Fanghunters

by Leo Romero

  Dom looked down sheepishly. He shrugged. “Mmm, kinda, not as yet.”

  “Ah...”

  Dom’s eyes shot up to meet the old man’s. “But, trust me, I’m keen to do something about it,” he said, injecting some assertiveness into his voice.

  Vincent stared back at him with grave eyes. “Are you sure you’re up to it, my boy? I don’t want to be the one who sends you to your demise.”

  My demise? You serious? “I’m one hundred percent sure, Mr. Beauchamp,” Dom replied in a steady tone. “Or I wouldn’t have bothered with the journey up here. I’m committed. I got nothing to lose.”

  Nicely played, bud...

  Dom held a sincere stare on Beauchamp’s wizened face. Beauchamp nodded his head, scrutinizing the younger man sitting. Dom stared into his blue eyes, and for a split second, he felt like he was staring into the eyes of him. The illusion was swiftly shattered once Beauchamp spoke again. “So, tell me more about them.”

  Dom puffed his cheeks. “I don’t know where they come from or how many there are, there could be thousands for all I know. They like to hideaway in the dark, strictly keep a small brood of fangheads, usually two, so as not to draw attention to themselves. They get you to do their dirty work for them: keep them safe, look after them while they sleep, that kinda stuff. In return for that, you get your hit of venom.”

  “Venom? Is that the... stuff?”

  “Oh yeah, it’s the stuff all right, Mr. Beauchamp. They inject it into you when they jab you. ‘Jab’ is slang for biting... It’s kinda like a mosquito bite. They suck the blood they need to keep themselves going, then inject this other stuff back in. Gets you high. Feels good. Makes you come back for more. Before you know it, you’re a bonafide fanghead and you’re brainwashed into doing whatever they want. If they spread and get a foothold in society, we could have a real us against them situation as venom makes people do crazy things; they’ll frickin’ die for it. If you take their pimp away, they’ll go ape.”

  Beauchamp listened attentively. “Interesting. So, how does one allow such a thing to occur? I mean, the last thing I’d want is for this to happen to me.”

  Dom sighed. “They put you under some kind of spell, makes you more suggestible.”

  “How?”

  “They do this thing where they stare at you with these glittery eyes, and it kind of hypnotizes you, makes this tingling thing go on up and down your spine. You get frozen. Icing they call it. They ‘ice’ you, freeze you in place. Next thing you know, they’re jabbing you...” Dom poked his index and middle fingers on the air. “And they’ve got their teeth sunk into your throat.”

  Beauchamp gulped. “Sounds nasty...”

  Dom shrugged. “It is... They take what they need, the venom’s injected in, and that’s how it begins. With a bite. Once you get a hit of that crap, you’re never the same again, Mr. Beauchamp...”

  “And you think that’s what happened to Patricia?”

  Dom nodded. “I’m pretty sure, yeah. From what you’ve told me, she either OD’d on venom or he took too much blood from her. Sometimes that happens.”

  Vincent stared thoughtfully at him, biting his bottom lip. A tear welled in his eye.

  Dom noticed it and took another sip of juice.

  “From what Max told me,” Beauchamp said, “it happened to a few of them. He said he watched her die, which triggered off his de-fanging. I tried to convince him to go and kill the vampire for me. But, he wouldn’t. Which is why I put the word out. There haven’t been many takers, in fact, you’re the only one so far... I was about to give up the chase.”

  Dom nodded in understanding. “Well, I’m committed, Mr. Beauchamp. Totally committed.”

  “That’s good to hear, my boy.”

  There was a brief moment of silence. The grandfather clock took over the airwaves. Dom had more juice.

  “Now, have you checked out the address I gave you?” Vincent then asked.

  Dom placed his glass down. “Only briefly. There’s definitely a vamp there.”

  “How do you know?”

  “When I went by that place I got this tingling along my spine. You get left with this sense, this kind of third eye, that homes in on them. Must be some kind of thing the venom does to your brain to alert you when there’s a nearby fix. Maybe you never really de-fang yourself completely... Besides, the signs were all there: boarded-up, sun proof nest; fangheads loitering outside, guarding the place.” Dom looked away with lament. “I know what it’s like being them...”

  “What was it like, my boy?”

  Dom briefly looked away. “Horrible, Mr. Beauchamp. Thankfully, most of it’s a blur. A blank. I suffered memory loss. Reckon it’s something the venom does to you, some kind of amnesia, so you forget who you are, makes you more loyal to the vampire. If you don’t know where you came from, you won’t know where else to go.” He sighed. “It was just me and some other guy in there. Don’t know who he was. After I escaped, I went back to kill the vamp. Broke into the basement, but they were gone. I don’t know what happened... All I do know is I lost a part of my life being a slave to a vamp.”

  “So how are you going to kill him?”

  Dom puffed his cheeks. “I injured him during my escape. Cut his face. I saw blood. So, I reckon they can be killed normally, like us. If it bleeds, it can be killed. I heard that somewhere but can’t remember where...” Dom shook his head as he spoke.

  “A solid stake through the heart would suffice, I would have thought,” Beauchamp ventured.

  Dom turned his mouth downward. “Maybe... Maybe.”

  Beauchamp then leant forward in his seat. “Hear this, my boy. You slay this foul creature and I’ll pay you handsomely.”

  “Sounds just the ticket, Mr. Beauchamp.”

  “Could even be a new line of work for you,” Beauchamp said, a glint in his eye.

  A serious look emerged on Dom’s face. “If killing these things pays, Mr. Beauchamp, then I’m all in. Hey, I’ll do it for free...”

  “Discretion is paramount, my boy,” Beauchamp then told him, an equally serious expression on his face. “If word of this gets out, I will know. And there will be trouble.”

  Dom gulped. “That’s no problem, Mr. Beauchamp.” He grinned a toothy grin. “I’m a consummate professional.”

  Vincent interlocked his fingers. “Well let’s hope so. Now, I’m going to need proof you’ve killed him, of course.”

  Dom polished off his juice. “I’ll bring you his body,” he said, staring at his empty glass. “Will that be good enough?”

  Vincent Beauchamp began nodding his head, a wry grin now on his face. “That’ll be perfect, my boy,” he said. “Simply perfect.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Trixie located another sucker.

  That familiar tingle tickled down her spine; the nasty sensation set off whenever she got near to one of those blood-drinking bastards. She could virtually smell it lurking in the shadows of the destitute house she was currently eyeing from across the street. Blocked-up windows, run down locality. The usual fare. A fanghead was sitting on the crumbling wall encircling the front yard. Another was lounging on the porch. Being lookouts, protectors, waiting for the sanctuary of nightfall so they could finally get their venom. To the untrained eye, they were just dregs hanging out around a derelict building, shooting the shit, wasting their lives. In that respect, they’d be right. But, what Joe Six Pack could never imagine was what they were really up to.

  She licked her lower lip that tingling swiftly evolving into a slight burn; a sliver of desire. She swiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes narrowing. She allowed those other emotions—the ones she had better control over—hate, anger, rage to wipe them away, to erase those dark desires in an instant. She got in the groove once more, focusing in on the fangheads loitering by that house. They were busy guarding, protecting their master from people like her. Those that intended to put an end to their suffering. Those that wanted to end the madness stem the tide before
it became an unstoppable wave. She counted two on the outside, maybe more on the inside. She’d come back at night, see if any more arrived, assess the situation, then come up with a plan to shut this particular drug factory down for good.

  She watched a fanghead idly swing a stumpy tree branch. To a casual observer, he was just messing with a stick he’d picked up off the ground, but Trixie knew better. If she dared to go near that house, and he viewed her as a threat to his venom fix, he’d be more than ready to swing that stick, hoping to smack her upside the head. He’d most likely try and smash her brains into a pulp, then stamp his boot all over the remains, just to make double sure the threat was neutralized. Nothing could get in the way of their addiction. Nothing.

  She watched the other one; his leg twitched nervously while he gnawed on his nails. She glanced up to see the hot orange sun lowering into the roofline beyond the house she was staring at. Nightfall was coming on swift. The vamp inside that boarded-up house would rise, and then the party would begin.

  Trixie sighed. Even though she was well-versed in this shit, watching this kinda stuff still hurt. Now she just used it as motivation, as another way of overriding the tingling, the burns, the desires.

  She watched the fanghead biting his nails look up to the gradually darkening sky, saw the sick grin that spread across his face as his eyeballs rolled left and right, the realization night was on its way setting in. She couldn’t take any more. She turned and fled back into the concrete jungle of Chicago, back into its shadows.

  But, she’d be back; just when they least expected.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dom checked the time on his watch once the two guys got back to the house: 2:15. He made a note of it and then compared it to the two other times he’d already noted down under the heading ‘ARRIVE’: 2:17 pm, 2:19 pm. He flipped back a page on his notepad and compared them against the three other times he’d already jotted down under the heading ‘LEAVE’: 1:30 pm, 1:29 pm, 1:29 pm.

  He rubbed his stubbled chin and looked back at the two fangheads. He watched them take their usual seats in the two deckchairs they’d set up on the overgrown grass of the front yard. The guy on the right placed a pair of shades on his nose and then crossed his arms over his chest. Soon after, he joined his buddy in staring cagily out onto the empty, rundown street.

  So, according to the info Dom had gathered on these two, they usually left their posts at some time around 1:30 pm for approximately twenty-five minutes. Most probably to go get a Big Mac or something. All that watching the street must make you hungry. And Dom knew all about that. He’d been scoping this place for three days now and their hunger pains were his. The info from Vincent’s contact, Max, led him here: a derelict house on a rundown street over on the West Side. Levin Street. Number 1428. A far cry from Beauchamp’s plush mansion on the outskirts of town. There was an abandoned garage across and a little to the left from 1428 where Dom had parked while he scoped the place out. From there, he could comfortably see them, and was pretty sure they couldn’t see him. He was taking his time, getting their routine down. He didn’t want to rush in and get his head blown off, he wanted to know exactly who was gonna be in there and at what times.

  All the while that weird tingling sensation was firing up and down his spine. That nag for the venom. Somehow, his senses knew a vamp was nearby, and he was getting the tingles. It was annoying, like a nagging kid brother. There was only so long he could stand it, and as a result, he couldn’t scope things for long periods. That didn’t matter; he’d have to strike during the day when the bastard slept, so there was no need to scope the place after sunset. He sighed, watching the two bodyguards in their deckchairs. What he’d realized over the last few days was that they didn’t move. At all. They sat there and watched until their break time came along. Dom never saw anyone else come during daylight hours and never saw anyone else leave. He was around ninety percent sure that the house contained only a sleeping vamp and nothing more in the daytime. It meant that he had to strike during that 25-minute window they’d give him once they left.

  Get in, kill the vamp, and get out before those two fangheads came back for their afternoon shift.

  Think you can handle that, buddy?

  He puffed his cheeks. He was pretty satisfied that he had the routine of the two goons locked down. Three days scoping should be plenty enough. And he couldn’t waste more time in case Beauchamp got cagey and hired some other desperado to get the hit done for him. After all, that eviction notice was looming like the Grim Reaper.

  Dom nodded his head. He’d staked this joint out long enough; he was confident he had a good handle on their routine. So, now it just came down to doing the deed... He huffed, the thought causing nerves to swell in his stomach. But, the counter thought of being thrown out of his apartment was enough to get him geed up for the job. Tomorrow’s job. Yeah, it had to be done tomorrow. To delay it any longer would just cause more doubt in his mind.

  He tapped his steering wheel in a frantic rhythm and checked the roads. The plan was to park up where he currently was wait for them to go away, then make his move. Most of the houses were boarded-up anyway, only a few here and there were still habituated, and the street was clear most of the time apart from the odd straggler. He was pretty sure he could get in and out unheard and unseen. It just came down to how good he was at vampire slaying...

  The fanghead on the left yawned and stretched his arms out high above his head. Dom got the distinct impression that these two weren’t a hundred percent switched on with what they were supposed to be doing. He guessed the last thing they’d be expecting was a crazy ass guy on a revenge mission to come and murder their venom dealer. But, that’s exactly what’s gonna go down, boys, so get ready...

  Dom started up the car and pulled out onto the road. He shot past the boarded-up house he was targeting, taking a final look at the two bodyguards on the way. They still sat there like a couple of lazy dogs, watching the world go by. Soon they were out of his sight, but he promised them he’d be back.

  And they wouldn’t know what hit them.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Dom returned to his apartment and went straight into his bare kitchen. He put his shopping bag on the counter, just as his stomach rumbled. Not only did he need fast cash to pay off the landlord, but he also needed to fill his cupboards with food. He was literally down to the bare bones. He’d already pawned any items lingering around the apartment he didn’t need: old jewelry, clothes, even a small replica of the Empire State Building he bought after a visit to New York in grade school. He thought about cashing in his lucky Zippo too but decided against it. It could come in handy...

  With the small amount of cash he received, he bought emergency food: bread, cheese and a bottle of Bud, just to see him through the night. What was left, he spent on the tools he’d need for the job the next day. He opened a shopping bag and pulled out the rubber mallet and metal stake, the kind used in camping, he just bought from Home Depot and stared at them. More dreamlike reality struck him. This was the type of stuff from the movies: stakes through the heart. What he really wanted was a gun, but that was way out of his budget. Or a huge knife, but that was out of his budget too. He’d seen that vamp bleed had made him bleed. They were flesh and blood. Some type of organic creature that was susceptible to the same bodily damage as humans. But, another part of him thought it might just be an illusion. He was sure he saw Freddy Krueger bleed too, and that bastard never died... He decided it would probably be best to stick to the tried and tested methods, just in case there was some mystic, supernatural crap going on and bullets and knives didn’t kill vamps, but only a stake to the heart would. He didn’t wanna be left high and dry, so he played it safe and went for the stake and mallet. That way there was no danger. Plus it was all he could afford anyway...

  He put the items safely away before grabbing a chunk of cheese and a couple of slices of bread and throwing them together in a sandwich. He grabbed his Bud and went and sat on the edge of his couc
h while he chowed, his hands trembling. He was edgy, nervous about the job.

  He finished the last of his stale bread and cheese, the chewed lump easing down his gullet slow and steady. He washed it down with Bud. It hit his empty stomach with a groan. He wasn’t eating well, he knew it, and now wondered how it would affect his performance tomorrow. He puffed his cheeks and looked down again at his trembling hands. Nerves were starting to fray. Come on, buddy... You can do this.

  From the coffee table, he grabbed his wallet. He opened it up and fished out the photo of him, Eddie, and Dad. He’d managed to tape it back together as best he could. Staring at it suddenly gave him a small burst of strength; something to help him through. He ran a finger along a taped-up tear, nodding his head, his eyes welling again. One day, he’d find them. He promised.

  They were all that was left. Even the Father had deserted. Where to, who knew?

  They were questions for another day. First, he had to make sure tomorrow went smoothly.

  He replaced the photo in his wallet and sighed again, falling back in his couch. He stared at the ceiling while he finished his Bud, going over and over in his mind what he was going to do the next day and how.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Drake stood in the center of his temporary chamber, draped in his gown, his hair slicked back from his brow. He stared at the boards nailed over the window while he plotted his next move. He was safely out of reach of the Order for now, but their tentacles could stretch far when necessary. And now that they were looking for him, they’d definitely be on the move. The come down from the dizzying heights of the Loop to a rundown, pissant slum was a necessary step backward. He needed to lay low, to have his fanghead protectors keep him cover till he worked out what to do next. He didn’t even feel safe still being in Chicago, but he couldn’t stray too far; he hadn’t decided if his future lay in this city or somewhere else.