Authors: Jack J. Lee
I’ve tased a couple muggers before; they never had much fight left afterwards. It was too risky now to break into the ATM. This guy was definitely going to remember me. I wasn’t too worried, I doubted he would call the cops, but there was no point in taking unnecessary risks. Once he recovered enough to pay attention to what I was doing, I was going to fake a call to the cops on my cell. He’d probably take off running as fast as he could.
Thirty seconds later, after the electric pulse cycled off and he got control of his muscles; he tried to grab me from the ground. Since I had been expecting him to just lay there for a while, he almost got me. I had to give the guy credit; he was tougher than the average hood.
The Taser C2 only has one distance cartridge, but can be used as a contact weapon multiple times. Mine also had a tube of pepper spray attached with a cord. I tapped his forearm with the Taser and at the same time sprayed him in the face.
He froze for a split second. What the fuck! The son of a bitch was growing fangs! He screamed in agony and then heaved himself off the ground at me. He rammed his shoulder into the pit of my stomach, hard enough to take me off my feet and knock the wind out of me.
Thousands of hours of martial arts training paid off. I instinctively angled my body to ensure that the padded part of my ass hit the ground first, and then rolled on my back. I thrust up with my legs and threw his body over mine. We both ended up on our backs, our heads about a foot apart.
I ignored my inability to breathe and scrambled up making sure to grab the Taser. Mr. Fangs and I got to our feet at the same time. Someone had hit the freak several times with an ugly stick when I wasn’t looking. He had bat-like ears, inch-long fangs, clawed fingers, and it looked like he was turning green. When my diaphragm finally stopped spasming, I took a deep, gasping breath.
He seemed upset. He snarled, “Mortal, your death will be long and hard.”
Did he say mortal? Was I being punked? The situation was so weird that for a second I almost lost focus. This had to be a scene from a B-grade horror movie, but there was no way to put on high quality makeup this quickly. I could see the huge pores on his face. His fricking tongue was forked and he smelled like rotting meat marinated in weeks old sweat. A production company wouldn’t lather on fake stank. As hard as it was to believe, this son of a bitch was real. I was going to have to kill him. Fuck, I hated getting rid of bodies.
I never carry a ‘lethal’ weapon on a job. There’s an important difference between robbery and armed robbery. I pulled out a thin screwdriver from my back pocket. Fangs was fast but he had problems seeing. His eyes were swollen and tearing. His roundhouse swing at my chest missed. I tapped him again with the Taser. In the split second he was frozen, I used my other hand to slam the screwdriver into his temple. It penetrated to the hilt. Instead of collapsing like I expected, he stood there blinking.
This was insane, surreal. I grabbed the screwdriver again and wiggled it, turning whatever the hell it was’ brain into mash. It finally dropped.
Holy shit! It still wasn’t dead; I couldn’t believe it. What the hell was it? Could it be a vampire? Did I believe in vampires? Whatever it was, I couldn’t afford to let it stay alive. There was no way I was going to let it have a second chance at me.
I looked up. There was no one around. My watch said just two minutes had passed since I got out of my car. I had been in view of the ATM camera the whole time. The machine was an older model, the kind that still used actual videotape. I wanted that tape.
By now, every cop on duty in Cottonwood Heights was most likely at the first ATM. It had taken me 11 minutes to drive here. I had time. I got my workbox. I put on my goggles but didn’t bother with the gloves. I used my torch to cut the thing’s head off. The stink of burning flesh was awful, but at least there wasn’t any blood. After decapitation, it finally stopped breathing. It almost took too long to get the video tape. I didn’t have much time but since I was already in, I couldn’t resist; I emptied out the cash too. I could hear sirens in the distance when I pulled out of the mall with Mr. Fangs’ body in the back.
Big and Little Cottonwood Canyons are wilderness areas that lead straight into Cottonwood Heights. I had scouted both canyons earlier. I drove up Big Cottonwood Canyon. About ten miles in, I pulled off at a trail head. By flashlight, I dragged Fang’s body a couple hundred feet up the trail until I found a boulder the right size and in the proper position. I took another trip to grab my tools.
Having to hide a body is never a good thing. In the past, it has always been caused by an unnecessary fuckup. In this case, I didn’t see how I had a choice or how I had made a mistake. The boulder was close to four feet wide and maybe eighteen inches thick. It was a grunt levering the boulder up enough to fit two car jacks underneath, but once accomplished it was fairly simple to lift the boulder high enough to excavate a hole with hand tools. I put all the dirt I dug out onto a tarp.
If you take the time to crush all the bones into small bits, a human size body doesn’t take much space. You’d be amazed at how small the chest becomes when all the ribs are broken and the lungs deflated. I took a three pound sledge and did the job right. Hit a bone off angle and skin and soft tissues surrounding it will tear. If that happens, every hammer blow within twelve inches of your mistake will cause blood to squirt from the torn flesh, making an unpleasant job disgusting and a complete pain in the ass to clean up after.
Imagine placing celery between two steaks and pounding the top steak with a mallet; I heard a wet, muffled, crackling sound each time I brought my sledge down on Fang’s body. Smashing bones this way also tenderizes the meat and makes the soft tissues easier to squish and fold.
I stuffed the body in a hole two feet deep and wide—the arms and legs in first, with the chest and abdomen on top. I then made multiple long slits into Fang’s belly and chest so when the body started to decay, gasses wouldn’t build up inside. A little bit of blood seeped from the wounds but without a beating heart or the hydrostatic pressure of a three pound sledge, the oozing blood didn’t make a mess. I wasn’t worried about inflating gasses being able to move the boulder, but if a decaying swollen chest or abdomen pops, the stink is hard to ignore. He smelled bad enough already; it didn’t need to get worse.
After I covered the body with a couple inches of dirt, I lowered the boulder back into position. I took the tarp loaded with dirt and sprinkled it little by little over the hiking trail. When I was done it was close to sunrise, a few minutes before 6 AM
I hadn’t buried Fang’s head. A head is a lot easier to carry and hide than a body. I stuffed it in a garbage bag in my backpack. I went to the creek near the road and took a sponge bath in the icy cold mountain water and changed clothes to get the reek of Fang’s fluids and burnt flesh off me. I dressed like a hiker, grabbed my backpack, climbed up the trail, out of the canyon, and into the sunlight.
When I reached a slope that was exposed to the sun, I took out the bag and set it on the ground. I used a stick to open up the bag and expose the head to the sunlight. I expected it to burst into flame. It had to be a vampire.
It didn’t combust. It just lay there, green and ugly. Wait, was it changing color? It took minutes but it slowly started turning gray. A half-an-hour later I was looking at a granite rock that kind of looked like a head. It no longer had distinct features. What kind of monster turned into stone when exposed to sunlight? I went over to pick it up. Yup, it was a piece of granite. Way too heavy to bring back to the SUV.
I stumbled back to the SUV. I could still smell Fang’s body odor; it had permeated the carpet. My adrenalin rush was gone. The wise thing would have been to get a hotel room; I was too tired to care about the stink or being smart. I crawled in the back and fell asleep. When I woke up, it was 2 PM.
I stash my money in a safe deposit box as soon as possible after a heist. An inch thick stack of twenty dollar bills is worth forty-six hundred and forty dollars. I’d picked up about seven inches of bills last night; it had been a fair to middling haul. Banks are the safest places to keep money for everyone, including criminals. As long as you keep paying for the box, no one gets access except you. A seven inch stack of cash is suspicious and a great excuse for a cop to hassle you; safe deposit keys aren’t.
The serial numbers of the cash I had taken from the ATMs would be on bank databases for years. Optical scanners are so cheap now that even the smallest bank branches have machines that can pick up the serial numbers. Once a year, I charter a boat from the Gulf of Mexico to the Bahamas. They don’t care about serial numbers there. When I wire the money back to the US, I make sure to pay my taxes on my international investment income like every other law abiding citizen. I only work four to six nights a year and easily clear six figures. It’s seems only right I pay my fair share.
I try my best to be as normal looking as possible when I go to a bank. I need to look like an upstanding citizen when I talk with the manager. I headed to the local 24 Fitness. The nice thing about these national chains was one membership got you into every gym they had. Everyone showers at a gym. Brushing your teeth there isn’t a big deal.
I acted like a typical gym rat. I made the Nautilus circuit and spent as much time looking at women as I did working out. Once I was done I soaked in the hot tub. God, that felt good.
My mind kept going back to what had happened last night. I’m a rational guy. I don’t believe in monsters; especially ones that call me ‘mortal’. I’d be more comfortable with what happened last night if the creature that attacked me had looked like ET, Chewbacca, or the Predator. I believe in science. Aliens from outer space make sense to me; they fit my worldview. Things that turn into rocks when exposed to sunlight and call me ‘mortal’ don’t. It would have been so much easier if it had said ‘earthling’ or ‘human’. It would have been awesome if it had a high nasally voice. ‘Earthling, your planet is doomed.’
I had just finished showering and was getting dressed when a guy approached me. He was an African-American, about six foot two, and was dressed too nicely. His suit had to have cost thousands. He could have been a male model. Handsome wasn’t the right word for him, ‘beautiful’ was better. People go to gyms to hook up. I don’t get hit on by guys often, but it happens; it was turning out to be one of those days. I got ready to turn him down nicely.
“Victor Paladin, it’s good to finally meet you.”
I’ve never regretted dumping that name. It’s almost as cheesy and memorable as Dudley Do-Right. I put on a puzzled look. “Sorry friend, but you’ve got the wrong guy. I’m John Evans. I’m pretty sure I don’t know you.”
He grinned. He even had dimples; it was ridiculous. “I’m sure you don’t since we’ve never met before, but Victor, we’re going to be great friends. Last night you destroyed a minion of darkness. You’ve joined the Great Game. I’ve been assigned as your guardian.”
I smiled back, “Seriously, you’ve got the wrong guy. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Victor, you really think random chance brought you here? You were destined to come to Salt Lake City. You need to learn your purpose.”
I let my real emotions show. “Look man, I’m trying to be nice but if you don’t leave me alone, I’m calling security.”
The pretty guy looked even more amused. “One of the best parts of my job, I get to talk like a character in a bad made-for-TV movie. We can do this easy or we can do this hard. It’s no skin off my teeth. You’re the only one in danger. Here’s my card. Contact me when you’re ready.” He turned around and walked off before I could say anything.
I looked at the card. It just had the letter “B” and a phone number. I never stay in the town where I’ve made withdrawals. I didn’t know what was going on, but it wasn’t anything I wanted to be a part of. I had no interest in finding out who B was and how he knew my real name. I finished dressing and went straight out to my truck.
There are two kinds of criminal. The first has poor impulse control, seeks excitement, and spends a lot of time in prison. The second is methodical, avoids unnecessary risks, and rarely gets caught. Years back when I was stupid, I was the first kind of criminal. I’m still paying for the mistakes I made back then. I try my best now to be the second kind.
I admit my curiosity was piqued. What had I killed? Why did B use an initial instead of a name? Why did he use the word guardian? What in the hell was the Great Game? These were all good questions. I was sure years from now, I would mull them over in my mind, in a cozy place far away from here. As I have gotten older, I’ve learned that an intriguing mystery is often better than an unpleasant answer. I would be happy to never learn the answers to these questions.
I had planned on going to a bank. I decided it would be better to just get out of town. I could get a safe deposit box in another town. I sprayed a whole can of air freshener into the SUV and made sure to switch the plates back out before I returned the rental.
I was on I-215 when I saw the exit to get to I-15 South to Las Vegas. It was weird. I knew what I wanted to do; my body wouldn’t respond. I couldn’t make my hand turn the wheel to the right. I kept going straight on I-215.
I was able to get off at the next exit and head back to the I-15 interchange. Again, I couldn’t make the turn to go south. I knew what I wanted to do, I couldn’t do it. What the HELL WAS GOING ON?
Chapter 2: The Beating