Vampires (29 page)

Felix's disgust started kicking in when he had to shut down the Antwar Saloon.

He had to do it. It would delay his return to the hospital, but he couldn't have his customers and employees sitting innocently around the place while vampires wandered through looking for the owner.

No. He had to do it. And it only took half an hour.

But then, sitting there at his desk, with his closing note to his employees and their checks all written, it started getting to him. The waste. The whole, useless, worthless messy waste of it got to him. Dammit! It wasn't like he had much of a:

life, anyway, and he was going to have to lose even that? Shit.

Jack Crow and the Crusaders. Noble and brave and tough and all the rest of it.

But losers. Losers because they were losing.

No way they were going to make it through tonight. No way they were going to stop the vampires at that hospital. Witnesses? Hell, the vampires wouldn't care and, anyway, who would believe it? And who would believe it after seeing:

it? A couple of days later-with everyone treating them like they were nuts-and even the eyewitnesses would think they had imagined it.

The ones that lived, anyway.

Shit.

Crow loses-what is it? Six, seven men? And he goes to Rome and comes back with what? One priest. Father Adam was a good man. Well, better than good. In fact...

But he was still just one guy. Crow shoulda brought back twenty men, all priests, and a bishop of his own.

But he didn't. He didn't do a lot of things and because of that they were all gonna die.

He turned in his desk chair and looked out the picture window that overlooked the bar. Only it was dark in the bar now. The only thing he could see in the glass was his own face, in the reflection from his desk lamp.

All going to die.

I'm going to die.

“You're going to die,” he said out loud. “Tonight.”

Shit. It didn't even sound dramatic enough.

If it was anybody else but Annabelle. . . Well, if it was her, of course, Davette, he'd have to do it. And maybe...

But that wasn't the goddamned point.

The goddamned point was that they were going to lose.

And the vampires were going to win, those slimy, greasy, bloodsucking fuckers were going to keep at it. That really riled him. And that notion that they had been sitting here, in his bar, while his waitresses and bartenders served them because they didn't know. That was the deal. These miserable bastards would be treated as real live people by those who didn't know. Like they really weren't scum'. Like they really belonged to the company of mankind, instead of... of what? What did they really deserve?

Sewage.

“I'm going to die,” he said again.

And then he turned back to his desk and wrote what he hoped was a legal document and be hoped he spelled her name right. Then he put it in an envelope, labeled it “Last Will and Testament,” and shoved it in the back of his checkbook. They'd find it.

Lousy Crow with his samurai bullshit. We're already dead so nothing matters but Style! Crap! Is that his excuse for losing? Because the only thing worse than letting the vampires run free was losing to them first.

Shit!

He stepped away from his desk and looked around his rooms one last time, at some photographs on the wall, some souvenirs, some knickknacks. Not enough to leave behind after thirty-odd years.

Well. . . then... fuck it.

Fuck it!

At least he'd make damn sure he hurt them first.

And he stopped and looked again into the glass laughed.

Talk about your samurai bullshit.

Felix got lost in the vast complex of Parkland Hospital trying to find a new route from where he'd parked the motorhome. It took him ten minutes to finally come around a corner and see the sign for ICU/EMERGENCY. Below the sign, on a couch against the wall, were Cat and Davette. Adam stood against the wall beside them.

Davette was crying.

“What?” he called out, tripping toward them.

Davette lifted her face from her hands and it was all red and bright and tears streaked her cheeks.

“Oh, Felix!” she cried. “Annabelle died!”

And she leapt up and threw her arms around him and sobbed like a child, her fragile ribs heaving under his rough hands. He held her and patted her dumbly. Past her, Adam still leaned against the wall, his face grave and pale. And on the couch, Cat looked a whole lot worse, staring straight ahead, boring his eyes at nothing.

“I don't get it,” Felix managed. “The doctor said-”

“She killed herself, Gunman,” rasped Cat in a voice from the grave.

“Sleeping pills,” added Adam in a quiet voice.

“But.. . why?”

Cat turned his head at last and looked at Felix and his eyes were scary.

"Because she knew we'd stay to protect her. And she. . . couldn't. . . stand..

And then Cat lost it, broke down completely. He collapsed, folding into his own miserable dry sobs, and Felix didn't think he could stand it, Cherry Cat bawling, and even Davette, hearing that awful wrenching sound, pulled herself loose from Felix and returned to the couch and embraced him and the two of them shook and rocked together.

Felix sat down hard on the magazine-littered coffee table in front of the couch and fumbled around and found a cigarette and put it in his mouth and managed to light it and...

And he was too stunned, too shocked to do much else. Too blown to think. Numb and stupid and. . . Annabelle dead? Dead? Killed herself? He couldn't bear their tears but there was no place to go and Adam didn't look much better so he just sat there and stared at the hospital tiles under his feet.

I should feel relief, shouldn't I? I mean, I'm not going to die tonight, after all. I should feel relief.

Why don't I?

He started to take another puff and realized the cigarette ha4 burned, unsmoked, down to the filter while he sat there numb and stupid and-

Waitaminute!

He caught Adam's eye and mouthed: Where's Jack?

But Adam only shook his head grimly.

What the hell . . .

Felix got up and went over to him and moved him down the wall away from the others.

“Give,” he said tersely.

Adam shrugged, looked miserable.

“Jack's gone.”

“Where?”

“We don't know. He... He just walked out when they told us.”

Felix glared at him. “Did he say anything?”

Now the young priest looked about to cry.

“He said, 'I even managed to get her killed.' Then be just walked out.”

Felix looked around. “Is he outside, then?”

Adam shook his head. “He took a cab. Felix?”

“Yeah?”

“He didn't look good.”

“Like how?”

“Like. .. like crazy.”

Great. Felix looked at the other two. They were still crying.

Great.

Davette had finally gotten Cat to go to sleep in the main bedroom of the hotel suite. His sullen silence on the way from the hospital had been almost as unnerving as his weeping. She had fallen asleep watching him, curled up on the edge of the bed. Adam lay dozing on the lounge beside the bed. Felix sat in a chair by the great picture window that overlooked the Galleria Shopping Mall. The ashtray beside him was full.

And the sunset was lovely.

Shit.

He looked at his Watch. Five hours now. No sign of Jack. No call. No word. No clue.

He looked over at the sleeping trio. He didn't blame them. If anything, be envied them. He was tired, too. But he was more worried than anything else. He bad brought them to this hotel because it had been the place they were planning to go and because...

Because he didn't know what else to do.

No one had heard from Crow. He had called the hospital half a dozen times. He had called the bishop's-the late bishop's-office and home and church. He had called the Team's new house three' times without answer. Each time he had imagined the phone ringing in Carl's destroyed workshop.

He stood up slowly, thought about sneaking into the other room to try calling everyone again. But he knew better. Crow wasn't at any of those places. Not now and not later.

I even managed to get her killed.

And the sleeping three looked mighty small without him there.

They look like I feel, he thought, and sat back down and added to the ashtray and stared at the blasted sunset.

“Where's Jack?” came from behind him a moment later.

Felix turned and looked. It was Cat. He looked better. Still pale and drawn and.., hurting. But better. The sleep had done its deed.

“Where's Jack?” he repeated, sitting in the chair beside Felix's.

“I don't know,” Felix replied.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he's gone. He left from the hospital. No one's seen him since.”

“But it's almost nighttime!”

“Yeah.”

“I don't understand!”

Felix looked at him. I don't understand either, he felt like saying.

At least I hope I don't.

But he didn't say that. Instead, he gave Cat what little he knew from the beginning. When he told him what Adam had said Jack had said, he checked the other man's face closely for a reaction.

But there was none. Just the same confusion. And concern.

Davette and the priest, be noticed, were up and about once more. Listening.

“I was hoping,” Felix said next, “that you might know something.”

Cat frowned. "No. I've been sorta.

Felix nodded. “Yeah. But you know Jack better than anyone. In fact, you're the only one here,” he added without thinking, "who's known Jack for any..

And then he stopped, shut up, as the realization hit him. As it hit Cat. As it hit the rest of them.

Two months ago, a full Team Crow. With soldiers and money and Carl and Annabelle and Cat and the monsters on the run.

And now... just Cat left. In this room anyway.

Felix held his breath watching Cat, but the smaller man came through the moment. It took a few deep breaths, a little concentration, but he stayed on top.

Good for you, Cherry, Felix thought.

But they had things to do.

“Where do you think he might go?” Felix continued. "After Annabelle. Would he go get drunk or...

Cat was silent a moment. But when he spoke his voice was clear enough.

“He might. He. . . we all. . . loved her. He might just get drunk.”

“Where?”

“Huh?” -

“You know his favorite joints. Where would he go?”

Cat nodded, thought a bit. Then he stood up and went over to the bed and sat down next to the phone and rummaged under the end table until he found a phone book. He opened it and started thumbing through it, his other hand resting on the phone. Then he stopped.

“The thing is, the only places I know where he'd go.. . Well, they might know about them, too. And he wouldn't go there in case they came looking for him. The only places he'd go would be the places no one knows he goes. And that could be anywhere.”

He put down the phone book.

“I guess we'll just have to wait for him to find us. He knew we were supposed to wait here until the plane leaves.”

The plane? Oh, yeah, Felix remembered. The plane for Rome.

But Jack Crow wasn't thinking about that plane.

“Where,” Felix asked casually, “is his favorite spot?”

“Huh? Well, the Adolphus. He loves the place, the rooms, the service. He loves the bar. But he couldn't go there. That's the one place they'd be sure to look for him.”

“Give 'em a call,” suggested Felix, his voice still casual.

Cat frowned. “C'mon, Felix. He wouldn't go there! They know about the Adolphus.”

Felix shrugged. “It's worth a try.”

Cat shook his head. “That would be asking for it and Jack-”

“You want me to call?” This time his voice was as strong as his mood.

Cat eyed him a moment. Then he picked up the phone and started dialing. Cat seemed to know this number. And he seemed to know the voice that answered.

“Terry? This is Cat. Mr. Catlin. Hi. I'm looking for Mr. Crow. I just thought... What? You're kidding. Ring him for me, would you? But Terry. You know me. This is an emergency. I.. . Okay. Okay. Never mind.”

Cat hung up and stared at the others in amazement.

“He's there. In the Governor's Suite. He's turned off his phone.”

Felix just sighed and turned away and puffed on his cigarette.

“I don't get it!” Cat cried next. “Does he want to die?”

“I think,” said the Gunman quietly, “that's the idea.”

By the time they got to the Adolphus, Felix's only remaining emotion was disgust.

Disgust with the whole damned deal. Disgust with the loss, with the waste. Carl Joplin and the bishop and the bishop's people and poor, brave redheaded Kirk and Annabelle and...

And disgust with Jack Crow and, come to think of it, disgust with himself for being a part of it all.

But mostly disgust for the two cowboys in the back of the Blazer wearing their full chain mail and toting their cross-bows and in such a hurry to be killed rescuing a man who wanted to die.

Felix wore no chain mail because he bad no intention whatsoever of going up there.

And he said so. Often.

“This is bullshit, Cat! And you know it. And Adam, you oughta know better than this. It's suicide.”

Cat stubbornly shook his head. “Not if we can get him out of there before they show up.”

“What if they're already there?”

Cat was silent.

“And what if he doesn't want to come, Cat? Ever think of that?”

“He'll come when be sees us.”

“Will he? Cherry, he wants this.”

“You don't know that,” retorted Cat desperately.

“Then why is be there?” Cat was silent.

But Adam said, “We can't let this happen to him.”

And Cat added, “How can you?”

Felix turned around in his seat and glared at him. “Because it's none of my business, either. Can't you see that?”

“Felix is right,” said Davette suddenly. And firmly. And that stopped the conversation.

For Davette had been silent throughout the argument and the drive, sitting quietly behind the wheel of the Blazer. Now, in her voice was the tone of someone who knew exactly what she was talking about.

“Felix is right,” she said again. “Jack is a victim, just as much as anyone. Just as much-as I was. And.., it wears you down.”

She pulled to a stop at a red light and turned and faced the others.

“Sometimes you get so tired. Then all you want is for it to be over. Jack has bad it differently from what happened to me. But he's had it for three years.”

“It's not the same,” insisted Cat.

Davette's voice was warm but her eyes were very direct. “You don't know that, Cat. Jack is tired.”

It was quiet for the next few moments. The light changed, the Blazer began moving again, and soon the Adolphus was in sight. Davette pulled to the curb across the street from the famous entrance and turned off the engine.

For a few seconds, no one moved. Then Cat took a deep breath and reached for the door.

“Don't do it, Cat,” Felix told him.

Cat hesitated, then ignored him. Both he and the priest climbed out. Felix got out, too, and stood on the sidewalk glaring at the both of them.

This was bullshit!

“Have you ever thought how Jack's gonna feel if you go down, too?”

Cat's grin was thin. “At least he'll be alive to hate me.”

“No, he won't,” snapped Felix cruelly. “None of you will.”

“Felix,” said Adam slowly, “we just can't let a Jack Crow die like this.”

“Oh! You can't. Thanks, God.”

Adam just shook his head and the two of them started across the street.

Then Cat stopped and looked back.

“Tell me this, Felix. You're so sure Jack wants to die. If he lives through tonight, you think he'd be happy? Or would he just do it again tomorrow?”

When Felix didn't answer, Cat smiled again.

“He's down, now. Annabelle... But he'll come back if he can get the chance.”

Cat smiled again and waved.

“Don't worry, Gunman. We'll get a taxi.”

And then he and Adam tripped across the street to the hotel entrance.

Ouch.

Felix stood there a long while, watching them enter the lobby. Then he lit a cigarette. Then he looked at the Blazer, at Davette sitting behind the wheel. Then he got inside and closed the door and stared straight ahead.

Ouch.

Davette started the engine and they pulled away from the curb a few yards to the light and stopped again.

Ouch.'

“Felix... ?” she began.

But be shook his head.

Ouch. Ouch!

Because hadn't there been a moment, lying there on the bishop's rug, when he'd just wanted it over with? When he wished Jack would just give it up and let them get him? Stop prolonging the inevitable?

Wasn't there?

Wasn't there a moment like that? And wasn't he glad Jack bad kept it up?

Shit.

Shit!

“Pull over.”

“Felix! You can't-”

“Pull over,” he repeated and his voice was hard.

“Felix! Please. . .” she urged. But she began pulling the Blazer to the curb.

“I know,” he said harshly. “I know, I know I know!”

And this time his disgust was all for himself.

He got out of the truck. An elderly couple, both black, were staring at a window display of garish, cheaply made leather shoes.

Is this the last store I'll ever see?

He looked at Davette. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Did you know I love you?”

She smiled grimly, nodded.

He nodded back, shook his head, and sprinted across the street to the hotel.

The polished bronze doors opened smoothly, almost silently, onto the twenty-first floor and...

Ha! There in the thick, rich carpet-the impressions of chain-mailed boots! The Two Stooges were here!

If he had laughed-and he almost did-it would have been a wild, broken cackle.

Felix had never known such fear.

Such anger.

Such. . . disgust.

He knew his face would frighten a passing stranger.

He knew he was going to die.

He knew he was never going to see Her again and he knew be couldn't have Her unless he went ahead.

He knew it was madness.

It was out of control.

Two ways into this prestigious hallway. The fire stairs at one end, the half-open oaken double door to the Governor's Suite at the other. He glanced briefly toward the fire stairs, then strode boldly along the footprints in the carpet and pushed the suite's door open all the way and then just stood there and waited for something to happen.

But nothing did.

Not going to be that easy, eh? Fine.

He stepped into the room.

Magnificent room. Antiques and imported carpets over polished hardwood floors and fifteen-foot ceilings and flowing diaphanous curtains pushed in from the steaming terrace breezes. The terrace ran the length of the L-shaped living room and there, at the far end of the huge room, in the dim light from the downtown high rises, were Cat and Adam, crossbows in their fists, crouched down next to the open french doors.

Felix almost laughed. He almost shouted out to them.

But he didn't. Instead he looked to see what they were seeing.

It was easy. There was another set of french doors by the front entrance, right next to him, also blowing hot the diaphanous curtains, also pale against the lights from the towering downtown buildings, also open to the terrace where, less than thirty feet away, closer to Felix than Cat and Adam or the safety of the fire stairs sat Jack Crow.

On a stone bench.

Talking to a vampire.

Felix stepped closer and felt the disgust welling up, swelling up and through his eyes and out the top of his head. By God! but it was beautiful.

He had forgotten how beautiful they were.

It was young and thin and blond and tall, lazing confidently and casually against the four-foot walled railing, the lights from some glass tower delicately illuminating his stark yet smooth and precious features. White shirt and black pants and black leather boots. Not the same outfit as the little god in Cleburne. But close enough. The same grimy elegance.

The same shoddy, sexy, decadent, beautiful. .

Fuck you, little god. Fuck you and all the rest of you.

And fuck you, too, Jack Crow, for talking to it.

Talking to it. Like it was human. Like it was only halfbad. Like it was misunderstood or “two-sides-to-everything” and not a crushed, smeared, cockroached soul.

And then he saw the crossbow Jack had hidden.

It was down behind the bench on which he sat, propped up against some huge potted terrace tree, and Felix really did almost laugh this time, at the puny, pitiful, all-destructive self-deception of it all.

Felix read it all, now. Saw it all. The whole sad script.

What was Crow going to do? Just wait up here with arms flung open, yelling “Bite me!” into the night? Oh, no. Gotta at least pretend you're going down nobly, don't you, Warrior Jack? Gotta make believe this is a Something, right? A Something, a last 'bold thrust, instead of the seamy suicide it really is.

And he almost left right then. He almost left Jack Crow to his paltry, sickening, disgusting little Passion Play.

Ha!

But what about the Two Stooges? All crouched down and ready to rush up and save him and ensure that three, rather than just one, get swept to ugly, ugly hell. Can't leave the Two Stooges, can I?.

Especially since I'm the goddamn third one?

Out of control.

He heard his heart and he could see his pulse, throbbing through the thumb wrapped death-grip tight around the Browning.

Madness.

But a lovely night, he thought. If a trifle warm.

Then he crossed his hands, with the Browning, behind his back and kicked the french doors open all the way and stepped out Onto the terrace just as loudly as he knew how.

“Hey, you! Little god! Is it true your dick doesn't work anymore?”

Silence. Then surprise from those piercing eyes, then understanding of what was said.

Anger flashing his way.

“Felix!” shouted Jack. “Felix, no! What are you doing?”

“It's not just him!” popped Cat, stepping out onto the other end of the terrace.

“Cat!” yelled Jack, stricken.

“It's all of us,” added Father Adam, joining Cat. “No!” whispered Jack weakly. “No.. . no.. ”What is this?“ flashed the monster. ”Am I to be trapped here?"

And then he smiled that cocky, beautiful smile. “Hey!” snapped Felix with his own smile. “Tell me about your dick.” And then, in a conspiratorial tone: “Can't get it up, right?”

And the smile vanished and the evil sneer spread out to him.

“Puny little man... How I will enjoy your crushing, bleeding, death cries and your-”

“Sure, sure, sure,” replied Felix calmly. "But let's face

it. You can turn 'em on pretty good. But when it gets down to it. . .“ And he held the fingers of his left hand out in front of his loins and dangled them limply. ”When it gets down to it, it's floppity-floppity. Right?"

Its burst of loathing, even from fifteen feet away, all but staggered Felix backward. The eyes went black, then red. The mouth slit itself wide as it stepped toward him.

"Welcome, puny mutt-man, to the.., yolk..

... and the fangs sprung out wide...

.of the egg. .

And the laughter was a spear.

But Felix just laughed back and shot it right between those fucking fangs.

“Heeachaaaahhh!”

And it hissed and shook and the black gob spat out with the pain and surprise and. . . the hatred- And Felix shot it again, through the chest. And it staggered back, off-balance and reeling, and the backs of its legs bounced against the walled railing and..

It almost went over the edge!

And that gleaming thought, that wish, that insane hope.. . It stalled Felix for just an instant, just long enough for the monster to right itself and warp open its full monster's face to the Gunman and Felix heard a crossbow go off...but so did the beast

And it caught it. It did catch it in the air, goddammit!

Felix shot it again, in the shoulder of the hand that snatched the bolt.

The shoulder warped and shivered and there was more hissing and more black bile spat and Felix shot it again as it jerked toward him and the second crossbow-Adam's? Jack's?-tore through the air and crunched loudly through the center of its chest and out against the city lights.

Ungodly, unholy screams filled the night and the city and their heads and the monster's frenzy was a blur of pain and horror and fury as it bounced and twitched and grabbed at the spit and there was another thong and another bolt pierced its chest from the side, splitting it neatly in the center, and the monster splattered black bile and rocked backward and bit the wall again and reeled, losing its balance and...

Yes! Yes! Go over, you prick! Fall! Fall!

And Felix fired again and again but the shots had so little effect next to the wooden stakes piercing it and there! From the side, motion rushing forward! Jack coming on!

And Felix wanted to shout “No!” but he could not, he could not. It was their only chance and he fired again and again, fired the Browning empty to keep it off balance and then Jack was there running full speed into it but at the last second...

At the last second it saw Jack.

And held up its hand.

And stopped him, all two hundred plus pounds at breakneck speed.

Stopped him. Caught him. Held him, ignoring its own pain and hissing:

"You foolish little . .

Before Father Adam appeared and slammed point-blank into the two of them...

The three went over the edge.

Just like that.

And quiet. So quiet, suddenly. Only the breeze and a far distant car horn and his own breath heaving and...

And Cat beside him, staring wide-mouthed at the wall.

Felix did manage to approach and look down and just glimpse, twenty-one stories down, three forms on the pavement, before.

“Nooo00000000000. . .” burst slowly from Cat beside him and Felix felt his forward movement and he dropped his pistol as his right hand shot out and snatched a chain-mailed shoulder and he spun the smaller man toward him and away from the wail and sank his fist deep into his middle.

“Ooomph. . .” went Cat and sagged.

Felix didn't wait. He followed with a right uppercut that caught Cherry full under the chin and decked him flat onto the terrace tiles.

Then he pounced on either side of his chest and jabbed a finger into Cat's face and spat, though he knew the other man was too groggy to hear him: “No! You are not following anybody down!”