When Vamps Bite (Bedlam in Bethlehem Book 1)

by Nicole Zoltack

  “So that Buick is Hank the Tank’s. Slamming Sammy’s Audi isn’t around. It’s possible that they’re both here or that they’re both gone,” Marlon says.

  We’ll have to show the warrant to someone, but there’s no way no one is around. If Ricky Bones gave us good intel, they cook the stuff and hoard the money until it can be laundered here. What they funnel it through, Ricky Bones claims to not know. It’s infuriating. It’s not as if either of them owns a business or at least one that is easily connected to them. They cover their tracks better than any other big-time drug dealers we’ve dealt with.

  That hour comes and goes. Travis calls the department to let them know we’re going in. I so hope the few units nearby aren’t necessary.

  Yeah, well, it turns out they will be.

  Since Travis and I have done the most digging into the two main goons, we approach the house, warrant in hand. Marlon and Mercedes wait behind in the van.

  Travis rings the doorbell.

  No answer.

  I knock on the door.

  Nothing.

  I bang on it. “This is the police. We have a warrant. If you don’t open up, we’ll—“

  A young guy opens the door. He doesn’t even look eighteen although I’m willing to bet that he’s older than he appears.

  “What do ya want?” he asks, cracking his gum every other word.

  “We’re here to investigate.” Travis flashes him the warrant. “Are Hank or Sammy around?”

  The kid shrugs.

  “Anyone else?” I ask. We can’t show him the warrant if he’s underage. Any evidence we’d find would be tossed out of court for being fruit of the poisonous tree.

  He shrugs again

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure I should say.”

  Hank has two girls. Sammy’s only son is twenty-five with a pot belly and tats. This boy isn’t him. Probably a homeless kid who they convinced to do small jobs for some cash.

  Makes me sick to think he’s being corrupted like that. We try to do our best for everyone, to keep the community safe. It’s a full-time job, and it never gets any easier.

  “You won’t tell me your name? Fine. How old are you?” I demand.

  “I don’t gotta talk—“

  “Just makin’ conversation,” I say, softening my tone. I’m desperate to get him to open up to me. “You’re what, fifteen?”

  He makes a strange, scoffing sound. “Try twenty-five.”

  Suppressing a laugh isn’t easy.

  “If you’re gonna lie, here’s a tip. Be a little more realistic about it.”

  The tips of his ears turn red.

  “Are you eighteen?” I ask quieter, more seriously.

  The kid looks away before nodding.

  “Got a license, kid?” Travis asks.

  “Why?” He puts his hands on his hips, trying to act all macho and not pulling it off.

  “To verify your age.” I smile sweetly.

  He sighs, grabs his wallet from his front pocket, and slaps it in Travis’s hand.

  Travis hands it back. “Give me your license,” he orders.

  After grumbling, the kid complies.

  My partner examines it and gives it to the kid. “Good, you are eighteen. We’ve shown you the warrant, and we’re going to take a look around now.” He lays a hand on the door to push it open wider.

  “I don’t think you should come in.” The kid glances behind him, suddenly nervous.

  Is he here to guard the money by himself? That seems like too much of a stretch.

  Oddly, I don’t hear anything going on behind him. Maybe he really is alone.

  “We’re coming in.” Travis opens the door completely, and I follow him inside.

  The kid hovers behind us, reminding me of a hemorrhoid. “You can’t just barge in—“

  “Warrant,” I say.

  “You can’t—“

  “Warrant,” Travis says.

  “But…” The kid runs his fingers through his hair. He’s sweating.

  “Would you rather I stay and talk to you?” I nod to Travis, who nods back and walks down the hallway. Of course, I’m not gonna allow the kid to be in the place unattended.

  The kid flares his nostrils. “I’d rather—“

  I put a friendly hand on his shoulder. “I’d love to be able to call you by your name.”

  He stares at me stonily and jerks his shoulder so he’s free from my grasp.

  “Tommy? Billy? Gary? Matt? Greg? No? I’m not even close, am I?”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “You know that’s not gonna happen.”

  Travis enters a room and leaves it a few seconds later. He disappears into the next one.

  Something isn’t settling right with me. This house is inconspicuous, a little apart from the others, but there’s nothing here that screams underground drug operations. Granted, some are run out of homes. They aren’t all in warehouses or basements. When Travis leaves that room and bounds upstairs, I get a bad feeling.

  Marlon knocks on the door. He joins me, along with Mercedes. The house looks a little sparse, and this entryway is getting way too crowded. I point to the room behind us, one Travis hasn’t checked. “Let’s go in there.”

  The kid rolls his eyes.

  Mercedes goes on ahead while Marlon rubs his chin. “Has the basement been looked at yet?”

  “I don’t think so.” I smile at the kid, whose frown gives the Grinch a run for his money. “Where’s the basement?”

  “Isn’t one.”

  “Sure there is.” My grin turns ironic. “But you don’t have to tell us. That’s fine.” I gesture for Marlon to check out another door that might lead to the basement.

  It’s a coat closet.

  I’m growing so frustrated that I want to find a punching bag and whale on it. My jaw is clenched so tight it’s painful.

  Marlon checks out upstairs with Travis while Mercedes examines the rest of the floor. No one seems to be finding anything, and my anxiety is growing with every passing second. Ricky Bones conned us. I’m sure of it. Hank the Tank and Slammin’ Sammy probably cleared out of whatever place they’ve been using once they learned we nabbed Ricky Bones. In fact, this place might’ve actually been it, and they’re long gone.

  Damn it!

  “Eighteen, huh? You enjoy this kind of life? Want to do this until your forty? Fifty? Think you’ll live that long?” I ask, tilting my head so I can see him in the eye. “You really need to start rethinking your life.”

  “You don’t know—“

  “I know that you have to start making better choices.”

  “Better choices? Like wasting my time talking to you?” His aggression is enough to set a fuse on fire.

  “Everyone needs better choices. It’s the only way to grow and challenge yourself and—“

  “And you’re borin’. You know that?”

  “There’s nothing here,” Travis says from behind me.

  My jaw hurts. I’m clenching my teeth so tightly.

  “Look, kid. We can help you. We can give you immunity. If you’ve done anything—“

  “I ain’t done anything.”

  “Of course not,” I say soothingly, “but it’s never a good idea to turn down the chance for immunity. And if you aren’t a minor—“

  “I ain’t.“

  “Do you have a high school degree?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then act like it and don’t use ain’t.”

  He grins foolishly. “Ain’t is in the dictionary.”

  “Regardless, it makes you sound ignorant. Do you want to sound like an idiot or someone who lacks a decent education?”

  The kid smirks. “As if the schools in—“

  “The schools here are just fine.” He’s really starting to push my buttons, but I can’t dare risk losing my cool. “If you think that Hank the Tank and Slammin’ Sammy give a rat’s ass about you, they don’t. They feed on the scum of the city, chew ‘em u
p, and spit ‘em out. They let them be the fall guys. You wanna take the fall for them?”

  “He doesn’t know anything.” Travis squeezes my shoulder.

  But I’m not about to let all of this go to waste. Ricky Bones might’ve given us poor info, but there’s no way this kid doesn’t know anything.

  He just needs the proper motivation to talk.

  “Look. We’ve all made mistakes. No one will blame you for making a few poor choices. The thing is, one day, your decisions are going to force you to face consequences. You might meet a pretty girl, but you have no education and no steady job, at least not one you can tell her about. How can you say you run deliveries for drug lords?”

  “I…” The kid bites his thumb.

  I almost feel bad for him. Almost.

  “So she finds out and leaves you. Or someone else, a competitor finds out about her and offs her as a warning. Not exactly a happy ending, huh?”

  “Some stupid, made-up girl—“

  “How’s this for a fantasy? Tell us where the drugs are or where the money is. Tell us where we can find Hank the Tank getting his hands dirty or Slammin’ Sammy. We’re not picky. We’ll protect you from them. Informants get paid, did you know that? But only for solid intel. Work for us. Turn respectable. Take a chance—“

  He reaches forward so fast I have no time to react. The kid grabs my gun, shoves the barrel in his mouth…

  …and pulls the trigger.

  Chapter 5

  That’s the worst possible way this showdown could’ve gone down. I catch the kid before he collapses, my gun falling from his hands. Blood and brain fragments stain the wall behind him.

  Honestly, I’m shell shocked. My ears are ringing slightly, and I can’t make out what the others are saying. I never thought he would’ve done that. I honestly did want to help him. It wasn’t just about trying to nail Hank the Tank and Slammin’ Sammy.

  Or maybe I’m just telling myself that.

  In a daze, I watch as more officers come. They survey the scene and collect samples, even though we all know what went down. There’s no questioning that. But I am questioned back at the station, and the lieutenant of Criminal Investigations Bureau reads me the riot act.

  “How did he get your gun?” he asks after he’s been yelling at me for a good fifteen minutes. That man has the lungs of a whale, but the cheeks of a lobster. His receding hairline down to his neck turns the brightest shades of red known to man when he’s upset.

  And, man, is he upset right now.

  “He grabbed it out of my holster, Lieutenant.”

  “Why was it in your holster? You should’ve—“

  “I know, Lieutenant.”

  “He knew shit, that’s why he blew his…” His eyes are bulging, making him look like a bullfrog. He blinks a few times, calming down maybe a little, and now he resembles a devil.

  “I was trying to determine what exactly he knew, Lieutenant.”

  Lieutenant Reynolds runs a hand down his face. “Your gun was fired.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t—“

  “Tempest, this isn’t the first incident you’ve had.”

  My stomach twists uncomfortably. “No, sir, but—“

  “There’s always a ‘but’ with you, always an excuse.” He sighs, finally sitting behind his massive paper- and file-covered mahogany desk. “Look. You’re a tough cop. A good one. You bring in more offenders than anyone else in your department. But the small fries aren’t cutting it. We need the big fish, and we finally had a lead—“

  “A busted one,” I mumble, frustrated.

  His eyes narrow to gray slits. “One that we got from a guy you brought in.”

  I hate disappointing him. “I thought—“

  “Maybe you think too much. Maybe you work too much. When’s the last time you took some time off?”

  “You mean, like a vacation?” I’m confused. What does a vacation have to do with anything?

  “Yeah.”

  “N-Never.”

  “That needs to be remedied.”

  My eyes widen with shock. “But, Lieutenant—“

  “And give Dr. Harris a call.”

  He can’t be serious.

  “Dr. Harris? Why?” I can’t help myself. I cross my arms. This is going too far.

  “First, you think that a perp is a vampire wannabe.”

  My jaw tightens with dismay that he won’t believe me.

  “I saw him—“ I start.

  “You had a few drinks.” He holds out his beefy hands. “I don’t know if that affected your judgment or not, but facts are facts. And now you let a punk kid grab your gun and shoot himself right in front of you. What if he hadn’t turned the gun? What if he had shot you or your partner? What then, Tempest?”

  I swallow hard. “Lieutenant, please, I—“

  “I don’t care what you want, what you think, what excuse you’re about to spout. Shut your trap and go home. Set up an appointment first thing in the morning. Oh, and leave your badge.”

  “Excuse me?” I can’t believe what he’s saying.

  “You heard me. Leave your badge.”

  “You’re taking away—“

  “Just for the duration of your vacation. You and the others will have to give statements, but once you do, I mean it, Tempest. Vacation.”

  I unclip my badge and lay it on his desk. My badge is my heart. It’s my life. It’s bad enough my gun is in custody. I feel like I’m naked twice over now.

  “Anything else?” I ask stiffly, hands clasped behind my back, my gaze on my badge rather than his face.

  “That’s it. And, Tempest, when you come back, make sure your head is screwed on straight.”

  “When will I be coming back?” Maybe it’s not good to ask this, but too late now.

  “When I think you’re ready to. When Dr. Harris thinks you’re ready to.” The red has seeped from his face. He’s calmed down, but I’m the one boiling now, inwardly of course.

  The lieutenant doesn’t want a loose cannon on his crew. I get that. But I’m not a loose cannon. I know what I saw, and as for the kid, what should I have done differently?

  Technically, we had nothing to pin on him, no reason to bring him downtown. Once we left the premises, he would’ve been long gone. Our only chance to get him to sing was there. Too bad he gave a death shrill instead of a pretty song.

  I should’ve temporarily restrained him. I could’ve removed him from the scene to a squad car. I might’ve done half a dozen different things, and that kid would still be alive.

  Yeah, guilt is going to eat away at me for a long time. I haven’t screwed up this badly since… ever.

  There’s no point in going to my direct boss, the detective sergeant. He’ll agree with the lieutenant. I know he will.

  I nod, jerk around, open his door, and leave his office behind. Cops either stare at me or pretend to be busy working. It’s so awkward. I quickly and quietly give my statement and get ready to go.

  Travis is talking to Marlon and Mercedes over by our desks. He straightens when our gazes meet, and his eyes widen when he spies my belt sans the badge. A shake of my head keeps him there. I do my best not to hustle my way out of there, to walk calmly, like a sane person.

  I am a sane person

  A sane person whose life is going to shit.

  The house is small, barely a thousand square feet. My parents left it to me in their will. Otherwise, I’d probably be renting an apartment. Three small bedrooms, a combined living room dining room area, a kitchen. The most cramped attic in the world, and a basement that floods when we get a lot of rain. It’s not much, but it’s home.

  Right now, I hate that I’m here.

  Ben and Jerry’s is on sale, so Giant’s sold out. I opted to grab Turkey Hill instead, Touchdown Sundae. Chocolate and peanut butter drizzles with vanilla ice cream. Pretty close to perfection.

  But watching soaps or whatever crap is currently on TV is not my idea of a good time. I can’t stop thinking about what
happened. That kid… He threw his life away, and it’s all my fault. If I approached him differently, if I said the right words, if I hadn’t aggravated him, would he still be alive?

  I’m upset I don’t have my badge, but the kid is what’s bothering me the most. Yeah, so I’m basically suspended, but the kid has lost something so much more precious than a badge.

  His life.

  That’s why I so desperately want to get into homicide. I want to nail the perps who kill innocents. I want to clean up the streets. Yeah, maybe I’m a little naïve yet, not jaded enough, but I know I can do good there. I know I can contribute.

  I eat maybe a third of the half gallon, yes, directly from the carton. Before I eat more, I put it away and drag myself to bed. My nap is far longer than I intended. My cell vibrating three hours later drags me out of the deep recesses of dreamless sleep.

  “’Lo?”

  “Sorry I didn’t call earlier. What’s going on, Clarissa?”

  “Travis.” I put my cell on speaker, lay it on my nightstand, sit up, and yawn as I rub my eyes. “Kinda not in the mood to talk right now.”

  “I just want you to know I’m here for you.”

  “I know, I know.” I sigh. Travis really is a great partner and a close friend.

  But even he doubts me.

  “I’m worried about you. So’s the lieutenant. He knows it’s… the time of year… that it’s hard on you.”

  “This has nothing to do with my parents,” I say firmly. “And I don’t need counseling.”

  He’s quiet.

  “I’m fine,” I insist.

  “Every time a woman says that the opposite is true.”

  “Fine then. I’m great. Is that better?”

  His laugh sounds forced. “Want some company for dinner?”

  “I’m sure Ali would love that.”

  “She has to work late.”

  She’s a blogger, a major one, all about news that’s mostly unbiased, unlike most new’s sources. She sets her own hours, so he’s lying, which kinda warms my heart while also aggravating me even more.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Clarissa…”