Six Times Deadly: A Lawson Vampire Story Collection (The Lawson Vampire Series) (2 page)

I thought about Teresa and how I’d left her in that old resort up in Mohunk.
 
How her eyes had gone so deep black as her pupils had finally dilated as she died.
 
I could remember feeling how cold she’d gone when the evil midget Cho had stuck her with a couple of hypodermics full of his new designer drug Saber.

Teresa’d been a casualty of war.
 
My war.
 
She’d been an innocent that I’d gotten caught up in the affairs of the vampire world.
 
She was someplace no human should have ever been.
 
And it was my fault she was dead.

I was supposed to be out there protecting people and here I was getting them killed.
 
No one would ever shed much of a tear over Teresa.
 
None of my superiors would care as long as her death didn’t threaten the Balance.
 
They could live with her death no problem.

I wondered if I could.

“Still deep in thought?”

I glanced up and found the bartender back in front of me.
 
“I thought I killed any trace of conversation.”

“I’ve got other customers.”

I looked around.
 
The two Internet geniuses were still huddled in the back booth.
 
They must have been discussing something really absorbing because neither of their glasses looked like they’d been touched.
 
The guy at the end of the bar stared into the foamy depths of his beer stein and took a hefty pull on it before thunking it down again.

The place was dead.

“Don’t let me keep you from anything.”

He frowned and moved off to the other end of the bar to fill the guy’s mug with a fresh draft.
 
All the while, he kept staring at me.
 
Frankly, I was getting a little tired of it.

I sipped my drink some more.
 
Alcohol wasn’t exactly a prescription for lifting my spirits.
 
Damned stuff made you even more depressed.
 
Truth was, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted my spirits elevated.
 
Sometimes, a good funk is just the kick in the ass you need to get moving again.

Or maybe I was changing.
 
Maybe I was becoming one of those folks who needs the dozen or so prescription tablets I saw advertised ad nauseam on the evening news every night while I was trying to enjoy my dinner without thinking about heartburn, allergies, erectile dysfunction or my toe nails falling off.

Jesus Christ.

If things kept looking as dim as that, I’d save a bullet for myself and just be done with it.
 
Easier than dragging it out.
 
I think that was big problem with smokers in general.
 
In my eyes, it was suicide.
 
Sure, they’re dragging it out for years, but they’re killing themselves anyway.
 
Wouldn’t it be better to just do it fast and get it over with?
 
Cripes, at least I could muster some respect for them then.
 
A little courage of conviction goes a long way with me.

Cynical bastard.

Behind the bar, my own eyes stared back at me in the mirrored glass.
 
Someone had told me that once.
 
That I was too cynical.
 
I told them I was cynical because of all the hopeless and pathetic shit I’d seen traipsing around this damned planet in pursuit of some higher ideal that I wasn’t so sure I wanted to be a part of.

Then I kicked him in the balls.

Merry Christmas, sunshine.
 
Don’t want me to be cynical?
 
How about showing me why?
 
I could use a little proof of why I should give a shit if my mood pissed someone off.
 
I could stand seeing just a speck of brightness in this dreary-ass world where everyone was out for themselves and no one seemed to give a rat’s ass if you got screwed in the process.

Terrorism?
 
Wars?
 
Religious extremism?
 
It all boiled down to someone manipulating other people so they could line their own pockets.
 
It came down to greed, plain and simple.
 
People could scream all they wanted that they were doing things in the interest of their fellow man, but it was all bullshit.
 
All it took was a set of eyes unbiased enough to see through the fog.
 
Look deep enough and everyone boiled down to the least common denominator of ‘selfish prick.’

“Need a refill?”

I sighed.
 
“I’m not done yet.”

“Figured maybe those ice cubes were starting to water down the drink.”

I nodded at the glasses behind the bar.
 
“You’re looking for something to do, some of those puppies back there look a bit smudged.”

“Grumpy bastard, aren’t you?”

I grinned.
 
“You’re bowling me over with that cry-on-my-shoulder-bartender routine.”

“You should see me when I get annoyed.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

He shrugged.
 
“Funny thing about being annoyed.
 
It doesn’t always let you choose the time and place, you know?”

“I know a lot of things like that.”

“I’ll bet you do.”
 
He slapped his towel down on the bar.
 
“Where you off to, anyway?”

“Japan.”

“No shit?”

“Not that I can see.”

He smirked.
 
“Why would you go over there?”

I swirled some more of the drink around my mouth.
 
He might have been right about the ice cubes.
 
“The simplest answer of all.”

“Yeah?”

“There ain’t here.”

“You running from something?”

I nudged the glass toward him.
 
“A watery drink right now.”

He poured me a fresh one and slid it back.
 
“Anything else?”

“You don’t have enough Bombay Sapphire back there to last how long it would take me to go down the list.”

“That long?” He mopped the bar with the towel and slung it over his shoulder.

I shrugged.
 
“We’re not talking about a thirty-second news bite.”

“So you came in here to lose yourself?”

I looked at him again.
 
Harder this time.
 
“I came in here for a drink.
 
Nothing more.”

The towel came down on the bar again.
 
“I wonder how many people would ever ask a bartender if his life was all a bed of roses.”

“Probably not many.”

“They don’t care, that’s what it is.”
 
He leaned back and sighed.
 
“I’ve heard so many goddamned sob stories from the whiniest bunch of losers on the planet.
 
Sometimes it makes me sick.”

I was considering being offended at the whiny bunch of losers comment, but let it pass.
 
The drink was good, after all.
 
“Only sometimes?”

“Sometimes you enjoy it.
 
It gives you a different perspective on your own life.
 
Makes you appreciate all the good things you have.”

“I guess.”

“Like only recently.
 
This guy comes in sits down about where you’re sitting right now and lays down the worst story I ever heard.
 
I mean really bust-your-balls shit.
 
Like it was either something good happened in the next few minutes or people were going to die.”

“That bad?”

“Yep.”

I glanced down the bar again to see if the bartender’s story had piqued the curiosity of any of the other guys.
 
None of them showed any interest.
 
The guy down the bar seemed to be having trouble staying awake.

I looked back at the bartender.
 
“So, what was the story?”

“Comes in this guy, and says to me, ‘you know what it’s like to not know if you’re going to be alive in the next few minutes?’”

“Helluvan opener.
 
Did he say he used it to get laid or not?”

“I don’t think he did.
 
It’d scare off the chicks.”

“Probably.”
 
Although I knew one or two who might have found that pretty damned alluring.

“So I says to him I says, ‘Buddy, you want a drink or what?’ and he looks back at me and says, ‘just one because I’ve got a gun.’”

“Lucky you getting a poet like that.”

“I asked him why he had a gun and he told me he was going to get two of his friends and hold the airport hostage.”

“The whole airport?”
 
I smiled.
 
“Three guys to one airport.
 
The numbers don’t exactly add up.”

“That’s what I thought, but this guy, he don’t look like that kind of thing bothers him all that much.
 
I got the feeling he was having a drink to celebrate his imminent demise.”

“So what this guy looked like a terrorist?”

“He wasn’t Muslim.
 
Didn’t look like a convert from behind bars, either, the way some of them blacks fall in with the Nation of Islam and shit.
 
Come out reborn and with those long-ass names I could never spell right.”

“Lotta folks find religion in jail.
 
Keeps them from getting raped.”

“And there are no atheists in a foxhole.
 
Yeah, I heard that before.”

“So this was a white guy?
 
Average Joe?”

“Yeah.”

“With a gun.”

“Uh huh.”

“And two pals?”

“Well, they come in a little later.
 
Didn’t look like him, either.
 
They looked professional like.
 
Business suits and stuff.
 
Maybe it was part of their disguise.”

“So this guy talks to them when they came in?
 
Them being friends and all?”

“Nope.
 
Not a word passed between them.
 
Like they didn’t want to acknowledge the other existed.
 
Weird, huh?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it weird.
 
A little screwy sure, but not the worst story caliber you just played down on me.”

“But it gets worse.”

I nursed my drink.
 
I could feel the gin working overtime to ease my pain.
 
It didn’t help that it took a lot more alcohol to get me drunk than it did for normal humans.
 
I’d have to have a few more of these before I felt the pain going away.
 
Of course, the way the bartender was telling his story, that might not have been much of an issue.

“So go on already.”

“This guy he drinks his first beer and then tells me that unfortunately, because he told me the plan, he was going to have to kill me.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah.
 
How’s that for a kicker?”

“Not what you want to hear at work.”

“Exactly.
 
Infidelity, bad bosses, bankruptcy, dead dogs, that’s what you hear about.
 
Finding out I was going to be killed wasn’t on that list.”

“I imagine I’d pour myself a glass of something from back there if I heard that.”

“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to do.”

“How come you didn’t?”

“Another customer came in.
 
I had to serve him instead.”

I hefted my drink in his direction.
 
“Well, here’s to you staying alive.”

“Day ain’t over yet.”

“Well, it’s obvious the guy didn’t fulfill his objective.
 
The place is fine.
 
Airport’s standing just as she ever was.
 
And unless I’m sadly mistaken, you are still very much alive.”

The bartender just looked at me with that sad kind of look I’ve seen teachers save for the kids who just don’t get it.
 
The guy probably had me riding the short bus to school in his mind.

“Maybe I was wrong about you.”

I finished off my drink.
 
“Could be.
 
I haven’t exactly been fulfilling a lot of people’s expectations about me lately.”

Somewhere between the gin and my melancholy mood, a tiny piece of my subconscious started buzzing.
 
I frowned and started to look up when I heard the telltale click of the hammer being pulled back on a pistol.

My eyes shifted right.
 
The barrel loomed like some giant black hole ready to suck in the life of everything around it.

The almost-asleep nobody from down the bar seemed pretty awake now.
 
And steady.
 
The way he held the gun told me he was no slouch with it, either.
 
I could see the determination set in his jaw.

“Nice little tale you had going there, asshole.”

The bartender shrugged.
 
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Oh sure I can.”
 
The pistol turned, coughed once and a bright bloom of red sprayed the front of the bartender’s shirt.
 
He crashed to the ground and lay still.
 
I could smell the smoke issuing out of the end of the gun.
 
I figured any minute now the door to the bar would crash open and all these heavily armed state troopers would pour in with their MP5s and hose this dude down.

That didn’t happen.

“Too noisy out there for them to hear one shot.”
 
He lowered the gun slightly and I felt okay about turning my head to look at him.

“So, what’s your beef?”

“No beef.”

“You just woke up today and decided you wanted to cause death and mayhem?”
 
I grinned.
 
“And I used to think I was impulsive.”