Shrouds of Darkness (6 page)

I can feel the round strike an iron-like rib in my back and stop dead. I’m hurt bad but I can take it. With a mental thought as easy as breathing, I send stolen blood platelets to staunch the bleeding. Without a heart beating to put my bloodstream under pressure, my dark clothing absorbs what little blood does escape from the wound. The pain is intense but I instantly extinguish that flame by cutting off the nerve-endings around the site. Half of my chest immediately goes numb as if I had just received one hell of an epidural.

I manage all this without losing focus on the assassin. I continue to shift my aim and caress the trigger one more time. My bullet carves a nice trough about two inches deep along the left side of his shaggy head. To my surprise, he actually manages to give me a shit-eating grin before his eyes cross and he loses touch with his own existence. I put two more rounds in his heart just for good measure. If I am really good it will look like a single entrance wound. I like to take pride in my work.

The whole chaotic event unfolds and meets its conclusion in less than three seconds. I take a quick look around for any more signs of trouble. All I see is Freak and Tiny, standing there with their mouths hanging open and their guns gripped in their trembling, meaty fists. Neither of them had time to so much as squeeze off a shot. They may as well have been standing there shaking their cocks at the assassins for all the good their hardware had done them.

I’ll give Hanako credit—he composes himself quickly. He stands up, straightens the lapels of his ten-thousand dollar suit, and gives Yuri a short bow before turning to me.

“Mr. Malone. It appears I owe you my life. I would reward a man such as you greatly if you would come and work for me.”

I manage not to spit in his eye. I’m so proud of myself. “As I have told Yuri many times, I am strictly freelance and choosey about whom I work for.”

Tommy does not take rejection well. I watch the muscles of his face twitch about like a swarm of little sub-dermal worms fighting for dominance of his facial expression. Apparently, the humble ones win the battle.

“Then perhaps I can reward you by having you for dinner some time at my own restaurant?”

I give a smile that most confuse with polite friendliness. “Or perhaps I’ll have you?”

It sucks being the only one who gets a really good joke.

Tommy gives me one last fake smile before glaring at his two goons. “You two! What the fuck am I paying you for? You are fucking worthless! A fucking rented gun saves my life and I pay you for what, to stand around and look stupid? Take me to my car, you fucking retards. Can you manage that? Can you walk to my fucking car? Can you even fucking spell car? Grunt once if you understand!”

Freak and Tiny are pulled along in the wake of their irate and still cursing boss as they make a beeline for the parking lot before the cops arrive. The crowded dance floor below is in chaos, but Tommy and his entourage are not slowed in the slightest as his bodyguards do what they do best and hurl anyone aside that foolishly get in their way.

Yuri has been quiet the entire time, but now that Tommy is out of earshot, he can properly vent. “What de fock was all that? Who de fock are dees fockers?” Yuri demands in his accented English.

Yuri’s accent gets worse when he is upset.

“Not friends of yours then I take it?” I ask with only a bit of sarcasm in my voice.

Yuri does his best to ignore my remark. “You took that round. I saw it. How are you?”

I put my hand over the new hole in my body.

“It hurts like hell,” I lie. “Thank God for vests, huh?”

Yuri looks at me skeptically. I don’t know what he’s thinking but he lets it go. “You moved fast—real fast. Those two giants, they were useless. I owe you—again.”

I shake my head. “You got what you paid for.”

Yuri gives me a noncommittal grunt. “We should get de fock out of here before cops show up.”

I shake my head again. “We need to stay put. There are a couple hundred witnesses that put us all at the scene. We leave and the cops just follow and arrest us later. We haven’t done anything wrong. We were the victims. It’s best if we stay right here.”

Yuri hates that idea but he knows I’m right.

“I focking hate cops,” he mutters but sits back down and gulps his unfinished vodka.

I pull out my cell phone. I know I’m in the right but sometimes it’s hard to convince the police of that. That’s why we have lawyers and I have a really good one—a really good and expensive one. This call was about to cost me most of what I make tonight.

“Will,” I say into my phone as soon as I hear the other end pick up, “it’s Leo.”

“Oh shit, who’d you kill now?” he groans through the receiver.

Will knows me too well.

“I don’t know. A couple guys tried to kill Yuri and Tommy Hanako a few minutes ago. I did my job,” I reply.

I hear my lawyer breath out a sigh of relief. “So you were on duty, good, that’s good. Are the cops there yet?”

“Not yet but I can hear the sirens.”

“Ok, don’t say more than you have to. Try not to say anything until I get there!” Will says anxiously.

I growl back into my phone. “I know what to do.”

“I know you know what to do! The trick is getting you not do it anyway! Just try not to fuck yourself so bad I can’t pull the dick back out of your ass. Ok?”

Oh ye of little faith. “Yeah, I got it. I’ll behave.”

Will scoffs through the phone. “Yeah right, and my next fart will smell of lilacs.”

Will clicks the phone off as I assume he hurries out of his luxury apartment to pull my ass out of the fire. It won’t be the first time and it won’t be the last.

I hear cops outside shouting commands to each other and at the crowd to restore some kind of control. Most of the mob is gathering in the street and the parking lot by now, but there are still plenty milling about inside to make a wreck of any crime scene.

I watch from my elevated position as uniformed cops burst into the club and begin trying to separate and group up witnesses. I immediately mark the Hispanic man mounting the stairs as a plain-clothes homicide detective. The cheap suit amongst the uniformed officers indicates he is a detective. The dead bodies lying near my table put the odds on him working homicide. See, that’s what makes me such a good private investigator. I have an eye for details.

I also know him as Angel Lopez who I almost consider a friend on the force. Several years ago, Angel had to testify against a major mob syndicate operating in the area. Word got out that this gang put out a hit on Angel and his entire family all the way down to first cousins. Of course they were all put in protective custody, but that is about as safe as a fishnet condom, so Angel hired me as a private bodyguard for his family.

Late one night the two police officers tasked with protecting Angel’s family both went outside to “check on a suspicious noise.” It was no coincidence that was the exact same time the mafia leader’s, a guy named Falcone, men struck. The official body count that night was seven dead Italian mobsters. Unofficially you can add the owners of the thirteen trigger fingers I personally dropped on Falcone’s desk, two of which belonged to two police officers that decided to retire early—and permanently.

Falcone never made it to court either. He decided to take a dive off the balcony of his penthouse suite with a little assist from yours truly. I then convinced his replacement to pack up his operation and move it elsewhere.

Normally a man on a cop’s salary would never have been able to afford to hire me for that kind of work. But a double mortgage and a steep discount for police favors procured my services. I know; I’m a regular saint.

“How did I know you would be in the middle of this?” Angel pants as he crests the top of the stairs.

Angel has really let himself go lately.

I shrug my shoulders. “Just lucky I guess.”

“Not for them,” the detective replies with a snort and nudge of Tweaker’s corpse with the toe of his shoe. “What happened?”

I shrug again. “Not much. Yuri’s dinner was interrupted when these two came at the table with guns drawn, so I put them down.”

Angel is scribbling notes on a small pad as I talk. “So Mr. Poplonovich was dining alone?”

I purse my lips as I think on how to answer that question. “My job is ensuring the safety of my employer. Any other details are not my business.”

Maybe I should become lawyer, or a politician; I have knack for evasive answers.

Angel is a pro and lets my bullshit answer go. “So Mr. Poplonovich was entertaining a guest, but I doubt either of you are going to share that information with me are you?”

Yuri glares at the detective over his glass. “I don’t focking talk to focking cops. You fockers put a boot on my Bentley last week!”

“Well, Yuri, you can’t go parking in a loading zone or those kinds of things happen,” Angel calmly explains with a wry smile.

Yuri is not pleased with this answer. “It is my focking building, I park where I want!”

Personally, I think the entire Q and A is going great until a Latina-laced accent pierces the still chaotic din down below.

 “You uniforms get control of this crowd, now!”

I knew it was inevitable but I still blow out an invective-tainted sigh as Detective Sergeant Anna Castillo tromps up the stairs. Her dour expression turns into a maliciously gleeful smile as her eyes meet mine a few steps before she crests the top of the stairs.

Anna Castillo is hard-nosed, honest to a fault cop. She has more guts and determination than almost anyone I know. I could respect a woman like that, even like her, if only she weren’t such a goddamn bitch. With her tan complexion and dark, bobbed hair she could be attractive I suppose, but that constant sneer and pissed-off expression kind of ruins it. Maybe she looks better when she’s not around me. I have that affect on most people.

“Well, well, well. What a surprise to find Leonard Malone standing amongst yet more dead bodies,” she chortles without an ounce of friendliness.

Her evil smile drops as she spies my holstered piece inside my unbuttoned jacket. With commendable reflexes, she jerks her own automatic free from its sheath at her hip and points it directly at my useless heart.

“Why hasn’t this suspect been searched and disarmed, Angel?” she shouts at her partner.

Angel looks abashed and his face reddens. “He’s a bodyguard, Sergeant. These two tried to kill his employer and he did his job. It’s Leo.”

“Oh you have the case all wrapped up, do you detective?” Castillo snarls. “I know exactly who
Leonard
is and how many murders he’s gotten away with.”

She knows I hate the name Leonard and is trying to provoke me into doing something stupid. She has arrested me no less than twelve times over the years and each time my lawyer is able to get me off or there just isn’t enough evidence for a conviction and it rankles her beyond reason.

“Put your hands on the table, Leonard. Angel, do your damn job and search him properly.”

Angel shoots me an apologetic look as he steps behind me and begins patting me down. He pulls my .40 cal. from my shoulder holster and sets it on the table behind him. He works with the efficiency of a veteran, starting at my jacket collar, working down my right side to my ankle, and repeating the process once more on my left.

By the time he finishes he has an impressive assortment of weapons placed on the table behind him. Along with my trusty .40, he has collected a 9mm auto I keep in the small of my back, a .38 revolver from my ankle, two flash/stun grenades from the inside left pocket of my jacket, and my blade.

I love my blade and it is one of the more effective weapons I carry to deal with my own kind. All Sheriffs are required to carry some sort of sword and be highly proficient in their use. Severing the spinal cord, or even better the entire head, is the best way to put down a vampire.