The Blood Detail (Vigil)

Also by Arvin Loudermilk

IN A FLASH

A NEW WORLD

For more information visit

www.arvinloudermilk.com

THE BLOOD DETAIL

©2013 Arvin Loudermilk. All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced or used in any form,

or by any means, without prior written permission of the publisher.

First published October 2013

Based on the Vigil comic book series by

Arvin Loudermilk & Mike Iverson

Vigil and its characters are copyrights of The Concentrium.

Phoenix, Arizona USA

www.theconcentrium.com

ISBN: 978-0-9852607-9-8

Cover by Mike Iverson

Contents

Also Available

More Info

Copyright

Intro

Eaten Alive

Strange and Unusual

Who’s Who

A Hiding Spot

Lowdown

Need to Know

Alone

Together

On Patrol

The Old Stomping Grounds

Coda

Continued

About the Author

I’m going to kill them all, every motherfucking one of them. This is what you need to know about me. I do what I have to. I have no other choice. These pieces of shit that I’m after are hateful, power mad, and they prey on the innocent. They cannot be allowed to live.

Eaten Alive

It was 1991, and the rain was coming down in buckets.

My partner Angela Chen and I were on patrol in Northeast Los Angeles, just outside of Lincoln Heights, and I was bitching and moaning like I always seemed to do when I found myself not behind the wheel. Add the blinding downpour to the indignity of not being in control, and I was raring to go.

“I moved west to avoid weather like this,” I said, bristling in my seat. “So much for sunny California. I knew I should have picked Arizona or Nevada when I relocated. They have real sunshine there—and droughts. Constant, unyielding droughts.”

Angie steered our black and white into the leftmost lane, her concentration fully affixed on the drenched roadway. “Stop with the martyr routine, Grace. It almost never rains, especially like this, and yet you still have to treat it as if it were some regular occurrence. If you were getting mad at the unusualness of it, then fine. But no, you’re using it to indict the entire city—and that’s just nuts.”

Angie’s black hair was wound back in a braided pony tail, the way she liked to wear it while she was on the job. My own hair was blonde and bright, cut in a bob about an inch or so below my jawline. The light and dark look of us once promoted a dipshit from our station to start referring to us as ‘Salt and Pepper’. He only did it once to my face. After I shoved him into a corner and used his head to cave in the drywall, he avoided us altogether. Most of the macho dickheads avoided us at the station—not because of a sweetheart like Angie, of course, but because of me. As hard as it is to believe, I had a reputation as a bruiser, this despite my wispy, 5’9” frame. The rep went back a ways, too. I’ve always had real skills with my hands, feet, and fists—and when necessary—even my head. Back in my Academy days, I beat every comer, no matter their size, and word got around. If you didn’t want to get your ass beaten by a girl, you’d better keep far away from me.

“Sorry about all the grousing,” I said after an extended stretch of silence. “I’m just in a shit mood.”

Angie nodded and tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

Coming up behind us at my five o’clock, I caught a glimpse of a convertible VW Bug with red racing stripes emblazoned on its side. Three idiots were inside, standing upright and screeching. Thanks to all the water spilling down, it took a second look for me to get a complete picture of the stupidity that was on display. These kids were traveling at breakneck speed through the pounding rain, about to pass a cop car, their arms raised high as big, round droplets pelted them across the face and the wind blew back their hair. Like I said, stupid. Rock stupid.

I ignited our red and blue overheads and rolled down my window. The kids had already noticed our presence and were in the process of sitting back down. The driver had reduced his speed by half. I gave them a stern glare as they dropped back behind us.

“Their asses need to be pulled over,” Angie said.

A dispatch call blasted from our dashboard radio. A Code 3 was in progress at the Las Rosas townhouse complex, reports of an assault and possible rape in progress. I unhooked the microphone and confirmed our vehicle number—we were a mile and a half out.

Angie glanced at the driver’s side mirror. “I cannot believe those morons are going to get away scot-free,” she said, initiating a hard U-turn into the southbound lane. Water sprayed everywhere, but she negotiated the maneuver with her usual precision.

“They’ll get themselves caught one way or another.” I said, flicking on the sirens. “That kind of idiocy always does. It’s deep-seated.”

We were at the front entrance of the Las Rosas complex ninety seconds later. Angie pulled into one of the empty visitors parking spots and killed the engine and popped the trunk. I put on my cap and got out first, hustling around the side of the vehicle in the rain and retrieving a poncho and a modified shotgun from the opened trunk. I snatched a second poncho for myself and closed the lid with some force. Angie was already outside with her own cap on, and the car was all closed up. Somebody screamed in the distance. I tossed Angie the rain protection and her trusty shotgun as I took off in a sprint in the direction of the wail, slipping on my own poncho on as I ran. Angie was quick to follow. I could hear her footsteps splashing behind me.

The complex we were charging into was pseudo-Spanish in design, vintage LA, with red ceramic roof tiles and arched doorways. The perimeter of the place was contained by a seven-foot cinder block wall. The three primary residential buildings were arranged in an open-ended square, a pool and a courtyard at its center, and a large administration building at the top of the grounds, right about where we had left our vehicle. Between the outer wall and the back patios of the various townhouses was a covered parking area which backed the entire location in a loop. The scream had originated in the rear of this blacktopped lot—precisely where Angie and I were headed.

We hit the first turn and a beam of light shone out. Angie had lit up the flashlight she kept duct-taped to the barrel of her shotgun like a sighting apparatus. That wasn’t our only light source either. A chain of amber security lights towered above the cinder block wall. But the flashlight was more directed than the soft-hued lamps, and therefore more helpful.

Regardless of the surrounding illumination, a half-blind person could have spotted the ten-speed bike overturned on the asphalt. It was just sitting out there on its own, its front wheel still spinning. I slowed my gait and shuffled around the fallen bicycle in an arc, and finally unholstered my sidearm. Angie came up on my left so we could move in from two separate angles. She was breathing heavily, which was nothing new. She was not much of a runner, and I was always getting on her about her breath control. It’s important to manage your body. There was no way a quick sprint was going to wear me out.

Angie started swiping the flashlight/shotgun conglomeration back and forth between the parked vehicles. I heard a muffled grunt and I slipped between the van and the compact car in front of me, my Glock at attention. Angie cut through herself, one car length down. As we stepped out from under the grated overhang, the swaying flashlight beam found what we’d been looking for—a hulking male in the grass, sprawled on top of an unknown female.

“LAPD officers,” I said. “Roll the
hell
off that woman
now!”

Angela came up on my right. “We are
not
going to tell you again,” she said, much louder than I had spoken. “We’re
armed.
Do not make us come over there and remove you ourselves.”

Something was seriously wrong, and I knew it at once. The only movement I was getting off the guy was his scraggly head bobbing up and down. His clothes were old and ratty, particularly the leather duster which was splaying out every which way. The grunting I’d heard before had this enthusiasm to it, and it was definitely emanating from where the guy’s head was continuing to jostle. We couldn’t wait around for him to do as he was told.

I motioned for Angie to cover me and I moved closer. I could see the woman better from a more slanted viewpoint. She had on blue bike shorts and a white stretch top. I could not make out her face, and would probably not be able to until we had gotten him clear of her.

I gave Angie another two-finger signal, counted off, and rammed the bottom of my boot against the guy’s hip. He was a strong bastard, because my blow was hefty, and he did not shift an inch. I kicked him several more times, and he started to take an interest. He looked up at me, mouth open, and I swear he was the ugliest thing I had ever seen. Calling him unkempt wouldn’t even have been scratching the surface. Both his hair and beard were long and filthy, like dreadlocks, except in no way attractive or cool. Mud had been mixing with the rain across his face and torso, and was dripping everywhere. The freak was a real mess, to say the least.

“Get your ass
off
of her,” I shouted. “Don’t you
listen,
moron?”

He hissed at me, and that was when I realized it wasn’t just mud smeared all over him. The coloring was too red to only be mud. I tried to get a better look at things, but the light Angie was casting was coming in from the right, which left everything where I was standing in shadow. With the perp tilted toward me, however, I
could
see the girl better, and this cretin had been going to town on her. Angie must have noticed too, because she shifted around and put some more light on the subject. The girl had been seriously chewed on. Everything from her neck to her shoulders was bloody and raw, little more than chunks of meat on bone. I sloshed forward, my gun aimed at the attacker’s face.

“This is your last warning, asshole. Back away or I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

The guy smiled, which made the blood and flesh in his teeth easier to recognize. “You purty,” he said as he stood upright.

“On your
knees,
” Angie screamed, struggling to be heard above the quickening wind. “Away from the girl and get
on-your-knees.
”

“Real purty.” He let out a whistle, and then leapfrogged over me. It was like he had springs in his shoes. I turned and watched as he clanged atop the parking overhang.

“Call for backup and see to her,” I told Angie as I followed the noise being made on the metal grating. “I got this nut.”

Angie gasped as she closed in on what was left of the victim. I had no time to think about it. I was not going to let this guy get away. I brandished my own flashlight, and with my left hand, began to swing it upward until I found my target, thirty yards ahead of me, still on the overhang. But he didn’t stay there for long. As I got within a few feet, he leapt again, this time from the parking area to the second story roof of one of the townhouses. The distance was massive, and he landed with a thud. The slickness of the rain and the crushed roof tiles almost brought him tumbling back down, but he quickly regained his grip and balance, scrambling upward and disappearing from view.

A man had just done the impossible in front of me, but the only thing on my mind was finding a shortcut through to the courtyard. I had to race all the way down to the end of the last building before I could find a path inward. Once I’d made it through, I searched for any sign of the attacker. The first place I checked was the roof. When that came up empty, I began to shine my flashlight into every nook and cranny I could find. If he was still lurking somewhere—which a lot of smacked up weirdos liked to do—I had to be extra thorough. I searched every bush along the building he had jumped on top of. That turned out to be a big goose egg as well. In a rush, I jogged over to a small playground in the corner of the courtyard. I didn’t get two steps in that direction before I heard a splash. It had come from the pool. I hotfooted it over there and stared through the wrought iron fence. It was well after midnight, so the underwater lights were off, but the rain showering downward was causing a ton of movement on the surface. For an instant, I thought there may have been a dark mass in the deep end, though I couldn’t be sure. I considered hopping over for a better look, but thought better of it. If it was him, he couldn’t stay underwater forever.

Less than a minute later the killer surfaced noisily and drew himself out of the water, slipping and sliding his way across the cool decking. All I did was blink for a second, and he was gone—again. I began to rotate in circles, scanning for any movement in the rain. I started my third revolution and he was just standing in front of me, his tongue clicking wildly.

“Purty,” he said.

I peered up at him. The guy stood seven feet plus and was extremely wide in the shoulders, but I was not going to let him rabbit away on me again. He was unarmed—which ruled out shooting him—so I kicked him in the goods instead. The bastard collapsed in a heap. I stood over him with my Glock threatening in one hand and the flashlight in the other, and read him his Miranda rights. All the while, I was thinking about how I was going to get him rolled over and cuffed on my own. The man was a damn mountain.

As I considered my options, he reached up at me, catching hold of both my wrists and yanking me downward. I’m not certain if I pulled the trigger or if he made me pull the trigger. Either way, the trigger was pulled, and a shot fired into his rib cage. He buckled, but kept on struggling with me. I eventually lost my grip on my flashlight, and then my sidearm. I could not worm my way loose, no matter how hard I fought. Out of alternatives, I drove my right foot down onto his kneecap. I’m sure I must have shattered it, for what good it did. He just pulled me lower and sniffed me.

“You even smell purty.”

Unfortunately, he did not. The stink coming off him was rancid. But I was too occupied at the moment to respond. I kept kicking wherever I could, stomping the living hell out of the guy. It just made him grip me harder. I must have screamed at some point. A smattering of lights had been on before—and had been since we had arrived—but suddenly every single one was snapping to life. It must have been the gun shot more than anything. I hoped everyone was smart enough to stay indoors.

“Everything I coulda asked for,” he said, then snorted loudly. “I took a bath for ya…to make this nice.” He opened up his mouth as our faces became nose to nose. There was nothing I could do to stop him. He was just way too strong.

To the east, a shotgun blast filled the air. It was Angie, to the rescue.

Startled, the creep slackened his hold on me and I was able to pull free, falling straight back onto my ass. The guy leapt up, not moving as swiftly as he had before. Angie fired from my blind spot and nailed him in the chest. He was knocked backward and fell out of the light. Angie swung her shotgun, found him again, and fired. She winged his leg, but he was still up and running. I waved her on, telling her to keep going, to pursue him. I popped up and retrieved my fallen weapon and went with her. It didn’t take me long to catch up, and we ran all the way out to the front entrance. But we were too slow. The guy was gone, nowhere to be seen.