The Eye of the Moon (36 page)

‘Or a lock-in. Literally,’ the bouncer replied.

Taking a look around the bar area, Dante could see that the place was buzzing tonight, packed wall to wall with vampires. It seemed like they’d all heard the bad news about the Kid’s return and decided to congregate in one place.
Safety in numbers,
he supposed. Either that, or they just loved Halloween.

In a corner of the bar he could make out two of the familiar Shades jackets. The vampires wearing them were Fritz and Obedience, which was a relief because they were the
two he found easiest to get on with, simply because they were the most talkative, even if one of them was a bit shouty. As he headed over to join them he picked up the tune being played by The Psychics on stage to his left. They were banging out a pretty decent cover of
Loser
by Beck.

Making his way through the crowds towards the undead buddies whose respect he had earned over the last two nights, he couldn’t help but notice that he was attracting some strange looks. As he sang along to the chorus of The Psychics’ song – ‘I’m a loser, baby, so why don’t you kill me?’ – he put all the funny looks down to the fact that these vampires were in awe of how cool he looked in his new jacket. It felt good to be accepted.

After struggling through the crowd he eventually reached Fritz and Obedience, who had their backs to him. He tugged at Fritz’s jacket. ‘Hey fellas, anyone wanna ’nother drink?’ he asked.

Fritz turned and smiled at him. Obedience did likewise, but very quickly both their smiles turned to frowns. Their sunglasses hid the look of confusion in their eyes.

‘VOT ZE FUCK?’ shouted Fritz reflectively, staring hard at Dante.

‘What?’ asked Dante, confused. ‘Have I got ‘cunt’ written across my head, or somethin’?’ He laughed at his own joke and shoved Fritz playfully, nodding at Obedience, who was standing just behind the German. Neither vampire laughed. Instead, Obedience stepped forward, reached out a hand and grabbed Dante’s face, squeezing his cheeks.
Checking his temperature.

‘Fritz, are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ he asked his buddy. His voice was cold.

‘FUCKING RIGHT I AM! I AM FUCKING SINKING ZIS SING ALSO!’

Dante sensed a touch of hostility from Obedience and put it down to his bad joke. ‘Hey, sorry, man. I was just kiddin’, y’know?’

Obedience released his grip on Dante’s face, but then
immediately grabbed his left arm and pulled it towards him. Roughly, he rolled the black shirtsleeve back and scanned up and down the arm. He twisted the limb a little, making Dante flinch, and gestured for Fritz to take a look.

‘Fritz, our man here’s been injecting something into his arm. Look at these needle marks in his veins.’

Fritz studied Dante’s arm closely and saw a few marks where Swann had injected the serum each night. Dante sensed that he was in a spot of shit, and that some quick thinking was required. ‘Shit, man. Ain’t nothin’ bad,’ he mumbled. ‘Just H.’

Obedience sneered. ‘Quite a regular intake of something, I’d say. These marks are all pretty fresh. Myself, I don’t reckon you’ve injected yourself with this much H in the last few days. Must be something else.’

‘Nah, it’s heroin,’ Dante protested. ‘The stuff’s very moreish, y’know.’

‘So’s the serum that they pump into undercover folks who try and walk among vampires,’ Obedience snarled. His fangs were coming out on display. Both he and Fritz knew they’d been duped. Dante had been an impostor all along. Obedience, in particular, was seething at the betrayal. He had a ridiculous tattoo emblazoned in green across his forehead because of Dante. To discover that his new comrade wasn’t really one of them had obviously upset him.

Fritz finally stated the obvious, letting Dante (and the rest of the crowd in the Nightjar) know that the game was up.

‘HE’S NOT A FUCKING VAMPIRE. HE’S UNDERCOVER! SCHWEINHUND!’ the German barked, his voice sounding more furious than ever.

Obedience gripped Dante’s arm a little harder. He wasn’t about to let his grip loosen and risk letting the undercover mole escape.

‘He may not be one of us,’ Obedience growled. ‘But he’ll make for a fine supper.’

Hunter arrived at the Nightjar to find the large wooden door at the front bolted shut from the inside. A glance through one of the tall, narrow, dark-tinted windows showed that, inside, the place was heaving with drinkers.
That’s odd,
he thought.

He leaned into one of the inset window frames and tapped on the glass to try to get the attention of the nearest reveller on the other side of the glass. The first person he laid eyes on was Santa Mondega’s most fearsome clown, Reuben. The green-wigged, pale-faced, broad-smiling bloodsucker was standing on the edge of a group of clowns. Unbeknown to Hunter, they were plotting a way of exacting revenge on the Shades for the misunderstanding that had taken place at the Swamp the previous night. In the barroom beyond the clowns, all of the Nightjar’s other customers seemed to be watching The Psychics perform a hip song-and-dance routine on the stage.

Reuben heard Hunter’s tap on the glass over the noise of the band and immediately turned to see what it was. His painted white face looked over at the Filthy Pig at the window, acknowledging him with a nod and a big painted red smile that conveniently hid the look of contempt beneath it. Hunter gestured with his hand and a nod towards the entrance, indicating that Reuben should open the door and let him in. In response the clown simply stared back at him, and then gave him the finger.

‘Once I get in there, you won’t think it’s so fucking funny, you circus freak!’ Hunter yelled through the window. To his further annoyance, the clown turned his back on him. ‘Fuckin’ bastard.’

At that moment another of the Nightjar’s regulars arrived at the front entrance. He had sneaked out of the shadows and sidled up alongside Hunter without making a sound. It was Silence. He was wearing the obligatory trademark black sleeveless jacket of the Shades, but with no shirt underneath and a pair of ripped blue denim jeans above a pair of shiny black boots with pointed toes. He stared at the Filthy Pig from behind his sunglasses.

‘Whassup, man?’ Silence inquired in a husky voice. ‘What’s with the shut door?’

Hunter couldn’t recall ever hearing Silence speak before, and was mildly impressed that the normally wordless vampire should choose to unleash several of his precious words upon him. It wasn’t foremost in his thoughts for long, though. Getting into the Nightjar was top priority.

‘Dunno. But I’m gonna get it sorted,’ Hunter finally responded, sliding one hand inside his brown tweed jacket. He pulled a cell phone from his inside pocket. It was the one De La Cruz had given him earlier. The one that had once belonged to Casper. ‘I’ll call Dino. He’ll let us in.’

Silence took a look at the phone in Hunter’s hand as the Filthy Pig started tapping in the number for the Nightjar.

‘Nice phone. Where’dja get it?’ he asked.

‘Since when did you get so fuckin’ chatty?’ Hunter snapped as he finished keying in the number, pressed the ‘call’ button and put the phone to his ear. It rang a couple of times before it was answered. Dino’s voice spoke.

‘Nightjar.’

‘Hey Dino. It’s Hunter. Let us in, for fuck’s sake.’

‘How many of you are there?’

‘Just me an’ Silence.’

‘Hold on.’

Dino hung up at the other end, so Hunter put the cell phone back in his pocket and stood waiting impatiently outside the entrance with Silence. The quiet vampire took off his sunglasses and the two men eyeballed each other while they waited. Hunter didn’t like Silence, and didn’t want to
waste any effort in talking to a man who was renowned for having poor social skills. Unfortunately, Dino was taking a long time getting to the door, and the uncomfortable quiet began to irritate the detective.

‘So what exactly is wrong with your voice anyway, huh? That’s why you don’t say much, ain’t it? ’Cos it hurts to talk, or somethin’ like that?’

Silence nodded. ‘Yeah, hurts to talk.’

‘Yeah,’ said Hunter, nodding. ‘Sounds like you swallowed a bucket of grit.’

Silence reached inside his jacket.

‘Hey! Whatcha doin’?’ Hunter asked aggressively. He sounded rattled. The long wait outside was making him paranoid. A feeling, he thought, that he shouldn’t have, now that he was more powerful than any of the other vampires.

But Silence simply pulled a soft pack of cigarettes from his inside pocket and held them out towards Hunter. ‘Smoke?’ he asked.

‘Yeah. Yeah, thanks.’ Hunter reached out and took one. He placed it between his lips. ‘You gotta light?’

Silence nodded and with his free hand reached inside his jacket again. This time he produced a Zippo lighter. He held it out, flipped the top open, and flicked the wheel to ignite the flame. Hunter leaned in to the flame and sucked on the cigarette. It duly lit, and Silence replaced the lighter in his pocket.

‘You ain’t havin’ one yourself?’ Hunter asked.

Silence put the pack of cigarettes to his mouth and pulled one out with his teeth. He then slipped the pack back inside his jacket and took a drag on the cigarette, which lit itself.

‘Wow,’ remarked Hunter, impressed. ‘How d’ya do that?’

‘Friend showed me.’

There was a loud grating sound as the bolts on the other side of the door were slid to one side and the door slowly opened. Jericho, the bouncer with the leg brace, peered round it and eyed the waiting vampires warily.

‘Just you two?’

‘Yeah,’ said Hunter, pushing the door further open and barging in past the doorman. Silence followed him in with a bow of the head by way of thanks to Jericho.

By the time the bouncer had bolted the door shut again, Hunter had forged a path to the bar. The other vampires seemed to be picking up on his new aura and they parted to let him find space. Silence followed on behind him.

‘Dino, gimme a beer,’ Hunter shouted over to the bar owner, who was helping out his staff.

‘What?’ Dino was having trouble hearing over the noise of the band. The Psychics were performing the Kaiser Chiefs hit ‘I Predict a Riot’ and were currently belting out the chorus.

‘GLASS O’ BEER!’ Hunter shouted. Dino shook his head and put his hand to his ear. He was still engaged in filling the glass of one of the Dreads a few feet further down the bar. The Rastafarian was watching the bartender like a hawk to make sure he wasn’t given a short measure. Dino (unlike Sanchez) wasn’t one to upset his customers, but there were just too many distractions for him to pick up clearly what Hunter was yelling.

‘GLASS O’ FUCKIN’ BEER!’ Hunter shouted again. It was no good. Dino couldn’t hear him. A new approach was required, and by good fortune Hunter spotted Fritz standing behind him. The German was with his buddy Obedience and their new clan member Dante, who Hunter could see was quite clearly not even a vampire. Obedience had a firm grip on Dante’s arm and seemed to be holding on to him. Silence joined them. Hunter thought they all looked agitated about something. He wasn’t interested in what they were doing, however. He was just hoping to get Fritz’s attention.

‘Hey, Fritz! Help me out, will ya? Order me a beer,’ he yelled at the German.

‘SURE!’ Fritz bellowed back. ‘DINO, GET ZE MAN A FUCKING BEER, VILL YOU!’

Surprisingly, given how loud the German shouted, it was still not working. Dino was oblivious to the request. A
new approach was required. Hunter pulled his pistol from its holster under his jacket, pointed it at the ceiling and squeezed the trigger.

BANG!

The sound was deafening, and was followed by a few small chunks of white plaster and a lot of white dust falling from the ceiling. Skeins of blue smoke swirled above Hunter. The place fell into a deathly quiet. The Psychics stopped playing ‘I Predict a Riot’. All that could be heard was the echo of the gunshot ringing in everyone’s ears.

‘Why don’t you fuckers take a break?’ Hunter yelled aggressively at the band, who looked as startled as everyone else.

They were a six-piece on this particular evening. Mandina, the lead singer, was wearing a short purple dress and the rest of the ‘almost all-girl group’, two guitarists, a drummer, the tubby male horn player and a dancer were all laced up in nothing more than matching sets of skimpy black underwear. They made a fine sight (with the possible exception of the tuba player), so most of the audience were still able to enjoy them without hearing the music. Now that they were no longer blaring out a tune and the bar was totally hushed Hunter was able to order his drink. He turned his attentions back to the bar. ‘And I’ll have a beer, Dino.’