Shrouds of Darkness (7 page)

Most carry a semi-traditional sword of some kind. Mine is a simple length of highly tempered, razor-sharp steel. It is crafted along the lines of a katana except that it is only a little over two feet long and half again as wide. The handle is little more than the flat steel stamped into a diamond pattern for grip and slightly rounded. The tip ends not in a point as a normal blade would but flat like a chisel and every bit as sharp as the blade. With my strength, there is no need for a pointed end to pierce flesh and organs and such is not its design. It is a vampire-killing weapon and that chisel end is designed to slip between the vertebrae and cripple my opponent so I may then take his head almost at my leisure.

Anna’s gleeful smirk returns as she looks from me to my assorted weapons. “Quite an arsenal you have there, Leonard. I see at least twenty years laid out on that table.”

I shake my head. “You know damn well I have a permit for those.”

“Explosives, Leonard? Your licenses allow you to carry explosives into a night-club?” she asks, looking at my flash grenades.

Technically, they are not explosives. I left those at home. I thought a light load would be sufficient tonight. And yes, I do have a permit not only for the grenades but I am also a certified demolitionist and have permits to obtain and use all manner of construction-grade explosives that I then turn into non-construction related devices.

“I sure hope you have those permits on you,” Castillo continues. “Our computers have been real slow lately and it could take a couple days to retrieve them from our database.”

She was really enjoying this. She knows she can never get me for the two corpses bleeding all over the floor but she can still put me through hell. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s done it to me. Castillo takes personal delight in stepping behind me and snapping on cuffs far tighter than would be deemed appropriate.

I am saved from further abuse, both verbal and physical, when Will practically leaps the last few stairs and slams his Gucci briefcase down on Yuri’s table, nearly toppling the mobster’s glass. No big deal, it had long been drained dry.

William Stepanek, my lawyer. As crafty and utterly immune to a nagging conscience as any man I have ever met. That’s what makes him such a good defense lawyer, which in turn makes securing his services so damned expensive. But I despise inconvenience more than I like money so I am willing to trade the latter for the former.

I don’t know if it is intended or not, but Will seems to purposely look precisely like the sleazy rich guy he is. From his patent leather shoes to the silk shirt unbuttoned far enough to show several gold chains and a patchwork of graying chest hair, his ensemble makes him look part lawyer, part seventies porn star. 

Will seems completely immune to the glare that Yuri gives him for his abruptness and releases the gold clasps on his leather attaché case and begins laying out several documents.

“Here is my client’s permit for the handguns, one for the knife, and here is the one for the non-lethal suppression devices.”

I watch as detective Castillo’s face contorts in anger and frustration. She hates Will almost as much as she hates me and that is an accomplishment worthy of a trophy.

“Now, if you will kindly remove the handcuffs from my unlawfully detained client.”

Castillo has had enough and snaps at the small man. “He is a suspect in two murders and you expect me to let him go because he has a permit to carry the murder weapon? Are you out of your rotten, little mind?”

If she hopes to intimidate my lawyer, she is bound for disappointment. Will hands his cell phone over to Castillo. I can see that the line is open as he passes the expensive device across the table.

“I have taken the liberty of calling your captain and explaining to him the circumstances of my client’s involvement. This was verified to him by a statement from one of the uniforms downstairs after talking to several witnesses.”

After a few yes sirs, the angry detective drops the phone onto the table.

“How the hell do you sleep at night defending scum like this?” Castillo asks in disgust.

“On two-thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and firmly wedged between two gorgeous bimbos,” Will replies without missing a beat or a hint of shame. “Granted, two is just an average.”

My lawyer grabs my hands and inspects my wrists. “Oh this looks a lot like bodily injury resulting from police brutality,” Will exclaims as he snaps several photos of my bruised and creased wrists with the camera on his phone.

Castillo steps within a few inches of my face and the smell of smoker’s breath is almost over-whelming to my sensitive olfactory receptors. “One of these days your slimy little lawyer is not going to be there to save your ass. You will slip up and neither he nor any of his powerful friends will be able to keep me from strapping you into that chair where I will personally throw the switch and fry your ass.”

“Awe, does this mean I’m not invited to your Cinco de Mayo party?” I ask with my most infuriating smile.

It is all I can do not to laugh as the detective’s face contorts in barely suppressed fury. “I’m Puerto Rican you stupid son of a bitch, not a damn Mexican!”

“Oh, now this is awkward,” I reply innocently as I face Angel. “Aren’t you Mexican, Angel? It sounds to me like she is really offended that someone would think she is Mexican, like they are inferior or something.”

I take delight in watching Castillo’s anger at me deflate like a ruptured tire in humiliation. “Angel, you know I didn’t mean it like that.” She turns back towards me. “You fucking prick!” she shouts as she storms away. “Bag that murder weapon as evidence. At least we can get that out of his hands for a few months!”

“Self-defense weapon, thank you,” Will sings out at her retreating back as he places my various licenses back into his briefcase.

I can hear her downstairs screaming at the uniformed officers, venting her frustrations at every tiny imperfection, real or perceived. Angel lets out a long breath he has probably been holding for several minutes.

“Why do you do that? She already hates you without you throwing gas on the fire. I have to ride with her you know.”

“That fire is so out of control by now it doesn’t matter what I do,” I reply with a soft shake of my head. “Besides, it’s so easy and so much fun. Is it just me or is she even a bigger bitch than usual?”

“Come on, Leo. She’s my partner and a good cop. Cut her some slack.” Angel sighs once again as he shakes his head. “We were at another scene near Classon and Willoughby when we got the call to come here. Fucking bodies—parts of bodies—everywhere in an alley on the other side of the borough. Most disgusting thing I ever saw.”

“Mafia?” I ask, thinking that normal street violence was usually swift and reasonably clean.

“It looked more like animals got them. A pack of wild dogs maybe. Pit bulls would be my guess, but whether they were torn up before or after they were killed will be up to the forensics team to figure out.”

Will snaps his case shut and shakes my hand. “I thank you for your services, Leo. My Manhattan penthouse thanks you and my new boat thanks you. I should make you a punch card. For every nine times I keep you out of prison the tenth one is free. I better print a few of them.”

“Are you going to prorate that?” I ask as I carefully squeeze his outstretched hand so as not to crush the delicate human bones.

Will looks horrified at this suggestion. “Are you kidding? I’d be working for you for free until I retire! Besides, I have my eye on this sweet little Beach King turboprop.”

Crisis averted, Will descends the stairs and exits the club, completely unimpeded now that some order has been established. Angel asks Yuri and me a few more questions before letting us go just as the forensics team and a pair of coroners shows up.

I retrieve my trench coat as I walk Yuri out of the club and to his car where a uniform is just finishing up asking his drivers some routine questions. Thor, as I refer to the big Slav, snaps to attention and opens the rear door of the classic Bentley. Yuri settles heavily into the soft leather seat and looks up at me through the open window.

“That man with the beard. He moved very fast but you were faster. You stepped in front of that bullet. Never have I seen anyone move that fast. Many things I see tonight I do not like.”

Again, Yuri gives me that suspicious look I saw earlier and I try to deflect it as best I can. “Adrenaline can give a man some pretty good reflexes. Like I said, thank God for vests.”

Yuri looks at the spot where I took the bullet but I have already donned my trench coat and there is nothing there to see. Even if I hadn’t, there would be nothing to see other than another ruined shirt I’ll have to burn. With a noncommittal grunt and a flick of his finger, the sleek car pulls away from the club and into the slow-moving traffic.

CHAPTER THREE

I’m too tired to go hopping rooftops back to my home and it’s not as though there are so many buildings close enough together that I can casually go where I want like Spiderman, so I regretfully descend the steps of the nearest subway entrance. The flickering of the florescent lights and the stench of human existence is almost nauseating.

Despite the late hour, there is still an active nightlife going on below the streets of New York as well as above. I keep away from the milling human zombies that darkness has drawn out from whatever hole they hide in during the day, pressing my back against the far wall as I wait for the next train to show up.

In a recessed alcove, a couple thugs are shaking down some guy that was foolish enough to be picked off from the herd. I know I’m not the only one that sees the crime in progress, but they care about as much as I do and do nothing about it. I’m sure it’s largely based on the fear of becoming a victim themselves, but it goes deeper than that. Humanity has become inured to violence, noticing and caring only when it happens to them or someone they care about. Or whenever the television tells them they should care like when a pretty little white girl goes missing.

I have no fear of these pathetic parasites but I still do not intercede. I may be super-human but I am no superhero. I just don’t think I can pull off the whole wearing tights look. One of the muggers notices my attention to their activities and thinks for a brief second that I may provide another means of quick cash. A forceful glare is enough to make him think again and he turns back to his cohorts and their current victim.

I’m glad this one is smart enough to realize I am not to be trifled with. I am not in the mood to walk to the next station after flinging his body onto the tracks. That is sure to get me another visit from Castillo and I’m
really
not in the mood for that.

I find to my relief that the train is sparsely populated and I am not forced to sit next to some stinking bum, or worse, some old sow determined to share her life story with me. My sour demeanor is usually enough to keep most people at a distance, but there is always that
special
person that is so twisted up in their own head that nothing short of tearing their arms off will bring them out of their fantasy world.

It’s not a long ride and I am still replaying tonight’s events through my head as I climb out of that dank subterranean passage and walk the short distance to my dwelling.

Tommy was trying to convince Yuri to allow him to expand his drug trade into Yuri’s territory, promising only to sell the crap that the Russian did not and give him a thirty percent cut of the profits. Yuri was doing his best to politely tell the little squint to fuck off when Tweaker and Furball arrived on scene.

I have an excellent memory for detail and I freeze frame each of the faces of my attackers in my mind, studying each one for the tiniest clue. My first instinct is to pin it on a setup by Hanako. A subtle cue, perhaps a wire, that let them know to come in and kill Yuri if negotiations were not going his way.

I quickly discard this notion as I flip between the faces of my three suspects. The assassins caught Tommy unaware and his surprise and fear were genuine. Tweaker and Furball were set on killing both mobsters at the table with no regard for bystanders.