Fanghunters (12 page)

Almost.

There.

*****

Some dirty,
sweaty
guy carrying something on his shoulder came into Craig’s view from
across the street. Craig frowned. What
was
that he was carrying? Craig
waited till the guy was closer and squinted his eyes to try and get a better
look. A rug?
What the hell? There’s all types of nutballs around here.
And
he looked like a real dirtbag as well. Filthy, sweaty, and messed up.
I mean
where the hell is he going? And why is he carrying a rug?
He was walking
funny too, kind of too upright and unnatural like he was trying not to attract
attention. Craig knew all too well about that kind of walk from his bad days,
carrying all kinds of illegal substances around while out of his gourd. The
sort of stuff that could get you a long jail sentence. Nah, this guy was
definitely up to something.

Craig scrutinized him closer.

His pants were scuffed with dirt and what
looked like grass stains. But it was that damn rug on his shoulder that was
bothering him, there was something…

…yeah, something
familiar
about it.

He stood up from the deckchair and walked
to the end of the yard, his eyes fixed on that guy. By then he’d gone past the
house. Craig squinted his eyes.
Was there something wrapped in that rug?

He recoiled in horror.
Jesus Christ, I
think there is!

His jaw dropped. It was a...
pair of
feet? What the hell?!

Craig’s mind began working crazily.

Then, a terrible reality hit him; his eyes
widened in terror. “Get the hell outta here!” he growled to himself in total
disbelief.

He raced over to his deckchair, bent down
and picked up the flashlight he kept beneath it. He then ran toward the house,
racing past Jeff, who was now sitting up in his chair.

“What’s wrong?” he asked Craig in a
concerned voice.

“That dirty guy!” Craig shouted over his
shoulder before shoving open the metal shutter. He stood in the doorway and
stared, frozen. His eyes locked onto Marlon’s body at the foot of the stairs. “What
the...” he gasped. His senses slammed together; he made for the stairs.
Nothing
better have happened to Drake,
his mind feared.
Christ, how could we
have been so stupid to leave him? I thought he was just being paranoid the
whole time…

He raced up the stairs, flicking on his
flash.

By then Jeff had entered the house. “Marlon!”
he snapped. “Jesus Christ, what happened?”

Craig just shook his head, dumbstruck. He
reached the top of the stairs where his flash lit up bare floorboards on the
landing. In his mind’s eye, he could see the rug on that guy’s shoulder. Then,
he could place it.
That rug, it used to be here! It’s supposed to be right
here!

His wide eyes flicked over to Drake’s
bedroom door; it was open, light was spilling out from inside. Craig’s mouth
suddenly went dry; dread rose rapidly inside him. He darted through the
corridor and jumped into Drake’s room. He pulled up and scanned the place with
frantic eyes; they locked onto Drake’s bed.

It was empty.

“Drake?
Drake
?”

There was no answer.

Jeff then came to the door and looked
around, a puzzled expression on his face. “Where is he? What’s going on?”

Craig turned to face him. His eyes were
wild with concern “That guy!” he exclaimed, pointing at the door. “The one with
the rug on his shoulder. He killed Drake!”

*****

Dom licked his lips in anticipation; a
smile spread across his cheeks. The sanctuary of the garage was within his
grasp. He thought about making a dash for the final meters; he was nearly there,
why not? The two assholes in the deckchairs was why not. If they saw him
suddenly start making a break, they might get suspicious. No, it was best to
stay cool, keep the steady pace going. He’d get there before he even knew it.
But it wasn’t easy to stay cool. His legs were itching to run, so was his
heart.
Just a little more, buddy. You’ve come this far, just stay cool for a
little while longer.

He puffed his cheeks and stayed focused,
ignoring the threat of the fangheads, ignoring the burn in his shoulder,
ignoring the itch in his jelly legs. It was a test. All a test. And, man, he
was passing with flying colors. Just a little more to go...

He brushed past more litter on the
sidewalk. His Ford drew closer...

Come on, come on.
He felt like a dog that was having a fat steak dangled over it just
high enough that it was out of its reach. He was so close, so close, so—

“HEY! YOU! ASSHOLE!”

Dom’s heart kicked. He spun toward 1428.
His eyes bulged. The two guards were running his way. They were in a mad panic,
their faces twisted in anger.

Oh,
crap...

Dom didn’t hang around. He immediately
turned and began pumping his legs. It wasn’t easy; Drake’s weight was slowing
him down. There was no way he could hit top speed. In no time, his legs and
chest were burning, and he’d hardly got anywhere. He pushed on as hard as he
could. Just one final effort, buddy! Just make it to that car! JUST MAKE IT!

He saw a small trash bag at the last
second. He managed to hop over it just in time, clipping the top of it with the
front of his sneaker. If he’d tripped...

Forget that!

He regained his balance with his next
stride, fear and adrenaline juddering through his veins. Behind him, he could
hear their rabid panting, their feet beating on the sidewalk like a tribal
drum.

He kept going, that garage drawing
tantalizingly close.

“Stop! Hey!” he heard one of them shout in
between breaths. “Stop!”

Dom didn’t stop. Instead, he pumped his
legs and free arm ferociously, his own breathing hot and ragged.

“Come on, Jeff!” Dom then heard one of them
say.

“I’m tryin’, dude!” Jeff said back in a
wheezy voice.

Dom realized Jeff wasn’t up to the chase.
It gave him hope.

He put more juice into his limbs. He
groaned under the strain, then hit the glory of the garage forecourt. His heart
jumped into his throat again. His car sat there, waiting for him like a long
lost brother. He pulled up, throwing out a hand. He managed to pop the trunk;
the lid flew up. The empty trunk was waiting.

Dom went to dump the rug in there when the
horror of a hand landed on his shoulder. He yelped. He spun instinctively
toward it. For a split second, he was fronted by the guard that wasn’t Jeff,
his face pinched in anger. That changed once the rug swung around and smashed
into the side of his head with a dull thud. The fanghead grunted; the force of
the blow sent him reeling across the sidewalk. He smashed headfirst into a
streetlight with a comical
dang!
sound. He hit the floor in a painful
heap, groaning, and rubbing his head.

Dom grinned at the irony. “Nice one, Drake!”
he said to the rug, giving it a quick pat with his free hand. His eyes then
zoned in on the street; a huffing and puffing Jeff was making his way up to
them both. He held out a tired hand. “Hey!” he managed.

Dom didn’t wanna give him a chance. He
dumped Drake into the trunk. One end of the rug stuck out the side. Dom huffed.
He squashed it in with his hands, then stamped on it with his foot, squeezing
it in as best he could. He brought the lid of the boot down. It wouldn’t close.
“Come on! Come on!” He stammered through clenched teeth as he pushed it down a
few times. Then, finally, it clicked shut. “Snug as a bug!” Dom said as he made
a dash for the driver’s seat. Before he got in. He checked on the guards. The
one he floored was making his way back up to his feet. Jeff was now a few yards
away. He seemed to be picking up a second wind. Dom threw his car door open and
jumped in. His keys fumbled in his hands; he almost dropped them and if he had,
they would’ve got him. Instead, he got the final bit of luck he needed. The key
jabbed smoothly into the ignition. He yanked it around; the engine jumped into
life. He cranked into reverse and slammed the gas; the tires squealed. The car
shot back onto the street, the unnamed fanghead now on his feet. He jumped out
of the way in the nick of time. Dom spun the wheel; the car swung around with a
screech. He hit the brakes. He came to an abrupt stop. Jeff had finally caught
up. He was in the middle of the road, fronting Dom. He stood with his arms out
to the sides like a Sumo wrestler about to lunge.

Dom honked his horn. “Get outta the road!”
he screamed. Jeff stayed where he was.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dom saw the
other guard heading toward the car, rage stamped all over his face.

Dom slammed the gas. The tires screeched
across the tarmac. He shot forward, playing chicken with Jeff. “It’s you or
MEEEEE!” Dom shouted, pushing his foot down harder.

He saw the whites of Jeff’s eyeballs before
he chickened out and jumped out of the way. Jeff smashed the side of Dom’s car
as he shot past. There was a loud crack. Dom flinched. He hit the gas harder,
switching through the gears, picking up speed. He checked his rear view with
frantic eyes to see both fangheads, Jeff on his ass in the middle of the road,
getting smaller and smaller. He checked the road ahead, then checked his rear
view again. Now they were tiny specks in his mirror.

And he’d made a clean escape.

A wave of relief surged up into his chest,
almost causing him to collapse back in his seat; he just about held on. He
wiped the grimy sweat from his face as he shot through the streets.
That was
so freakin intense, I think I’m gonna have a heart attack!
He let out a
rueful chuckle and his heart calmed to a normal beat.

Thank God that’s over!

He grabbed his chest and rubbed it.

Now,
he
thought.
Now to get them hard earned dollars.
He put his foot down, keen
to get out of the inner city, where he’d hit the highway up to Beauchamp’s
mansion. He wound down his window and sucked in the polluted city air as it
rushed into the car. Right then, it felt like Heaven.

Dom finally pulled up outside the
Beauchamp mansion and killed the engine. The second he did, his head
involuntarily
flopped
down onto the steering wheel. At
the same time, his chest deflated like it had been pumped up full of poison gas
for the past couple of hours and finally now released. Behind his closed eyes
was a black, blissful peace.
Man, I’d love to just go to sleep right now.
Pure, restful sleep with some nice dreams about beaches and palm trees.

The way up to the mansion was almost as bad
as being in that house. Watching his rear view every two seconds for cops or
fangheads or vampires or whatever the hell. He made super sure not to make any
kind of traffic violation in case he got pulled. What with having a dead
vampire rolled up in a rug stashed in his trunk, that would’ve been bad news.
He watched his speed, staying well within the speed limit, put the brakes on
whenever he approached a traffic light instead of jumping any reds. He could
swear he was getting funny looks from other drivers like they knew what he had
in the trunk. Or maybe he was just being paranoid. Either way, it made the
journey that more edgy.

The relief of pulling up to the gates of
the Beauchamp mansion was unparalleled. It was like crawling up into a warm bed
after being out in a torrential blizzard. The whole estate was quiet as usual
and right then, that quiet was golden.

    He glanced down at his hands. They were
dirty, cut and bleeding. And they were shaking as if he had developed
Parkinson’s over the last couple of hours. He shook his head. If he had to go
through what he just went through on every job, he
would
end up with all
kinds of disorders. Trauma. Paranoid schizophrenia. Brain hemorrhages from
acute stress. He unzipped his jacket to assess the damage that lunkhead Marlon
had done on him. The stab wound had clotted, which was lucky because it could
have caused a serious problem if it carried on bleeding. And that would have
meant a visit to the hospital. He shivered. It just caused him a bit of pain
when he breathed, but he could live with that.
Asshole could have killed me,
he suddenly realized as if he hadn’t before. How true was that? He could be
six feet under right now.
If that chick hadn’t stormed in at that exact
moment, I would’ve got myself killed.
He chuckled humorlessly at the
thought.
Who the hell was she anyway? Why was she there? And did you see
those eyes? Like jewels...

   
He still
couldn’t shake them off. Those emerald eyes. They were everywhere, like a
hallucination that wouldn’t fade.
He shivered again.
Well, whoever she was, she appeared to have issues of her own with vampires,
which couldn’t be a bad thing. She seemed to know a lot about them and had the
equipment to deal with them. The only problem Dom could envisage would be if he
crossed paths with her again on a job and she tried stealing his bounty. Then,
they may have a problem...

   
But, she wasn’t there for a bounty,
or even to kill Drake. It was like she was there only to help me...

But why? Who am I to her?

    His head began to hurt and he shook it.
This ain’t the time to think about things like that, buddy.

It’s payday. He smiled faintly. The smell
of money was in the air. And he’d earned it.

He breathed a big sigh of relief and zipped
up his jacket again; he didn’t want Beauchamp to see any wounds. Didn’t want
him to think he hit any snags. He wanted to look as pro as possible. And why
not? His first day on the job and it was a rousing success. He gazed at his
reflection in the rear view and shrugged. “No problem,” he said to himself,
before looking around. “No problem,” he repeated. He grinned as he got out the
car, the gray skies staring down at him. He pushed the intercom.

After a bit, Beauchamp’s regal voice then
answered.
“Hello?”

“Mr. Beauchamp. It’s me. Dom. I’m outside.
I got him, for you, Mr. Beauchamp,” he said in a relief-riddled voice. “I got
him.”

“That’s excellent news, my boy. Do come
in.”

*****

The gates opened and Dom rolled into the
Beauchamp residence. He pulled up outside the front doors,
the
place as silent and unruffled as the last time he was there. He
threw the car door open and swung his feet out onto the gravel. He stood up
straight and stretched, the aftermath now settling inside him; relief, freedom,
liberation from all those negative thoughts and emotions while on the job. It
was a crystal clear waterfall cascading into a serene pool of cool water. He
sucked it up, bathed in it.

The front door then opened and Beauchamp’s
skinny frame came ambling out of the house to join him, his face a portrait of
enthusiasm. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. On seeing Dom, he
grinned. “Welcome back, my boy! So good to see you.” He gave Dom a small pat on
the back. “I prayed for your return.”

Dom grinned back. “And here I am...”

Beauchamp nodded. “Indeed. How did it go?
No hitches I trust.”

“No sweat, Mr. Beauchamp,” Dom replied with
a nonchalant shake of his head. “An in-out job. In. Kill. Out. Piece of cake.”

Beauchamp chuckled. “That’s good to hear,
my boy. Now, where is the rascal?”

“In the trunk. Come on.”

Dom led him to the trunk of his car, both
pairs of their feet crunching on gravel in unison. Dom felt like some kind of
drug dealer about to do complete a transaction for a suitcase full of cocaine
he had stashed in the trunk. He checked the skies for police helicopters.

Don’t be a dummy. I doubt cops would be
bothering this guy...

Dom nodded to himself. That made sense. He
got to the trunk and then flipped it open.

The package was stuffed in there. Beauchamp
peered downward, his eyes landing on the bare feet poking out the end of the
rolled rug. They instantly began to redden. “Oh, my...” he said, looking up at
Dom. “Doesn’t look much like a vampire.”

“Trust me, that’s him, Mr. Beauchamp,” Dom
replied. He reached down, grabbed the edges of the rug and yanked them. Slowly,
Drake’s head began to emerge from beneath the rug. His face was all distorted,
like a waxwork left in an oven for too long.

Dom stepped back and sniffed loudly,
rubbing his nose at the same time. He clapped his hands together and opened
them up like he was presenting Beauchamp with a piece of art. Beauchamp took a
tentative step forward and peered down into the trunk. His eyes widened. He grabbed
a white handkerchief from his trouser pocket and put it up to his mouth and
nose. “My goodness!” he gasped, turning to face Dom.

Dom nodded ruefully.

Beauchamp took another peek from over his
hanky. “This is him is it?” he said, pointing at the corpse in the trunk “The
one who took Patricia?”

Dom shrugged. “Yep. That’s him. What’s left
of him, anyways...”

Beauchamp sighed and nodded, removing the
hanky from his face. He cleared his throat and straightened his back. “Excellent
work, my boy,” he said, patting Dom on the shoulder. He then glanced up at Dom
with a wry grin and a gleam in his eye. “You know, there could be a lucrative
future for you in this...”

Dom gave him a slow, deliberate nod. “Maybe,
Mr. Beauchamp.
May
-be...”

“Righteo. Without further ado. Here’s your
money. Plus a bonus for a job well done.” Beauchamp produced a brown envelope
from his pocket and handed it to Dom.

Dom’s eyes lit up. With a wide grin, he
took the bulging envelope and pulled it tight to his chest. It felt fat, full
of notes. It was like touching silk for the first time. It was hard cold cash.
And it felt lovely. A wave of relief washed over him.

Beauchamp swallowed, looked down at the
trunk and nodded. “Okay, I’ll take it from here.”

Dom frowned. “You mean you’ll take the
body?” Dom asked, his face a portrait of surprise.

Beauchamp nodded briskly. “Yes. I’m
thinking of having what’s left of the head stuffed and put on my wall.”

Dom chuckled.

“Saves
you
the trouble of disposing
of it, my boy. Heavens knows you’ve been through enough trouble to get it here.”

Dom wanted to say ‘too bloody right, old
chap’, but bit his tongue.

Beauchamp clapped his hands. “Right, now if
you could just bring the whole lot through to the rear garden, I’d be most
grateful.”

Dom duly obliged.