A Bloody Deal, page 24
“Where, then?”
“This way.”
He directed her through the streets and backyards. Mud squelched with every step. Gore and rain ran in steady streams along the curbs. Bodies choked the nearly impassable trails between the potholes. Grace kept her head down and tried not to think.
Easy enough since Francesco needed assistance over the slightest obstacles. On top of everything else, patrols passed by, their flashlights sweeping every dark nook. They were nearly caught several times. The journey never went fast, but it went.
After some indeterminate time, they reached a concealed alley where they crouched down between a small porch and a row of overgrown weeds that blocked the view from the street. Grace peered out to find the Hellmouth.
“Not this way,” she said. “They were listening in on us. They’ll be expecting me.”
“I doubt they’ll be too worried in a few moments.” He grinned. “You think I’m the only one to sire an extra vampire or three? Still, let's be cautious. When you step out, they’ll see you. No blind spots exist around the gate. You’ll have to move fast.”
“You mean we’ll have to.”
He stared at her blankly.
“You can’t be serious.” Was he insane? That was the only explanation someone wouldn’t want to escape all this. “You have to come.”
Francesco sighed. “The floodlights have a secondary feature: sunlight mimicry. And unlike the grenades, it’s the real deal. If even one soldier is inside, they could flip the switch and I would be ash in a heartbeat.”
“But the lights came back on earlier. Something is going on the soldiers don’t know about.” She told him the conversation she’d heard between the two soldiers.
“They could have been messing with you. Lying to catch any vampires who were faking being unconscious. But even if that weren’t the case, I need to return. My people need me.”
“You’ll die.”
“Possibly. In fact, it’s inevitable.”
“Then why go?”
Francesco fixed her with a bewildered expression. “Because they’re my people. They’re me. I’m them. After fifty some years together, we’re thicker than blood. I…We…are.”
She looked at him then, this man with his worn shoes and disheveled hair, his wide eyes that took in every shadow. A survivor with trauma etched across his skin. There was no reasoning with a man like this. Maybe she could give him something.
She offered him the gun.
He chuckled. “I think you’ll do better with that than I will.”
She lowered her hand. That was it. She was unsure what to say — goodbye sounded too ominous, and a handshake too tacky. Instead, she took in his face and the surroundings, trying to memorize everything to reference in the future.
Thin lips. Brown eyes. Dark hair. The scent of olives. A blackened house at his back. Three religious symbols painted in succession under the window, each with an X crossed through it.
The warm feeling at the base of Grace’s skull from earlier returned and with it, a word: “X-X-X-periment.”
“What?”
“In Komarov’s place. There was a DVD— a video called X-X-X-periment.” No time to explain what a DVD was.
“I tell you I’m about to die and you bring up Komarov’s porn collection?”
“Yes. I mean, no. Shut up for a second.” Grace massaged her forehead. “Komarov had all his videos in code. A weird, stupid code, but code. Like one was labeled DOWNS in all caps, which thinking about it probably meant UPS.”
“UPS?”
“Yeah. United Parcel Service.”
Diavolo set a hand on his chin. “So if he wrote X-X-X—”
“–it probably meant something else. Something obvious.”
She tried to think back through everything Francesco had told her, but nothing leaped out. There was simply too much.
Francesco scratched his chest, shirt shifting to reveal a bit of waist.
Grace leaned forward. “Your scars.”
“What about them?”
“You said they took a little piece of you every time they tortured you. What if…what if they experimented with your DNA? Tested it in those facilities underground. And Komarov, not willing to let anyone own him outright, stole some footage?”
“So XXXperiment is just a plain old experiment on tape?”
“Right! His code is stupid so the Hellmouth bugged the place and figured it out. Then when I stole the videos from his case–”
“—they figured a reporter just took proof of their illegal activity. Before their vampire agent could get to it.”
Grace nodded. “And with Detective Yukawa there, the situation went beyond their control. Everything had to be destroyed.” A chill went down Grace’s spine. “And everyone.”
“Where are the videos now?”
“Hidden in a sewer recess.”
Francesco sat back, a slight grin on his face. It was the first time his smile didn’t turn her blood cold. “Look at that. You solved a mystery I didn’t even know existed.”
“Now let’s see if I live to tell about it.”
Francesco put a hand out and she shook it. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Grace Blackwell.”
“I wish I could say likewise.”
He gave a curt nod.
She offered a curt smile. “But at least some good might come of it.”
Then with a parting word, she slipped through the weeds and headed toward the gate.
The gun grew heavier the more she held it. She grabbed the handle with both hands and squared her shoulders, the way the police held theirs. A car passing on the street outside honked and she almost shot at it.
Instead of a sprint, as Francesco suggested, she went slow. Too many news stories of falls and accidental gun discharges made her cautious. She hadn’t sacrificed everything only to trip on a piece of debris and blow her brains out.
The heat from the floodlights made her sweat. The tint was more of a bitter mustard shade than pure white. On her approach, the heavy gate whirred to life with the squelch of oil and steel. Grace raised her gun.
The gate stopped, the gap only a couple feet across. A woman stepped through. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, black pants and suit jacket uniformly crisp over the white blouse underneath. Not a soldier. But Grace didn’t dare relax.
Their eyes met across the bright, charged space. A cry of sirens rose somewhere in the city beyond, faint and distant. The woman drew her gun and aimed the barrel at Grace. The suit jacket opened to reveal a police badge clipped to her belt.
“Police! Put your hands up. Now!”
Grace almost dropped her gun, but she caught herself in time and tightened her grip.
The policewoman’s finger slid toward the trigger and Grace copied. Why couldn’t this stranger have come two minutes from now?
The door to the Hellmouth bounded open. A figure stepped out, directly in the middle of their dueling ground.
Was that—? No. It couldn’t be. Was God playing a practical joke? Except…
What happened to him?
Eugene hobbled up using a plank of wood as a crutch. Blood matted his hair, gluing it to his face, which was covered in a mass of bruises and gashes. He panted like he had run a marathon. As if sensing what he had walked into, he turned in both directions, first towards Grace, then to the strange woman.
His shoulders tensed. “Sergeant Cole?”
32
Eugene looked from Grace to Cole, then back. Then once again. Then twice more, just in case. And almost burst out laughing.
The sheer irony going on here. He had strolled from one life and death situation to another while looking for the person who was supposed to have killed him in the first place. And Grace was pointing yet another gun at him!
He snickered. It was all so funny. Or maybe funny wasn’t the right word. But Grace and Cole had to see it, right?
They both gave him the most horrified expressions. So…no?
“Detective Yukawa,” Cole said, immediately straight faced. Figured. Cole always did know how to leech the humor from any situation. “Your leg.”
He glanced down. Oh. Right. That explained a lot. So blood loss was giving him the giggles. Or maybe it was the head injury. Or watching Zola eat that security room technician. So many choices. Each one an anchor pulling him back to the present.
Eugene cleared his throat. “Sorry. I’m j—sorry.”
Cole took a deep breath. "I think it’s time to go, detective. You’re clearly unwell and the situation here has grown terminal. We need you out.”
His head still felt light but he managed to hobble forward until he stood between the two women, letting the door swing shut behind him. Hero time. “Not without my suspect. She’s been feeding men to a vampire calling himself Diavolo.” A snicker escaped. Eugene tamped it down, even if that was the dumbest name ever. “We need to take her in.”
“She could be infected. You know she can’t leave—”
“—unless we test her first. I found the equipment inside while looking for my service weapon.” Which he hadn’t found, but he left that part out.
Cole shook her head. “No time. It’s best to let the military handle her.”
“They won’t–”
A clatter of metal cut him off.
He turned to find Beluga grappling Grace from behind, holding her around the throat and twisting back the arm back that had previously held a gun.
“I’ve got it from here, officers.” Beluga jerked Grace and she whimpered. “Thank you very much.”
“See?” Cole asked. “Everything’s taken care of. Now let’s go before any vampires show up.”
But Eugene ignored her, focusing on Grace instead. She was mouthing something he couldn’t quite decipher. Beluga held her too tight, cutting off her air. But finally, a croaked whisper managed to escape: “No…others…”
Beluga shook her again.
No others? What did that mean?
Cole tapped her foot. Behind her stood a human sized gap in the front gate, a chink in the otherwise rigid armor of the Hellmouth. An absence Eugene had not created.
“Sergeant, where’s backup?” he asked.
“Ten minutes out,” she answered without a skipped beat.
“And your vest?”
“No time.”
She had said that before, “no time.” And yet she stayed put, not moving to help him despite his obvious injury. In fact, she hardly seemed agitated at all, even with Beluga’s cruel handling of a murder suspect.
“Tell you what,” Eugene said, “why don’t I go grab some handcuffs and a muzzle, and we can take Grace to the station? A couple cruisers have vampire proofing.”
“No,” Beluga snapped.
“You can come with us,” Eugene offered. “More than enough room.”
Cole sighed and holstered her weapon. “I didn’t come for a murder suspect, Detective Yukawa, I came for you.”
“You mean,” Eugene said, “you’re politicking. Like the chief. Giving me your whole attention, when really you can’t do a damn thing. But for that to work, you’d have to know you can’t do anything.” With the blood loss, he hadn't noticed. She didn't react to anything he said. The leg, yes, but the lack of a service weapon or handcuffs? He cocked a loaded finger at her. “You made a deal.”
Someone was behind him, heavy and fast. Before Eugene could flinch, a loud bang sent him wobbling. He caught a flash of amber hurtling away to his right. His makeshift wooden crutch. Gravity asserted itself over him like he was a cartoon coyote noticing the absent ground beneath his feet. He took a step to reorient, realizing too late he did so with the wrong leg.
Eugene fell to the ground and writhed. Whatever happened next was second to the lava coursing through him.
Cole barked, “Was that necessary?”
“Be more persuasive next time,” Beluga replied.
“Are you all right, Eugene?” Cole leaned over him. “I didn’t want anything like this to happen.”
“You…” Eugene swallowed. He wanted to curl up, to give himself over to the pain, but he had to stay conscious, had to understand. “You called the mobsters.”
Cole offered him a sad smile. “When a person is in an impossible situation, they do what they must. You forced someone’s hand and that person, in turn, forced mine. I thought you might hear me over the speaker; a part of me, if I’m being honest, hoped you would. But here we are.”
The throbbing in his leg began to ebb. The sirens that cried out in the city died.
“I tried to help you,” Cole said. “Every once in a while, I can do good. Your suspension made it easier.” Her eyes pleaded with him. “Let me give you an out, detective. For your little girl.”
“But Grace…”
Cole glanced in the reporter’s direction. “She’s burned her last bridge. Besides, you just told me she committed multiple felonies. She’s as good as dead. Why risk your neck?”
Eugene hesitated. She was right. All that was left for Grace were a few months of jail and a trial. Mere formalities at this point. The Hellmouth must have loads of footage of her crimes. Was it really better to risk his life so she could die in prison rather than here?
Looking at it that way, it was hardly a decision at all.
“She comes with us,” he said.
Cole straightened as if slapped.
Beluga whistled through his teeth. “Your protege’s got balls, I’ll give you that.”
Cole shot the guard a dirty look before resettling her gaze on Eugene. “I like you, detective. Not in a mushy, romantic way, but in the way that counts. Why do you think I kept you on after so many bad annual reviews?”
Eugene breathed in deep and swallowed. “She comes with us.”
The tight rigidity Cole always carried in her shoulders softened. “If that’s your decision…”
She set her hands in her pockets and turned her back on him. Steps heavy, she trod out through the exit wide enough for a lone person. Once on the other side, she pulled a remote out of her pocket, pushed a button, and the gate closed.
Before the final clang, she saluted. “Farewell, detective.”
***
As Sergeant Cole’s car engine faded, the last flicker of possibility in Grace died. At least she wouldn’t be alone. It was a selfish thought, one that should make her feel bad, but she was beyond caring. Eugene had stayed for her. Little good that did, but she wanted him to know that she appreciated it all the same.
Grace wanted to reach out, thank him, but a pat on the back might put him in the hospital. The detective looked beyond wrung out. Whatever kept him alert and defiant was waning. It was clear that woman, his sergeant, had dealt him a serious blow.
“How touching.” Beluga grabbed her by the hair and dragged. No screen this time. She knew this move. “Now let’s finish this, little cow bitch.”
The guard cackled for well over a minute, high and squeaky yips that grated her nerves. The laugh almost covered the jangle of handcuffs.
She kicked at his leg, but that only made the guard laugh harder. Metal clapped around her wrist. She twisted, trying to break his hold, but he seemed to anticipate that and shoved her hard, his grip still firm on her scalp. A chunk of hair tore off but didn’t slow her. She yelped, hurtling through the air backwards, until she hammered into the concrete wall of the fort. Her lungs filled with rocks. She collapsed onto Eugene.
The blow still reverberated through her skull when there came another click. Slowly, like her brain was rebooting, she realized Beluga had handcuffed her wrist to Eugene’s.
“Tell you what,” Beluga said, dangling a ring of keys between his fingers. “You treat me nice– and I mean, real nice–and I might just let you have these.”
Bile seethed up her throat. Everything spun in a sickening dance: the ground, the blood, the detective. Her gun too far away to be of any use.
She closed her eyes. The pounding in her skull not abating, but not increasing either. If she didn’t do something now, it would be too late.
Not like this.
When she looked out again, her gaze had settled on the darkness outside the floodlights. A crumple of red drifted around in the black. Francesco. He’d come back for her. The Hellmouth could fry him to a crisp in a second and he came back. For her.
He stuck a toe into the Hellmouth’s white light, then back, like sticking a toe in water. A trembling overwhelmed him, his hands clenched, as he looked from Beluga to the detective and back.
The blood rage. Despite his morals, Francesco had trouble resisting.
Please.
She forced herself to stare into the smug little face above her. She was alone. Her jaw trembled. “P-please. I’ll do anything.”
“Oh, baby.” Beluga grinned. “Hearing women say that never gets old.”
Disgust steamed out of her nostrils and she glanced back toward Francesco. He crept up, still near the edge of the light. But his eyes settled.
“Do your worst,” Grace said.
Beluga moaned, thinking she was talking to him. “Oh, I will.”
In a single fluid motion, Beluga spun, drawing his gun and firing. Francesco took off, stumbling at first, then building speed. Beluga fired twice more; Francesco modified his course. He closed the distance, a juggernaut of claws and fangs, hurtling toward the guard’s throat.
Grace let out a small whoop. They’d be saved. She could still make it out of here.
Then her cheers died in her throat. Beluga dodged, stepping out of the way so fast, Grace didn’t see him move. The guard walloped Francesco across the face with the butt of his gun. What should have only redirected the vampire a few degrees sent him skidding back the way he’d come like a rock across a pond.
Grace’s mouth dropped.
“Think you can take me?” Beluga laughed, his high-pitched squeaks deepening into guttural chuckles.
“Eugene,” Grace said, shaking the detective. He stirred but didn’t open his eyes. “Eugene, we need to go.”
Francesco shook off the blow, then charged once more. Beluga grinned. The two met with a thunderclap. Impossibly, the guard held his ground against the superior strength of the vampire, their hands locked in a contest of force. Francesco’s face went from shocked to strained.
