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Authors: James R. Tuck

Tags: #Fantasy, #Vampires

Blood and Bullets (4 page)

BOOK: Blood and Bullets
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I knew I didn't care about any of that.
The blessed crucifix from my pocket wrapped around my right hand. It sparked into white light in the presence of the vampires. Next out were the shooter tubes full of holy water. There were five of them, and they held about an ounce each.
That may not sound like much, but holy water acts like acid on the undead, and for some reason, it even works through the clothes they wear. A few drops would repel a vampire, no problem. The tubes were hard plastic and the lids were rubber corks sealed with a ring of wax. You could pop the top on them with one hand. Sliding back behind Nyteblade, I put my mouth by his ear again. He smelled sour, fear pouring through his sweat, pulling all the acidity out of his skin. He jumped when I spoke.
“Keep that cross held high, but you follow me. You have to keep up. If they separate us, you will die.”
I snapped my fingers to make sure Nyteblade heard me. He nodded, dripping sweat into his eyes in spite of the cool night air. His arms were visibly shaking from holding the cross up for so long. That cross had to weigh at least twice as much as my gun, so I knew he was nearing the end of his stamina.
I hoped he was up to running after me, because if he fell behind he would be dead before I could turn around. We just had to make it past these vampires and around the corner; then it was only a short run to the Comet. If I could just get him to the Comet, I could get his ass out of here. Then I could start making headway on what was going on tonight.
One of the holy waters went between my teeth, then two in each hand. I had the tubes separated by a finger so that a quick open-and-close motion with my hand would drop one; then I could flip the cap from the second one. Moving in front of Nyteblade, I used my thumbs to snap off the caps on the first two tubes.
The vampires were all frothing like dogs at the end of a chain, held back only by the edge of holy light from the cross Nyteblade had and the crucifix in my right fist. Teeth clenched on the holy water, I screamed to let Nyteblade know I was ready. My legs were tensed in a sprinter's stance when I raised my hands and brought them down in an X, crossing across my body, and then throwing them back up and out to the sides of my chest. Moonlight glittered on the holy water as it flew from the tubes and out onto the mass of vampires.
The effect was instantaneous.
What little hearing I had recovered from the gunfire was stolen in a dash of undead screams. The mass parted like the Red Sea as vampires flung themselves from the path of the holy water. Bloodsuckers convulsed and jerked as it began to eat into them. They were so tightly packed when I flung the holy water that, in their flailing, the ones I hit rubbed it onto the ones I didn't. Smoke rose from the vampires and there were small flashes of flame where some got an especially strong shot of it. They roiled back against the brick walls and spilled out of the alley end. Some ran off, but most fell to the ground.
Opening and closing my hands, I dropped the two empty vials to the ground. My thumbs flipped the caps on the other two tubes in my hands and I flung more holy water onto them. Now every vampire left had smoke coming from their bodies, and they were clawing at themselves and screaming. My thighs clenched and I began to sprint.
Running, I threw the last of the holy water in my hands as I passed vampires. Those tubes dropped and I snatched the one from my teeth. Looking over my shoulder as I cleared the corner, I saw Nyteblade was right behind me but dropping a step or two as we went.
Some of the vampires that had not gotten good doses of the holy water were rising up and shaking off the effects. They would be hot on our trail shortly. We still had to get down the side of the building and across the lot to the Comet. Reaching back, I grabbed a handful of Nyteblade's duster and hauled him in front of me. Holding on to his coat, I ran as if our lives depended on it. Mostly because they did. I still had the last vial of holy water and my Taurus with five bullets. It wouldn't be enough to save us if we were overtaken, but it might be enough to get us to the car.
Legs pumping and my shoving got Nyteblade to the end of the building. My lungs were working like bellows. I'm built for power, not speed. I can run, faster than you would think for a man my size, but I am not a marathon man. At least not when it comes to running I'm not.
Nine vampires had overcome the holy water enough to begin chasing after us. Over my shoulder I saw them charging down the side of the building. With a shove to keep Nyteblade running, I popped the cap on the last vial of holy water in my left hand and slid to a stop.
“Keep going to the black car! I'll be there in a second.” My right hand dug for my keys as I flung the holy water in the direction of the vampires. They fell back immediately. I didn't hit any of them, but they had learned their lesson. It was almost like a comedy act as they tripped over each other not to get splashed. My left hand went behind my back and came out with the Taurus .44 Bulldog. It's a small gun. Not much bigger than my fist.
I began to run again as I punched the electric key fob I held. The engine of the Comet roared to life and the driver's side door popped open. The doors on a Mercury Comet from the sixties are heavy suckers. If they are unlocked, they swing out on their own. I had put in the electric engine start and the door opener for situations just like this, where I need to get in the car on the run. The '66 model Comet I have is the two-door version and had the largest door opening of any car in that year. It yawned forth, waiting to swallow me. I am a big guy and I need as much space as I can get to jump in and out of a car.
Nyteblade was at the car when I got there, vampires still a handful of steps behind me. He had the cross held up like he had in the alleyway. Grabbing his coat, I shoved him into the open door of the Comet. He sprawled across the bench seat in the front. My boot went on his ass as I kicked him across the leather and dumped him into the floorboard.
One leg in and one leg out, I leaned on the door of the car and fired at the leading vampires. The phosphorus in the bullets left streaks of light in the dark. One of them exploded into dust as I nailed its heart and head. Two more fell from catching bullets, the phosphorus blazing to flame where it struck them. Bending my knees, I slid into the car, pulling the door closed behind me. I dropped the Comet into Drive, stomped the gas, and took off leaving a trail of smoke behind like the car's namesake. In the rearview mirror, vampires were screaming at the night in frustration as we got away.
Fuck 'em.
4
The Comet was like a shark gliding through oily water as I pulled up to Polecats. The parking lot was packed like it usually was and cars of all kinds lined the lot. Some customers were going into the club and one guy was leaving. Nothing looked suspicious as we cruised slowly through.
Nyteblade had crawled out of the floor boards and was pressed against the passenger door with his coat pulled around him like a shroud. His eyes were unblinking, staring at me like he had been the entire drive over. Once I got behind the club I spun the car around and backed into the alley behind the building so that the nose pointed out. The alley was narrow and provided cover for the car. I turned the ignition off but left the car in Neutral in case I had to crank it up and get the hell out of there quick.
Flipping open the glove box gave me a box of ammo. Practice let me reload the Desert Eagle without looking, so I used the time to check my surroundings through the windshield. There were no vampires that I could see. The area looked clear. Nyteblade made a noise as if to speak and I quickly cut him off with a slash of my hand. I needed silence to think and to listen. He stilled immediately, probably because of the gun in my hand. I had been trying to figure out what the hell was happening on the way to the club.
Obviously, I was set up. It was the only thing that made sense. This Nyteblade guy was no threat to anyone whatsoever, especially not a fifty-vampire-level threat. That was a lot of supernatural firepower to throw at someone. From everything I had seen from him, he didn't warrant it, so that left me. I didn't know why something had tried to take me out, but I was damn sure going to figure it out. That came later, though. Right this moment I wanted to be safe and secure and then find out what Nyteblade knew. Survival first, answers second.
The loaded Desert Eagle was a comfortable weight in my right hand as I pulled out my cell and punched the number with my left. It rang twice and the voice that answered was all business.
“Polecats, this is Kathleen, how can I help you?” Kathleen, Kat to her friends, is the manager of Polecats. Answering with her name meant things were normal at the club. No trouble. If she had just answered, “Polecats,” no name and no “How can I help you?” then I would have known to come in quiet and ready to shoot someone or something.
Truth is, I own the club, not just use it as an office. It's a good moneymaker and helps fund my war on monsters. Kat and all the folks who work for me know just what I do and why I do it. In one way or another, they have all been touched by the monsters. Some of them I saved and they work for me out of gratitude. Some of them I was too late to save and they work for me to feel safe or to help seek revenge. Whatever their reason, they all know what I do and help me in any way I need.
Take Kat, for example. Kat's sister was killed by vampires years ago. It was a vicious, evil kill. I found her while hunting something else entirely. She had been playing groupie and letting vampires bite her and worse to try to find information on who killed her sister. The bloodsuckers found out what she was up to and enslaved her, forcing her to be a bloodwhore for a really twisted sonnuvabitch named Darius. For months she was forced to endure sexual sadism on a level most would not survive. I saved her and helped her get justice. She has been by my side ever since. Dedicated and faithful, but she has a deep-seated, violently unreasonable hatred for anything vampire.
Yes, she is in love with me. No, we are not together. It's not like that between us. There's nothing wrong with her looks, but the trauma from what I took her out of has kept her from any romantic relationships. I am not ready to move on from my wife's death, not by a long shot, and Kat is more like a sister to me. I love her, but we will never date. It would be too weird. Instead, we have a kinship that lets us work closely together. She keeps me organized and maintains the operation of the club in all its facets.
Polecats is not just a strip club. It is also one of my bases of operations. I converted an abandoned warehouse into the club about five years back, after the loss of my family and the madness that came afterward.
Before opening for business, I fortified the damn thing. Steel doors and shutters on the windows. Recessed bolted frames around them. Bulletproof Lexan in the windows and doors. Every opening and space covered by digital and infrared cameras, motion detectors, and proximity alarms.
In short, the works.
A trunk line carries the electricity and the Internet that is hydra branched into the surrounding systems of my neighbors. So there was no way to cut the communications or power to the building without killing the entire block, which most bad guys will not do because they do not want that much attention drawn to them. Or they simply can't. It's hard to think about things like that if you are not even human. Once I am inside and the club is locked down, I am safe as houses.
“Kat, are there any vamps in the club?”
“No.”
“Double-check.”
“Give me a second.” I knew what she was doing, I heard her typing over the phone. She was switching the security cameras to infrared, looking for cold spots in the club. “No, we're clear.”
“Lock it down, Kat. All of it. Customers out without creating a panic, employees in the break room. Tell Father Mulcahy to get out the Sweeper and be ready. I am coming in the back door with company.”
The phone went dead as Kat went into action. She didn't question or even waste time on good-bye. Good girl, Kat is. Stowing the phone, I jacked a shell into the chamber of the Desert Eagle.
“Let's go, and be quick about it.”
The door to the Comet slowly opened and I slid out, gun at the ready. Nyteblade stumbled out of the car behind me, tripping on his damn coat and the bandolier of stakes around his bird chest. Grabbing his collar, I hauled him to his feet and pushed him to the door of the club. It is a plain gray steel door with a simple handle that is bolted to it. The bolts go all the way through the door itself and come out inside the building. Inside, they are held on by wing nuts. A few quick spins and the handle would come off, leaving anyone on the outside trying to get in with nothing to grab on to.
My foot pushed the door to the Comet shut and my finger punched the key fob to lock it down tight. The keyhole for the club's back door is recessed. Still keeping my eyes on our surroundings, I had to use touch to feed in the key. It slid in and turned the heavy lock.
The steel door was heavy enough to make me grunt opening it. It is a solid sheet of three-inch steel. Most steel doors are a frame covered with an eighth inch of steel sheeting. Not this one. I put my back against the door and held it open, motioning Nyteblade inside with a quick head jerk. I backed in after him and the door closed behind me on oiled hinges.
The inside of the steel door has a round spinner like you see on a bank vault mounted on it. Giving it a quick twirl, I heard four clicks as the bolts it controlled locked into each side of the frame of the door. Two-inch-thick steel bolts sunk six inches into the steel frame and surrounding wall. Nothing was coming in behind us without a rhino.
Or a Sherman tank.
We were now in the back part of the club. It is the only part left that still looks like a warehouse. Bare brick for walls, no windows because of the back alley, and a stairway made of metal and concrete that leads upstairs. It's mostly used for storage. Kat keeps it clean and tidy. Boxes of supplies were sorted into stacks for the club and stacks for me. The club got the stacks with alcohol, glasses, and peanuts. I got the stacks with shotgun shells, bullets, and grenades. Go figure.
Heading up the stairs to the break room with Nyteblade in tow, I heard the customers being asked to leave. The break room is at the top of the stairs and is the most central room of the club. The entire thing is as secure as a bank vault and is where all the weapons in the club are kept.
Okay, not all of them, but a good part of them. It isn't actually used as a break room either. That is what it was used for when the place was a factory, so thats what we call it. Employees take breaks in the lounge behind the main area of the club. It is pimped out with couches, a stocked fridge, state-of-the-art microwave, foot massagers, and anything else needed for the employees to relax.
The break room is large and well lit, consisting of a big open room lined with metal cabinets. Inside, the cabinets are weapons, and each one had the kind of weapons they held stenciled on the door. A long metal table with chairs takes up the center of the room.
Nyteblade was deposited in a chair and I began pulling guns and crosses out of the cabinets and lining them up in pairs along the table. All of the crosses were silver and were blessed each day. The guns were all CZ 75 9mm and were identical. The CZ is a Czechoslovakian gun and is a nice little piece of work. Light and smooth, it holds fourteen rounds. I provide them for the employees so they are interchangeable. I didn't want anyone to feel crippled if they lost “their gun,” so everybody's gun is the same.
They are loaded with the silver-jacketed Orion bullets and they are all 9mm because it is a good size for someone with smaller hands but packs enough of a punch to get the job done. You might have to use two or three rounds for that job, but that is why you have fourteen in the clip. We have a few amazons working the club, but most of the girls are petite, so the guns work.
The unmistakable sound of high heels on tile announced company before the first girl entered the room. In twos and threes they began to enter the room and line up along the wall in various stages of undress. We had a full staff tonight of about twenty girls—blonds, redheads, brunettes, tall, short, thin, buxom, all nationalities, and all different styles. At Polecats, we have what you are looking for. I thought Nyteblade's eyes were going to pop out of his head, but it
is
a strip club. Clothing is pretty minimal for most of the employees.
I kept working, making sure I laid out a cross and gun combination for each girl. I'm used to it all, and believe it or not, owning a strip club has zero to do with sex for me. It's all business. It makes money, a ton of it, and it is all mostly untraceable. Plus, you can do things like throw everybody out with no notice and they will line back up tomorrow to see the show.
Besides, with the zoning in this city, there are no actual “strip” clubs. In the adult entertainment places around here, girls cannot be nude. Seriously. Here strip clubs are more like skimpy attire clubs because it is illegal to serve alcohol and have nudity on premises. You have to have one or the other in this county. So lingerie and micro-bikinis all around. It's actually pretty common here in the South. Works for me, works for the girls, works for the customers, and works for the county.
The girls didn't interrupt me or ask any questions, they just let me work. Like I said, they all know what I really do. Voices murmured as they talked amongst themselves quietly and a few waved or smiled at Nyteblade, which turned his face scarlet and made him study the floor.
Finally, Kat walked into the room. I didn't hear her coming because she wore Dr. Marten's instead of high heels. Kat is not a dancer. She's pretty enough to be, but her demeanor is all wrong. It's not that she has no humor, but it is so dry that most people have a hard time connecting with her. She is all business and that business is serious.
Her hair is long, blond, and bone straight. She keeps it pulled back in a ponytail that shows her Midwestern, corn-fed, girl-next-door looks. Big green eyes, with high cheekbones and a straight nose, over full pink lips made her look like the stereotypical high-school sweetheart. Her compact cheerleader's body was kept in shape with Muay Thai training. Her gun was out and in her hand, the CZ 75 9mm gleaming in contrast with her black Arch Enemy shirt and dark jeans. An ever-present array of blessed crosses hung around her neck.
She was followed into the room by Father Mulcahy, our bartender. He was holding a modified Benelli shotgun we call the Sweeper because it was loaded with hand-packed silver shot that was so fine it was almost like pepper. The hand packing made the birdshot spread dramatically when fired. Two rounds from it could sweep the entire room and slow down any supernatural critter, but any humans would basically be unharmed. It was a tool Father Mulcahy brought with him when he started working with me. He loads the shells himself and he loves the damn thing.
He's an odd cat, our Father Mulcahy is.
He is actually a bona-fide Catholic priest, and one of the exorcist order at that, with a face that looks like a beat-up version of Robert De Niro's. Really, I am not being mean, and it's not just because I am so pretty, but Father Dominic Boru Mulcahy is a rough-looking man. He's a foot shorter than me, but probably only fifty pounds separate us. Cut into the shape of a square, he has thick dockworkers' arms attached to a barrel chest. Coarse salt and pepper hair rides over a square face marred by a boxer's nose, cauliflower boxer's ears, and scar tissue masquerading as eyebrows.
He smokes, drinks, cusses, and believes in God, His Son Jesus Christ, Holy Mother Mary, and all the saints in Heaven with all his heart and soul. Proficient in Shaolin Kung Fu, Brazilian jujitsu, Ninpo, Kenpo, and Muay Thai, he can shoot like a sniper and knife fight like a hardened convict. The priest is one of the toughest son of a bitches I know. I met him when I first started on this road. He serves bar downstairs at night, performs Mass in the mornings, and is there for whatever I need to fight my war. Sometimes it's advice. Sometimes it's cover fire.
BOOK: Blood and Bullets
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