by Jeff Seats
Book Two Of The Monster Keeper Series
Jeff Seats
SD Publishing Copyright © [2019] [Jeff Seats]
The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Published by [SD Publishing]
ISBN [978-0-9983896-2-2] Typesetting services by bookow.com
For my 94-year-old mother and her five sisters all in their 90s. My immortal family.
Acknowledgments
Thanks again to my daughter Elizabeth and her friend Craig whose core idea of passengers off of a broken-down bus stumbling into a vampire town lead to my first novel, Vamp Town, and now to this, my second.
Contents
—— Prologue —— 1
—— Attrition —— 11
—— Smorgasbord —— 23
—— The Reporter —— 33
—— Ellie & Paul —— 39
—— Crime Scene —— 49
—— Road To Hell —— 57
—— No Place Like Home —— 65
—— Newbie —— 75
—— Shit Duty —— 85
—— Encore —— 93
—— Target Acquired —— 101
—— Facing Facts —— 115
—— Manifesto —— 121
—— Return Flight —— 129
—— Meeting —— 139
—— Fools Rush In —— 151
—— Into The Storm —— 161
—— Terry —— 173
—— Hunter Hunted —— 181 —— Text —— 193 —— Red Sky In Morning —— 203 —— Reality TV —— 209 —— Rescue —— 219 —— All Fall Down —— 231 —— New Normal —— 245 —— W T F —— 255 —— Brothers —— 265 —— What Now —— 273 —— Awakening —— 285 —— Epilogue —— 295 Author’s Note 303
viii
PORTLAND, OREGON, 1900. A weather-worn face reflected the warm glow from a lantern hanging on a nearby piling. The single source of light cast harsh shadows, emphasizing the many wrinkles that contoured his skin; making them read as miniature canyons on some distant island. He turned a timepiece towards the light to better see the dial, and watch the hands tick closer to the hour of nine p.m. and the high tide that would arrive with it; enabling his ship easier passage down the Willamette River and on towards the Pacific Ocean. Nervously, he scratched the gray stubble on his cheek as he inspected the pier for prying eyes, then he looked down at the two men delivering an awkward bundle onto the deck of his ship. The first mate would see to the storage of the freight after they had gotten underway.
The ship’s captain opened the gold cover on the pocket watch again. He was getting itchy to cast off. It was seventy-eight nautical miles from Portland to the ocean, and there was no guarantee that they would make the next available slack tide that would safely allow his vessel to cross the Columbia Bar—the graveyard of the Pacific. If those two didn’t hurry, his ship would get caught in Astoria waiting for the next opportunity to break out into deep water. He was a merchantman, after all, and the longer he stayed in port, the longer it would take to get the goods his ship carried to Shanghai, sold, and pocket the profits. Time being money as an old saying went.
Besides, the longer his ship stayed moored in this city, the greater the possibility of the local constabulary discovering the bundle now being left on deck and the more out-of-pocket cash it would take to pay them off, or that his newest “hire” might even be able to escape. And he was in no frame of mind to allow either to happen, not after all the trouble he had to go through to engage that local crimp, Joseph “Bunco” Kelly, to acquire the lad in the first place.
As if on cue, the two men stepped off the gangplank connecting the deck of his ship to the dock and came to a stop in front of the nervous captain. The one in the bowler hat, Kelly, stepped closer; hat in hand. The ship’s skipper unfolded a sheet of paper and handed it to Kelly; one last task before the job was complete. Kelly reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a fountain pen, removed the cap and forged the signature of the new “crew member” agreeing to the terms of employment and the rules of the ship legally binding him to the captain and the vessel he would be sailing on.
“He’s a bit under the weather at the moment.” Bunco said in an affected Irish accent and winked conspiratorially, acknowledging that the bundle he had just delivered was a man who had been drugged. “But the lad’ll be as right as rain come the mornin’. Now if you’ll be upholdin’ your end of the deal?” Bunco asked with his hand out.
The captain removed a large leather billfold from his inside coat pocket and counted out the bills, placing them individually onto Bunco’s palm, one five-dollar bill at a time.
“—and thirty.” The captain said closing the billfold. “If you would pardon the impertinence, but our agreement was for fifty dollars this time. You were in a hurry you said,” Bunco stated apologetically, then grinned.
Exasperated, the captain pulled out an additional twenty dollars and stabbed the extra paper notes on top of the initial thirty already in Bunco’s palm.
“It’s blood money that’s what it is,” The captain grumbled.
“Yes, and I wouldn’t be getting paid now if you weren’t needin’ an extra hand. Would I?”
Bunco looked at the printed paper in his hand. He held the greenbacks up to the lantern to make sure they appeared authentic. He felt satisfied when he saw the red Treasury stamp at the bottom right. It wouldn’t do his reputation any good as a swindler if he were to be swindled himself.
The ship’s captain turned, grabbed the lantern, and stormed down the gangplank barking orders to his men. The flurry of activity on the deck disinterested Bunco and he turned to his friend, “Now for the next delivery of the evening Poe me boy.” They spun the cart around and headed into the service tunnel that opened out onto the lower tier of docks that lined the riverfront and began to push it back under the city.
As Bunco and Poe moved further into the dank tunnel, the only illumination came from a lantern that was hanging from a pole lashed to the front side of the cart. As the small wagon moved forward the amber light radiating from the lantern rocked back and forth across the brick lining of the tunnel first climbing the right wall and then swinging around to the left side and down to the ground then back up to the right wall again in a predictable pattern made only different by the speed at which they proceeded. After several minutes of pushing and pulling the cart, the sounds of the waterfront had fallen behind them, and they were deep into the dark passage under the city.
A step.
Splash.
“Ah hell!” Poe grumbled. “You’d think that by this time of year the tunnels would have dried out more.”
“Quit your gripin’ you old fool,” Bunco said. “These tunnels connect to the river, remember? And rivers flood. The last flood was only a month ago. And we’re talkin’ about the streets above being flooded. Down here? Now that would have been a wee bit more than floodin’ to be sure.”
Bunco stepped under the swaying light and opened the cover of his pocket watch, checked the time then closed it with a snap. Satisfied with what he saw he put the timepiece back into his vest pocket and urged his partner to keep moving through the tunnel.
“What the hell was that?” Poe asked wiping at h
is face.
“What?”
“That shit that just brushed across my face. Felt like a cobweb or somethin’.”
“You drinking your own rotgut again there Poe?”
“Hey! I felt somethin’ touch me.”
A rustling sound came from above their heads.
“And what was that? The wind blowing through the bows of the trees?” Poe rubbed his face trying to remove the sticky feeling. “This is disconcerting.”
“Quit your grousing. We gotta get this one delivered and get above ground before sunrise.”
As ordered Poe shut up, and the two continued into the tunnel for several more minutes.
“We stop here,” Bunco said quietly.
“Here? Where’s here?” Poe looked around the extremely dark passage. In the lantern light, all he could make out was the same monotonous brick that lined the passage since they left the waterfront. “What are we—”
“Shush!”
The two partners in crime stood next to the cart making no sound. Then, from out of the dark tunnel ahead, they heard footsteps splashing towards them through the puddles.
“What was that?” Poe asked with a twinge of fear in his voice.
“That was your signal to leave.” Bunco pulled a partially used candle from his pocket, lit it from the lantern and handed it to Poe. “You go and head on back to the saloon. I’ll be handlin’ things from here.”
“You sure? You don’t need my help with this?”
“Friend, believe me, I can handle things. And besides, you want nothing to do with this transaction.”
“I don’t understand . . .,”
“And you never will. Truth be told, I don’t either.”
They heard more movement coming towards them.
“Now get yourself outta here before you can’t go nowhere no more!” Bunco said pushing Poe away from the area.
««« ‡ »»» STINGAREE POE TURNED and looked at his friend and, sometimes, business partner. He had no idea what was happening, but when Bunco told him to depart, it was generally for a good reason. And besides, he always returned with a pocket of cash.
Poe usually met the ship captains with Bunco, but on these occasions, he wasn’t allowed to observe. The first few times were not something he thought very much about, but these occurrences had been increasing in frequency. Whoever Bunco was doing business with was very secretive. Not that he would ever spill the beans; Poe’s sense of morality was deeply attached to his desire for money. Drugging and selling stupid farm boys or drunk lumbermen to an all-expenses-paid voyage around the Pacific Ocean was relativity harmless. Sure, a few died from the occasional overdose, and a few more may have died while trying to escape before being delivered to their new employer, but that was the price of doing business. At any rate, everyone knew that if you entered this part of town, you were taking your chances with either the crimps, the faro dealers or the whores.
As for those pathetic drunks that awoke in the basement after he and Bunco had spent the better part of a night collecting them for one of their biggest paydays ever, well, it wasn’t as if he or Bunco had killed them was it? Their stupidity did. Sure, they awoke from their drug-induced sleep a bit earlier than expected and the idiots tried to escape. But Poe had securely locked the cellar door, so they broke into the adjoining basement of the undertaker’s looking for another way out, but that exit door was shut tight as well. And neither Poe nor Bunco had told them it was okay to drink anything they found lying around either. Though those barrels of embalming fluid they found must have smelled a lot like the rotgut that Poe served in his bar but still . . .. He shuddered at the idea of drinking the stuff the undertaker used in his work. But drink they did. Instead of six able-bodied, if albeit, passed out sailors to sell to that sea captain, they had six dead bodies.
Kelly didn’t hesitate as his mind worked on a plan to profit out of adversity. They loaded the bodies into a wagon and made their way down to the docks. The bluster from the captain when he saw the six bodies piled on top of each other was quickly smoothed over by Bunco’s fast talking. “You’ll be findin’ these lads had a bit too much of the strong stuff if you know what I mean captain, but they’ll be stiff as a mainmast come the mornin’.”
Poe smiled. His friend did have a way with words. Taking the candle from Kelly, Poe left his friend standing alone in the tunnel with the cart and the remaining ‘package.’ He had no idea as to why they hadn’t deposited this one onto the ship as well. But it was Bunco’s business, and he was merely a partial partner, so if he wanted Poe to leave in the middle of this long dark tunnel that was fine with Poe. He walked beyond the light cast by the lantern, then stopped. Curiosity getting the better of him, he pinched out the flame from his candle blanketing him in a cloak of darkness and turned to watch what his friend was doing.
It didn’t take long. Bunco stood exposed in the largest pool of light the kerosene flame could provide. He turned his head and looked around the narrow space anticipating something. The arrival of another? But from where? They had passed no opening from the time they had left the dock. The tunnel appeared to be wholly lined with bricks from top to bottom, and the ground was solidly tamped down.
Then he heard the same rustling sound from earlier. Poe watched Bunco freeze. A touch of fear in his face—a look he had never seen on Bunco before. There was a slight rush of air accompanied by a creaking sound of rusted hinges. Poe strained his eyes. Just beyond the dimmest bit of lantern light he was barely able to see a door opening in the wall he would have sworn was uninterrupted brick. Not that he was too surprised by this. The tunnels were dark. Without the lantern, they would see nothing, and the brightness of the flame made all the darkness even that much more black beyond its bright cast circle of light. There could have been other doors and connecting tunnels, for that matter, and he probably wouldn’t have seen them either.
««« ‡ »»» BUNCO COMPELLED HIS eyes to seek out the source of the sound. He tried not to let crippling fear overtake him when he heard the rustling noise Poe had noticed. At that point, he knew he had to get his companion the hell away from what was going to happen next. There was no time to contemplate anything else. But now, standing here alone in the tunnel his thoughts went to how horribly this business transaction could go for himself.
To make matters worse, he had noticed the body in the cart was beginning to make minor movements indicating that the man was waking up. It was more art than exacting science, how much of the narcotic to slip into a drink to knock a man out. Every person tolerated such things differently; too much, and he risked killing a man. And that was bad for his bottom line.
The grinding of rusty metal indicated that he had stopped in the correct spot. It still surprised him, the noise, even though he was expecting it. Bunco knew from experience that he would not see the man until it was too late, and already upon him. Man? That was a joke. But whatever he was, he looked like a man, and that was what Bunco needed to call him because to call him anything else was unthinkable.
««« ‡ »»» POE STARED AT Bunco and saw him make a startled motion. Then he watched as black filaments, fibrous wisps of cobwebs, materialized in front of his friend. Cobwebs! He absentmindedly brushed at his face one more time. The strands of black appeared thin enough to have seeped out between gaps in the brick wall, and they might have, but the door suggested someone or something else might also be arriving. He watched dumbfounded. The threadlike filaments swirled around themselves and quickly formed into the shadowy, human shape. Then almost instantly the flowing fibrous body solidified into a man!
««« ‡ »»» BUNCO WATCHED AS the man became solid. His heart pounded, but he remained calm on the outside. No need to draw attention to the fact that he was entirely thrown off his game every time this occurred. The secret to a successful business arrangement was not to let the other party see your discomfort. And this was undoubtedly the most uncomfortable he had ever been during a transaction. Well, this and every other time he had busi
ness to do with the shadow man.
“And a good evening to you Joseph.” A voice heavily laced with a Russian accent said.
“Evening Vladimir.” Bunco returned tapping the brim of his hat with his right hand.
Vladimir circled the cart and peered into the back. He looked up, disappoint in his eyes. “Our agreement was for two. Yes?”
Bunco swallowed dryly. He knew that this was going to happen. “Well, I . . . you see.” He stumbled trying to spin the best excuse. “I had an emergency order to fill. Ship’s captain needed one, and the two were all that I had available. Had to be on board by high tide or the ship wouldn’t be able to make their timetable getting out to sea.”
“Yes.” Vladimir contemplated the situation. “I can understand your predicament.” He paused appearing to think through the situation. “But our agreement was struck first. You didn’t have to respond to the ship’s captain yet you did and left me with only one. I have many to feed. Tell me how would you suggest I accomplish that now?”
The man in the cart made a soft moaning sound, and his legs began to twitch.
“I could save myself some money and give this one and you to my family. And I could take your friend too as a bonus.”
Bunco’s eyes flared. “Poe! Goddamn ye. Are you still out there?”
Poe stayed still and silent. He hugged the shadows ever tighter. But his fascination was too great to allow him to flee.
“Well, he’s not here, so the least you’ll get is this jaundiced piece of Irish meat.”
A smile slowly spread across Vladimir’s face. “A sorry piece of scrawny meat you may be my friend, but jaundice does not bother me in the slightest.” He looked out into the dark direction where Poe was hiding and called out down the tunnel. “Do not worry Mr. Poe, both you and Joseph are safe tonight.”
Both men relaxed a bit.
Turning back to Bunco, Vladimir continued, “But don’t think that because our business arrangement is mutually beneficial, I appreciate being taken advantage of. My people and I also have needs, far more pressing than the sailing of a ship.” He waved his arm signaling.
