by J. R. Rain
But I held onto the railing, searching the area below until I spotted my sister near the far wall. She was alive. Mercifully, she faced away from the carnage.
Some corpses twisted gently, as if blown by a breeze. A few of the freshest ones had buckets beneath them to catch the dripping blood. The men looked like local bums. One of them I was sure I recognized, a bum I had seen near the post office. Some of the women, if I had to guess, were career prostitutes. Banged up and used and abused. Some had fake breasts. Many still wore the remnants of makeup. All had their throats cut so bad, I could see all the way to their spines.
Many corpses were frozen in rigor mortis. Some had begun bloating. Most had been hanging for quite some time, the flesh having long ago peeled away from the ankles, revealing bone and rotting muscles. I counted twelve corpses. No, fourteen. There were two stacked on top of one other along the far wall.
If there was a hell, this was it.
A woman stood next to Chase. A woman I had seen in my scan of the room, but who had not been distinct enough to recognize. Well, I recognized her now. Detective Hanner of the Fullerton Police Department. A fellow investigator…a nd a fellow vampire.
Here at the blood factory.
I began removing my clothing.
I had to be careful.
These people had made a business of killing. An industry. They were good at it, and they knew how to get away with it, too. Especially with Detective Hanner on the force. Perhaps she influenced the reports. Redirected evidence. Controlled minds. Likely, all of the above.
I had to act fast. I had to surprise my opponents. And as I climbed up to stand carefully on the wooden railing overlooking the macabre scene, naked as the day as I was born, I suspected I would very much surprise them.
The single flame appeared in my thoughts. Unwavering, bright, dominant. I focused on it… and saw the creature within the flames. The creature that would be me.
And with that, I leaped from the railing.
The loft was thirty or so feet from the ground. Plenty of room to make my transformation.
Or so I hoped.
I spread my arms wide and, as the dirt floor rapidly approached, a huge set of thickly-membranous wings sprouted from my arms and legs. As I plummeted, they snapped taut and, instead of slamming into the floor, I swooped parallel to it, just a foot or two from the ground.
It was as if I had always been this giant winged monster. As if I had always had its instincts and talents and appendages.
As I rushed low over the ground, heads turned toward me. Faces formed into expressions of horror. Only one didn’t, that of Detective Hanner. My sister, mercifully, kept her head down, away from the horrific scene.
I tilted my right wing, angling to starboard and went first to the man in the near corner, hiding behind a stack of barrels that I could only assume contained blood. Clearly, the man had never seen a giant, humanoid vampire bat before. The first thing he did was wet himself. The urine seemed to burst from his loins, covering his crotch. The next thing he did was fumble for his crossbow, which he suddenly seemed to forget how to use.
He was still screaming as I slammed into him, driving him hard into the wall behind him. This was followed immediately by the crack of his skull bursting open.
Now covered in human chum, I spun around in time to see a silver arrow lodge deep in the wood to my side. Jesus, that was close. I followed its flight path to the second shooter, who had left his post against the far wall and was now sprinting toward me, pulling free another crossbow. Unlike the crude, medieval weapon the name evoked, this thing was fairly high-tech: laser-scoped, fiberglass, molded grips, and pistol-like trigger.
I leaped from behind the now-fallen barrels, flapped my wings hard, and rose into the air.
The second shooter was more brazen than the first. No spreading urine stains, as far as I could see. Dressed in actual camouflage, he charged me from across the spacious room, well away from the hanging corpses. As he ran, he leveled the crossbow and sighted along his scope.
Now, I can’t have that.
As the red laser briefly flashed across my eyes, I tucked a wing in, rolled in mid-air just as the silver-tipped bolt whooshed past me.
Close. The bastard strung another arrow, notching it as fast as he could. He was still in the act when my talons fastened around his head and pulled. He didn’t get very far off the ground before his neck snapped nicely, reverberating throughout the room.
I released his broken body, and spotted Robert Cash ducking out through a side door, when I caught sight of something else. Something winged and black and rocketing up from the ground below.
It was Hanner.
t was two days later, and I was in my office organizing my notes from a recent insurance case—and killing it on solitaire, as well—when I heard a rumble of bikes. Many bikes.
I glanced at Camry around my too-big computer monitor.
“You told him you were here?”
She glanced up from her cell phone. “No,” she said.
I waited as the rumbling intensified. By my guess, there were ten of them outside. I continued looking at her.
“Well, maybe,” she said.
“You thought it was a good idea to call the very guy you were on the run from?”
“I didn’t call him.” She rolled her eyes. “I texted him. Geez. Who calls anymore?”
“Get out,” I said.
For the first time all morning, she set her phone down. “Wait, what?”
“I said, ‘get out.’”
“But that’s him outside.”
“No thanks to you.”
A few stragglers pulled in. Twelve bikes total. Plus or minus one or two. And only one of me. I closed my solitaire game.
“Get out,” I said again.
“He’ll kill me.”
“I guess you could say you asked for it.”
“I thought you were going to protect me.”
“I can’t protect someone from their own stupidity.”
“Look, I’m sorry. He said he would…” She looked away and buried her face in her hands. “Hurt my sister if I didn’t tell him where I was.”
“No he didn’t.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“I am.”
I waited. From outside came muffled voices in between the sounds of sputtering Harleys.
“Okay, fine. I don’t have a sister. I guess you checked me out, right?”
“Get out.”
“Fine, I made a mistake. I miss him, okay?”
“Not okay. Get out.”
She sat forward on the couch, her knees together. She wore torn jeans that might have been bought that way. These days, who could tell for sure? The jeans were tucked into well-used Ugg boots. She glanced toward the unlocked office door.
“You can’t make me go out there.”
“I can and I will.”
“Oh, I see.” She sat back. “You’re scared. I should have figured. You heard the Harleys and got scared. You’re a chickenshit.”
“It was bound to happen,” I said. “Now get out.”
“I should have never come here.”
“I agree.”
“Steel Eye will kill you, too.”
“Or not.”
Someone gunned his Harley, and Camry jumped and squealed a little. She looked at her cell phone for no reason.
“Please don’t make me go out there. Please.”
“We’ve already been through this.”
Footsteps appeared on the exterior stairs that led up to my office. Heavy boots. Camry sat forward. “Oh God. Oh God.”
Harleys were still sputtering and grumbling. I heard laughter. Voices. Boots crunching. Mostly, I heard three or four sets of them coming up.
“Oh fuck,” she said, and to her credit, she looked pale as hell.
“You can say that again.”
The climbing boots were now moving along the outdoor hallway that led to the upstairs offices of which mine
was proudly one.
“Steel Eye is crazy.”
“I’m sure he is, judging by your reaction.”
“Why don’t you seem nervous?”
“Maybe I am.”
“You should be.”
“I should be many things. But worried about your boyfriend isn’t one of them.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. Anymore.”
“You can tell that to him.”
“Why are you being like this? You said you would help me.”
“Help you, yes. Entertain you, no.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“I’ll let you figure that out.”
I could hear distant voices now. Someone was asking which door. Someone else said, “It’s a few more doors down.”
Right about now, the bikers would be passing my accountant neighbor and the girl who gave “massages.” I was suspicious of the legality of her massages, but let it slide. It was, after all, good to be neighborly.
Camry was openly staring at me. “You think I did this on purpose, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“You think I wanted Steel Eye to show up here?”
“I do, yes.”
“Why the fuck would I do that?”
The heavy footfalls stopped outside my office door, although a few stragglers clomped from behind. I said, “I think you like it when guys fight over you.”
“You don’t know me.”
Someone pounded on the door.
“Shit,” said Camry. “Please. You have to help me.”
I said nothing. I didn’t like Camry, but I also didn’t like someone pounding on my office door. It seemed… rude.
“Who’s fucking in there?” shouted a voice that was, predictably, gruff.
I said to Camry, “Do you or do you not enjoy guys fighting over you?”
“What the hell are you talking—”
“Is that you, Camry? You fucking bitch. Get the fuck out here before I break this fucking door down.”
She looked at the door, then at me, and then made a face that might have indicated that she’d peed herself a little.
“He sounds scary,” I said, and shivered.
“Shit, okay, fine. I admit it.”
“You admit what?”
“I like it when guys fight.”
“And not just fight, right? Specifically, fight over you.”
“Yes, yes, dammit. So? A lot of fucking good that does now.”
“Oh, it does some good.” I pushed out from behind my desk, then unlocked and opened my upper desk drawer and removed my Walther.
“What good?” she said, her eyes visibly lighting up when she saw the gun.
“It confirms you’re a bitch.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Then you’ll help me?”
“We’ll see,” I said.
“He’ll kill you,” said Camry as I reached for the doorknob and put the gun in the back of my waistband. I needed both hands.
“Something is going to kill me someday.” I turned the knob as I glanced back at her. “But it sure as hell isn’t going to be some jerkoff named Steel Eye.”
I opened the door.
***
I counted eleven of them. And only one of me. I liked my chances. Then again, I always liked my chances.
“Who the fuck are you?” asked the guy in front. The color in his right eye was washed out, as if his iris had exploded from looking too hard at the sun.
“Your worst nightmare?” I said, my voice rising slightly. I made it sound like a question.
The guys behind him laughed. Most were over six feet. None were as tall as me. I noted Steel Eye’s complete lack of concern for me. It was easy to dismiss a six-foot-four, ex-fullback when ten guys stood behind you. At least, that was what I told myself, since my pride was hurt a little.
“Let’s try this again, fuck-wad,” said Steel Eye. He tried to see around me. That was hard for him to do with shoulders like mine. He gave up and looked up at me. “Who the fuck are you?”
The mahogany handle of a revolver projected from his jeans. Either that, or he was just happy to see me. The others were packing, too. The guy in the back held a baseball bat. I looked at the sea of beards, worn blue denim, and tattoos. I looked at the bad teeth and bad attitudes… and did what I thought any logical badass would do.
I grabbed Steel Eye by his meaty shoulders, pulled him into my office and slammed the door shut.
Lucky for me, the door locked automatically.
It happened fast, and the big guy wasn’t expecting it.
He probably also wasn’t expecting to find his hairy mug pressed up against the pebbled glass window of my office door. I was almost certain he wasn’t expecting his gun to be forcibly removed from his pants or the sheer brute strength of the man presently pinning him flat.
Now, as his flared nostrils fogged the glass, I heard a cacophony of guns being drawn and hammers being pulled back. Mostly, I heard a whole lot of cussing and banging.
With one hand, I drew my own gun and held it on him. With the other, I pressed Steel Eye’s face harder than I probably had to against the glass. Any harder, and it would go straight through it. Undoubtedly, from outside, they got a good look at their leader’s distorted façade and the shadow of a gun pointed at his head. Pebbled glass had that lovely distortion effect.
“Tell them to back off,” I said. “Do it.”
“Fuck off.”
I pulled Steel Eye back and smashed him hard against the glass. I was risking breaking the window. It was a risk I was willing to take. I’d never much liked pebbled glass anyway.
“Tell them to put away their guns and wait for you in the parking lot.”
“I’ll kill you, man. I’ll kill you dead.”
“Well, that’s just redundant,” I chided, grunting a little as I pulled him back a few feet, and then rammed his face into the glass. Something crunched. I may be an anatomist, but I was pretty sure I had broken his nose—if the blood coating the pebbled glass was any indication.
“Oh, fuck man. You broke my nose!”
With my suspicions confirmed, I kept his face pushed hard against the door… giving his buddies outside a good look at their esteemed leader’s blood sliding in rivulets down the glass.
“Tell them,” I said.
“Fuck you!”
The guy had spirit, which I broke with more judiciously applied pressure.
“The glass… it’s gonna fucking break.”
“I know a good glass man.” That was a lie, of course. Who actually knew good glass men?
“Okay, okay,” he said, or mumbled, since his mouth was also pressed against the glass.
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, I’ll talk to them, goddammit.”
I eased on the pressure, and he spoke into the glass from a half inch away. “Bros, take a hike. I got this. Go on.” The return mumbling on the other side suggested that they didn’t quite believe that their venerated leader had this. In fact, that he very much did not have this.
“Tell them to put their guns away, too,” I said. “This is a respectable neighborhood.”
“Respectable my ass,” he said, but dutifully relayed my order. There was yet more grumbling on the other side. From what I gathered, few liked me, and fewer still liked the current direction in which things had gone.
Most still loitered on the other side of my door. I slammed Steel Eye against the glass again. “So, your boys got themselves some comprehension problems?”
“Go on,” said Steel Eye. “Git!”
They “got,” cursing and lobbing threats at me. Threats were nothing new. Hell, I’d been threatened by the best.
When the last of them tromped down the stairs, I released Steel Eye and stepped back. He turned wildly, dripping blood from his nose, bottom lip, and chin. The drips joined the other bloodstains that sprinkled my carpet. Don’t ask.
He considered charging me until he saw me holding my piece. Or maybe he sa
w my shoulders. Or maybe he wasn’t as tough as he thought he was.
“Are you going to just stand there and bleed, or do you want to talk about why you’re here?”
“You’re a dead man.”
“That’s a start.” I glanced at Camry, who was sitting on the couch, not looking at us. I said to her, “Wait for it…”
“Fuck you,” said Steel Eye.
“There it is,” I said and turned back to him. “Have a seat, Steel Cheeks.”
Except he didn’t sit. He stood there bleeding and looking menacing, both of which he did well. I indicated the client chair in front of my tooled leather desk. The desk was one of the few luxury items I owned. That it was left by the previous tenant was irrelevant. Meanwhile, Steel Dick didn’t move.
“Take a seat,” I said.
We both looked at each other. He glared. I didn’t so much glare as gaze at him poignantly.
“Sit,” I said. “And if you say fuck you again, I’m going to punch your broken nose.”
He mumbled something about me being dead by this time tomorrow… but sit he did.
“I want my gun back.”
I put my own gun in my waistband and opened the file cabinet drawer. I half-cocked the hammer and emptied the six bullets in his revolver into the drawer and shut it. It was a pain because I needed two hands to rotate the chambers and pull the plunger back. That would have been the time for him to go for me, but he didn’t.
I went around to my chair and sat, too, laying his empty Colt .45 revolver on the desk before me. It didn’t make much of a sound against the leather top. I loved my leather top. I also loved Cindy, but in a very different way.
My phone was in the open drawer next to me. I left it there.
“Camry tells me you killed a man,” I said.
“Camry’s a lying bitch.”
“Either that or you really killed a guy.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Steel Eye. “Does it?”
“It does if you’re the dead guy or the police.”
“You ain’t the police.”
“No, but I’m the next best thing.”
Steel Eye wanted to say “fuck you” or something to that effect, but thought better of it, especially since his broken nose was still bleeding.
