Blood Crimes: Book One (24 page)

      He spent a week in an untraceable van parked outside of the once-upon-a-time hotel that his target now owned and operated as a private residence, all the while peering out a rifle scope that was trained on the building’s front door. This was during a brutally hot and muggy period in August, but
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etcalf sat motionless as he waited for his target to show. Anyone looking at him would’ve thought he was a marble sculpture, not even a drop of perspiration showing. If he got his chance to take his target out, the van would disappear from the face of the planet, and nothing would ever be able to connect him with the hit. After a week without seeing anyone enter or leave the building he was beginning to have his doubts whether anyone was actually inside. The windows had all been painted black so he couldn’t look through them, and if people were leaving and getting back into the hotel he had no idea how they were doing it. For all he knew they had all packed up weeks ago to go to the Hamptons for the season. He decided to break in, do some recon, and take her out if she was actually holed up in there. Breaking in was easy, he used a grappling hook to scale up to a fourth floor landing, then broke in through a window. He had a .45 with an attached silencer and enough extra magazines to take out a small village. His plan was to move from room to room until he either found his target or uncovered information as to where she was. Anyone else he came across would be knocked unconscious if he could do it quietly, if not, he’d take them out also.

      The first room he entered he was quiet enough that no one should’ve been able to hear him, and was surprised when a scrawny-looking man turned to face him. What seemed odd to him was the way the man’s nose wrinkled, almost as if he had smelled
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etcalf. The man was a skinny runt who couldn’t have been more than half of
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etcalf’s weight.
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etcalf put a finger to his lips to warn him to be quiet. Instead the man came after him, moving faster than anyone should’ve been able to.
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etcalf still got off two kill shots that hit the man squarely in the heart, but other than knocking him back a foot, didn’t stop him. He just kept coming.
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etcalf couldn’t believe the strength or the quickness of this man as he grabbed
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etcalf’s wrist and snapped it, then picked
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etcalf up and slammed him to the floor. It didn’t make any sense. The man couldn’t be more than a buck thirty, and
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etcalf should’ve been able to handle him easily, instead he was held immobile on the floor until his target was called into the room.

      She took his .45 off him, then pulled his black knit mask off his face and stared at him with both curiosity and amusement mixing in her eyes. With a short nod she had the other man get off him while she took his place. She was tall but as skinny as a rail, and couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds, and he couldn’t budge under her grip. It made no logical sense. He accepted the fact that he was in over his head, that this was something far outside the norm, and that he was a dead man. It didn’t much matter to him. He was one of those rare sociopaths who valued his own life as little as he did others.

      “You came here to kill me,” she said softly, more as a statement than a question, her voice hypnotic, almost trance-like. He found himself strongly attracted to her. It was partly her looks and partly this dense odor of sexuality that came off her like musk, but it was more than that. He could see in her eyes the same cold ruthlessness that he saw every day when he looked in a mirror. They were kindred spirits, and he had met so few in his lifetime.

      It didn’t matter anymore. It was over. He nodded. At that moment he felt no allegiance to the woman who had hired him, nor to The Company.

      “You’re a hit man, aren’t you?”

      He didn’t bother answering her since it was obvious.

      She spoke with the man who had disabled him, asking whether
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etcalf had made any noise when he broke into the room. The man shook his head and said the only noise was his heart beating. “And it was a slow, calm beat,” he added.

      “You must be well-trained,” she said to
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etcalf. “You’re not even showing any pain over your broken wrist.”

      “What would be the point?” he said.

      She nodded at that and asked him who he worked for. He told her. She seemed surprised about that. “Why would the CIA even know about me?” she asked.

      “They’re don’t. This is an outside job.”

      He explained to her then who he had been hired by and why. “I’d like to ask a favor,” he said. “Could you get this over with quickly?”

      She showed a thin impish smile.

      “Get what over with, darling?”

      “Whatever you’re going to do to me. Kill me, I suppose.”

      Seconds before he had seen his death in her eyes, but that changed. Her eyes softened subtly, and he guessed that she must’ve also recognized him as a kindred spirit.

      “But darling,” she said, laughing lightly. “If I were to do that I’d have to offer you a last meal first, and I’m afraid what we have here isn’t anything you’d care to imbibe in, at least not at this time. Later, perhaps.”

      A small crowd that had gathered behind her, and they started to complain once they realized she’d had a change of heart. She quieted them, then moved in close to
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etcalf, her teeth caressing his throat for several seconds before biting in. Somehow he knew she was going to do that. He also knew what was going to happen. None of it came as a surprise, and he quietly made his transition from spook to vampire. Later, after his fever had broken and he had gone through the changes, he cleaned up whatever loose ends had been left. He took care of the dot-com billionaire’s wife, his ex-boss and anyone else who might’ve been able to connect him to Serena. As far as the CIA was concerned he had dropped off the face of the planet. 

      
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etcalf’s cell phone rang and it brought him out of his nostalgic reminiscing of the old days. According to the Caller ID it was Walter Smith, one of the residents of Serena’s hotel. Smith was in his late fifties and was a small bald man who since his infection resembled a lizard more than anything human. Serena had chosen Smith early on for his money, which she later used to buy the hotel, and Smith held a quiet grudge against her. He frequently filled
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etcalf in on her activities.
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etcalf answered the phone and asked what Smith wanted. Smith tittered on his end.

      “Have you been watching CNN?” he asked.

      “I’m not near a TV.”

      “Oh.” Smith’s voice lowered. “You must know that Serena and her posse left this morning to Cleveland?...Hello,
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etcalf, are you still there?”

      “Yeah, I’m still here. No, I didn’t know that. She promised me she was going to stay in New York.”

      There was some more nervous laughter on Walter’s end. “She did, did she? That’s not even the half of it. If you were near a TV you would see what I’m talking about.” He paused for a moment, then went on, his voice more guarded. “There was an incident in Cleveland. Eight police officers slaughtered. According to witnesses, the killers drank their blood and took off in one of the police cars. One of the witnesses made a video recording. It’s not the best picture quality, but you can make out Serena in it.”

      
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etcalf sat quietly for a moment processing what Smith told him, then asked if there was anything else. Smith seemed surprised by
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etcalf’s reaction.

      “I thought you’d be spitting nails,” he said.

      “It wouldn’t do any good. Again, was there anything else?”

      “Nope, but I’d have to think that would be quite enough.”

      
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etcalf told him it was and disconnected the call. He tried calling Serena, but as he expected she didn’t pick up. Bronson was watching him, his lips pursed as he tried to figure out what had happened from
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etcalf’s end of the conversation. The other vampire knew better than to ask
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etcalf. One look at the darkness clouding
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etcalf’s face told the other vampire that much.
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etcalf shifted his gaze to meet Bronson’s eyes, and the other vampire looked away.

      “I want you to take me to San Jose International Airport,”
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etcalf said. “After that you’re going to drive back to the compound. You’re not going to be able to get into the lower level by yourself, so you and the Doctor here will stay in the house. It might take me a day or longer to get back, but if you do anything other than that I will hunt you down wherever you end up, and I’ll make you suffer worse than you could ever imagine. Do you understand that?”

      Bronson forced a crooked smile. “Yeah, fuck, don’t worry. You should know me better than that. I’m going to do as I’m told, okay?”

      “You know that I’ve had tracking chips implanted in all of your skulls. The same that’s done with show dogs.”

      Bronson’s smile dimmed a bit. “Yeah, I know that.”

      “Well?”

      Bronson looked confused. “I’m going to drive you to the airport, then back to the compound. What else are you asking?”

      “What the fuck do you think? Get your ass up there in the driver’s seat.”

      “What? But it’s still a couple of hours before sunset.”

      “Yeah?”

      “What do you mean? I don’t have any protection against the sunlight. I’ll get sick as a dog doing that.”

      “That’s probably true. The sun’s going to make you feel like your flesh is burning off your body. But you know what? You’ll get over it. If you stay back here any longer with me, the pain’s going to be a lot worse, and it will be forever.”

      A shadow fell over Bronson’s eyes. He looked away from
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etcalf, a sourness shrinking his mouth. “Chrissakes,
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etcalf, there’s no need for that. Not after everything we’ve been through together. When you said you wanted to go to the airport, I thought you meant after it got dark out. I didn’t know you meant now. If I did, I’d just take you.”

      Bronson continued to sulk as he left the back of the van and went up front.
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etcalf stayed where he was. While Bronson drove,
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etcalf called the airlines and arranged the first flight he could to Cleveland. After that he got Vanessa on the phone and told her what he needed her to do.

* * * * *

      
Jim
had stashed the sword behind a dumpster and now stood across the street from the bar that he had robbed Raze at the night before.
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ostly hidden in shadows, he watched for Raze or any of his gang members to show up but so far hadn’t seen anyone with skull tattoos displaying winged dragons and Chinese letters. It was hard for him to just stand still and wait like he was doing—his insides were knotted up to where it was like a fist squeezing his heart. He needed to do something, anything, to look for Carol. On the way to the bar he had picked up a carton of smokes and was sucking down one cig after the next, but they weren’t helping much with his nerves. He tossed a half-smoked cig to the ground and crushed it out with his heel.
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aybe it was a mistake, maybe it wasn’t, but he couldn’t stand there any longer. He walked across the street and entered the bar.

      The place was a lot quieter than the night before and a lot emptier. It was several hours before a live band was scheduled, and maybe twenty people sat around the bar and at tables drinking while a sound system cranked out
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ellencamp tracks that were older than most of the people there. A lone bartender was on the job. He was in his thirties, a big man with a pink face the color of bologna and a shaved scalp that would’ve been mostly bald if he’d allow his hair to grow out. He watched
Jim
approach, his stare disinterested. He crossed his arms along his chest to show off thick forearms and large fleshy hands. He looked like someone who’d have no problem busting skulls and tossing drunks head first out into the gutter if given the opportunity.
Jim
took a seat at the bar across from him. He leaned forward so he could talk without anyone else other than the bartender hearing him. The bartender stood impassively and flexed his large forearms.

      “What’s your name?”
Jim
asked.

      The bartender scratched his jaw, yawned. “What difference does it make?”

      “Come one, I’m just trying to be friendly. I like to know who’s pouring me drinks. Nothing more than that, and if it helps any my name’s
Jim
.”

      “Pete.”

      
Jim
put a twenty dollar bill on the bar. “Okay, Pete, a Bud.”

      The bartender started to pull a draft.
Jim
leaned closer to him.