brought his hands out of his coat pockets and shrugged. “Not at all, good sir.”

  Horn tilted his head. Who the hell talks like that these days? “Downing, who the hell is this cat?”

  “He’s my – his name is... Eddie Marx.”

  “Are you wanted for any crime in the United States?”

  “None that I am aware of.”

  “So what are you?” Castle asked. “Some kind of hired killer?”

  “A hired killer?”

  “Yeah. Like some ninja assassin, or something.”

  The vampire was so surprised he convulsed with a short laugh. Mouth open wide, his fangs were on full display. Horn and Castle’s mouths fell open.

  The vampire recovered quickly. He had been found out.

  Oh well.

  He stepped closer, into what little light was in the room. The pallor to his face and hands did not warm to a human skin tone. It remained dull gray, waxy, dead.

  He held up his hands, exposing his extended fingers and claw like fingernails. “What was your last question, young squire?”

  “Wh - What are you?” Castle stuttered, barely able to get it out.

  “I am... a vampire.”

  “Vampiro!” Castle spoke, stepping away and crossing himself. “Madre de Dios!”

  The vampire started to tell Castle it was okay, but there was no point. Reason could not penetrate this kind of fear. So he sighed in frustration, said nothing.

  “This is bullshit,” Horn stated.

  Irritated, the vampire turned his head without moving his body. It was like his head was simply on a thin stick, not attached to muscle, bone and sinew. He focused on Horn. Saw the waves of fear wafting off him. The man did not understand the reality of the situation. The vampire was trying very hard to not demonstrate that reality.

  “Downing, what the fuck kinda bullshit is this?” Horn demanded. “This guy’s full of shit. And so are you!”

  “What did you say?” The vampire’s words were almost silent, but most insistent. Simple words, filled with icy menace.

  The room went silent again. All movement stopped. Suddenly, the air was heavy as lead.

  “What?” Horn was genuinely confused. He thought he had made himself quite clear.

  The vampire now swiveled his body to the same direction as his head. Downing knew this could not be good. He also knew not to interfere.

  “I asked you a question, sir. What did you just say?”

  Horn suddenly found himself considering his options. Finally, stupidly, “I said, that you’re full of shit, and so is he.”

  The dull skin at the corner of his right nostril pulled up. A snarl crossed the vampire’s lips. His fangs showed. He ripped off his sunglasses; let them drop unheeded atop Rudy Valdez’s chest.

  The vampire lurched so quickly across the room Horn never even had a chance to draw his gun. The vampire grabbed him by the throat with one hand and by the belt loop of his pants by the other and lifted him forcefully off the ground. He slammed Horn’s massive body into the ceiling so hard dust shook from the wood. Castle gasped and began crossing himself once again. Reggie simply stood back and watched. Rudy figured the little guy had to be on drugs.

  No matter how much he would try in the years ahead, Horn would never forget what he saw as his vision cleared. Below him, holding him up above his head as if he were almost weightless, the vampire glared up at him. Pale dead skin, black, unblinking eyes that blazed with anger and a hint of red; an ugly mouth filled with teeth, armed with fangs. This small guy, about five foot six, maybe seven, probably a buck forty five dripping wet, stood under him, hoisting him up, balancing him easily.

  This person – no, this creature, this walking corpse, this unholy fucking thing below him, holding him in the air without the slightest trace to physical strain, was a vampire.

  Vampires were real.

  Oh my God. Vampires were fucking real. Horn had to concentrate to keep from shitting his pants.

  “From the smell I am sensing, you, sir, are the one full of shit,” the vampire said. “Would you like me to carry you to the bathroom?”

  “Mr. Marx.” Castle had found his voice. “Put him down, sir. Please.”

  The vampire did not take his eyes or his angry face off the enormous black man he held above him. “Detective Castle, is it?”

  “Well,” the Latino stuttered, “it’s actually Detective Sergeant.”

  “Detective Sergeant,” the vampire said back, “I get the feeling you are a good and decent man. And since you have done nothin
g to impugn my great great grandson’s reputation,” he paused snarled, baring his fangs for Horn’s benefit, “I am inclined to consider granting your request.”

  “Thank you. Uh, sir. Uh, Mr. Marx.”

  “Look at me, sir.” Horn looked at the vampire in his black, bottomless eyes. “Do I look like the kind of person you want to provoke?”

  Horn tried to answer, and found that he could not. The vampire’s grip around his throat made vocal communication impossible. Grimacing in pain and diminishing oxygen, he shook his head.

  Reggie cleared his throat. “Grandpa?”

  The vampire glanced over his shoulder at his great great grandson, then back up at Horn. “You do not deserve my mercy. But you have good and faithful friends. On that count, you are indeed a fortunate man.”

  The vampire lowered Horn until he was standing back on the floorboards of the apartment. He let go of the man’s throat and waist.

  “I care not what you think or say to me. Do not ever speak to my great great grandson in such a foul manner again.” He leaned in close to Horn, bared his fangs. “Ever.”

  Castle had his phone in front of him. “You said your name is Eddie Marx?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow,” Castle said in awe. “I found you.” He held up his phone screen towards he rest of them. “Says you were a gangster back in New Jersey. You died young.”

  “I am familiar with the circumstances of my death, young squire.”

  “It also says your body went missing from the morgue,” Castle added. “They never found it.”

  “I am also aware of the circumstances of my rebirth.”

  “So, with you being, um,” Horn rasped as he massaged his bruised throat and neck, “what you say you are, that’s how you took out all those guys at the Sulu Sea.”

  “The speed and strength you experienced here is nothing,” the vampire said without boasting. “I possess a capacity for violence and brutality the likes of which you have not seen,” he added. “That includes the Sulu Sea.”

  “Jesus,” Horn muttered, remembering the Sulu Sea.