Book II Chapter 11

Three days was not a lot of time, especially for all that Tom and the Planning Committee intended to do, but they had to somehow make it all come together by Friday. Mike and Pablo had returned to Sacramento, where they worked on the new mask and costume. Tom went with them, to retrieve the palm grippers and bring them back to San Francisco. Pablo had included a pair of specially made gloves that fit over the operator’s hands when he was wearing the grippers, heavy leather things with thick padding over the palms. When Tom wore one of the gloves and gripped his own opposite arm, the padding kept him from feeling any part of the metal appliance inside. Nor could he pull his arm free, until the ratchet release had been sprung. The next day he returned to the city by the bay, and he and Dieter adjusted the harness and practiced using the rig to carry weights while he was flying.

At night when the sun had fled and darker things came out to roam the streets, Tom went back on patrol, trying to burn off the nervous energy and curb the sense of rage that ate at him. His actions were more controlled now, and there was no repeat of the savage violence from before, But there were still plenty if the denizens of the city’s back streets who felt the weight of his fists, feet, and baton.

Holly was far from idle, either. She raided her closets for all the black clothing she could find, then took a quick trip through the trendy stores in town for black lipstick and white makeup, and some cheap but gaudy jewelry. On the way home she stopped to have her fingernails painted black and silver, and her short blonde hair darkened and styled to look ragged and subtly wild. Some temporary tattoos completed the transformation, and for the next two nights Holly staked out the two Goth/Vampire clubs that their mark frequented, The Catacombs and Bitten.

She and Tom seemed to find little time to be together in those three days, and yet Holly knew that shouldn’t have been the way of it. They were busy alright, but most of what occupied the two of them was done in the night hours. With their days almost completely free they should have been able to find some time by themselves, and yet Tom always seemed to have something else that needed doing, some excuse for her not to come over, or for him to be absent when she did. But eventually she had to face the fact that that was all they were. Excuses.

She was losing him, again. Tom was not only avoiding her, he had walled himself off, made himself unapproachable. In a way it was worse than when they had broken up, when he had been so furious with her he had thrown her out of both his life and the committee. At least then there had been a palpable sign of emotion, something she could fight, something she could stand against. But this coldness, this silence, it left her feeling helpless, as she watched their relationship dwindle away. And knowing that it wasn’t just her that he was cutting himself off from didn’t make it hurt any less, either. She couldn’t take the thought of losing him again, not so soon after getting him back. She knew the smart thing to do was just to wait and give Tom the time he needed to work his problems out by himself, but she couldn’t do that anymore. She had to do something.

Holly got up early on Friday morning, after having spent the night before once more checking out the two suspect clubs. She removed the black polish from her nails, and then took a shower and scrubbed the temporary tattoos from her skin. Then she dressed and got into her car and headed out of town to Sacramento.

She got to Mike’s place shortly after noon, briefly enjoying the surprised look on his face when he answered the door.

“Whu—Holly? Hi.” He looked over her shoulder. “Where’s Tom? Is he here, too?”

She shook her head. “No, Mike, he’s not. I came here by myself. Can I come in?”

“What? Oh, sure! Come in, come in.” He stepped aside, letting her pass, closing the door behind her. “Sorry, I guess I just never expected—uh, you want something to drink?”

“A Coke would be nice.”

Ten minutes later Holly was sitting at the kitchen table, holding a sweat beaded glass of soda, half amused that it was a Flintstone jelly glass. She hadn’t known that they still made them. She idly traced the figures of Fred and Wilma with one long fingertip, as Mike finished making himself a cup of coffee. He sat down across from her, blowing on the still steaming cup, watching her over the rim. Waiting patiently for her to broach the reason she had come all this way to find him. She grimaced, experiencing an uncharacteristic surge of self doubt. She bit her lip, then finally just said it.

“I’m losing him, Mike. I’m losing Tommy, again, and this time I have no idea what to do about it.”

Mike was silent for a while, then said, “I thought you guys had patched things up, that you were solid again. Was I wrong?”

“No, we did. We were. For about ten days there everything was perfect. We would talk for hours, make love on every stick of furniture in the place, go on long walks, everything. We went out on a couple of dates, too, just like regular people. He was even talking about taking me to that comic book convention next month, he got me all psyched about comic books, can you believe that?

“We couldn’t get enough of each other. We were together almost every hour of those ten days, except when I was teaching or he was out on patrol. And even then I would get online and monitor him sometimes with you guys. It was like… like…”

“Like you were falling in love?”

She looked down, then nodded. “I was. I did. Mike, your brother is an incredible man, and I’m not just talking about the flying. Even if he never left the ground again, I’d still want to be with him. He’s funny, he’s smart, he’s open-minded and fair. He’s got this Boy Scout sense of honor about him that isn’t just lip service, either. He really believes in doing something just because it’s the right thing to do, even if you don’t get something back for it. That’s getting to be a rare quality in a guy these days.”

“Oh, Christ, don’t ever let him hear you say that!” Mike groaned. “This hero thing has already gone to his head, if it gets any more swelled we’ll have to get him a bigger cowl.”

Holly smiled at the joke, which was what Mike had intended. The mood lightened just a little, as she took a quick swallow of her soda and then continued on.

“Okay, I’ll admit it, the hero image is sexy as hell, or at least I always have thought so. I guess it comes from being raised with a counter terrorist for a father, that and growing up in a dojo surrounded by cops and ex-Special Forces jocks. And now here I am, falling in love with a real life superhero, and it makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?”

“As much as falling in love ever makes sense, yeah, I guess it does.. So what happened?”

Holly sighed. “You know what happened. That meeting with Molly Wu and her boss, and finding out about Mingyu Tanchez. Suddenly Tommy just closed down and shut me out. It’s tearing him apart but he won’t talk about it, doesn’t want to talk about anything but committee business. He… won’t touch me. I’m not talking about not having sex, it’s only been a week, and I wouldn’t expect him to feel romantic or anything right now. But he won’t even touch me. No hugs, no hand holding, he even avoids sitting next to me on the couch. Mike, I just don’t know what to do. I don’t want to lose him, not now.”

She looked at him with pleading eyes, and he hesitated, unsure of his response. Details on his little brother’s sex life were not something he wanted to know about. But other than that one voluntary blindspot he did know Tom better than anyone else, and he figured he knew exactly what the big blockhead was doing.

“Look, I know this is difficult for you to handle, but I really don’t think you have anything to worry about. Tommy is crazy about you, you’ve gotten under his skin like a tick. Just be patient, or if you have to, confront him and tell him just what kind of an ass he’s making of himself.”

Holly looked at him for awhile, her lips beginning to quirk upwards at one corner wryly. “’Under his skin like a tick’? God, but you Blackwood men are just so good at romantic imagery, aren’t you?”

“Regular fuckin’ Romeos, that’s us,” he answered back, grinning. “Hey, bottom line is, don’t worry too much about it. Tom used to do this when we were kids. When he was upset, when something bad happened or things just didn’t go the way he wanted them to, he’d do the same thing. He’d shut everybody out, then go somewhere and brood for hours. Me and Cindy just learned to leave him alone. Eventually Mom would get mad and go out and find the little twerp, kick his ass a couple of times, then drag him back home and sit him down at the kitchen table. Then she’d feed him milk and cookies until he finally gave up and talked to her.”

“Soo… you think I should confront him?” she asked, hesitantly.

“Definitely. The sooner, the better too.”

“I—I think it’ll have to wait a few days. We’ve both been pretty busy, preparing for that mission tonight. And there’s no telling what we’ll find out when he’s done, or when we’ll find time to be alone and talk.”

“So go over to his loft tonight after we finish gaslighting Bennett. He’ll probably go back there to change.”

“I already asked him if I could come over, but he said it would be too late. He said he’ll need to sleep—”

Mike snorted. “Tommy hasn’t needed more than four hours of sleep a night since he first started flying. It’s another side benefit of his powers, like the perfect balance and the high metabolism. He was making an excuse not to talk. This time don’t ask, just show up on his doorstep and keep pounding until he lets you in. Then do just like our Mom used to.”

“So… you’re saying I should go there and feed him milk and cookies until he opens up?” she asked, hesitantly.

Mike snorted. “Hell, no, he’s not ten years old anymore.” A mischievous glint was in his eye as Tom Blackwood’s brother smiled.

“I think you should show up there and kick his ass.”

*****

‘GASLIGHT’ — 1944 film noir by George Cukor, in which a man uses trickery and lies to convince his wife she is going insane. The slang term ‘gaslighting’ means to ruthlessly manipulate someone into believing something that isn’t true.

Lord Bennett glowered at the cabby as he sped away, leaving him alone on the darkened street, except for the barely conscious girl he had picked up that night. She leaned against him, mumbling incoherently, a stringer of drool dripping off her chin in slow motion. The dark makeup around her eyes was smeared and clotted, and the wild red hair that looked like fire in the club was now lank and droopy, and stank of too much cigarette smoke. And she was fucking heavy, dammit! Why the hell he had thought it worth slipping a roofie into her drink, he couldn’t remember.

He stumbled and cursed again, as the redhead slumped against him, her face rolling against his coat, leaving a trail of saliva and nasal mucus. The coat was specially made, Edwardian cut of red velvet with a black silk collar. The shirt was of blue rinsed silk, with ruffles at the neck and cuffs, and had cost almost as much as the coat. A gold ascot at his throat glittered with a ruby stickpin. It was his favorite working outfit, it stood out even in the Vampire and Goth clubs, which made it easy for his customers to find him. And this disgusting little bitch had just slobbered on it like a goddamned puppy dog!

With a few more back wrenching contortions Lord Bennett managed to save his balance, and to get the girl moving down the street once more. The address in her wallet led to an apartment somewhere on this block, although the damned cab driver hadn’t been exactly sure where, which was why Bennett was now doing the drunken stumble down a darkened street in the middle of the night. He gritted his teeth, but in his mind he cursed the cabby, cursed the girl, and cursed the way his luck had been going all fucking night long. But most of all he cursed the goddamned asshole who had been dogging him all night, and had made this whole little side trip necessary.

He had first felt the stranger’s gaze on him at the Catacombs, shortly after his arrival there where he had set up at his usual corner for business. The itching at the back of his neck had made him turn around, to see the stranger openly watching him from a stool at the bar. The guy sure looked the part, for a Vampire Clubber. Tall, with short cropped dark hair cut into a widow’s peak, with high Slavic cheekbones and a knife blade of a nose. Bushy eyebrows and a razor cut goatee. Wearing all black, naturally, topped off with a shiny leather trench coat that probably cost three or four hundred bucks. Yeah, urban bloodsucker to the max, but Bennett knew the guy was probably some three piece stock broker during the day.

Bennett had given the guy one of his best warning glares, but he ignored it, so Bennett had tried to do the same. It had proved impossible, as the stranger’s open interest in him had scared away several of his customer’s, and put a serious crimp in his business. Fearing that the man might be a cop he hadn’t confronted him, especially not in public like they were, and had instead slipped out the side door and made his way to Dark Garden.

He hadn’t been at the other club more than twenty minutes, though, before he once again felt the itch on the back of his neck. Looking up he had again met the uncompromising gaze of the stranger, who had a seat at a table up on the balcony, holding a glass of wine that he never drank from. Furious but also beginning to worry now, Bennett had put on a show of dancing and partying with the other patrons of the club, subtly waving off two people who looked like they wanted to talk business. He kept up the pretext for another hour and a half, but it didn’t work, the guy in the trench coat kept up his little watching game and never wavered in his vigil, not even once. Bennett had finally given up and did another disappearing act out the back door, this time heading over to the Glas Kat.

And trench coat guy had found him again, goddammit! Bennett had retreated then to his main club, Bitten, and had finally resigned himself bitterly to a profitless night after the guy showed up almost immediately after. Bennett didn’t know who this guy was, he didn’t smell like a cop, and he didn’t have anybody particularly mad at him that he knew of. But he sure as hell didn’t want this guy following him back to his crib, so he’d have to find another place to crash tonight.

With that in mind he had spent the next three hours hitting on the red haired bimbo, plying her with drinks and pouring on the charm. Just another slick, trying to get into some barfly’s pants. He probably could have done it, too, but in the end the girl hadn’t quite been drunk enough, so he had slipped her the rohypnol. He’d given the club manager, a ‘friend’ of his, fifty bucks to call him a cab and to let him use the employee entrance at the back. Then he’d made the cabbie drive around for thirty minutes, taking sudden turns and running yellow lights, and doing anything else he could think of to throw off a tail before he finally gave him the girl’s address. The cabbie of course hadn’t liked all the game playing, which was probably why the guy had been so surly and had dropped him off so far from the girl’s apartment. Which made Bennett glad that he had stiffed the little fucker on the tip.

Bennett had finally found the girl’s apartment house, and was fumbling in her purse for her keys when he felt it again. The itch that had dogged him all night, at the back of his neck. He turned, letting the drugged girl fall to the ground in a boneless heap, staring in shock at the tall man in the black leather, standing under a street light not fifty feet away. Watching him.

The night’s tension twisted inside him into a spark of fear, which quickly transformed into rage, fueled by both the night’s aggravation and alcohol. Who the hell did this fag punk in his leather duster think he was? Following him all night, chasing him all over town, messing with his business, fucking with his head. Some stupid Dracula wannabe. Who the hell did he think he was?!

Bennett snarled, and started towards the man he had been avoiding all night. His hand dipped into his pocket, fisted around the little two shot derringer there, then pulling it out. He didn’t point it at his target yet, instead letting his arm hang down at his side, the tiny gun concealed. The two shot was a great hideout gun, and it went good with the turn of the century theme of his outfit, but at more than ten feet it was horribly inaccurate. He’d have to get close enough to practically shove it up the guy’s ass, but that sounded like a good idea right now, anyway. He had halved the distance and was just bringing the pistol up when the man in black suddenly stepped back out of the cone of light from the street lamp, and was… gone.

Bennett blinked, not quite shocked, but highly puzzled. The street was dark and gloomy, most of the light from outside cut off by the close set buildings. The guy was wearing black, he could have just stepped into the shadows. But it wasn’t that dark, not with the street lights, and there were no cars parked this late for him to have ducked behind. So where the hell did the son of a—

An instants awareness of a presence behind him, before a hand with a crushing grip clamped onto his wrist. The grip tightened and twisted, grinding his bones together, making him cry out with the pain as the derringer dropped from his hand. A shove from behind assisted the grip on his arm, as Bennett found himself manhandled as easily as if he were nothing more than luggage, and flung out into the street. He sprawled, hitting the rough surface of the street, the asphalt ripping through his pants and scraping both his knees. He rolled over, gasping, scrambling on the ground to face his stalker.

But the man in black just stood there, making no move to continue his attack, almost as if he was waiting on something from him. And then abruptly, while Bennett watched, he once more disappeared, only this time there was no mystery as to how he did it. David Bennett was only ten feet away, and he saw clearly how the guy managed to vanish from an empty street. The son of a bitch flew.

No wings, no rockets, not even bending his knees and jumping upwards first, the trench coat guy’s body just suddenly shot up into the air and disappeared into the night. And like that, he was gone.

Bennett could only lay there and gape at the empty spot of sidewalk, his mouth hanging open. The shock at what he had witnessed was so extreme, that fear did not even begin to form for several seconds after the event. But it came in a rush with the slap of leather boots on concrete behind him. Frantically he rolled and twisted on the ground, to find his stalker now looming over him like a dark god. His heart pounded as the man stared down at him, then leaped into his throat as the god abruptly squatted down and peered into Bennett’s face.

Bennett tried to move, to speak, to do anything but lie there helpless, but his body had turned traitor and simply would not respond. Then the stalker leaned forward, his face now inches from Bennett’s, jet black eyes capturing his own . The stalker’s lips peeled back in a snarl, revealing pointed teeth, just before he barked one single word.

“Run.”

*****

Tom watched impassively as David ‘Lord’ Bennett leaped to his feet with a wail of primal terror, breaking into a stumbling run down the darkened street. He rose, watching the man disappear around a corner, then faced in the opposite direction as a car turned into the little side street. It paused under a distant street lamp, long enough for the flying man to recognize Dieter Reisbach’s old woody station wagon. A moment later he heard the voice of the big German echoing tinnily through the tiny plug in his right ear.

“Go for him, I’ve got the girl.”

“He had a gun, a Derringer. It should be on the sidewalk right across from me,” he said, the microphone sewn to his collar transmitting his words.

“I’ve got that, also. Go.”

Tom Blackwood needed no more encouragement. Swiftly he rose into the air, and in an instant was off in pursuit of his quarry.

*****

OhGodOhGodOhChrist, get me out of here gotta get outta here, he’s for real he’s the real fucking thing gotta run gotta get outta here gogogogo…

His frantic thoughts a litany of terror in his mind, Bennett ran wildly down the late night streets, running for his very life. He didn’t look over his shoulder, no matter how much he wanted to, too frightened at what he might see coming after him. Atavistic fears as old as mankind itself were playing rampantly through his body, sending his heart pounding like a trip hammer, as he dodged through the darkened back alleys.

There was a sudden fluttering overhead, the flap of a leather coat or maybe of impossibly huge wings. Bennett didn’t know, but he skidded to a stop as the monster that had stalked him abruptly settled to earth fifty feet ahead of him. Bennett squealed, spinning around, heading back the way he had come. But then some thing sped past him as if he were standing still, far faster than anything human could possibly run, and the stalker was once more ahead of him, completely blocking the alley. With a desperate surge of his own Bennett twisted and lunged down another of the labyrinthine alleys, colliding with a trash can and sending its contents sprawling in his wake.

Runrunrunrunrun! Helpme, helpme gotta get outta here, gotta –NOOO!

He felt the immense shape rather than saw it, swooping down on him from behind. A weighted blow struck him in the back, propelling him forward, making him stumble in his headlong flight. Before he could fall something hard grabbed him by the forearms and kept him upright, kept him going forward. Lifted him from the ground, until his legs were frantically peddling in mid air. He tried to scream, but the sudden pressure across his chest kept him from drawing a breath, just as the grip on his arms tightened and threatened to pull them out of their sockets. Bennett stared, wide eyed and helpless, as the ground swiftly fell away below him.

The trip proved terrifying, but short. Less than a block away they sailed over a third story building, and as soon as they cleared the edge Bennett was suddenly released from the iron grip and sent tumbling against the dirty rooftop. He rolled in the tar and gravel, coming to a stop. Dazed and still terrified, he raised his head slowly and looked around.

The rooftop was empty, save for a couple of pipes and other fittings rising here and there, connections whose purpose might be known only to a plumber or an electrician. Bennett barely noticed them. Instead he focused on the little shack-like building directly across the roof from him, the kind of structure that would have the entrance to the stairs leading down into the building. A light surrounded by a wire cage burned brightly over the door, casting just enough of a glow to illuminate the entire rooftop. For a second hope surged inside him, only to be coldly drowned when he saw the dark figure of his inhuman stalker crouching on the shack.

Crouching on the side of the shack! Bennett felt like curling into a ball, closing his eyes, and crying like a little girl…

The stalker watched him for awhile, then rose and with a light spring stepped out onto the roof. He strode casually towards his captive. Bennett cringed, then frantically started digging in the pocket of his jacket. With a wrench that tore the fabric he pulled out a six inch Gothic cross, silver plated with a fake red stone in the center. It was a part of the costume, an accessory as much as the silk cravat at his neck. Something you might whip out as a joke at one of the clubs, not something he ever expected to stake his life on. He held it now in shaking fingers, clutching it so desperately it was digging into his palm and whitening his knuckles. The vampire, there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that that was what he was facing, stared down at him curiously, then suddenly threw its head back and laughed. Bennett felt something shrivel up inside of him and whimper.

“Superstition, little man. Nothing but superstition and old wives tales. There is a lot of that around my kind,” the vampire said, his voice deep and rumbling, with just enough of an accent to be noticeable.

Once again he crouched down, leaning forward and lowering his voice. Bennett flinched, but didn’t dare pull away. Where would he go? Where could he go?

“But it’s good that you know what I am, little man. Now we will not waste any of my precious time with threats or explanations. I will ask you questions, and you will answer them, without hesitation, and without lies. Do you understand?”

Bennett tried to speak, but his throat would not respond, so instead he nodded his head vigorously. But the figure just stared stonily back at him until he finally managed to croak out a stuttering “Y-yes.”

“Good, then. Let us begin.

“Your name is David Bennett. Six months ago you brokered a deal with a man called Philip Hyster, a maker of pornographic movies. Do you recall the transaction?”

Bennett swallowed, but nodded, looking away from the piercing eyes of his interrogator. But again the nod failed to satisfy him, and the vampire jabbed him in the shoulder to prompt him. Bennett flinched at the touch, but hurriedly answered. “Yeah. Th-the girl.”

“Yes-sss” the vampire hissed. “The girl, who was mine. Who was my property! Someone stole from me, Bennett. I retrieved her, but they tracked her down and then killed her. Someone must pay for that sin, little man. Tell me the name of the person who sold the girl.”

“Oh, Jeez. Oh, God, please. I-I…you gotta believe me, man, I didn’t know! It was, it was just another deal, see? I swear, I never even saw the kid, I just hooked the porno guy up with some people, that’s all. Please, I’m telling you, I didn’t kno—AACHHH!”

The blow came out of nowhere, an open handed hit across the side of the face that snapped Bennett’s head around and knocked him back to the ground. His head rang with the tolling of giant bells, as the pain set off explosions that left him temporarily blind. Oh shit! Bennett had been bitch slapped before, but never like this. The guy’s palm was as hard as a freakin’ rock, what would it have been like if he had hit him with his fist closed?

“Do not make me repeat myself again, little man! Who sold the girl? WHO?”

“It was the Wings, man! It was the Wings,” Bennett finally sobbed, raising his arm as a shield, huddling into a ball.

The vampire looked at him for awhile, considering his words, then snapped, “Explain. Who are the Wings?”

“The Dark Wing Boyz. A new gang, some really cold dudes. They’re coyoteros, the guys that smuggle Mex illegals across the border, only these guys also do Chinks and sometimes Russians, too.

“They used to put a lot of ‘em out on the streets, the girls and some of the prettier boys, you know what those guys are like, right? But a couple of years ago they also started peddling kids. I don’t usually mess with that kinda thing, but when that little porno prick told me he was into it I offered to hook him up. That’s it, man, I swear. Please, please d-don’t kill me.”

“That part is still undecided. I need names, Bennett. Give me names.”

“I-I can’t. You don’t understand, I only know two of them by name, and a few others by sight. Some of ‘em buy dope and shit from one of my customers, that sort of thing, the girl was the only time I ever did any real business with them. An-and then the exchange went bad, and now they don’t trust me. See, I’m not really in with these guys, man, I never was.”

The vampire, the living dead thing, leaned forward and glared at him. “Then tell me what little you do know, Bennett.”

“I can’t, dude, don’t you understand? These guys aren’t just cold, they’re chill, they’ll cut your throat and leave you in an alley just for lookin’ at ‘em wrong. I’m already on their shit list, if anything happens to the two guys I do know, they’ll come after me just on principle. They’ll kill me, man.”

Suddenly and without warning, two hands shot out and grabbed him by the front of his coat, yanking him forward and off his feet. He found himself dangling, his face brought to within inches of the vampire’s own, staring past the gleaming fangs bared in a snarl. He gasped at a sharp pain where a patch of his chest hair were ripped out. He pulled his eyes away and looked down, and whimpered when he realized that he and the monster were now hovering three feet above the rooftop.

“And what makes you think that death is the worse thing that can happen to you,” the living dead man growled.

Bennett lost it. With a wail of terror he started to struggle against the iron grip on his coat. He kicked and twisted, and in a move of pure instinct he grabbed the stickpin from his cravat and jabbed the point downward like a dagger. It went in solid, burying itself into the vampire’s chest just below the left collar bone. Bennett abruptly found himself released, and falling the three feet back to the rooftop, hitting the tarred surface with a shock that twisted his left ankle and half knocked the wind out of him. He scrambled to his feet and tried to run, limping badly, only to stop when he reached the parapet and looked down to the hard concrete three stories below. He gasped, turning frantically and scanning the rooftop for any exit, but the only one he could see was the stairhead at the far end. And standing between him and that was a very pissed off vampire.

Bennett shivered, cowering, watching what he knew must be the engine of his own death, wishing he had the courage to throw himself off the roof and die easy. Nausea churned his stomach and threatened to spew out of his mouth. He tried, but he was unable to look away, as the vampire settled back to the roof. It was staring at the ruby headed pin that stuck out of its chest, before reaching up and pulling it out. It contemplated the pin, and the dark stain of blood at its end, as if puzzled. And then unexpectedly, the monster threw back its head and roared with laughter!

“The puppy has teeth! Oh, I am beginning to like you, little man. Twice now tonight you have made me laugh, something I rarely do these days. Normally if you defied me and stood in my way, I would cause you pain and horror until you gave me what I wanted. And then I would leave you’re broken body in some filthy back alley for the rats and dogs to fight over.”

The vampire grinned hugely, a terrifying sight that bared his fangs. There was a strange glint in his eye as he strode across the rooftop to where Bennett stood cowering in the corner. It stopped when it was less than three feet away, then bent down and lowered it’s voice, as if it were about to tell Bennett something both secret, and highly momentous.

“Tell me, puppy, how would you like to be… immortal?”

Bennett felt his heart stop, actually stop, and then only reluctantly start up again.

“You and your kind, you emulate us. You watch your movies and your TV shows, collect your books and tell each other stories late at night. You dress like us, act like us, pay thousands of dollars to your dentists to look like us. You even hang posters on your walls of Bela Lugosi in that ridiculous costume. You say it is all in fun, just harmless play, you don’t really believe in us. But in your heart you want to believe. Gods, how you want to believe!

“Because if it is all real, if we really do exist, then there also exists the chance that someday you, too, could be one of us. A lord of the night, and of all the dark places. Vampire.”

Bennett’s heart was pounding, but it was no longer a reaction to the fear. The fear was still there, but it was muted, secondary to something else. Something that seemed to be equal parts excitement, greed, and lust.

“You… could do that? Make me like you?”

“Yes, puppy, I can. And that is your greatest wish, isn’t it? To never grow old, to live forever. And to have such power that you need never fear any man again, because you are literally the most dangerous predator of them all!”

“When? I mean, like, now?” It chuckled. “No, Puppy, not here, or now. Your kind really does have a great many misconceptions about mine. Crosses, holy water, turning into bats, even the way we reproduce. The gift is not an infection that can be transferred from blood to blood. It is a long and complicated process, involving the darkest of magicks, and it is not given lightly. There is a price. Are you willing to pay that price, little man?”

Bennett swallowed, and shivered. The cold night air was chilling him through his sweat soaked clothing, bringing with it a smell of the ocean mixed with the garbage from the alley below. He felt sick to his stomach, and yet at the same time his pulse raced with an energy unlike anything he had ever felt before. To be an actual, fucking for real VAMPIRE! To be the strongest, toughest, meanest son of a bitch in the whole damned town, wherever he went! The cops, the psycho gang bangers, the strutting punks who looked down on him, hell all of them put together wouldn’t be able to touch him. Him, David fucking Bennett. The Vampire.

Oh, hell, yeah!

For the first time he stood straight and looked the leather clad monster in the eye, and felt no fear. It was there still, like background noise, but so overwhelmed by his excitement that it might as well have been courage he felt. He drew in a deep breath, and with only a slight quiver to his voice he answered, “Yes, I will. I’ll pay the price, I’ll pay anything. Anything at all.”

The vampire looked down and studied him, as if weighing his commitment. Finally, he said, “Ten years.”

Beckett blinked. “What…?”

“That is the price, Puppy. Ten years as my servant. Ten years, where I will own you, and use you as I see fit. Anger me, and you will be punished. Disappoint me and you will be cut loose, to walk the earth until you die, just like the rest of your kind. Are you still willing to pay?”

Bennett swallowed in disappointment, but still nodded readily. Hell, what was ten years compared to eternal life, right? “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” the vampire asked, pointedly.

“What? Oh, yeah. Um, yes, ‘master’?”

He nodded. “Good, you can learn. Now pay attention. When a master Vampiri settles in a city he rules it, as his domain. To do this I will need to rid this place of its vermin, one by one, and then take what is theirs for myself. Do you understand?”

“Uh, yeah. You’re gonna get rid of all the players in town, and take over all their operations. But, like, which ones? Girls, drugs, gambling, what? Uh, master.”

“Everything, Bennett. In time I will control it all. It will not happen overnight, it will take years, but then time is what my kind have the most of. One by one, starting with those who have already sinned against me. Tell me about the Dark Wing Boyz.”

Bennett licked his lips. “Okay, like I said I only know the names of two guys. The first one is a Russkie, Dmitri Taktarov. Tall guy, blond, real thin but not skinny, y’know? Anyway they say he’s ex-military, then joined the Russian mob like a lot of them did when things went to shit over there. He’s an old dude, maybe fifty or so, but it sure don’t seem to’ve slowed him down.

“He’s got a partner, or maybe he’s like a bodyguard or something. Big Asian guy, with long hair and this Fu Manchu mustache, goes by the name of Delger. No last name, at least not one I’ve ever heard. They say he’s Mongolian, like Genghis Kahn, and that he and the Russkie have been partners for years. I think they came over on the boat together or something. There are a bunch of others that hang around them, but they’re just hangers on, I think.”

“Taktarov and Delger. How do you find them?”

Bennett answered by naming a string of clubs and bars where the two hung out with their entourage. Unfortunately he had no home addresses or contact numbers. He apologized nervously, but the vampire waved it away dismissively.

“Tell me about their operation.”

“Um, well, Delger’s the one I talked with the most, he’s a lot more approachable than Dmitri is. Don’t get me wrong, he’ll rip a nun’s arms off as soon as look at her, but when you get three or four vodkas into him he becomes a real party guy. You know, laugh at all of your jokes and slap you on the back so hard it breaks, that kind? Any way he says they don’t actually smuggle any illegals themselves, they just run a sort of loose coalition kind of thing with the gangs that do. Coyoteros from Mexico and South America, snakeheads form Asia, and Russian mobs for Eastern Europe.

“With the coyotes and the snakes, it’s simple. They sneak in a batch of wetbacks, and if they see some kiddie that they like they just, you know, take ‘em. I mean, what’re the parents gonna do, go to the cops? No way. They either sell the kids outright to the pervs, or they put ‘em to work for a thousand dollars a pop. It’s big money, really big.

“But before they put the kids to work, first they gotta make sure they don’t put ‘em out in the same city where they let their families go. Wouldn’t do for Mom and Dad to see little Lee or Juanita selling their ass on the streets, would it? So the kiddie whores you see around here probably all came in from San Diego, LA, or Seattle, places like that, see.

“With the Russians they don’t have to worry about that, over there it’s straight out and out snatch and grab, right off the streets and farms. Lot of above board slave trading going on over there, especially around Chechnya and Georgia, all those little countries that split off the old Soviet Union and are now trying to kill each other off. It’s more difficult smuggling illegals in all the way from there, but it’s worth it, the pervs will pay upwards of fifty grand for a blonde haired white kid.

“Delger told me that they keep the kids here in San Francisco all in one place. They got pimps who come and pick ‘em up every night and then deliver them right to the johns. Sometimes it’s to a place they own, like a cathouse for kiddies or something, and sometimes they go right to the customer’s house. But the kids never stay overnight, the pimps always bring them back to the holding place. And before you ask, no, I don’t know where that is. And there’s no way I can find out, either. These guys are too cagey, and like I said they don’t trust me anymore.”

“How many children do these people have in this holding place?”

“Umm, I think Delger said about forty or so. I got the impression it kind of varies a lot.”

“Varies? Why would it vary so much?”

“Uhh, at a guess? Probably ‘cause they sell off their stock, mostly. But there’d also be some attrition, you know? I mean, kids die, right?”

Bennett finally fell silent, having told all he knew, and waited for his new master to answer. He had to wait a long time, so much so that his mouth had gone dry in dread that the vampire was going to kill him after all. But instead the living dead man that had promised him eternal life abruptly turned and began to pace the rooftop. His movements were swift and light, the gravel scrunching softly under his boots, a feral energy seeming to come off of him like heat from a sidewalk. Bennett swallowed, feeling like a rabbit in the presence of a very large predator. Finally, his master stopped, then spun sharply on one heel and pinned him with a stare that left Bennett shivering.

“Here are your first orders then, little man. You will find out for me as much as you can about these people. Yes, I realize it is probably too dangerous for you to approach them, but there will be others that you can ask. Do so. Also, watch them as closely as you can. Find out where they go and who they talk to. Get me the license plates of their vehicles, and those of the people they meet with. Phone numbers, if possible. But your highest priority is to locate the place where they hold the children. Do you understand?”

“Yes! Uh, yes, Master,” Bennett said, quickly nodding. “But, I mean, when I do find out something, how’m I going to get in touch with you?”

“Memorize this number,” he ordered, and then rattled it off. He made Bennett repeat it four times to make sure he had it right. “This is a secured line, call whenever you have something to tell. It will be relayed to me within a few hours. If there is no one there, leave a message.”

“Right, got it. Hey, what if you need to get a hold of me? Do you want my number?”

“I already have it.”

Bennett blinked, feeling another shiver chase itself up and down his spine. For some reason the fact that the vampire, the Master, knew private things about him was scary. Not as scary as the fangs and the flying and the whole undead thing, but close. Thinking about it he realized that it underscored just how deep he was into this whole scene. If he tried to get out now, the bloodsucker would probably have no trouble at all tracking him down.

But then again, did he want out? Eternal life, power, top of the food chain? Hell, no baby, bring it on!

Bennett was smiling as he followed his master to the center of the roof, and if he had been a puppy he would have been wagging his tail. Man, he couldn’t wait to get started. If there was anything to find out about those bastards, he would sure as hell find it! He’d show his master that he had chosen a winner when he picked David Bennett to be his servant.

Something occurred to him as they stopped at the center of the rooftop. “Uh, Master? Like, what’s your name? What should I call you?”

The dead man looked down at him. “Are you intending to speak my name to others. Mortal?” he asked, a hint of threat in his tone, telling his new servant what the answer to that question had better be.

“No! No, I swear, I’d never tell anyone about you. Never!” he blurted.

“Then there is no need for you to know my true name, is there? Oh, and one more thing, Bennett. The girl, the one you left the club with, and abandoned out on the street. She was drugged?”

“What? Oh, yeah, Just a few roofies. I mean, a guy like me, I can get all the trim I want. No sweat. But the roofies save time, you know? No muss, no fuss, they just lie there while you slip it in and get your nut off. Then the next day they don’t even remember anything happened. Hell, I love that stuff.” Nervousness was making him babble. He had to watch that, he had a feeling patience wasn’t that high a priority with the undead.

Bennett looked for some sign of agreement from his master but instead the vampire looked away, out across the lights of the city. In a quiet voice he asked, “So did you enjoy her, little man?”

“What, you mean like in the cab coming over here? Hell, no, not in front of that cabbie! And you, um, kinda interrupted things before I got her to her place.”

“A pity then. She would have been your last.”

“My… last? Last what?”

Bennett’s master turned to him once again, his voice now gone bland, as if now they were just two guys discussing the weather.

“As I said before, little man, the giving of the gift of vampirism is no simple thing. There is magic involved, a great spell that requires the recipient to prepare himself. The ten year period of servitude is no arbitrary number, it is the least amount of time necessary for you to condition your body to receive the gift.”

“What, you mean like a special diet or something?” Aww, Christ, did he mean like that Renfield guy in the Dracula movie? Was he going to have to eat rats and bugs and shit?”

“Abstinence, Bennett.”

Blink. “Uhhh…”

“Abstinence. To obtain the power of the Vampiri, for the next ten years you must totally abstain from the pleasures of the flesh. No sexual congress of any kind. Do you understand?”

“What…FOR TEN YEARS?!!! Are you in—“

Suddenly the monster, who he had foolishly stopped being afraid of, was closer to him. A lot closer, as if the intervening ten feet had completely vanished in the blink of an eye. He stuck his face down into Bennett’s, nose to nose, his dark eyes blazing with anger. A snarl bared his gleaming white fangs, weapons that could tear his throat out in a savage instant. Bennett cowered, his knees threatening to betray him at any second.

“Do you want to live forever, or don’t you?!” the vampire hissed.

He swallowed what felt like a bucket of dust. “Yes,” he managed to say, in a small voice. He flinched, and when he opened his eyes the horrible visage was gone. He looked around, fearfully, saw that he was alone, then remembered to look upwards. There was the dark figure of the vampire, disappearing into the night. His overcoat flapped in the wind, like two leathern wings.

It took a good ten minutes for Bennett to pull himself together. He headed for the door, still limping, his hands thrust into his coat pockets and shivering in the night chill. As he hurried across the rooftop his thoughts chased themselves around and around inside his head.

Eternal life and power. But no women for TEN FREAKING YEARS. Shit, and before he was worried bout having to eat rats and cockroaches. He reached for the door and grasped the handle, twisting it.

It was locked.

Awww, shit!!