Vampire's Day (Book 1): Epicenter (2 page)

7. LJ

LJ was scared. He liked this particular corner, and earned good money there. He had a lot of customers and trade was brisk, especially on weekends, when he and his men could hardly keep up with demand. It was a valuable space that he had taken by force from the previous owner. For protection, he had everything he needed - a few baseball bats and an old Colt in the cache. He would not give up this territory without a fight.

But now LJ was scared. He was afraid to stand on his favorite corner, but it wasn’t because of a police raid or a competitor’s attack. It was something unusual, incomprehensible. It all started with reports of a shooting at the airport. And then, ten minutes later, shooting started in his quarter. Minutes ago, he’d heard a shotgun in a nearby street, then cries for help. What should he do? Flee? Leaving the territory without a guard? Big Joe would never forgive this.

“Look at this bastard!” said Shorty.

A man emerged from the alley and walked unsteadily to the middle of the street. He was clearly not a tramp, but, judging by the ragged condition of his expensive suit, someone had already beaten him well.

“Hey you, asshole!”

The man turned his face and LJ backed away. He heard Shorty whisper something about Jesus.

“Pigs, pigs fly!”

A patrol car stopped next to them, from which jumped the sadly familiar Officer Daniels and his partner.

“Lay down, hands behind your head!”

The man stood on the dividing line.

“Lay down!”

The man took a step towards the car, then a second one. LJ watched, knowing that Daniels was bound to shoot him.

“Bring him down!”

The man fell silently on the asphalt, as Daniel’s partner used his taser. It was a pity that he didn’t just shoot him.

“It’s time to move!”

“What's going on, boss? You could see how much he was hurt, he couldn’t even walk at all…”

Daniels’ partner didn’t manage to finish because a sudden hit in the stomach bounced him onto the hood of the patrol car. Daniels’ telescopic baton lowered onto the man’s shoulder and LJ heard bones breaking, but it didn’t stop the man. LJ hadn’t seen such fast movements, even in movies. Daniels was suddenly crushed like a paper cup, the man grabbing his throat with his bare teeth.

A shot rung out and the man’s body twitched. He dropped Daniels and rushed to the partner. They struggled for the gun, and LJ heard a couple of shots. He didn’t see who made the shots, but he saw where the bullet hit. The upper part of Shorty’s skull shattered like a watermelon, soiling the expensive blazer that LJ bought yesterday.

Two more shots. The man snatched Daniels’ partner’s gun and shot him several times, then once again used his teeth.

“Hey you!”

The man turned to him, but now LJ was ready for his crazy red eyes. He took a single shot, right in the forehead.

“Fuck!”

LJ put the gun in his belt, picked up a package of cocaine and a baseball bat, threw a last look at the corpses, and then ran. He headed around the corner, and didn’t see Officer Daniels begin to rise, trying to close the laceration on his neck.

8. Film

“So, girls, let's all repeat again.”

Rubinstein had always been convinced that in his business improvisation led to failure, and that success was achieved by careful planning. Several years ago, when he began his directing career, colleagues had openly laughed at him because of his thoroughness, predicting early failure, but he stood his ground, and it turned out he was right in the end. He knew that now, when the internet was literally overflowing with cheap, shoddy goods, the consumer would sooner or later be persuaded to take a higher quality. And he, Robb Rubinstein, provided such quality. This quality had become a trademark – Robb worked on expensive equipment, didn’t skimp on the services of experienced technicians, and hired the best actresses.

“General plan - Christie and Sharon, a little foreplay, two minutes. Passionately, girls, passionately and don’t hurry through it. I need a quality picture. Stacy, begin to play with yourself, and remember the smartphone – don’t keep it in the frame, show it a couple of times and don’t hide the logo with your fingers. That's it, clever girl.”

Lights, camera, music. The director preferred to work with music while he was filming; it gave the girls the right rhythm. Not in a hurry, but without wasting time, so that the viewer would be fully immersed in the film.

“Stacy, faster, drop the smartphone lower, well done. Christie, more aggression, light bites, and now softer, good.”

Stacy believed that she had the hardest part of the job. Robb, damn him, had decided to earn some extra money, and now she must add to her fucking with advertising a fucking phone. The smartphone was showing a fashion show and at least entertaining her – she certainly knew how to spend money… What the hell, what had happened to the fashion show? It had been interrupted by live stream news.

Shouts and screams of people on the street outside interrupted the filming, violating perfectly aligned scene of girls love.

“Tom, you schmuck, considering what I pay you…” The director shouted at the guard, and, without waiting for an answer, moved around to the open glass door to the courtyard. He came face to face with Tom, who staggered, leaving behind a long trail of small red drops. Tom stumbled inside, and not hearing Stacy’s cries, tried to point somewhere outside, and then collapsed on the expensive carpet.

9. Priority

“Look!”

“No way,” Officer Colvin said, looking towards where his partner pointed. They had been called here, but they knew nothing, and were preparing for the worst. The reality surpassed all expectations. They heard shooting, voices through the radio talked about riots, overhead buzzed a couple of helicopters, and a completely naked girl ran straight towards them. No, correction, she was not quite naked – she wore black high-heeled boots and had a phone in her hands, but that was all. The girl ran into the middle of the street, howling and waving her hands. They needed to stop this violation of public order.

“Stop!”

Colvin confidently grabbed Stacy, and pulled her to him, feeling the heat of her body.

“Hey, lady, stop… fuck!”

“What's happening?”

His partner saw something grab Colvin on his right leg, and, at the same moment, it seemed as though a huge wasp clutched his shoulder.

“What a bitch shoots? Come out, bastard!”

Number Eight didn’t go when Colvin’s partner call and ran into the alley, where a minute ago drove a fire truck. Priority, he reminded himself, priority. Fire: hot flame created a few minutes ago by a bottle of Molotov cocktails, greedily devouring the remains of a liquor store.

The fire brigade deployed its equipment, the chief shouting something into his mike. At the far end of the street several people, somewhere near the brakes howled, then a heavy blow, clinking glasses and triggered alarm.

Raise, aim, fire. He don’t shoot the residents; he needs the firefighters. Shot, shot, shot. The Chief saw him a second before Number Eight caught him in his rifle sight, and he even managed to pull the pistol, but the air rifle was faster, striking his shoulder. The firefighter recoiled a step, but didn’t drop the gun, and exchanged a couple of shots, although he didn’t manage to hit anything.

Sirens, gunshots, helicopter noise, screams - all this is becoming too loud and Number Eight decided to hide in a nearby house, but then he saw the ambulance. He slid behind a dumpster, waited a few seconds, and then fired from a distance of three meters into a passing car, right in the open window.

“Doc, hold on!”

“I'm OK, it's only a scratch!”

“We were supposed to meet the police here, but I don’t see them. What's going on, doc?!”

10. Mr. Johnson

“We have to run!”

“No, it’s better to stay here, under police protection, as ordered. You hear the sirens? They have already pulled more cops here, so now it’s better to stay in the building and not leave.”

“Is that Rodney King again?”

There were five people in the small grocery store - the shopkeeper and four customers. Mr. Johnson had come here with his granddaughter to buy her an ice cream when the shooting started, and then a police car drove up and the crew via speaker ordered citizens in the vicinity not to leave their houses, while they imposed order on the situation. When asked how much time it would take, they were unable to give a reply.

“What's in the news?”

The shopkeeper mumbled something unintelligible in his own language, and switched channels on a small TV. The same story was featured on all channels: live news about riots all across the city. The first reports had come in half an hour ago, and since then more and more, but nobody seemed to know yet who had organized these riots and why. Many had already been killed and wounded. The police had shot someone, and someone had shot a policeman in retaliation. Firefighters were being called to more and more fires, and citizens were being advised not to leave their houses.

“Look!”

A pair of cops had detained a completely naked girl, handcuffed her and put into the back seat of their car, despite her cries of protest. It seemed that one of the cops was lightly wounded, but where and when he received the wound, Johnson couldn’t see.

“No, we have to run!”

Opinions were divided, and two customers left the store, but the cops didn’t pay attention to them, their focus elsewhere.

“Take it.”

Mr. Johnson gave the shopkeeper a couple of bills, removed a bag from a rack and began to throw in a bar of chocolate, canned meat and other objects that he thought might be useful in this situation, including batteries, a tool kit with a hammer, and a medical patch.

“What are they doing?!”

The cops roughly dragged the naked girl out of the car and threw her onto the hood. They raped her, thought Johnson in shock, squeezing the handle of the hammer, they rape… A moment later, he realized that he was wrong. They didn’t rape her, they killed her. One grabbed her throat, and the second tore into her shoulder with his teeth.

“Shut the door!”

The shopkeeper pressed a button hidden under the counter, and the lock clicked loudly. The cop looked up from his feasting and stared at them with bloodshot eyes. He no longer looked like a human being. His hand reached for holster.

“Run through the back door!”

The shopkeeper grabbed his shotgun, jumped over the counter and disappeared into the back room. Johnson followed him, pushing his crying granddaughter. On the screen the local channel showed a screaming anchor girl as the studio door behind her was beaten with a heavy object.

11. Family business

The sign on the door showed ‘closed’. Usually the shop was open through lunches and weekends, fourteen hours a day without fail, no matter what happened. But today they were closed.

There was a knock on the glass door. Mr. Clarence looked up and saw through the glass a girl of about twelve years on roller skates, with large black knee and elbow pads, and a bright orange helmet on a light brown head. She wore jean shorts and a white T-shirt featuring an anime cartoon princess, drenched with blood from a ruptured throat. Pressed against the glass, the girl on roller skates noticed him and she wanted to get inside, pounding on the door with bloody hands. The glass was durable, and she can’t break it, but others could see her, and she was bringing too much attention to the shop.

Clarence took a chrome-plated Walther PPK in left hand, turned the key and opened the door. The girl threw herself at him, and then froze, her large gray eyes staring at the shopkeeper.

“Go away! Shoo!”

Clarence pushed her back on the sidewalk; she grabbed the lamp post, to keep from falling. Then she noticed some people nearby - neighbors who were quickly loading up their car. The girl pushed away from the pole and skated towards them, slowly at first, then faster and faster.

Clarence peered outside, watching the TV news helicopter, and then locked the door, took out a cell phone, read the message and put it back. A police car with flashing lights and howling sirens drove down the street, in the sky to TV helicopter joined Marines Black Hock. There, where the girl has gone, the shooting started.

Clarence walked briskly across the shop, headed around the counter and went through the small door leading to the garage. Inside there were welding lights, crashing tools, and the smell of hot steel - work was in full swing here.

“They are here,” he said to his wife, who was standing at the welding equipment. He raised a sledgehammer and went to the far wall, where large white bricks were lying. He had finished removing these bricks half an hour ago, and now only thin plasterboard separated them from the house next door.

There was a sudden knock-knock on the plate, first twice, then three, then two. Clarence knocked three times in response, raised the sledgehammer and, with a few strong blows demolished the plate, opening a passage for his early guests. Here they were – two men and a woman – all three in medical suits, weapons are not visible.

“Why make it so difficult? Why we couldn’t enter through the main entrance?”

“There is a police camera installed in the house at the front, it might still work. And the arrival of the ambulance crew to the neighbors behind the wall will not cause any suspicion. Those neighbors will not be able to say that they didn’t call any doctors, I have visited them in the morning.”