Vampires (8 page)

It was plenty scary. All four were Americans, all four young. All four wired to the gills. The dope didn't even seem to affect them, so God knows how long they'd been awake and psyching up to do this. Two or three days at least. Maybe a week.

I was dead meat.

There was a fifth guy there. Hispanic, but I knew damn well he wasn't a Mexican. He was cold sober and cold-eyed and dressed the way he thought American gangsters were supposed to dress. He chewed a toothpick and played with the gold on his wrists and fingers and around his neck. He was the one they were trying to impress. They kept offering him speed. He shook his head and smiled. Then he looked at me with a sly sneer of personal triumph. He suggested they keep the gag in my mouth. They did.

The moment came. They all exchanged nervous looks and then looked at the Hispanic and be looked at them as if to say, “Well?”

The leader looked a bit like Cat, thin and blond, and he licked his lips and nodded to the others and they all stood up. The leader reached for his gun. Two of the others did the same.

Felix appeared without warning in the doorway behind them.

“Knock, knock,” he said quietly.

They jumped like they'd been zapped by a laser beam. They spun around, cocking their pistols, or trying to get them out with jerking slippery hands- And I thought they were going to shoot him. Or at least

shoot at him. But they didn't. They recognized him at the last split second, and didn't shoot. The air was filled with the sound of their roaring breath.

Felix, feigning concern, took a step back and raised his hands. He smiled. “Don't shoot, Yankee!”

There was about a three-beat pause while everyone's heart was restarted. Felix, still smiling, lowered his hands and strolled casually into the room. He stopped in front of my table and lit a cigarette. He regarded the blond.

“Cliff, you look like shit,” He looked around at the rest of them. “The rest of you look worse.” He paused when be came to the Hispanic. His smile remained but his eyes looked hard. “I see the company rep is here.”

Then he did a scary thing. He took one of the chairs abandoned by the others, the one next to me, and plopped down in it. He looked at me, said, “Hi, Jack,” and tapped his cigarette in the ashtray.

Cliff's eyes went wide. He stared, took a step toward us without thinking. “You know this guy?”

Felix remained calm. “Sure. Got drunk with him a month ago.”

One of the others, a dark-haired scruffy one with tattoos, all but lunged forward.

“Did you know he was a narc?” be demanded.

“Not at the time.” Felix took a puff. “I found out later.”

“Then why didn't you tell us?” the guy wanted to know.

“What for, Randy?” Felix replied calmly, looking him dead in the eye. “You told me you were getting out of the business.”

Randy looked like be was about to explode-embarrassed, ashamed, and worse, angered by it.

“You knew we were lying!” he spat.

Felix continued to eye him coldly. “Did I?” he replied with a faint touch of hurt in his voice.

It got quiet for a second, then Felix said, “Sit down, Cliff. Or shoot me.”

Cliff looked down at the gun still in his hands-a big monster .357-glanced at the others, then stuck it into his holster and sat down. Randy sat down, too. But he put his Colt automatic on the table in front of him. The third and fourth Americans-one was fat and one bad a beard-put guns away and drew up chairs on the edge of the circle.

They all kept glancing over at the Hispanic, who hadn't moved but clearly didn't like what was going on.

“What the hell are you doing here, Felix?” asked Cliff abruptly.

“I came,” he replied with a jerk of his head at me, “to rescue Jack, here.”

Then he smiled again.

There was a pause.., and then everyone, save the His~ panic and me, started to laugh.

But it didn't last very long. It couldn't. The scene was just too hot.

“C'mon, Felix,” continued Cliff. “Be serious. What are you doing here?”

Felix smiled. “I am serious.”

And it all got very tense again. Cliff lit a cigarette with shaky fingers, leaned toward Felix, and spoke the way he probably thought real men do.

“Felix, look. I know you want to get out and I know you never liked this part of it, the smack. And we all understood that, didn't we?”

And the other three nodded soberly.

“But,” he continued, “we're moving up. We understand how you feel-really-but we're going ahead. There's just too much at stake here.”

Felix leaned back. “Let's see if I can get this straight, here. You're about to murder an American policeman for the privilege of going on the Cuban payroll to smuggle raw heroin onto the streets of the United States?” He dropped his cigarette on the floor and stomped on it. “And you call it moving up?”

Randy exploded. More rage and shame and hatred for Felix for making him see it. “Goddamn you, Felix! You always put things like that! You love putting things in the worst possible way!”

And Felix just stared at him like he was from another planet.

It was getting hotter in a hurry.

“However you wanna put it, Felix. Fine. That's what we're going to do,” said Cliff, trying to stay calm. “Now the best thing for you to do is just leave and.. . just leave us alone.”

Felix's voice was ice-crystal clear. “You know I can't do that, Cliff.”

And then he did a spooky thing. The whole time we'd been drinking that night I'd never noticed his shoulder holster and I'm used to looking for them. But he turned in his chair a certain way and suddenly it was exposed to the room.

“Let me put this so you can understand it,” he said in a gentle, dead voice. “I'm not going to let this happen. I love you all. Even when I don't like you. But I won't let you kill him. Look, I disagree with those bullshit drug laws as much as anyone alive but I will not let you murder an American cop just for doing his fucking job. Do you understand that? Am I being very clear?”

He sat back in his chair and looked right at Cliff. “Let him go,” said Felix.

Cliff exchanged half-glances with the others. Then decided to sit tough. “No,” he said simply.

Felix sighed. “Then we fight.”

Long pause. Cliff spoke: “Felix, you can't really mean this. You're not gonna do it-track us down to avenge some pig narc? C'mon!”

“I'm not going to do that. I'm going to stop you from killing him.”

Randy, wired up and all but hopping in his chair, said, “How?”

Felix eyed him. “I'm going to shoot you if you don't let him go.”

Randy tried a sneer. “When?”

And Felix said, “Now,” and I thought he was the craziest sonuvabitch I'd ever seen in my life. There were five of them and he just sat there for a second and so did everyone else except Cliff, who stared hard at him and saw he meant it, saw he was serious, saw be was going to start it right there and then against all of them, all of them and more-it didn't mean a shit to Felix. It was really going to happen. Felix was really gonna- And Cliff reached for Randy's automatic on the table in

front of him.

Felix shot him through the cheek, rose, shot Randy through his open gaping mouth already covered in his friend's blood, shot the fat one square in the chest and blew him back, shot the one with the beard, who had managed to get his gun out and cock it, through the throat. And the Hispanic, the Cuban, who had risen frozen at the far side of the room, he shot right between the eyes.

It took three seconds.

Felix's face was beet red. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He took his nine-millimeter in his left hand and turned to me, roaring, “I told you to leave, you dirty stupid motherfucker!”

Then with his free right hand he slapped me so hard my chair flew over backward and shattered beneath me. I lay there stunned and gasping for breath. When I looked over, Felix was vomiting onto the floor, still bawling like a baby, sobbing so hard it looked like it hurt.

After a while he stopped. He stood up, gun still in his hand. He gave me this kinda vacant look, then walked out the door and out of sight. He didn't even bother to untie me.

I didn't see him again for years. Until...

Gunman

“Until when?” Annabelle asked. Cat saw her face. It looked pale.

“Until. ..” began Jack, suddenly looking past them

across the room to the bar, “a few minutes ago.”

Everyone turned to follow his gaze. Davette recognized the young man standing up from his stool at the corner of the bar, had noticed that old WWII leather flying jacket when they had come in.

But I never would have guessed just by looking at him.

And then she thought, still watching the man approach

them; But now that I've been told...

Yes. Yes, it's him. He's the one who did that.

Felix stopped beside their booth and stared down at Jack

Crow. His voice was a harsh bitter crackle.

“Come to bust me at last, Crow?”

Jack's smile was grim. “It's worse than that.” Felix barely nodded. “It would be.”

Felix led the way up some back stairs to a small one-bedroom apartment and office with a huge picture window of one-way glass overlooking the bar. Felix sat down at his desk with his back to that window, chain-smoking and listening with stony silence as Jack spoke the tale of Vampire$ Inc.

His only discernible reactions came from his face, already thin, which seemed to stretch into a death mask's gauntness, and from his eyes, already piercing, which became uncomfortable to meet.

Watching him all the while-for no one could take eyes from his steaming intensity-Annabelle could not pin down her feelings. She recognized Felix easily from Jack's story. The laugh lines were there from the happy drunk who climbed Mexican trees.

And so was the helpless acuity of a man vised so tight

he'd had to gun down four friends and a stranger at a kitchen table for a principle.

Eerie, she thought. I don't know whether to run screaming into the night or pull him into my lap and cuddle him

until he can sleep.

Something else bothered her. His few looks away from Jack were at Davette. Everyone else he had dismissed with his first glance. But his face, that rock face, kept coming back to the young journalist. His face did soften, Annabelle thought, when he did this. But damn well not enough for Annabelle.

Not nearly enough.

When Jack had finished, all were quiet for several seconds. Then Felix reached forward and stubbed out his last cigarette. He spoke in a harsh, rasping, bitter voice:

"Get out.

“Take your band of merry men and your fairy tales and your”-he glanced briefly, painfully, at Davette- “your.. . siren.. . and any other reasons you've got to get me to do more killing and get the fuck out!”

Team Crow, save for Jack, sat in collective stunned silence. It was absolutely the very last reaction they had expected.

No one had ever turned them down before.

Carl Joplin opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but Felix stood up quickly, cutting him off.

“Now!” he thundered.

They left. Without anyone saying a word, they left, Felix by then standing in the center of the room glaring ferociously at them as they went.

Save for their limo, the street was all but deserted. Jack tapped lightly on the glass and the dozing driver scrambled out to open doors. But for a moment no one moved to get in. They just stood there looking at the night.

“Well,” offered Carl at last, “he was pretty weird for us anyway.”

Jack looked at him and laughed. “Are you kidding, Joplin?” He laughed again. “The man is ours!”

All eyed him warily.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, 0 Great Leader,” said Carl. “But wasn't that a 'no' he gave us?”

“I'll correct you,” added Cat. He turned to Jack. “It was, in fact, about the firmest goddamn 'no' I've ever heard.”

The other three, Annabelle, Davette, Adam, nodded without speaking.

Jack laughed again.

“He's ours, I tell you. You know what he'll do? Next time I see him-”

“You're going to see him again?” asked Annabelle.

“You think that's wise?” added Davette.

Jack grinned. “Got to. He doesn't know how to reach us. Anyway, next time I put it to him he'll demand something outrageous. Money, probably. A hundred grand or the like.” He nodded to the driver who walked around and got behind the wheel. He waved the others into the car. “I'll agree, we'll shake hands, and then he's in. C'mon.”

They obeyed. Reluctantly, suspiciously. When they had all gotten situated, Cat finally spoke up for the rest.

“Bwana? Are you sure we're all talking about the same dude?”

Everyone smiled.

“How,” Annabelle wanted to know, “can you be so sure, dear? I mean about the money and the rest. Why didn't he just ask for it tonight?”

He smiled warmly at her. “He was bluffing tonight. Hoping we'd all go away. When it doesn't work-which he knows damn well it won't-he'll just make it tougher on me out of spite. He needs the money as an excuse to give in to himself.”

Everybody thought about that for a second.

Finally, Cat asked, “Are you sure we're talking about the same dude?”

“Let me tell you something, old buddy,” replied Jack before anyone else could speak. “More than you, more than me, that man was made to do this job.”

He paused, sighed. “Poor bastard.” He looked at the driver. “Hit it.”

If anyone noticed Davette's furious blushing or triphammer heartbeat they didn't say anything. Thank God! she thought. Because she couldn't explain it either. But Lord, what a. tug. .

Thirty minutes later Felix still stood as he had when they had gone, stiff and silent in the middle of the room.

Why can't I cry? he thought. And then he thought: I should be allowed to cry.

It isn't fair.

He had doubted not one word Jack Crow had told him.

That a world existed where vampires really lived was no surprise at all. A world of evil incarnate gnawing men only made sense.

What surprised him was how long it had taken for that world to finally find him and drag him inside.

It's not fair, he thought. I wanted to do something real.

Lord; but she was beautiful.

Jack Crow, lying sleepy-drunk in the huge bed of the suite's master bedroom, felt oddly content.

He felt for Felix. He really did. But no more than he did for himself or for Cat. And besides, he'd really meant it when he'd said Felix was made for the job.

Funny, he'd thought of Felix a lot in the years since Mexico but almost never in terms of the killing. It was as if that part of Felix, that killing part, had been kept under the surface. Or in his dreams. Or something.

He roiled over on his side and scrunched his pillow better. He loved these pillows. Not the usual hard-as-a-rock hotel pillows. Made to last a lifetime and probably float until help came. “Ladies and gentlemen, should we experience turbulence and the hotel begin to sink, your flotation device is found under your bedspread...”

Ha. Yep, Felix was the right move. Silver bullets was the right move. And for the first time he was able to think back to the night of the massacre with something less than bone-grinding anguish, something more than impotent horror. Now it was something like: Gotcha, bastards. Gotcha! Right where I- And then he remembered for the first time. . . No, not

the first time. He'd always remembered that. But he'd never thought of it, never really seen it, but it had happened, not once but three times. God! Three times it had done it. Three times! Three times!

The fiend roaring out of the motel and them jammed in the sheriff's truck- Three times...

And hauling ass down the highway leaving David and Anthony and the priest and the slaughtered whores and it had come down the highway after them- Three times..

And it had caught them, actually caught them, and leapt onto the goddamned truck and then had done it again before it smashed through the back windshield and he'd blown that hole in its face.

Three times.

The vampire had called his name three times.

Jack Crow sat up in bed and his face was pale in the dark and he trembled and sweated and was as scared as he'd ever been in his life.

The vampire had known his name.

It had known him.

It knew me. Hell! It... It.

It knows me. It's still alive!

His eyes darted to the curtained window.

Does it know where I am?

And he sat there, for hours, trying to think how such a thing could be and what it meant and. . . and.

And I don't even have my crossbow. It's at the house.

But even if I did, what difference would it make? It's night.

It's night and dark and you can't kill them at night anyway.

At least, no one ever has.

But what if it comes for me right now? What if it comes for all of us? Cat! And Annabelle! Oh, God! Anna-belle.

He started to get up and race into the other rooms and gather everyone up and they could run, get out of the hotel and- And what? And go where? With what plan? He lay back down in the bed and did an amazing thing,

something only one of his breed could have done. He thought:

I'm tired and drunk and I will not think about this now. Fuck it.

Then he rolled back over on his side and went to sleep.

And the next morning, right on cue, the phone finally rang.