Spider Web: A Vampire Thriller (The Spider Trilogy Book 2)

by J. R. Rain

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “Which is why they were warned to not open the box—a box you went ahead and opened, Spider!”

  “Oops,” I said. “Hey, well, at least I didn’t eat the finger.”

  “So...are we all infected now?” She got up and stood in front of the mirror, checking her skin.

  “That depends,” I said.

  “On what?”

  “Are you getting a hankerin’ for brain?”

  “Spider, this is not funny! We need to get that finger back.”

  “I thought you said it was creepy and you were glad it’s gone.”

  “Trust me,” she said, spinning on me, hands on hips. “I do think it’s creepy, and I want that thing as far away from us as possible. But I’m beginning to think that Stevie just might do something very, very stupid.”

  “Like what?” I asked

  And she must have read my thoughts again, because her words echoed my own exactly. “Like sell it to the highest bidder,” she said grimly. “C’mon, let’s find that son-of-a-bitch.”

  Chapter Nine

  As we prowled the ship’s decks, I wondered just how many holes a rat could find on this ship. I learned why they call them “pleasure cruises,” because it seemed like everybody was dancing, drinking, smoking, playing one-armed bandits, or putting the moves on someone they weren’t married to. After our third trip through the smoke-filled casino, where I figured Stevie would be mortgaging what little future he had left, I decided Parker would only slow me down.

  “Tell you what,” I said. “There are three all-you-can-eat buffets. I want you to hit each one while I get a bird’s-eye view.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to fly.”

  I winked. “No. But they don’t call it a ‘crow’s nest’ for nothing.”

  I figured on one of the ship’s towers I’d be out of the smoke and able to see the top decks, which featured an outdoor bar, a reggae band, a swimming pool, and four hot tubs crammed to overflowing with obese Americans showing too much skin. In the days of sailing ships, the crow’s nest was where the lookouts watched for storms, land, and pirates. Those were the days, and I’d taken a sail or two, and drank the blood of more than a few sailors. Back before I developed this troublesome strain of morality and started drinking blood from plastic packets.

  All that nostalgia was making me thirsty. I hadn’t hit my blood supply because of Parker. Even though she knew I was a vampire, consumption was an intimate act. And even though I knew she had some mysterious dark powers of her own—having once been possessed by a demonic force and apparently telepathic now—we both respected each other’s privacy.

  Plus, I was trying hard not to get too fond of her. I’d been around too many beauties and had watched all of them fade and grow old, trapped in their mortality while I stayed young. I’d always resisted turning them into vampires. That would have been heartless, and I wasn’t willing to go there yet.

  “What do I do if I find Steve?” Parker asked.

  “For God’s sake, don’t confront him. No telling what he might do. He’s desperate.”

  She smiled coyly. “What if I hinted that me and him might just make a play together? Use my feminine charms to get the finger?”

  I gave a mocking gasp of horror. “That sounds rather dirty, Miss Cole. I thought you were a lady.”

  She briefly rubbed against me like a cat. Even above the revelry, I thought I heard her purr. “You don’t know as much as you think you do.”

  “Nice try. But I’m on the job.”

  “You’re no fun anymore.”

  “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to make this a working vacation. I just thought I’d be helping your friend in Belize, not keeping a ship full of passengers from turning into zombies.”

  A rotund guy in a purple muumuu staggered past in flip flops, drool dripping from his open mouth, a margarita in each hand. Maybe these folks were zombies already.

  “Okay,” she said. “Just don’t take him on without me. We’re partners, remember.”

  Actually, I didn’t remember agreeing to that. She thought she was a queen of the dark arts, and I thought I was a lone wolf. But I was in too much of a hurry to argue the point.

  I slipped into the crowd and circled to the upper deck, to what looked like a maintenance area. The coast was clear so I shinnied up a radio tower. It had a blinking red light on it, probably to warn low-flying aircraft and other ships, but I would be practically invisible against the night sky.

  Forty feet up, the air was crisp and fresh. I almost wished I could breathe. The salt pelted against my face and I felt as the Vikings must have when sailing for Greenland, unsure whether they would find land or if their ship would drop off the edge of the earth. Around me, the roiling dark water stretched for miles, broken only by the froth of whitecaps. I could have stayed there all night.

  Except I was getting hungry.

  And I needed to find Stevie and get that finger back before all hell broke loose.

  I didn’t see his scraggly beard anywhere in the party crowd. But I did spy a couple of Demande’s goons, pushing their way through the drunks and the exhausted seniors. They weren’t among the little gang that had confronted me earlier, but the tough-guy style of dress was practically a marketing brand. They looked like they were hunting for someone, too, only they weren’t as patient and thorough as I was.

  One of them stopped and pulled a cell phone from his pocket. While he talked, the other got into a shoving match with some walrus-looking dude in a straw hat. Then the goon on the phone broke into a run. The other seemed a little annoyed at missing out on a good fistfight, but hurried after the first goon.

  Maybe they’ve done my job for me.

  I did my little half-flying, half-gliding act around the ship’s port side. An old lady screamed and pointed at me, but I was past in a flash. I’m sure her husband had to spend the night worrying if she’d lost her marbles. Silly humans with their little problems.

  I kept a bead on the two goons, but they went below decks when they reached midship. I carefully landed, looked around to see if anyone had noticed, and took off after them. I followed them into a hall with crowds of cabins, one of the four or five main passenger areas that were relatively quiet. A steward was cleaning a cabin that evidently belonged to one of the ship’s officers, and while he changed the towels, I reached behind him and grabbed a white jacket and cap. The jacket had black epaulets with three stripes on each shoulder, and the cap bore a serious-looking emblem and a firm black bill.

  I slipped into the jacket. I had no idea what rank I was, but a uniform is all about how you wear it. The cap was a little small but I lowered the bill over my eyes to look like a man on a mission. I didn’t know if impersonating a ship’s officer was a crime, but I didn’t plan on ever standing trial anyway.

  The disguise was effective in one fashion, as passengers veered out of the way as if they had done something wrong. That saved me time and, jogging like the last guy off the Titanic, I soon caught up with the goons.

  They had Stevie in a familiar position—pinned up against the wall with a fake-innocent “Who, me?” expression on his face.

  “Gentlemen, is there a problem?” I asked politely, shooting Stevie a glare that told him he’d better have no problem keeping his mouth shut.

  Chapter Ten

  The two goons looked at one another and I could almost hear the rusty cogs turning in their brains, running down the options.

  One, play it cool and bluff their way out of the situation.

  Two, jump me and toss me overboard, and then finish shaking down Stevie.

  Three, jump me and then toss us both overboard.

  But I figured they wouldn’t dare make a scene until they had Demande’s magic finger. Because if Demande tossed them overboard, they’d be chopped into so many bits that even a sardine couldn’t eat them.

  “We was just helping dis here guy up off the ground,” said the goon on the right, whose long eye
brow was like a mutant dark jellyfish glued across his forehead. “He fell down, musta had a little too much to drink.”

  The second goon nodded, backing up the claim. He had weasel eyes that couldn’t hide a lie if his life depended on it.

  “Is this true?” I asked Steve.

  “I fell, but I had a little help,” he said. “They shoved me down.”

  “This is a family vessel,” I said. “We can’t allow roughhousing and thievery.”

  “Who said anything about thievery?” said the second goon.

  “This gentleman”—I pointed at Stevie—“has been accused of breaking and entering for an incident on this very ship. And you’ve done me a favor by apprehending him. I’ll put in a good word with the captain.”

  I hoped it wasn’t the captain’s jacket I was wearing, or I’d be looking mighty foolish.

  “What did he steal?” asked the first goon, those mental gears still grinding away.

  “Valuable personal property is all I can say. We do have to protect the privacy of our guests.”

  “Was it a fancy wooden box?” the second goon said, and the first goon stomped on his foot so hard I thought I heard the toes break. He winced but didn’t whimper, which would have been embarrassing for all of us.

  “Do you know something about it?” I asked, playing it coy and hoping they were as dumb as they looked. If I was lucky, I might get some information about Demande’s plans.

  “Uh, no, no,” the second goon said. “Just a wild guess.”

  When I realized they weren’t going to talk, I gave up. “Okay, gentlemen, I can take it from here. This man is going to the brig for questioning.”

  The second goon tugged at his collar and began reaching inside his suit jacket, where a suspicious bulge made a shape that amazingly resembled that of a high-caliber revolver. The first goon pursed his lips and gave a little negative shake of his head. Clearly that one was moving up the ranks and would soon be a head honcho in the weasel patrol.

  They headed down the hall, joining other passengers who were headed for the piano bar, where Louie St. Lewis was sitting down at the keys for a night of Billy Joel classics delivered in a three-gigs-a-day rasp that only whiskey could soothe. Stevie didn’t even bother trying to escape.

  “Where is it?” I said, getting in his face. His breath was still bad, only this time from eggs and garlic.

  “Where’s what? That doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”

  I punched hard beside his head, losing my temper just a wee bit. The plywood paneling splintered a little but I got my hand back before it fully penetrated. Steve looked at my fingers, imaging what the punch could do to his delicate cheekbones.

  “Last chance,” I said. “I ought to crush your nose just on general principle for breaking into our room. But I’m on vacation and the doctor told me to relax a little.”

  “Nice uniform,” Stevie said. “Don’t quit your day job.”

  I grabbed him by the end of his beard and slid him up the wall, lifting him two feet off the floor. “Tell me where the finger is, and I’d better believe you.”

  “No fair,” he whined. “You won’t believe me.”

  “Because you’re a liar. This isn’t a court of law. This is Spider court.”

  He was turning a little purple now and his carotid arteries were swelling under the pressure. My fangs swelled at the sight, but I couldn’t let this creep arouse me. All I needed was to break into a feeding frenzy and sling blood all over the Oslo Princess. With probably a hundred cellphone cameras recording the action, I’d be a viral Internet sensation in no time.

  And then my cover would be blown and the hunt would be on.

  Luckily, he must have seen the burning red specks in my eyes and got scared straight. “I lost it,” he said.

  I shook him a little. “Lost it? Got a hole in your pocket or something?”

  “No. In the casino. I was doubling down at blackjack, had the dealer hit me on eighteen and I was wiped, but the man next to me fronted me some chips. One thing led to another and soon we were playing a private hand away from the house. And he cleaned me out pretty fast—a card shark on a ship, ha ha.”

  “Not funny.”

  “All I had left was the box, so I went all in on the final hand. I told him it was rare mahogany, an heirloom. I didn’t mention the finger.”

  “So he didn’t look inside?”

  “Not as far as I know. After he won the last pot, he just slipped all the winnings in his pocket and wandered off into the crowd.”

  I eased Stevie back down, not because my arm was tired or I cared whether he choked or not, but because passengers were starting to stare.

  “So, you believe me, huh?” Stevie adjusted the collar of his T-shirt, his color returning somewhat to normal under the lights.

  “I wouldn’t have believed you if you said you had won. But betting that finger is practically betting your life, especially if Demande finds out. How could you be so stupid?”

  He shrugged and grinned. “Hey, I got a problem.”

  In a way, I had to admire the idiot. He had the kind of carefree attitude that many working-class crooks possess—live in the moment, roll with the punches, and have a short memory for your numerous mistakes.

  “So, this poker guy. What’s his name?”

  “Tony, I think. He looked like a Tony.”

  “So what does Tony look like?”

  “Oh, he’s maybe this tall...” Steve held his hand about four inches over his head, then moved it up another three inches. “Or maybe like this. And he had short hair that might have been brown. Or blonde. I was just watching his eyes, to see if he was cheating.”

  “Great. So you’ve narrowed the list down to half the ship.”

  Stevie’s brow scrunched in concentration as if he was genuinely trying to be helpful. “He looked like...he looked like...”

  Then his face brightened and he pointed down the hall. “Just like him!”

  And here came a guy seven inches taller than Stevie, with brown hair streaked with blonde highlights. And of course Parker Cole was walking beside him, grinning like she’d beaten me to the center of the Tootsie pop.

  “Guess what I found?” she said.

  “Does this mean I get to live?” Stevie whispered.

  “For now,” I said, and turned to meet the man who now owned my nzambi finger.

  Chapter Eleven

  How the devil did you find him? I telepathically asked Parker who was still grinning like a fool. Better yet, how the hell did you even know to look for him?

  Indeed. I’d only just discovered that Steve had lost the box to the man coming toward us. A man who was currently walking with Parker. Tony, I assumed. What the hell was going on?

  I was looking for you anyway—

  I caught on quick. And you were listening in on my conversation with Stevie, I shot back at her.

  Of course. I can hear you loud and clear, Count Dracula.

  And you heard Steve, too, I thought, nodding as the duo drew up to us.

  Of course. What you hear, I hear.

  And you just so happened to come across the very man we were talking about, I added.

  Synchronicity at its best.

  I was about to think about how mighty convenient that was, but I didn’t want her to read the thought. Tony—if that was his name—frowned when he saw Stevie. “What the hell do you want?”

  Stevie opened his mouth to speak when I accidentally shoved him hard into the hallway wall. I said, “Stevie is a dumbass.”

  “This Stevie?” said Tony, jabbing a thumb Stevie’s way.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” I said.

  The guy nodded. “He’s a dumbass.”

  “Hey—” said Stevie, but that’s as far as he got. My next slam nearly knocked him unconscious.

  I said, “Now that we have all agreed Stevie is a dumbass, perhaps it shouldn’t be a surprise that he bet away something very valuable to me.”

  “The lame box,” said Ton
y. He had a Brooklyn accent and tough-guy swagger—both seemed about as foreign on this ship as that nzambi finger had.

  “Be that as it may, I would like to buy the box back from you.”

  “What’s it worth to you?”

  “A thousand bucks.”

  “The punk owed me two thousand.”

  “Then I’ll give you three and you can help me toss Stevie overboard as a bonus.”

  “Hey—” began Stevie. Another slam, another oof.

  This all netted a grin from the big guy. “Tempting, except we got a problem.”

  “What problem?”

  “I gave the box to my old woman.”

  “Your old woman?”

  “It was, you know, a pretty box. My honey likes pretty things. You want the box, you buy it from her. Either way, I’m all for tossing this scumbag overboard.”

  This time, Stevie thought better about opening his mouth. I said to Tony, “And where can we find your honey?”

  For the first time, Tony seemed to notice Parker next to him. He blinked, surprised, undoubtedly, to discover such a pretty girl standing so alertly nearby. He pointed down the hallway.

  “We’re this way,” he said, then stopped and pointed at Steve. “But he stays put. I don’t trust him.”

  “Stay, Stevie,” I said. “Stay, boy.”

  The thief glowered at me, rubbing his shoulder. I quite unexpectedly sensed within him a deeper darkness. I’d seen such darkness before. In fact, Parker herself had been demonically possessed. I wasn’t sure what I sensed in Steve...but there was suddenly something very off about the small-time crook.

  I wondered if his exposure to the finger had somehow infected him with darkness, or perhaps Demande had cast a wicked spell on him.

  I glanced back at him sideways as I followed Tony down the hallway. Parker stayed behind with Steve. I told her telepathically to keep an eye on him. She gave me a mental image of her sticking her tongue out at me.

  A few doors down, Tony unlocked the cabin door by swiping his key card. Immediately, I caught a faint whiff of urine, which was followed immediately by the yapping of a small dog.