Blood Work (2 page)

If she
couldn’t, then the consequences just didn’t bear thinking about.
I’d burn that bridge when I crossed it. Time permitting I would
have contacted her then and there, but it was probably best I just
double-timed it to Barry’s at this stage.

Slinging
myself in behind the wheel the big Desert Eagle jammed into the
small of my back, but I wouldn’t have to put up with it for long.
Barry’s establishment was only a couple of minutes away. Pulling
out onto the road, I swung the car around the round-about and
slipped into the thick traffic on the Gold Coast highway, heading
north.

“Thanks for
the lone of the Eagle,” Roberts said as we left Broadbeach and
moved into Surfers Paradise.

I used the
tall, green spire of the Q1 building as my guide and turned off the
highway and into the network of side streets. “No problem. How did
it go?”

Roberts
laughed. “Killed ‘em. The looks of pure fright on their faces was
brilliant.”

“And that is
why I will never understand business.”

“It’s not that
hard, really. Just gotta know your market and tailor your pitch.”
He mimed holding a gun and aimed through the windscreen. “Works
every time.”

“So you got
the contract?”

“Of course I
did.”

“Won’t this
interfere with your real job?” The base of the Q1 went by my open
window. A burst of laughter from an Indian restaurant on the
opposite corner reminded me not everyone drove around with a big
gun stuffed down the back of their pants.

“Shouldn’t do.
I can work the contract during the day and still party at night.”
He jabbed me in the ribs. “Your pitiful needs aren’t enough to keep
me in the lifestyle I want to get accustomed to, you know.”

I snorted a
laugh. “If only we all had your problems, my friend.”

While Roberts
was something of a technical wunderkind, he didn’t want to set up
security systems or network computers for a living. No, he much
preferred his
real
job, but sadly, being a professional
barfly didn’t pay enough to cover the costs of his personal
needs—technical, social and grooming-wise. While he got to go out
just about every night and had free entry into nearly every club,
bar and hotspot in the greater Brisbane area, repping for booze
companies just didn’t earn the big bucks, so he had to
supplement.

A couple of
blocks up from the Q1 was Barry’s place. It was an old office
building he’d converted into a games arcade. The front was
decorated in a garish display of laser images and fluorescent paint
work that jarred my senses but was probably considered tame by the
mid-teen crowd Barry catered to. It probably barely registered on
minds more attuned to the glare of smart phones and tablets and
whatever gadgetry they all couldn’t possibly live without these
days. Usually, even on school nights, there was a steady stream of
kids pouring across the footpath and a tangle of cars battling for
the few parking spaces out front, but tonight, I had no trouble.
Driving right into a park, I studied the mostly vacant
entrance.

“This isn’t
good,” I muttered.

“Isn’t it to
be expected? I mean, this mob’s been making trouble for a while
now.”

“Yeah, but
this is Surfers, remember. A bit of trouble never keeps anyone away
for long.” Checking my spare mags, I opened the door. About to get
out, I stopped. “You can stay here, if you want. I won’t mind.”

Roberts stared
at the few kids loitering outside Barry’s. They were all in their
mid-teens, boys, dressed in T-shirts and baggy, long shorts,
skateboards under their arms as they slouched in attempted coolness
against the wall. Two of them eyed my car appreciatively. A few
girls came out of the building, tanned legs shown off by short
shorts. They pranced by the boys, not slowing, but making sure they
were watched all the same.

“Nah,” Roberts
said, opening his door. “I’ll come in. Gotta make sure you don’t
completely arse this up.”

It was a big
move and I appreciated the effort it cost him. “Thanks.” I laid the
sarcasm on thick. “You’ll be perfect bait.”

He gave me a
pained smirk and we went into the building.

The front room
was filled with ranks of games, none of which I recognised. Not one
Pac Man, Donkey Kong or Street Fighter, but despite the names I
didn’t recognise, the noise and glaring lights were the same, as
was the smell of spilled soft-drinks, popcorn and chocolate, with
an undertone of sweaty body and a hint of salt and sand. The last
time I’d been here, to scope out the place for when I had to come
back and deal with the trouble-makers, it had been packed with
young people. Now, barely half the games were occupied and there
wasn’t a line up for the laser-tag on the second floor.

“Thank God
you’re here!”

Barry,
owner/operator of Surf Wars, hurried over from the back of the
room. He was average height with a large gut that was more flabby
muscle than fat hanging over the top of his faded jeans. A light
sheen of worried sweat glistened on his bald head. He stopped short
of running us over and stared at Roberts.

“Is this your
partner? I thought you said she was a woman!”

He was close
to panicking, about to flip out at the mere sight of Roberts.

“My partner is
a girl,” I assured him calmly. “This is Roberts, a business
associate of mine. He’s going to be our liaison.” Having dealt out
the one and only business-like term I knew, I backed off. “Now, you
said they were upstairs?”

Barry nodded
vaguely, the thought he was in over his head clear in his glazed
eyes. “There’s a session in progress. With, with normal people in
there. Do you... Do you want me to stop it?”

Air froze in
my lungs. What if my delay at the casino had cost lives? I shook
away the thought. I couldn’t afford it at the moment. My only
consolation was this mob hadn’t done more than toss a few people
about so far, break an arm or two. Nothing life threatening. But I
knew they wouldn’t stay tame for much longer. It was only a matter
of time before someone died. I just hoped that time hadn’t come and
gone.

“No. It’ll
just let them know we’re on to them.” I leaned in close to Roberts
and whispered, “Don’t let him call the cops. And see if you can get
these kids out of here.”

“Anything else
I can do for you? Maybe go confront the baddies as well?”

“Don’t be
silly. You couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn from the inside.”
Before he could thump me, I was off and jogging for the stairs
leading up.

The stairwell
was narrow but well lit, and empty. I hurried up them two at a
time, reaching for the Desert Eagle as I neared the top. The red
rope that barred the entrance to the landing was slung across the
opening, the attendant that counted off players missing. Back
pressed to the wall, I peered into the room at the top of the
stairs.

It was dark,
lit only by a spill of light from the stairwell, and a flickering
montage of fluorescent streaks coming in through a window on the
front of the building. Shadows danced across the floor and walls,
making focusing difficult. I’d done a walk through previously,
though, and knew roughly where everything was. To the left, in
front of the window, was the register, where you signed up for
teams and hired equipment. Opposite was the outfitting area, where
you donned your vest and guards and picked up your weapon. Ranks of
laser guns and rifles lined one wall. In the shifting light, I saw
six empty places.

Eagle at the
ready, I stepped over the rope, left knee twinging a little as I
bent it back. Hoping the blasted leg would hold up, I sidled over
to the desk, taking a quick look behind it. No nasties waiting to
ambush me there. They were all in the main room. With a bunch of
victims. Awesome.

The doors to
the main room were closed, a push-bar shining dully in the dimness.
I eased up to it, leaned my ear against the door. It vibrated to
the beat-heavy music playing inside. A small fringe of smoke curled
around the gap at the base of the doors, flashes of different
coloured lasers lighting it up sporadically.

Desert Eagle
in my right hand, the left on the push-bar, I took a deep breath
and calmed my racing pulse. The stray thought I should have asked
Barry how many there were crossed my mind, but I ignored it and
pushed down.

The door swung
in, letting out a rush of purple tinged smoke, a blast of
ear-busting music designed to wake Satan himself and a high-pitched
scream.

Doubts
forgotten in a surge of adrenaline, I rushed in, stopping only long
enough to kick the door closed behind me. It was designed to only
open from the outside. I’d effectively trapped myself in a locked
room with an unknown number of vampires.

It wasn’t the
stupidest thing I’d ever done, but it was, you know, up there.

Taking a deep
breath, I faced the room and in my best John McClane, muttered,
“Yippie-kai-yay.”

If I thought the reflected light of
the outside lasers was bad in the previous room, I clearly didn’t
know the meaning of the word.

The game room
spanned the entire floor of the building, broken up into a maze of
dead ends, killing grounds and narrow passages. Only a few of the
walls were permanent, most of them were moveable, shorter than the
fixed ones so that there was an empty space below the ceiling. Grey
clouds produced by smoke machines drifted about up there, tinged
different colours by the flashing lights.

There were
several paths through to the exit and the aim of the game was to be
the first team to get there, while ‘killing’ as many of the
opposing team as you could. This already difficult task was further
hindered by loud music, flashing lights and sporadic bursts of
lasers. Shadows moved as if they were alive, drawing the eye and
quickening the pulse in a surge of adrenaline.

I honestly
couldn’t understand why people did this for fun. But like Roberts
kept reminding me, they needed a bit of danger—even the utterly
bland sort of laser-tag—in their otherwise normal lives. Some
people pretended to shoot each other, others jumped out of planes
or swam with sharks. Nothing so tame for me. No. I got my kicks
hunting supernatural monsters.

There were
three options in front of me. Right, left and straight ahead. When
I’d done my walk through, there had only been two, right and left.
In his panic, Barry had forgotten to tell me he’d changed the
layout, and to give me directions to the only exit.

Making a
decision was taken out of my hands, though.

A scream,
high, scared and definitely female, cut through the loud music. I
spun to the left, Eagle at the ready. All I saw was a smoky, narrow
corridor, fluorescent shapes painted on the walls glowing in the
intermittent light. Another scream, not as loud or forceful. She
was weakening, or being dragged further away from me.

The door
crashed open behind me. Whirling, I pointed the gun, finger
tightening on the trigger even as I recognised Roberts barrelling
into the room. It was too late. The trigger depressed and the gun
bucked in my hand.

Roberts
staggered backwards, dark fluid spraying across his chest. He hit
the door, slammed it shut, and slumped down in surprise as he
stared at me, mouth agape, reaching blindly for the sticky mess on
his shirt.

“You shot me,”
he moaned, the whites of his eyes flaring for a moment as a blue
light flashed around us.

I barely heard
him over the music, but I got enough to understand. “I wasted a
shot, yes,” I shouted back.

He looked at
his hand, at the smear of liquid. “You shot me!” A faint whiff of
garlic rose from him.

I waggled the
gun in front of his face. “Just be thankful it’s the replica Desert
Eagle paintball gun and not my Barretta. What are you doing in here
anyway?”

“I came to
tell you we got all the kids out downstairs. Told them there was a
gas leak.” He got back to his feet, holding his jacket out to
display the mess of green paint on his silk shirt. “I didn’t come
up here to get a three hundred dollar shirt ruined!”

Turning back
to the left corridor, I shouted, “Could have texted. You realise
you can’t leave the way you came in, don’t you?”

There was a
moment of silence behind me, then furious rattling of the door.

“Damn you,
Hawkins. I only came up because Barry was annoying the living crap
out of me, and now I’m trapped in here with you and a bunch of
blood sucking losers. And I don’t know who I’m more worried about,
them or you!”

“I’d suggest
them.” I closed my eyes, listening for more screaming.

“Yeah?
They
haven’t cost me three hundred bucks.”

I ignored his
griping and concentrated.

Successful
monster slaying isn’t accomplished through cool replica guns and
sweet cars. Sure, it helps to look hard-arse and committed, but the
majority of supernatural freaks aren’t just packing fangs and or
claws. Most come equipped with honest to God mental powers. Bend a
spoon, pick a card, any card, cluck like a duck type psychic
abilities. The only defence against such things is fire. As in,
fighting fire with fire.

I focused on
the music. On the heavy base beat, the chaotic rhythm, the
undecipherable lyrics. It filled my head, suffused my body until it
was the only thing I knew. Then I blocked it out. Everything went
quiet. Without the pounding distraction of the music I could now
hear and feel everything else.

Behind me,
Roberts was a heartbeat and soft breaths. I felt it as he rubbed at
the wet patch of paint on his chest, sensed his nose wrinkling as
the garlic I mixed with the water-paint made itself known. He
didn’t want to be here, but he was, for me and he knew that I
wouldn’t let him get hurt.