“You have him?” Harvey asked.
“Yeah. How’s the girl?”
“She’s fine now, can’t remember a thing.”
“How’s that possible?”
“He charmed her. Which direction are you headed?”
Through the phone he heard Harvey starting up the car. “Toward the El station. Charm what?”
“Short-term hypnosis. Some of
us
can do it,” Harvey explained over the phone.
“Lovely. Please tell me you have your headset on while driving.”
“Of course I do. Chill. You worry too much.”
As they drew near the station, Gabe picked up his pace. He didn’t want to lose the guy due to a train arriving too soon. He wasn’t sure he could track a vamp on a moving train from a car. His concerns were validated when the train pulled in only a few seconds after he reached the platform. He shuffled on the same car as the vamp, but two doors down.
“Eastbound or west?” Harvey’s voice crackled through the headset.
“West,” Gabe whispered.
“Ah. Can’t talk, I see. Hey are you having déjà vu? Cough once for yes.”
Gabe cleared his throat.
Harvey’s chuckle answered him. “Lucky for you, I’m on your side this time.”
Gabe didn’t relish being reminded of the night he’d shadowed Harvey much the same way. Not because of the humiliation of having been captured by Harvey and Dill, but the fact he’d meant to kill Harvey. He nearly did. Knowing how close he’d come still sent chills down his spine. Gabe let out a heavy sigh that made a few nearby passengers aim their gaze at him. He ignored them. The vamp fidgeted and glanced around nervously, but Gabe didn’t seem to have attracted his attention.
“Fine, I’ll shut up now. Just tell me the name of the station when you get off,” Harvey said.
The vampire must have decided nobody was following him, because he didn’t try anything tricky to shake off a would-be pursuer. As they exited the train, Gabe followed from a distance. He kept updating Harvey about their location. The nice thing about it being daytime was that the vampire couldn’t call on his super-skills, making Gabe’s job much easier. Meanwhile, Gabe could feel Harvey getting closer.
By the time the vampire entered a tall apartment building, Gabe had caught up to him. They entered the elevator together. Gabe gave the man a curt nod. The building was big enough for neighbors not to know each other. On the eighth floor they both exited the elevator. While the vampire turned right, Gabe purposefully strode left. He stopped and searched his pockets for his keys, but only until he saw his man stop in front of a door and do the same.
By the time the guy opened the door, Gabe was on top of him.
Harvey was still keyed up as they drove back to their place, after handing the rogue vampire, and, sadly, the SUV, over to Augustine’s men. Gabe was happy that the whole thing had gone down without a hitch, especially since it was his first serious job for his new boss.
“The son of a bitch was a pedo too!” Harvey burst out, referring to the child porn they had found at the guy’s apartment.
“What do you think is gonna happen to him?” Gabe asked.
“That’s up to Augustine, but I wouldn’t wanna be in the guy’s shoes.”
“So that’s what Augustine does? Upholds the law?” His boss was still an enigma to Gabe.
Harvey pulled a face. “Don’t believe for a moment he does it for the greater good of humanity. He has his own selfish reasons. We all do.”
“How so?”
“It’s about not rocking the boat. You should ask Stan; he’d talk your head off. He loves the history stuff. Anyhow, I’ve been told things used to be more lawless, but times changed and vampires had to change with them or be wiped out. From what I know, Augustine took over Chicago’s vamp affairs about a century ago. Before that, it was every vamp for themselves.”
“You’d think there might have been some opposition.”
“I bet there was, but Augustine’s still in charge, so he must have taken care of it.”
“You make him sound like a mob boss.”
“He does, doesn’t he?”
“So the vampires are kept on the straight and narrow by force?”
“Well, it depends who you are. Vamps, like everyone else, come in many colors. Not every one of them wants to play nice. There are drifters, criminals, but they’re tolerated as long as they keep their true nature secret. And then there are the outlaws.”
“Outlaws? Like in old westerns?”
“Less romantic. All I know about them is what my friend, Syl told me. According to her, some vampires stay off the grid, do their own thing. They kill people if they want.”
“Wouldn’t that draw undue attention?”
Harvey pushed his shades up and stared out the window at the people milling on the street before turning to Gabe. “Have you ever wondered how many serial killers never get caught? The ones that do seem to be those who taunt the police, send letters to newspapers or leave bodies where they’ll be found—and they still take years or decades to capture. Just look at the BTK killer. This is such a huge country, and people disappear all the time. I looked it up once. There are about a hundred thousand missing person cases in the US. And that’s just people who were reported.” It sounded like he’d given some thought to this subject before.
Gabe picked up Harvey’s thread and followed it. “A killer could prey on people at the edge of society—runaways, homeless, or illegal immigrants—and hardly anyone would notice they were gone. If the killer’s good at hiding bodies, the police will never look. Do you think there are vampires out there who do that?”
“It’s hard to say, isn’t it? But if there are regular people who do it, probably vampires do it too. It’s only suspicions and wild guesses, though.”
“But your friend thinks it happens.”
“Syl’s an over-three-centuries-old Gypsy and has seen a lot of things, good and bad. She says some vamps prefer the old ways, and some are just plain fucking evil.”
“Can’t people like Augustine do anything about them?”
“I bet it’s even harder than catching regular psychos. We vampires recognize each other when we meet, but that’s it. Only a slayer like you can track a vamp, but where would you start? Not to mention how dangerous it would be. I’m not sure vamps like Augustine care about the outlaws as long as they stay out of sight.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence, Harvey watching Gabe from behind half-mast eyelids—he was up to something.
The moment they stepped inside the apartment, Harvey pounced. “You’re a regular Jack Bauer when you’re on the job, Angel.” He plastered himself on Gabe and attempted to slip his fingers under Gabe’s shirt, but Gabe took firm hold of Harvey’s hands and forced them behind his back.
Gabe had missed out of five years’ worth of American television but had caught snippets of the Hungarian broadcast of
24
. He recalled the cast looking as serious as appendicitis. He schooled his features into a somber frown. “I’ve had my eyes on you, Feng. You didn’t fool me. I know you’re a plant. Who are you working for?”
“You’re crazy, Bauer.”
“Crazy like a fox.” Gabe changed his grip to one-handed. Harvey was smaller and slimmer than him and, during the day, not very strong either. Gabe used his free hand to undo Harvey’s belt and slip it out of its loops. He tied it around Harvey’s wrists—not too tight, mostly for effect. Harvey could’ve gotten free if he really wanted. Now, both hands free, Gabe squeezed Harvey’s small, pert buttocks.
“You won’t make me squeal.” Harvey said, with a look of dark determination, but he came close to proving himself wrong the moment Gabe’s fingers gripped harder.
“Where’s the bomb?” Gabe growled. He remembered Jack Bauer looking for bombs a lot.
Harvey gave him a defiant glare. “In my pants.”
Gabe pressed his hand over the bulge in Harvey’s jeans. “Yeah, it’s sure a suspicious package. I will have to investigate.” Delivering the words in a somber tone took him some effort.
Harvey’s lips twitched, but he managed to keep his game face on. “Do your worst.”
Gabe marched Harvey into the bedroom, where he stripped Harvey’s jeans and briefs off and tossed him facedown on the bed. “You give me no choice. I will have to conduct a body cavity search.”
And so he did, although his methods proved to be unconventional—the use of tongue probably wasn’t standard procedure at any antiterrorist agency. Harvey at first cursed him and called him names, but soon his protestations morphed into moans and whimpers. When it became apparent Gabe couldn’t investigate in sufficient depth with his current methods, he reached for the tub of Vaseline on the nightstand. Flipping the lid off, he scooped out a dollop with two fingers. The thick, viscous substance had always struck him as lewd, even as a kid, especially after he’d discovered its masturbatory values.
Soon Harvey was well greased and ready for deeper probing. Gabe shucked his own jeans and underwear. He maneuvered Harvey into a new position, with feet firmly on the ground. Giving Harvey’s buttocks a few playful slaps first, Gabe sank his dick in Harvey’s ass till they were balls-to-balls.
“You can torture me all you want, I won’t talk!” Harvey groaned.
“Oh yeah?” Gabe stopped moving.
Harvey tried to push against him, but Gabe held his hips firmly in place. “Move, you bastard! I’ll tell you everything.”
With a self-satisfied chuckle, Gabe began to pump away in earnest. When Harvey’s moans reached a frustrated pitch, Gabe loosened the belt holding his wrists together. Harvey thrust his hand under himself and began to stroke his dick. Gabe held back as long as he could, but Harvey clenching around him was too much to withstand, and he came.
“That was hot,” Harvey said, once they lay shoulder-to-shoulder across the bed.
Gabe hummed in agreement. Sex was the area of their relationship they never had problems with. He slipped his T-shirt over his head and used it to wipe himself clean.
“Mmm, tired.” Harvey stretched, then sat up and scooted off the bed. “Don’t forget, we’re due to visit Stan and Ray tonight. I heard Dill’s cooking.”
“For the two of us?”
“Yes. Number three on my list of things I miss: having dinner and wine with friends. Although, considering Dill’s cooking… I’d be afraid if I were you.” Harvey went around the room, picking up discarded clothes.
“I am. You still haven’t told me the number-one thing on your list.”
Harvey turned back from the door. “Oh, Angel…” He gave Gabe a strange look Gabe couldn’t decipher, then walked out.
Gabe had the niggling notion he’d failed somehow—he should’ve said something to close the gap between them. He heard the water run in the bathroom then stop. Harvey didn’t come back to the bedroom. He was probably now sleeping on the sofa, as usual. Gabe lay alone on the crumpled sheets, with only his troubled thoughts for company. He and Harvey did so well together when in motion. They were great in action, like earlier that day, and they were great in the sack. But when they slowed down, everything went awry.
Gabe suspected it was at least in part his fault. He’d been living with Harvey for over a month, but he couldn’t even think of the place as theirs. His few possessions were absorbed by the apartment, barely leaving a trace. His vampire hunting paraphernalia hid at the bottom shelf of the dresser, behind a pile of old socks. Maybe not fitting in was his fault. He trod cautiously, like a guest who overstayed his welcome, and in turn, Harvey kept a wary distance.
Waiting for the sandman, he ran the day through his head, then let his thoughts ramble. These impromptu role-playing games were hot. He’d never done anything like it before, but then he’d mostly had quick fucks with interchangeable strangers. Thanks to Harvey, he’d been slowly discovering his kinky side. The sad thing was, pretending to be someone else was when he and Harvey connected with each other the best.
Chapter Two
The next time they met, Augustine congratulated Gabe on a job well done, then, without much ado, cut straight to the new business.
“We need Dead Man, Mr. Vadas.” Victor Augustine handed Gabe a potbellied glass filled with amber liquid.
A more imprudent man might have made a witty suggestion involving cemeteries. Gabe didn’t. He lifted the glass and inhaled the fragrance of the brandy.
“Any dead man or a specific one?” he asked.
The corner of Augustine’s mouth twitched. “I apologize for my vagueness. Dead Man is indeed someone very specific. His name is Denton Mills, and your job is to procure his cooperation. You see, he—not unlike you—has unique talents.”
Augustine had plenty of vampire employees to fetch him whoever he wanted. Gabe wondered why he’d been called in. “I assume there is a reason you need
me
to see him?”
“There most certainly is. Mr. Mills is not keen on our kind.”
Interesting
. “He’s not a vampire, then?”
“No.”
Augustine settled in the overstuffed leather chair across from Gabe’s own. With his plain features and conservative suit, he looked deceptively harmless. In his hands he held a manila folder—Gabe guessed its contents would play a role in his assignment, but Augustine wasn’t in any hurry to hand it over. Gabe had no intention to rush the venerable vampire, so he gently rocked the snifter to make the brandy swirl. This time when he lifted the glass, he took a long sip. The alcohol burned a pleasurable path down his throat, down to his stomach, warming him from the inside. Gabe didn’t miss the minute flare of Augustine’s nostrils. Moments like these, Gabe was subtly reminded that under the layer of civility, Augustine was a top predator. Oddly, Gabe found this reassuring.
Augustine broke the silence. “A man was murdered last night, in Lakeview. His throat cut.” Lakeview was also known as Boystown, the most prominent gay neighborhood in Chicago.
“And you think one of
your kind
might have been the killer?”
“I’m always suspicious of murders where major bloodletting takes place, but there’s something else.” He pulled an eight-by-ten photograph out of the folder and passed it to Gabe. “That was found at the scene. The police are unsure if it’s connected.”
Gabe studied the picture—a simple wooden stick, roughly eight inches long and an inch in diameter, according to the ruler lying beside it. One end had been trimmed to a sharp point. “Was the victim a slayer?”