With Just Cause (8 page)

Deandra moved the mirror, picking up eight.
No... ten. No. She counted thirteen. They were all large,
fit-looking men. All dressed in some tan shaded camo material. All
sporting crossbows and guns. All standing with feet shoulder-width
apart, guns at the ready. Looking extremely efficient. Something
the 2100 Radical Society would likely never achieve. At least, not
while she belonged to it.

Preparing to survive the end of society was
no longer on Deandra’s agenda. Not anymore. She was going to get a
proposal of marriage that she’d accept, she’d become Missus Grimm
Bradley, and she was going to be the most ecstatically happy wife
ever.

At least, that’s what she planned to happen,
once she got out of this predicament.

The mirror caught a bit of light, splashed it
on one of the men’s faces, gaining his instant glance. Deandra
leapt for the end of the hall and then jumped right up into the
crossbeam of wood laced through the ceiling. And clung. Without
expending one bit of effort. She watched as the guy brought another
fellow with him to check where she’d just been standing, their
fingers resting on triggers, their eyes alert and watchful. They
went to the end of the hall and looked down both directions
branching out from there. Disappeared in opposite directions. A few
moments later they were back. She watched them shrug before
returning to the gathering room. Neither of them looked up.

She wasn’t even breathing hard. And she still
had the powder compact in her right palm. Wow. Unbelievable.

“I’m not an aficionado of torture, Mister
Griggins.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“But I was trained in the arts. All sorts of
variations. I think tonight I will pursue the Chinese Dynasty
Imperial method. Death by one thousand knives. Do you know what
that entails?”

“I’d rather not, actually,” Len replied.

Deandra dropped to the hall floor soundlessly
using more newly gained skills, much to her surprise. She skimmed
the floor in a running tip-toe to reach her prior vantage point. A
moment later she had the compact open and trained on the room. The
two men had returned to their previous positions. Another tip of
the mirror got her a distorted view of Len, and the old man facing
him, a weapon-toting guard on either side.

Two more. She amended her count of bad guys.
Fifteen. Maybe more outside. And the old guy looked near ninety.
Feeble. It took forever for his next spate of words to finish. He
had a cane he tapped on the floor occasionally for emphasis.

“Do you know your Chinese history, Mister
Griggins? There was this man who actually climbed the walls of the
Forbidden City, intent on killing the emperor. He was within reach
of that goal before the palace guards caught him. He was taken
before the emperor and asked why he’d do something so ill-fated.
His reply was the horrid life outside the gates. The starvation he
faced. The poverty. The squalor. The lack of hope. When they asked
him why he hadn’t just committed suicide, you know what he
said?”

“I’d rather not know that, either,” Len
replied.

“Well, I’m still going to tell you.”

“Figures.”

Len was hog-tied, or as close to it as a man
could be in an upright position atop a chair. They had his ankles
roped to his wrists behind the back of the chair, putting him in a
forward leaning position. And if that wasn’t uncomfortable enough,
the rope was laced around his throat and torso, too. Len saw her.
Deandra caught his eye in the mirror. He tipped his chin just
slightly and then moved his eyes to the huddled group of women.

What the hell did that mean?

“This fellow told them that he didn’t commit
suicide outside the gates, because if he had, his name would be
lost to posterity. Since he’d breached the walls of the Forbidden
City, his name was going to go into the annals of history. Stupid
man.”

“Sounds like it.” Len shifted slightly,
motioning toward the women with his chin. He blinked slowly and
steadily at her. Twice.

“He reaped the cruelest of deaths and to what
end? Nobody remembers his name. Only his transgression. And the
method of his death. I don’t suppose you want to know what is it,
do you?”

“Will that stop you from telling me?” Len
asked.

The old man smiled. “Sadly. No.”

“Well, then, lay it on me. What
happened?”

“He was skinned alive. His flesh removed
slice by slice. Not deep enough to kill at first but imagine the
pain as he bled to death. In absolute agony as air hit every wound.
Over a span of several hours. They knew the perfect method to
prolong life, making certain the organs received enough fluid to
keep him alive for the longest time possible.”

“Sounds unpleasant,” Len remarked.

“I have been taught these methods, Mister
Griggins. I don’t like using them. But I will. Please don’t make
me.”

“Tell me one good way to stop you,” Len
said.

“Give us the vampire. The one named
Grimm.”

Deandra gasped and dropped the mirror. She
watched it fall from nerveless fingers. The sound would’ve been her
undoing if several members of the 2100 Radical Society hadn’t
broken into squeals and laughter, and all kinds of verbal
reactions. Deandra put a toe out and slid her makeup compact back
over. Knelt to pick it up. Opened it again. Refocused on Len.

“Vampire?” Len replied. “You’re full of shit.
Vampire?”

“We’re vampire hunters. And we know he’s
close. He had a hit to handle. We even know who his target was.
Want to know how we got our information?”

“Not really.”

“I should’ve brought my grandson, Chester
into a leadership role earlier. It was his plan. The lad has brains
and knows how to use them. Vargas Montoya became a target. He
should’ve been expecting it. Drug lords have a short lifespan. The
fool went underground two days ago. Few knew he’d be sneaking
across the border, disguised as an illegal immigrant hungry for a
job. Even less knew he had a million dollar hit put out on him. It
was fulfilled last night. Want to guess how we know all that?”

“I’m going to say you’ve been talking to the
coyote from last night. The guy’s a snake of the lowest order, or
didn’t he tell you he was trafficking?”

“Of course he was trafficking. He snuck
Montoya across the border, didn’t he?”

“You really need to pay your informers more,
Beethan. The guy was into sex slaves. Look behind you. See all
those virginal-looking young girls? That was his real cargo.
Montoya was just a side job.”

“No wonder you left him strapped to a
windmill. Ron? Go handle it. Deep six.”

One of the men snapped to attention,
swiveled, and left. A minute later they heard a shot. One shot. It
echoed. Deandra stiffened. Several of the other women reacted,
making various noises, some of exclamation, some of shock, while
several started sobbing.

“Someone quiet those ladies. Ethan. Greg.
Gently now. We’re here for the vampire. Not brutality to ladies.
Remember... they’re the weaker sex.”

Weaker sex?

Deandra didn’t have to see how Edna took that
insult. She could hear it in the woman’s huffed breath. The others
were right there with her. Being held by a bunch of gun-toting
lunatics was one thing. Finding out they were male chauvinistic,
gun-toting lunatics was really taking it past the line. Two of the
men moved toward the group. Deandra watched them. The women grew
louder, rather than pacified.

“He’s getting a shot to the head and I’m
getting skinned alive? What kind of justice are you
practicing?”

Deandra’s attention went back to Len. His
eyes widened and seemed to bore into hers through the little convex
mirror on her compact.

“Frontier justice. Pardon the pun. Now... why
don’t you just tell us where to find Grimm? Save your skin. I
promise we’ll release you. Ethan, will you please quiet those
women? I’m trying to have a conversation here.”

And that’s when Deandra knew what Len had
been telling her. Use what she had. She turned her attention to
Edna. Flashed the mirror into the woman’s eyes. Once. Again.
Finally got her attention. Deandra stepped out slightly and
motioned with her hands for the group to get loud. And somehow Edna
understood. And started wailing, nudging the others to join her. It
was almost amusing.

“I said, quiet them. Not give them
amplification. Ron? You back? Good. Help Ethan and Greg. Yes. With
the ladies. I can’t hear myself think. Where was I?”

“Some guy named Montoya had a hit put on him.
The new dead guy out there was trafficking in young sex slaves, and
you believe in vampires since you’re hunting them. I think that
about covers it,” Len answered.

Deandra had a hard time to keep from
snickering.

“We had a large donation recently, Mister
Griggins. Very large. Million dollar large. Enough to cover a hit
with the Vampire Assassin League.”

“You can’t be serious,” Len answered.

“As a heart attack.”

“You got an infusion of a million dollars and
all you could think was to pay for an assassination? Man. If that’s
Chester’s mind at work, I’m relieved.”

“Stop stalling. I know he’s close. And I’m
counting on you to tell me where to find him. And before I give you
some very notable, distinguishable scars. You listening still,
Griggins?”

“Why do the bad guys always have to take so
much time just before the torment scene to tell their plans?”

“We’re not the bad guys, Mister Griggins.
We’re human. Flesh and blood. We only hunt and kill monsters. And
you know it.”

“Why are you torturing me, then?”

The old guy sighed. The women got louder. It
would’ve been difficult to hear over them if Deandra hadn’t been
blessed with hyper-acute hearing all-of-a-sudden.

“Because you work for them, Mister Griggins.
And we’re close. We’re very close. We can almost smell him. All I
want to know is the GPS coordinates. Give over, Len. Please. I
really don’t want to cut—all right! Enough! Ron. Ethan. Escort
those females out of here. I don’t care where, as long as it’s
outside of hearing range. This place probably has a kitchen. Take
them there. I should have thought of it sooner. Saved myself the
headache. Go. No need to send more. You need help with ten women?
All right. Maybe twenty, but who’s counting? Just get them out of
here! Greg? You stay. I need your expertise with the scalpel.”

Deandra heard Len grunt a moment before she
shot down the corridor, intent on the kitchens. They wouldn’t have
much time before he’d be losing flesh. And maybe telling them where
to find Grimm...

She didn’t care if they were delusional. They
were still deadly. The insane were always more frightening. They
claimed to be hunting a vampire? Her Grimm? No way. Not the man she
was with all night. There wasn’t anything about him that was pale
or dead or anything other than raw and manly and—

Actually...

Deandra stopped at the kitchen door for the
barest moment, remembering fangs; spikes of pain at her throat;
cuts to her lip. She rubbed at the sore spot on her neck. And then
shook off the thought. The very idea that Grimm Bradley was a
vampire was ludicrous. Ridiculous. Fantastic.

Men.

Honestly. Sometimes they defied description.
Especially that old guy. Actually sending them to the kitchens.
What a jerk. He probably figured it was their place. Maybe they’d
cook up some supper while they were here. Thank goodness for men.
Especially insane, elderly, chauvinistic, misogynic ones. Actually
thinking two of his crew could handle the 2100 Radical Society. And
Rosa. And her staff.

Those jackasses were about to get a lesson in
modern feminine ingenuity and skill. Weapons tactics. Deadly
intentions. Domination.

And a couple of cast iron skillets should
just about do it.

Whoever these Hunters were, they really
needed a re-education on the sexes. If it hadn’t already been
obvious from their leader’s lapses, it sure was now. They didn’t
even consider the women a threat and acted accordingly. The two
escort fellows even walked together, bringing up the rear of the
group.

Deandra stood behind the door as woman after
woman walked in, the girls between them. They filled the space
between the stoves and prep tables, Edna herding the young
immigrants toward the back where they couldn’t see.

One guy walked past her door. The next...

Deanna jumped between them, nailing the rear
fellow in the solar plexus with the side of one skillet while the
lead guy got a broadside to the head. Both dropped, one inert, the
other moaning about his gut. She put him out of his misery with
another blow to his skull. And then stood there, not even breathing
heavily.

“Fantastic work, Dee. Premium. Remind me to
rework your evaluation when we’re finished here. Angie! Escort
those young ladies to a back room. Barricade it. Take the hotel
staff to keep quiet! And where’s Rosa?”

Edna’s voice wasn’t above a whisper. It was
still spine-chilling as she barked orders. And as much as she hated
being called Dee, Deandra let it go as their hostess rushed
forward.

“Si Senora?”

“You have an armory? That was the
understanding? Yes?”

“Oh. Si, Senora. Well-stocked.
Well-maintained.”

“Then get us there. Nan? You stand back-up.
Yes. With skillets. They looked pretty effective to me. Or...
you’re in a kitchen, Nan. Grab some knives. Now move. Everybody!
Double time.”

There was a large pantry cabinet against one
wall. Unnoticeable. Plain. Painted to match the white walls. It
wasn’t affixed to the floor. And it wasn’t near as heavy as it
looked. Rosa shoved the cabinet and it slid, revealing a trap door,
and behind that was a yawning opening. Someone clicked on a light,
illuminating a flight of steps. Fashioned of concrete, they were
broad, wide, and sturdy. Someone put a lot of thought and work into
this place. This type of construction was quicker and easier to
negotiate than a ladder, much quieter and longer-lasting than wood,
and pretty much impervious to the ravages of time.