‘Never mind about that,’ he said
wiping his face. ‘Next time just don’t take so long to get down here.’
‘Sorry,’ said Flake. ‘I shudder
to think what might have happened if I hadn’t found this book. We might both be
dead by now.’
She had a point. The discovery
of the book was a stroke of incredibly good fortune. ‘What’s the deal with that
book anyway?’ Sanchez asked aloud.
‘Maybe vampires are allergic to
books?’ Flake suggested.
‘She was a librarian.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah. That woman’s had her
filthy hands on every book in the city. So I figure that one you just dropped
on her must be a bit special. A book that kills vampires, eh? It could be worth
a fortune. We could auction it on eBay!’
Flake clearly disagreed. The
look on her face said as much. ‘If it’s really a deadly weapon that kills
vampires I think I’d rather keep quiet about it. Ulrika was looking for a book
and she was willing to kill you for it. Let me do some research on the Internet
to see if I can find anything out about
this
book. The last thing we
need is more librarians coming down here!’
She had a point. ‘This is a
worry,’ said Sanchez. ‘It’s dark outside. Vampires could be all over the city.
Maybe something big is about to go down?’
Flake grimaced. ‘If that’s the
case, then this book might be the most important thing in the world. Let’s keep
it to ourselves for now.’
Thirteen
In spite of what appearances might suggest, Silvinho was a great lover
of culture and the arts. A giant of a man dressed in military gear and sporting
a six-inch high pink mohawk haircut, he certainly didn’t look like your typical
art lover. But having just recently completed the latest Shadow Company
mission, one that involved gunning down and beheading the Bourbon Kid, he
wanted to take in the sights at the Santa Mondega Museum of Art and History
before he and his team left town. Life as a mercenary suited him just fine.
He’d spent years in war zones killing men behind enemy lines, often going
months at a time without seeing a piece of art. Fortunately his new role as a
mercenary travelling the world with his Shadow Company comrades allowed him the
chance to sample the best art that the world had to offer, in between beheading
the odd person here and there.
He was in one of the museum’s many
art halls admiring a magnificent colourful Eugene Delacroix painting of a young
lady when his cell phone rang. The display on the phone indicated that the call
was from his boss, Bull, so he answered it without hesitation.
‘Hey, what’s up boss?’
‘You seen the news?’
‘No.’
‘Well it turns out that the guy we
beheaded last night wasn’t the Bourbon Kid. We got the wrong guy.’
‘Who did we kill?’
‘Just some freak who looked a bit
like him.’
Silvinho grimaced. ‘Oh dear. It’s
a pity we didn’t notice that before we shot him and cut his head off.’
‘Yeah well, I’m over it already.
Where are you now? I need you back here at the Casa de Ville.’
Silvinho took a look around at the
paintings on the wall to remind himself he was in a place of great beauty. ‘I’m
just at the museum. Got some lovely paintings here.’
‘Is that the Art and History
museum?’
‘Yeah. Why is there another one
around here?’
‘No. But according to the news the
Bourbon Kid showed up there just after two o’clock this morning and killed the
museum’s manager.’
‘Oh. Want me to ask around here?
See if anyone knows anything about it?’
‘Yeah. Ask to see if they have any
security camera footage of the killing. And find out if he had a motive to kill
the manager there. It might be a clue that leads us to him, or his next
victim.’
‘Sure thing boss. Anything else?’
‘Just give me a call if you find
anything out. If you don’t then just head back to base.’
‘Will do. Later.’
Silvinho hung up the phone and
took one last look at the Delacroix painting before reluctantly heading back to
the reception area.
In the reception hall he saw a
security guard with a badly swollen nose and a pair of black eyes. The guard
looked like he’d had a pretty bad day so far and was ready to go home. He was
the perfect guy to interrogate.
‘Excuse me,’ said Silvinho,
approaching him. He glanced at the guard’s security badge. ‘James,’ he
announced. ‘My name is Silvinho. I’m from the U.S Special Forces. I understand
the Bourbon Kid dropped by here last night. Is that correct?’
The guard’s response was less than
enthusiastic. ‘You got any ID?’ he asked.
‘Sure.’ Silvinho reached inside
his coat and grabbed his wallet. He opened it and pulled out a plastic ID card.
He handed it over to James who took it and eyed it suspiciously.
‘How do I know this is real?’ he
asked.
‘I could render you unconscious in
about three seconds flat, if you like? Would that validate me?’
James looked as though he wanted
to dare him to back up the threat with actions, but after gently rubbing his
broken nose he handed the card back to Silvinho.
‘I’ll take you to Elijah
Simmonds’s office. He can answer any questions you have. He’s already told the
police everything though, and given them a copy of the CCTV footage.’
‘You
have
CCTV footage?’
‘Yep. If the boss okays it, I’ll
make you a copy.’
Silvinho smiled and slapped his
right hand down on James’s shoulder, squeezing it hard. ‘I’ll tell you what,’
he said. ‘How about you direct me to your boss’s office and while I’m there you
can get me a copy of the footage, you know, to save time.’
He squeezed James’s shoulder just
a tiny bit harder, which was all it took for the security guard to agree to the
proposition.
‘Just head right down that
corridor,’ said James pointing the way. At the end of it you’ll see Simmonds’s
office. You can’t miss it. It’s got his name on the door.’
‘Thanks. I’ll see you there
shortly.’
Silvinho released his grip on the
other man’s shoulder and made his way down to Elijah Simmonds’s office. Sure
enough it was exactly where James had indicated it would be. He knocked twice
on the door and then turned the doorknob to open it without waiting for
Simmonds to answer. The door opened inwards and he was greeted by the sight of
Elijah Simmonds sitting behind a desk with a laptop computer in front of him.
He looked startled at the sight of a giant soldier with a pink mohawk striding
in.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked.
‘You Simmonds?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m Silvinho. I work for Special
Forces. Come about the Bourbon Kid. Mind if I ask you a few questions?’
Simmonds spun his laptop around.
‘The Bourbon Kid,’ he said pointing at a face on the computer screen. ‘You mean
this guy?’
Silvinho stared at the screen. ‘Is
that him?’ he asked.
‘Yep,’ said Simmonds.
‘The picture’s not very good is
it?’
‘No. But it’s good enough that I
recognize him as a man who was in this office just a few minutes ago.’
‘What?’
‘I just fired his girlfriend and
he came down here to berate me for it. He tried to cause a scene and ended up
embarrassing himself.’
‘The Bourbon Kid has a
girlfriend?’
‘Yes. And in exchange for the
reward they’re offering on the television for information that leads to the
arrest of the Bourbon Kid, I’ll gladly give you her home address.’
Silvinho pulled bone-handled knife
from inside his jacket. The blade was almost a foot long and had serrated
edges. He ran his index finger along the smooth part of the blade and eyeballed
Simmonds.
The museum’s manager looked deeply
concerned. ‘There’s no need for any violence,’ he said nervously. ‘I just want
the reward that’s advertised.’
‘Forget the reward,’ Silvinho
snarled. ‘Just give me the address, or I’ll cut your fucking balls off.’
Fourteen
Beth stared out of the car
window at the sleet and snow shooting down from the sky outside. Since the
thunderstorm from the night before had ended, the snowfall had been relentless
and had settled two inches thick on the ground. The clouds that had formed
overhead were the darkest she had ever seen and they seemed to cover the whole
sky. Occasional intermittent shafts of sunlight slipped through between clouds
here and there, but generally Santa Mondega had become a city bathed in
darkness overnight.
Being driven slowly through the
icy streets in JD’s super cool black V8 Interceptor made her feel like a
teenager again. This is what the pair of them should have been doing in their
high school years. Going for drives in his car, taking walks along the pier and
just generally hanging out and having fun.
Nothing in her life ever worked
out as she planned though, and now that she found herself without a job, she
worried that she wouldn’t be able to pay the rent on her apartment. She could
probably survive for a few weeks, but then what? Ask JD to help out with the
rent? Or ask him to move in? Or move in with him? Where did he live anyway? He
wasn’t very clear on where he’d been and what he’d been doing for the last
eighteen years. Travelling mostly, he’d claimed, and left it pretty much at
that.
The car radio had been playing
Christmas songs for the whole journey, inter-spliced with news updates, one of
which announced that the Bourbon Kid was still alive. It seemed that to
alleviate all the bad news, the local radio station had jumped into an early
festive mood brought on by the sight of the snow, even though it was only one
day after Halloween.
JD hadn’t spoken since the song
Have
Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
by Judy Garland began playing. As the
song was coming to an end, the deejay’s voice spoke over it. Beth recognised
him as Mad Harry Hunter, a local radio star with an annoying knack of dragging
out every word. He interrupted the end of the song with an announcement that
the police were hiring new recruits and paying them a handsome daily rate until
new cops could be drafted in from out of town.
Beth considered the
possibilities of becoming a cop. ‘Maybe I should try out for the police force?’
she suggested, hoping to gauge JD’s thoughts on the matter before committing to
it.
‘Fuck the police. Bunch of
corrupt fuckers,’ he muttered, not taking his eyes off the icy road ahead.
The uneven road they were on was
covered in icy puddles and littered with potholes, many of which were hidden under
patches of snow and ice, making the road even more dangerous than usual. It
didn’t help that cars were parked on either side of the road, leaving little
room for manoeuvring around the hazards. The only blessing was that there was
hardly any other traffic about.
‘They’re pretty desperate by the
sounds of it though,’ Beth carried on. ‘And I’m out of work now. It could be
worth doing for a few days, at least.’
‘Yeah.’
He seemed disinterested but she
carried on regardless. ‘A lot of officers were killed by the Bourbon Kid last
night. The streets aren’t really safe without a visible display of law
enforcement.’
‘Those cops got what they
deserved.’
There was something about the
way JD spoke that revealed a real lack of compassion for the dead officers and their
families. He seemed to be missing the point that even though some of the dead
might have been bad people, they still might have young kids or partners who
would be suffering. Her thoughts turned to Bertram Cromwell again momentarily.
‘And Cromwell? Did he get what
he deserved?’ she asked.
‘Who knows?’
‘The answer is no,’ she snapped.
JD seemed so distant suddenly, as if he weren’t really listening. ‘I hope the
Bourbon Kid gets caught and they stick him in the electric chair!’
‘Shut up a minute,’ said JD,
twisting a knob on the radio to turn up the volume.
Beth caught the end of Harry
Hunter announcing that there was a development in the Bourbon Kid case.
“The local news has obtained
some video footage of the Bourbon Kid taken from the police station last night.
We urge everyone to check out the footage on the local news or on our Radio SM
website. Anyone who spots the man in the picture is advised to steer clear and
call the Bourbon Kid hotline. The number is…’
JD switched off the radio before
Harry Hunter could read out the number.
‘Wow,’ said Beth. ‘I’m going to
check that out when I get home. I wonder what he looks like?’
‘Probably looks like everyone
else in this town,’ said JD. ‘Black and white camera footage is a waste of
time.’
‘Even so. I’d still like to see
the face of the man who murdered Cromwell last night.’
JD seemed agitated. He rubbed
his chin and took a moment to respond. ‘You know what,’ he said. ‘Now that
you’re out of a job why don’t we just get the hell out of this place? Leave
today. Right now.’