I Kill Monsters: The Revenants (Book 2) (22 page)

“You gotta get out a here, boss.”

Dickie knowing what his man was saying was
true. If Cheeks survived they’d send him to the infirmary. They
found Dickie or Jimmy here, it was the hole.

“You hang in there, Cheeks.”

“I’ll be alright…”

Dickie retrieved his towel, covering
himself.

The Scal found one of the toothbrushes on the
floor. Squatting down, he buried it in the fat man’s throat. Dickie
helped him to his feet, looking up to see Renfeld in the doorway.
Renfeld lounging there fully dressed. Didn’t look like he’d come to
take a shower. The man popped a roach in his mouth from his
Styrofoam cup and chewed, the insect crunching audibly.

Dickie looked at him. “
What
?”

Renfeld giggled, scurrying off.

“Go, Dickie.” Carlucci was on his side now,
his knees drawn up to his chest, holding himself, blood running
down his naked back. “Go Jimmy.”

“Dickie, come on.”

“Cheeks.” Dickie stopped to look back at his
man on the tiles, Cheeks holding himself. “You hang in there.”

Boone rode the elevator in silence, not
exchanging any words with Pomeroy or the lift’s other-worldly
operator until the Hobgoblin spoke to him.

“I have a fourteen-inch cock,” the thing in
its peaked cap volunteered, seated on its stool, one leg dangling.
Pomeroy sputtered and laughed, clasping a hand over his mouth.

Boone was like, “
What
?”

“Before, mate. You asked me what my secret
power was.” The Goblin smiled wide and nodded towards its
crotch.

“You’se a cocky motherfucker then, huh?”

Pomeroy tried and failed to stifle a
laugh.

“And you’re punny.”

“You got a name or somethin’?” Boone asked
the Hobgoblin.

“Yeah I got a name.”

Boone shook his head.

The metal gate slid back and he and Pomeroy
stepped into the short hallway, up to the door. The gargoyle in its
niche, staring straight ahead.

“You and Halstead a couple, that it?” Boone
asked, Pomeroy’s hand raised to knock.

Pomeroy paused to answer, “Since 1912,”
knocked, then added, a little higher than a whisper, “
He
likes you, you know.”

“Halstead? Nah, I don’t think so.”

“
Noooo
,” Pomeroy drew out the word,
reaching up and touched its hair, the door opening inwards on its
own. “Not Halstead,” the vampire turned, gesturing expansively with
one hand, bidding Boone enter the suite of rooms. “Him,” nodding
inside. Boone went in, convinced the gargoyle’s stare followed him
through the entrance.

Boone walked into Rainford’s apartment,
steeling himself.

The temptation to take Rainford out was
strong, but it wasn’t the time. If he tried and failed, the dark
Lord would exact his vengeance on Jennifer and Derrick, on the
kids. If he tried and succeeded, Boone had no assurances he could
escape this place and get to his sister’s before whatever
contingency plans Rainford had were set in motion. And then there
was that fuckin’ thing downstairs…Boone needed to get his hands on
a piece, something
big
.

And it was better not to think like that
around here, Boone thought as he walked down the hall, towards the
music. If a guy like Big Duke could read minds, there was no
telling who or what else could. As before the music was something
completely at odds with how Boone conceived of the dark Lord. R.
Dean Taylor singing, “
Indiana
wants
me
,
Lord
I
can’t
go
back
there
.”

Seated on his settee, eyes closed, one leg
straight out on the cushions, the other bent at its knee, Rainford
was waiting for him. The dark Lord waved its hand in the air,
conducting the music.

“Ah, Boone.” Rainford’s eyes opened. “Please,
enter and sit.” The dark Lord turned an opened palm to the seat
across from it. Boone did as requested, settling his muscular frame
into the cushions.

“You are well, I trust?”

Boone stuck his lower lip out and nodded.

“I believe you will have found the
accomodations satisfactory? Colson tells me you progress in
training.”

“Look. I really didn’t come here to make
small talk.”

“Tell me, Boone. I invite you into my
personal quarters. Would you invite me into yours?”

An image—Rainford, down on Boone’s
apartment’s carpet, Boone kneeling over the dark Lord, repeatedly
plunging a stake through him—flashed in Boone’s head and he had to
grin. “No, probably not.”

“You know, however, it does not have to be
this way between us.”

“What way?”

“Adversarial. Hostile.”

“Whatever, man.” Boone looked around the
room, at the spines of the books on Rainford’s shelves.

“Throughout history, there have been
alliances between your kind and mine.
Friendships
.”

“Let’s not get carried away, Rainford. I
don’t even like it when I see a white chick with a black dude.”

“I see you, Boone, and I see potential,
vast
potential.” When Boone didn’t reply the vampire said,
“Sometimes all one lacks in the achievement of greatness is
guidance.”

“You don’t know me, man.”

“True. But neither do you know yourself. I
believe you to be atypical.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means you are special, Boone.
Unique.”

“Yeah and so are the kids on the little
school bus. That what you called me here for? A pep talk? Want me
to tell you how fucking cool you are? Tell you what, Rainford:
you’re
way
cooler than that Bela Lugosi fuck. Or even Uncle
Al.”

“Your words sadden me more than you
know.”

“I’m here because you’re in a position to
make me be here. I’m here because you’ve got my sister and her
family hostage or some shit I don’t even know about. I’m not here
because I like you and I don’t care about making you happy. First
chance I get—”

“Please.” The dark Lord gestured like he had
heard all this before and was inured to such words. “This is the
best part of the song.”

It
hurts
to
see
the
man
I’ve
become
, Taylor was
singing,
And
to
know
I’ll
never
see
the
morning
sun
shine
on
the
land
.

“You listen to this shit to beat yourself up,
that it?”

“My bibliophilism is apparant,” Rainford
gestured expansively towards the book lined walls. “However, I am
also a lover of the verbalized word in all forms.”

“I never figured you for this ’70s shit is
all.”

“To what would you have me subject my ears?
Not this trash they call ‘pop’ music today, wedged between
commercial breaks.
Pshaw
!” Rainford indicated the music. “I
prefer Vicky Lawrence or Don MacLean, Bobby Goldsboro and Gordon
Lightfoot—modern day troubadors all.”

“Whatever man.”

“I am no stranger to conflict, Boone. I have
beheld struggle and participated in it. I sat on
La
Montagne
—the mountain—with Robespierre until his fall. I
heard the whistle of artillery followed by the cries of men at
Verdun. I rode with the Cossacks against the Turks, and the
Mujahadeen against Soviet tanks. And all this,
all
this
, pales in comparison to what confronts us today.”

“You and me—”

“No,
not
you and I, Boone. The threat
this, this
woman
poses is more than you can imagine. I have
little time left to me.”

You
have
no
idea
,
Boone looked across the room.

“These ancient bones grow tired. I do not
wish to leave behind a world marked by strife and destruction on a
scale never before realized.”

“I get that you’re some kind of big
mucky-muck in bloodsucker circles. Why not just openly declare war
on this bitch and take her down then?”

“We have had civil war amongst my kind. Each
time it threatened to reveal us to the world. Should that ever
happen, the
vampiro
would have no choice but to align
ourselves with Lativia and those of her mind. Need I say, that
would spell the end of humanity.”

“You really don’t like her, do you?”

“It is more than that. I have a personal
history with this woman—”

“I already know enough about your love
life.”

“—a personal history,” an amused look played
over Rainford’s pale face, “I choose not to recount now.”

Thank
God
, Boone thought but
stayed quiet.

“I know what it is like, to harbor concern
for family. I have a brother, Viktor, whose contumacy has caused me
no shortage of concern, I must admit.”

“There’s things I want.”

“See this mission through and you will be
rewarded handsomely. Your freedom, your life, the safety of your
family—all these and more shall be yours. As will my gratitude,
which, I daresay, you will find not insignificant.”

“I want money.”

“State the amount.”

“Five million.”

“It is done.”

“That thing in the basement?”

“I will have it destroyed.”

“Big Duke.”

“What of him?”

“I want carte blanche.”

“In what sense?”

“I’m gonna take his ass out. I don’t want to
have to worry about you after I do that.”

“I have hand chosen each of you for your
special talents. This man you know as Big Duke has many abilities
that will serve your mission well.”

“I’m sayin’, he gets hit by friendly fire, I
don’t want to catch any shit for it.”

“Vision is often blurred in the fog of
war.”

Boone took that for consent. “Tell Colson. I
don’t want him all over my ass.”

“He shall be apprised.”

Boone nodded. He’d been right.

“You do realize,” the dark Lord continued to
look amused, pleased, “for one in no position to make demands, you
have several.”

And
you’re
real
quick
to
grant
them
, Boone knew.

“Any others?”

“I need a day to myself.”

“A day?”

“To take care of some things.”

“Of course. Be back by tomorrow night. It
will not do for you to miss your flight.”

“You know something?” Boone rose to leave.
“This music. It’s so
not
you”

“Good music transcends temporality and
circumstance. Music speaks to the soul.”

“Don’t talk to me about souls, Rainford.
Because I don’t believe in ‘em and from what I hear, your type
don’t have any.”

“Despite your incessant antipathy, I do so
enjoy these conversations.” Rainford smiled sadly at him. “I hope
they continue in the future. Good day to you, Boone.”

The fact that it was morning didn’t stop
Cassidy from having a drink. Or two. It was something he did
whenever he had to make a big decision. A glass of Scotch in his
hand, a bottle of Glenlivet on the glass table in front of him,
Cassidy stretched out on his couch with the remote in his other
hand, the wide-screen television mounted on the wall across the
living room.

Something he did when there was a big
decision to be made: not get drunk, have a drink; getting drunk
just happened sometimes.

He’d placed a coaster on the table for his
glass.

“—Mephito’s Manifesto is a hodge podge of
aphorisms, haiku, and seemingly discursive parables encompassing
historical demography, microbiology, and philosophy—”

The television was blaring some inanity.
Cassidy sat back lazily, his large frame sunk down in the couch. On
the table in front of him, next to the bottle, was his shoulder
holster. Resting in it, butt out towards him, his .45. The pistol
had seven in the clip and one in the chamber. It was exactly a foot
and a half away from Cassidy’s right hand, the hand resting
indolently on his bent knee, the remote loosely gripped.

If an assassin came into his living room
Cassidy could drop the remote, lean forward and fill his hand with
the .45, pound the would-be killer into oblivion. Except no one had
tried to kill him in a long time, not since he’d bowed out of the
game. No one knew where he lived. And right now the only thing
filling his hand was the remote control.

The sun hung strong outside, filtering
between the track blinds of his picture window, lighting up the
wall behind his television, washing out the picture, obscuring the
art on the walls. Cassidy not bothered enough to get up and draw
the blinds. Bullshit on t.v. anyway.

Some bloated, red-faced white man on the
screen commenting: “—reads like the ramblings of an insane grad
student dangling his toes in the hard sciences—”

If an assassin came in his living room,
faster than Cassidy could ditch the remote and take up the pistol
from the tabletop, the big man would reach across his body to the
twin .45 that rested next to his right hip and launch the killer or
killers into the hereafter. A round chambered in the second .45,
the pistol lying amid the scattered pillows exactly where Cassidy
had placed it.

Janelle was out, away on vacation. Their kids
were grown, moved out. Matter of fact, Janelle was away on vacation
with Harold and his family, their youngest. Janelle was around,
Cassidy didn’t leave the guns lying about. But he always kept one
near.

Cassidy didn’t expect to have to kill anyone
right there and then. His days as an executioner or gunman or
whatever people would call him were over. And then the phone call
yesterday.