The Eye of the Moon (41 page)

The Kid looked at him, bemused. He chose to answer the question anyway, although not before he blew a lungful of smoke past the young man’s inquisitive face.

‘Those guys would have killed you in the blink of an eye if they’d spotted you for a fake. How d’you manage to fool ’em anyway? I clocked you right away, man. You stood out like a fuckin’ lighthouse.’

‘It’s a serum I’m taking. Some Secret Service guy gave it to me. Lowers my blood temperature, an’ helps me to pass myself off as a vampire. Though tonight it didn’t seem to be workin’ so well.’ He shuddered, remembering what Obedience had said about supper for him and Fritz.

‘You work for the Secret Service?’

‘Only while they’ve got my girlfriend hostage.’

‘Want me to kill ’em?’ asked the Kid casually.

‘Wouldn’t mind.’ Then he added hastily, ‘Not her, though.’

‘Sure thing. I got two more vampires to kill, then we can sort them out. What about you, Monk Boy? How’ve you managed to infiltrate so well? You even had me fooled.’

‘No shit?’ said Peto, scratching one of the now almost healed bullet wounds in his chest, just below his left shoulder. ‘I’ve learned a few things about how to use the Eye of the Moon. It’s a very powerful stone, you know. Has more than just healing powers.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ said the Kid, stubbing his cigarette out on the bartop and blowing the last lungful of smoke out through his nostrils. ‘When we’re done tonight I’m gonna borrow that stone and use it to cure a few ailments I’ve got. Not least of all the one that makes me turn into a fuckin’ vampire at random inconvenient times.’

‘I guess it’s a job to keep under control?’ Dante asked.

‘Well, along with a minor drink problem and some anger issues I got, it ain’t a fuckin bed o’ roses, y’know.’

The Kid finished off his last mouthful of bourbon and threw the glass over his shoulder to smash on the floor behind him. Then he placed another cigarette between his lips. Hearing the crashing noise of the glass on the floor, Dino, who’d been in the back room, reappeared behind the bar.

‘Is that really necessary?’ he asked.

‘What’s your favourite colour?’ the Kid asked him, reaching inside his robe.

‘Blue. Why?’

BANG!

The Kid pulled out a heavy, nickel-plated revolver, pointed it at Dino and blasted a hole through the bar owner’s head. Blood sprayed all over Dante and Peto, who recoiled in horror. The body remained upright for a second or two longer than the laws of physics properly allowed, mainly because Dino had very large feet and he had been standing up straight. But then, after a few moments of staring blankly ahead into the barroom sporting a huge hole in the middle of his forehead, his knees buckled and he slumped backwards, crashing into a shelf of glasses he had only just reset a few minutes earlier.

‘Jesus!’ Peto shrieked. ‘What’s so wrong with
blue?
’

‘Nothin’. I just wanted to distract him while I pulled out the gun.’ The Kid took a drag on his cigarette. ‘What’s
your
favourite colour?’

Peto paused for a moment.

‘Can I tell you later?’

‘Sure.’ The Kid concealed the revolver about his person again. ‘Now I reckon it’s time we got outta here. You two look like you could use a trip to Domino’s.’

‘Great,’ said Dante, getting up from his stool. ‘I could murder a pizza.’ Carnage and mayhem always made him hungry. (So did sex.)

‘Not the fuckin’ pizza place. The fancy-dress store. Change of clothes.’

He had a point. Both his companions were covered in blood. None of it really their fault. All
his,
in fact. Still, it probably didn’t need to be said.

The Kid led the way out of the bar, Peto and Dante following. He paused only momentarily to draw his revolver again. This time he drew down on the jukebox and blew a massive hole through the middle of it. The damage was enough to stop the old Würlitzer from playing any more of the song ‘I fought the Law’ by The Clash.

Once outside, he walked over to a sleek black sports car parked by the opposite kerb. The streets were unlit, so with the night sky now at its darkest it was initially hard to tell what sort of car it was, although the bulge on the hood suggested that the engine was more than a little powerful. The only light came from the clear blue moon, but that was partially hidden behind a dark grey rain cloud. Eventually, as the Kid opened the driver’s door, Dante made the car.

‘Is this a V8 Interceptor?’ he asked.

‘Sure is. Cool, huh?’

‘Fuck, yeah. I had a DeLorean once, y’know?’
Christ!
Dante thought.
Me and the Kid bondin’
…
Who’d evera thunk it?

‘Good for you.’

‘Crashed it into a tree, though. Totalled it.’

‘Doin’ eighty-eight?’

‘Fuck, yeah. How’d you guess?’

‘Long shot. Now shut up and get in.’

Dante called ‘shotgun’, so winning the front passenger seat, meaning that Peto had to squeeze into the confined space provided by the narrow back seat. The monk had learnt a lot in his time since he’d left Hubal, but there were still a few customs that caught him unawares. Some of the time he was convinced people invented new customs like shotgunning when it suited them, just so they could take advantage of him. Seething a little, he took his place in the cramped area in the back of the vehicle, positioning himself in between the two front seats to get the maximum out of the limited leg room available.

As the car powered off down the deserted street towards Domino’s he heard a tapping noise behind him. It sounded like it was coming from within the trunk. It was followed by a muffled voice.

‘You got someone in the trunk?’ Peto asked the Kid.

‘Yep.’

‘Can I ask who?’

‘Nope.’

Officer Bloem had become as concerned as Captain De La Cruz at the complete lack of police officers available to them, so he was greatly relieved when he saw two guys in standard blue uniforms arrive at the glass doors at the front of the headquarters. The wind was blowing hard outside and both of them were looking a little ragged as a result. No sense in keeping the poor bastards waiting, so he rushed out from behind his desk in the reception area and pressed a security button on the wall by the doors to allow them to enter. The nearest of the two officers pushed the glass door open and Bloem was quick to pull it from his own side so that he could hold it open for them.

‘You’re Goose and Kenny, I assume?’ he asked.

‘That’s right. I’m Goose, this is Kenny,’ said the first officer, a young fellow with windswept dark hair. He stepped through the open door and pulled his nightstick from its loop on his belt. ‘Where’s everyone gone?’

‘Benson’s done a runner, and De La Cruz is hidin’ down in the basement. But he’ll be glad to know you two are here. I guess the initial idea was that you would each act as a personal bodyguard for one of them, but bein’ as De La Cruz is the only one here right now, you can both do a job watching his back for now. If Benson comes back then one of you will be reassigned to him.’

‘Great,’ said Goose. ‘We head straight down to the basement, right?’

‘Knock yourselves out.’

The two officers made their way past Bloem and into the
main reception area. As Bloem went to double check that the glass doors were closed and locked securely, Goose turned back and swung his nightstick viciously.

THWACK!

The nightstick crashed into the back of Bloem’s skull.

‘Ow!
Fuck!
What the fuck didja do that for?’ Bloem asked holding his head, where a large lump was already beginning to appear. Goose raised his arm back over his shoulder and then swung it back down forcefully to hit him with the nightstick again, this time catching him on the shoulder and a part of the neck. ‘Ow! Cut that out, will ya?’ He fumbled at his belt for his pistol.

The other officer, Kenny, stepped in and chopped Bloem on the back of the neck, knocking him out cold.

‘Thanks,’ said Dante, who had been pretending to be Goose. ‘I can’t understand how this didn’t knock him out,’ he said sourly, looking at the nightstick. It had come with the cheap imitation police uniforms they’d bought at Domino’s.

‘Well,’ said his colleague Kenny (whose role Peto had taken). ‘It helps if you
hit
him with it, rather than tickle him.’

‘I fuckin’ did.’

‘You didn’t. You totally wimped out on it.’

‘I did not.’

‘Did, too.’

‘Did not.’

There was a tap on the glass doors. The hooded figure of the Bourbon Kid stood outside, impatiently watching the bickering going on inside. Their argument was going nowhere and there was no sense in continuing it if it was going to darken the Kid’s mood further. He had been parking the car and stocking up on ammunition, and would probably be disappointed that he had missed the action. Peto made the smart decision not to keep him waiting any longer than necessary. He quickly stepped over the unconscious body of Francis Bloem to press the button on the wall to open the glass doors for his new partner in crime.

The hooded killer pushed the doors open and stepped
inside the building. The place had not changed much since the last time he’d popped in and slaughtered all the on-duty officers. And Somers.

‘This guy seems to be on his own,’ Peto said, pointing at the body on the floor. The Kid looked down at the unconscious red-haired lawman and pulled out his sawn-off double-barelled shotgun (something of a favourite of his). ‘
Hey, wait
,’ said Peto, reaching out and grabbing the other’s arm. ‘This guy’s unconscious. There’s no need to kill him. Jesus, not everyone has to die, okay? Sometimes, when a guy isn’t a threat any more, you can just let him be. He could have a family, y’know? Wife, kids, pet terrapins, the whole ball of wax. Take a deep breath and let’s go find this De La Cruz guy. According to this fellow on the floor he’s down in the basement. See? I acquired the information we need, which was easier to do because I didn’t kill him first and ask questions afterwards.’

‘You finished?’ the Kid asked, eyeing the hand Peto was using to grip his arm.

Peto wisely removed his hand. ‘Yeah. Now listen, the other guy, Benson, has done a runner, so we’ve only got the De La Cruz fella to deal with right now. So just be cool, okay?’

‘Okay.’ The voice was pure gravel.

The monk turned and led the way into the main reception area. Dante followed, with the Kid bringing up the rear. The hooded mass murderer, however, was still caught in two minds about the whole killing-Officer-Francis-Bloem issue, so he let the others walk a few steps ahead then turned back.

BANG!

The Kid fired a round into the prostrate police officer’s head.

Peto spun around instantly.
‘Jeesus!
Fuckin’ stop that, will you? Did you not listen to what I just said? I said
be cool!
’

‘That
was
cool.’

‘No it fuckin’ wasn’t.’

‘Look, man, the gun just went off,’ said the Kid coldly. ‘Lucky I wasn’t pointin’ it at you. Got a mind of its own, this thing.’

Peto paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the
bloodied mess of the body on the floor, and the hooded figure with the shotgun standing between it and him.

‘Good work,’ he said. The Kid seemed to mutter something else, which sounded suspiciously like ‘Never could stand fuckin’ terrapins.’ Peto wisely let it go.

The switchboard on Bloem’s unmanned reception desk suddenly lit up and the phone began to ring. Dante reacted first and headed over to it. He picked up the headset on the untidy desk and pressed ‘answer’ on the switchboard’s keypad.

‘Hello, ten-four … roger. Er, Police Department … this is …’

‘Who the fuck’s that?’ asked a voice on the other end of the line.

‘Er, Officer Goose? Who the fuck’s this?’

‘De La Cruz. Where’s Bloem. He busy?’

Dante looked over at the bloodied mess by the door. ‘He’s gone, sir. Reckon he lost his head.’

‘Huh! Typical.’ De La Cruz could be heard tutting on the other end of the line. ‘You got the other guy with you? Kenny, is it?’

‘Yessir. We need you to come up here, sir.’