The night to come would be more memorable than the most shocking Springer show ever recorded, he reminded the lawyer. Freddie had just waved him off and gone back to the den.
Not that Paul was handling the situation much better. His nerves had frayed as the late morning light gave way to the afternoon angle of the sun. It was a down time in their planning, and in many ways that was worse than being in the same tiny basement room with the vampire. Too much time meant too much time for thought.
When he dozed for a few minutes at a time, Drake haunted him. “You learned nothing from the McConlon family experiences,” the dream-vampire said with a sour expression, snapping Paul instantly awake from one brief doze.
The hours crept by, but late afternoon eventually gave way to twilight. Toward dusk he felt he’d gotten so good at observing his bedroom’s play of sun and shadows that he could tell the time without a timepiece. Just examine the colors: soft yellows muting to goldenrod before the grays and purples moved in, one horizontal shaft of pink fighting for survival on the horizon.
“It’s time.”
He mouthed the words, but didn’t move off the bed where he lay on his back, his head propped in his hands. His body and limbs felt too heavy to support movement. His paralytic fear had left him weak but seemingly calm with dread as he watched the color drain from the sky outside and convinced himself that he wasn’t stalling; he was giving the master vampire time to find and play his leave-behind message.
He’d never felt such a weighty sense of impending doom. Everything he saw or heard or smelled made him wonder if this would be his last experience with that object or sensation.
A good deal of his bleak outlook could be traced to separation from Darby and Tuck. What had he been thinking, putting them in such danger? His mind ran over a million alternatives to the plan they’d so carefully worked out, but, if he was being honest with himself, none sounded any better than what they’d chosen.
He knew and trusted one thing: there was no security anywhere unless they won it for themselves.
The television was playing too loudly in the den, some cable-produced sitcom without a single familiar face. Either television was getting more niched and obscure…or he was getting older.
“I’m going, now. Lock up after me,” he told the man sacked out on the couch.
Freddie jumped to his feet, wobbly from the sudden transition from sleep state to relative wakefulness. He found the remote and killed the TV. “You mean we’re going. Right?”
Paul paused. He already felt bleak, weighty guilt about his wife and daughter, his young son, his ex-wife Meredith, his two other daughters, Tonya Whittock and all of his former clients. He wasn’t crazy to see the list growing. “You know you don’t have to,” he said.
“You kidding? How many people you know have ever been on an adventure like this?”
There was nothing funny about it. Paul didn’t try to hide his grim outlook. “Tonight won’t go well, Freddie. Purcell’s faction will be steamed up about what went down yesterday and Drake will be less than thrilled when he plays back the camera.”
“Should be memorable. Let’s get going.”
Paul swallowed hard. He found his car keys and said, “You’ve been warned.”
Safely locked into Darby’s sporty Jeep, but before buckling, Paul craned his neck into the darkness behind him.
He let out a breath. “I can’t believe I did that. Looking for monsters in the backseat. This is going to be one memorable evening.”
“What I’ve been saying all along.”
They drove up Crenshaw and onto Middle View in silence, but as they cruised past the Drake Municipal Complex, Freddie said, “I guess if they were going to do anything they’d do it now. Before we get to the motel.”
Paul shook his head. “I think we’re still a little hands-off. At least until they figure us out.”
Hopeful thinking more than anything. At some point, Paul knew, one faction or the other would decide he was more trouble than he was worth. His only hope was that the video would freeze up the old-timers and their allies long enough for Paul and Freddie to slip through. And that Purcell still retained enough fear of Drake to ignore the two of them for now.
Feeble hope, but he needed whatever strength he could pull out of the air.
“More young people than I was expecting,” Freddie murmured.
He was right. Over the course of the last few days the average age of the town’s afterhours population had dropped noticeably. Not that each and every one of them would be a vampire, but he had the distinct impression that most daylighters liked to keep their doors locked and shades pulled when the sun went down. Just in case.
At least that had been the case before Purcell went to work convincing them there was no reason to wait.
He hung a left onto Second and winced in the morbid expectation of bullets shattering the glass. Bungalows and wood-frame homes in need of paint, the residential monotony was broken by a hair salon with a self-painted window sign and a concrete bunker of a structure that seemed to be offering discount auto glass. Half as many streetlights lined the street around here as had been present in the wealthy area of town and many of those were unlit.
Even in progressive vampire societies, it would seem, some were more equal than others.
No whizzing bullets so far, but Paul couldn’t relax the tension he felt in his jaws and in the muscles just under the flesh of his face. Signaling carefully, he made a right onto Main View.
“If Drake’s seen the camera by now, he’ll make sure no one touches us.”
“If he can figure out how to playback the video,” said Freddie. “If your argument convinces him to hold up. If everyone in town still listens to him. And if I don’t die of a massive coronary in the next few minutes.”
Paul chanced a quick glance at his friend. Freddie sat there as seemingly calm as he’d been while watching his afternoon television. Which is exactly why he’d wanted the man in his corner if he was ever indicted for financial malfeasance.
Paul hoped he was holding his own fear in check as his eyes snapped to a rearview mirror filled with headlight beams. At the next red light, he forced his attention to stay riveted out the windshield and to barely see the green pickup with chugging engine in the next lane that filled his peripheral vision. He could just make out a male figure behind the wheel while something from a hair band he could almost name screeched on the radio.
If he spied a gun extending from that open window, he’d have little time to react. He almost stomped the gas and ran the light, but a cluster of old vampires ambling through at the crosswalk stopped him.
“Some of Purcell’s?” Freddie asked, meaning the pickup he hadn’t even seemed to glance at.
Paul nodded. “I think so.” He powered up the windows as if the glass was bulletproof, and flicked on the air conditioner as they rolled through the green light.
“Maybe you should get your head down,” he said quietly.
They were coming to the most critical part of the trip, the long, steep drive of the Sundown Motel. As they drew closer, Paul could see the police cruiser parked at the foot of it. Less than a hundred yards from the motel. If they were lucky, the young cops sitting in it in sunglasses and poker faces would have gotten a radio dispatch from Bill Sandy immediately after the police chief had been contacted by Miles Drake.
Or not.
Freddie ignored him and studied the scene as they coasted slowly past. “What are those? Bullet holes?”
Sure looked like it. At least a half dozen stitched the side of the parked squad car.
“Don’t ask,” Paul said.
He took a stuttering breath and waited for something to happen. It was a mild September early evening, but hot and stuffy in the car, even with the air conditioner.
“You got a knife, right?” Paul asked.
“Yeah.”
“Good. It might slow them down some if we run into trouble, but I doubt it.”
“Keep
talking. You’re doing wonders for my morale.”
Paul took the turn without slowing considerably. The tires wailed and they came sickeningly close to fishtailing into the parked cruiser. He gave it more gas up the driveway, the two of them sunk down in their seats like lowriders.
Freddie said, “You worked out a signal with the others, right? So they’ll know we’re the good guys and not blow us to shit?”
Paul flicked his headlights twice, a code he made up on the spot.
“It’s not like I do this for a living,” he grumbled.
“Great. Now we got crossfire to worry about.”
No bullets flew, but it was a less than comforting sight that greeted them halfway up the drive.
“Who is that?” Freddie asked unsteadily.
Paul squinted to see around the flashlight beam coming out of the darkness, straight at them.
“They call him Ponytail Pete, I think.”
“Oh, Christ.”
Paul braked and lowered the Jeep’s window.
He looked like a scrawny Rambo, his long hair held in place with a doo rag. He carried a black baseball bat in a homemade sling on his back and three liquid-filled beer bottles cinched together with rope at his waist. A chainsaw was gripped in one hand and balanced on a bony shoulder while his other paw was occupied with the flashlight he shone in Paul’s eyes.
“Hey,” said the skinny warrior.
Paul wasn’t sure how to respond, but he didn’t have to. Mona Dexter came flying into view behind another bobbing light beam.
“They’re okay, Pete. Thanks.”
Ponytail Pete grunted as if disappointed at being uninvited to fire up a Molotov cocktail or rip the cord on the damn chainsaw.
“You’ve got some very interesting friends,” Freddie muttered.
“Leave your car,” Mona told them. “The guys’ll take care of it.”
She swung her light toward where the top of the driveway had been barricaded by rusted cars and trucks. Denver and D.B. were couched by Mona’s minivan, siphoning gasoline into a bottle.
“We just got a message from one of the old vamps,” Mona said tersely. “Miles Drake is on his way.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
They met in the motel owner’s stifling apartment to discuss how they’d receive the master vampire.
With the power gone, her big air conditioning unit in the dining room only clogged a window that could have otherwise been opened. Other sashes were open, though, and the ominous scent of gasoline hung in the air along with the screeching of night insects and the quiet, tense murmur of male voices preparing for the worse. The inside smelled like a spicy gift shop, all the scented candles glowing around them. Mona sat at her dining room table fanning herself with a rolled newspaper.
In the white glow of the candles and battery-powered camping lanterns, faces glowed ghastly with tension. Freddie had claimed a window seat, and was monitoring activity on the front grounds and the pool area while he listened in to the discussion in the room.
“The flashlight signal will be for Drake’s benefit,” D.B. said. “Pete’s actual first warning will be by walkie-talkie, but I want them to see we’ve got an early warning system.”
Impressive, thought Paul. The man given the responsibility of leading the motley crew seemed to know what he was doing. He remained in constant motion while reviewing the plan, coming across as calm but energetic, holster pressed against his hip.
“It’ll be his daughter driving his big old gray Lincoln,” Mona said.
“Are we inviting him in here or talking to him outside?” Freddie asked.
The room pondered the question. A tough choice of options, none good.
Paul said, “If we stay outside, we could get hit by snipers, rats, whatever they throw at us. I think we’ve got to bring him in here.”
D.B. said, “Definitely inside.”
“Let’s hope he agrees to that,” Mona said. “He might not trust us enough.”
“Doesn’t trust us,” D.B. snorted.
“Who’s going to be where?” Paul asked.
D.B. held up a finger, as though to hold off the question, then slipped out of the room. When he returned, it was with a single sheet of lined notebook paper.
“I made a map,” he said, taking a seat next to Mona.
As D.B. moved one of the lanterns closer to his work, Paul could hear the low-level static of a momentarily forgotten walkie-talkie playing in the background.
Together, they stared at a crude pencil drawing of the motel and grounds. A rectangle within a rectangle indicated the front lawn and pool, with squiggles for the ravine and tree line out back. The driveway and parking lot and the road out front were similarly demarcated. ‘X’s obviously represented the last known location of police cars, and initials stood for posted Sundowners.
D.B. stabbed a finger as his drawing. “The drive is fully barricaded with two rows of cars and trucks. We got Ponytail Pete (“PP”) roaming the front grounds with a two-way and flashlight.”
“A big ole bat and gas bombs, too,” Freddie said.
“He flicks the light every few minutes so we know he’s okay,” D.B. continued. He pointed out “JW,” another set of initials. “Jermaine’s on the upstairs balcony with the two-way, watching Pete and the front grounds. Denver, too. If they don’t see that flashlight flicker, we hear from them. We got Carl in back, keeping an eye on the ravine. He’s got a radio, too.”
Paul tapped the map at that last location. “That’s where we need more people. When the attack comes, it comes from the ravine. Less open ground to cross.”
“I’ll go,” Freddie said.
D.B. turned to him. “You don’t have to leave the premises. Take an upstairs room. They’ve each got a window facing the back. If the action comes from the other way, you can swing onto the front balcony and support Jermaine’s sector.”
Sector, Paul thought. Things getting more surreal as the night lengthened.
D.B. returned his attention to the creased drawing. “The rest of us are more or less stationary here. Mona mans our command center. She passes messages back and forth to Carl, Jermaine and Pete. Paul, you and I will go wherever we’re needed most.”
Leaving two gaping holes in his defenses.
“What about Todd and Joy?” Paul asked.
D.B. took his time refolding his map. He went to great pains to rub it flat against the tabletop. “I didn’t forget,” he said. “They’re in a second-floor room, sleeping. Jermaine’s guarding their doors from his balcony sentry post.”
“Is he guarding the Dunbars?” Paul asked. “Or guarding us from them?”
D.B.’s hand pressed new creases into his map. When he looked up, his face was white in the lantern glow. “We know nothing about Todd’s…condition,” he said.
The others looked away. Paul wanted to offer the Dunbars a level of support, but he couldn’t find the words. He hated to admit it, but the Sundowners were right to be cautious.
A squawk of static interrupted his thoughts. Through a field of white noise, they could hear Ponytail Pete saying, “He’s coming. Big gray Lincoln, and he ain’t alone. Whole shitload of ‘em coming up the drive.”
Seconds later, they got a similar report from Jermaine up on the balcony: driver and several passengers.
Staying away from the windows, Paul, D.B., Mona and Freddie crawled to the tiny, adjoining room that served as the motel’s office. From the glass entrance they spied the big Lincoln pull under the carport and idle for several minutes.
“What’re they doing? What’re they up to?” Mona asked of the motionless vehicle and its flickers of shadowy movement within.
“They’re going to take their time,” Paul said. “They know exactly what that’s doing to us.”
As all four car doors were flung open at once, Ponytail Pete’s voice crackled on the two-way. “What do you want me to do?”
They all seemed locked in indecision until D.B. grabbed the radio from the table and said, �
��Let them in.”
Not that the four were awaiting an invitation. From the vertical slit of a pair of closed drapes, Paul watched Miles and Tabitha Drake, Olan Buck and Bill Sandy plod toward the office door. He mopped his face and prepared to meet the vampire.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Miles Drake’s ramrod stature and taciturn nature filled the apartment even before the others filed in behind him. For one brief moment, Paul and the vampire stood alone, facing each other.
“You certainly have set an unalterable course of action,” said Drake.
Paul felt dizzy. He lowered himself carefully into a living room chair, his scalp itching with the intensity of his fear.
Drake sank into the couch and sat alone. He draped both arms over the back in a crucifixion pose, his eyes still fixed on Paul. The others wore expressions that couldn’t be read as they found seating or standing room against a wall.
Bill Sandy’s gun jutting from the holster snuggled under his impressive swath of belly got Paul wondering whether disarmament should have been a precondition. Too late now, he thought as he combed his fingers through his tense scalp.
In his cheap blue dress slacks, white short-sleeved shirt and twisted tie, the master vampire more closely resembled a Jehovah’s witness or mailroom supervisor than the master of some sinister and deathless clan. But the room respected him despite his attire. It waited for him to speak, but his dark eyes first fastened on each in turn. They lingered over Freddie. The vampire opened his mouth just as Mona’s two-way belched static and he whipped his eyes to the source of the offending noise.
A million thoughts seemed to flash through his mind as his eyes focused on the sound source. His nostrils flared and cheeks pinked. “You called me,” he finally said to the room at large.
Now everyone’s attention fixed on Paul as he struggled for a start. But the vampire spoke first.
“I believe I can smell your fear, little man,” he said, fixing his dark gaze on Paul. “You sit there helplessly riveted to your chair, knowing you must take action. It’s an uncomfortable sensation, isn’t it?”
Bloodthirst in Babylon Page 35
