The Hunger Read online

  Monsignor John O’Connor awoke with a start as the beam of light hit his face from the opening in the manhole cover above. He hadn’t meant to sleep, but had been determined to keep his vigil through the night. His body had not cooperated. He jumped up with a start, switching the flashlight on as he noted that the Starlight goggles were flashing a low battery warning. Pulling the goggles up to his forehead he shined the flashlight around the room.

  It looked as if nothing had been touched in the chamber. The priest walked to the coffin, feeling the kinks in his back from sleeping against a hard wall. The coffin had been undisturbed, and a quick shine of the light showed that the chest was closed and untouched. The spot of the flashlight showed the cover still over the manhole. O’Connor sniffed the air. The musty odor of death still permeated the air, but it had grown no stronger through the night.

  She had to have come here, thought O’Connor. He knew that vampires could walk during the daylight, unlike the made up monsters of TV and movies. But they still had to rest in their coffins as the sun came over the horizon. So she had to be here, or…

  “She has another lair,” he said, and then went quiet as he heard his voice echo in the chamber. It wasn’t unheard of for the undead to plan ahead, to have multiple hiding places, bolt holes, secret stashes. But she had not been one of the undead for very long. She should not have the wisdom to plan beyond the animal instinct stage. But obviously she had.

  And now she’s out there in a large urban area, he thought as he crouched back out through the entrance to the chamber and into the storm drain. A million places she could be, in one of tens of thousands of houses, or buildings, warehouses, ships. Or she could be out of the Tampa Bay area altogether.

  O’Connor walked through the tunnel, heading back to the light that marked the far entrance. A hot shower awaited him, and a soft bed. He would catch a few hours of sleep, a hot meal, and then begin the search again. A search that must needs start with prayers to the God who sent him on this quest. He squinted as the sun hit his eyes, as he scrambled up the slope of the earth to the street beyond.

  * * *

  Jeffrey DeFalco tapped the pointer on the resilient surface of the screen, drawing everyone’s attention to the face of a distinguished looking man of middle age. He could see from the expressions in the room that the figure was recognized by all.

  “So you think she’s going to go after Padillas?” asked Jamal Smith, doubt in his voice.

  “Why not,” said DeFalco. “Her normal pattern is to work her way up the food chain. Padillas is the next level up.”

  “We think he’s the top of the food chain here,” said Sanchez, looking into his coffee cup.

  “Why not bring Vice or Narcotics in on this?” asked Justine, looking at her own boss. “I mean, they have more of a handle on these players than we do.”

  “I think having your team in on it is enough,” said DeFalco, looking pointedly at the woman. “At least you people think I’m only a little bit crazy. I don’t have time to convince a bunch of other people that my madness has a rhyme.”

  DeFalco took a sip of his own black coffee, and looked from face to face around the table at the half dozen detectives who occupied the room.

  “And I think she is going to strike Padillas tonight,” he said, thumping the pointer on the table. “We don’t have time to go over this shit with more people.”

  “And the uniforms?” asked Smith, staring at DeFalco. “What about them? They may want to know what’s going on, don’t you think?”

  “Then we tell them that a female assassin is thought to be hunting the crime lords of the Bay Area,” said DeFalco, a smug look on his face. “Same as we tell you locals when we want your help and don’t really want you to know what we’re really doing.”

  “I don’t like it,” said Detective Lowrey, slamming his own beefy hand down on the table and scowling at DeFalco. “From what you’re saying, those men will be in extreme danger if the perp decides they have gotten in her way. She’ll go through them like an Army Ranger through Boy Scouts. Don’t you think they ought to know what they’re facing?”

  “Look,” said DeFalco, staring back into the big man’s eyes. “We’ll tell them that she is very dangerous, and they are not to try and take her without one of us on hand.”

  “They may still try and take her,” growled Lowrey. “They’re professional law enforcement officers. I don’t think they’re going to back down just because they’re told the perp is extremely dangerous.”

  “So you want us to take her out ourselves?” said DeFalco. “That’s great if she just happens to come out our way. Or we spread ourselves too thin to actually stop her.”

  “DeFalco’s right,” said Smith, putting a hand on his enraged detective’s shoulder. “We need the backup. She's most likely to hit Padillas tonight. And we don’t know where she strikes after that. So we need to make do with what we have and pray for the best. You understand?”

  “Yes sir,” agreed the detective, nodding his head with a frown. “I understand. But I don’t have to like it.”

  “No you don’t,” growled DeFalco in a strong Brooklyn accent. “As long as you do as you’re told I’ll be satisfied.”

  DeFalco turned back to the screen as he hit a button on the remote. An image of a large house just outside of the City of Tampa came on the screen.

  “Now that we’ve wasted enough of our precious time,” said DeFalco, tapping his screen with the pointer, “I think it’s time to get back to business. Now here we have the house of Mr. George Padillas…”

  * * *

  Marcus could tell the moment he walked into the bar that the men he was supposed to meet were waiting for him. And that they had no intention of dealing fairly. He walked past the several whores who tried to get his attention, a stare into the eyes of one turning her away with a shudder. He could see the rat faced little man he had made contact with last night standing up near a table and waving at him. A trio of big, beefy, tattooed men sat at the table, sipping from beer bottles and trying to look as menacing as they could, staring at Marcus as he weaved around a couple of tables to approach theirs.

  “Welcome, sir,” said the rat faced little man who Marcus knew as Frenchy. “I’m so glad you came.”

  “Me too,” said one of the large men, a bald biker with a large belly, taking a quick pull from an imported beer between his mustache and goatee. “I didn’t think you was gonna show. Frenchy said you had a wad of cash on you.”

  “Which I will give to you, Mr., ah.”

  “Call me Ironhead,” said the man. “And my partners are Chainsaw and Hammer.”

  “They’re the local representatives of the Satan’s Disciples,” said Frenchy, his own chest puffing out with the pride of association.

  “Shut the fuck up, you little shit,” growled Hammer, a man who looked like he spent as much time in the gym as the bar. “I’ll stick a hand up your ass when I want you to be our puppet.”

  Fear flew across Frenchy’s face as he looked to the other two for support. Seeing none, he closed his mouth and moved away from the table.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ironhead,” said Marcus with a smile on his face. “Mr. Hammer, Mr. Chainsaw.”

  “Now don’t he sound like an educated man,” said Chainsaw, a smaller but still muscular man who picked up his beer bottle with a fluid grace.

  Marcus recognized him as the most dangerous of the bunch. But he had faced down the chieftains of barbarian nations, men who would have him tortured to death while they ate their breakfast and loved their women. These men did not frighten him, especially since they could only hurt him permanently if they pierced his heart or cut off his head. Not that he expected them to know that. In fact he was counting on them to not know that fact. Or to think that the sun was about to go down over the horizon.

  “You have some cash for us, man?” asked Ironhead, leering up at Marcus. Marcus nodded his head as he looked down at the man, his crimson orbs boring into Ironhead’s ey
es. Ironhead kept eye contact for a few moments, then looked nervously down at the table.

  “You try to stare me down and you’ll regret it,” growled Hammer, slamming his beer bottle on the table and sloshing suds onto the surface.

  “Gentlemen,” said Marcus in his best calming voice. “I’m not here to fight. I’m here for information.”

  “Information don’t come cheap,” said Chainsaw, speaking up when Ironhead continued to sit staring down at the table.

  Marcus could feel the fear battling with anger in the man. The Vampire Lord knew that the man had lost face in front of his partners. And he knew that the man would now want to take his anger out on the object of that fear.

  “I’m willing to pay for it,” said Marcus in his smooth voice, pulling a wad of hundreds from his pocket folded into a heavy gold band. He could feel the greed in the men. And the willingness to commit violence against him to get more than he was willing to offer. He smiled again at the men.

  “It’s not a good idea to talk here,” said Ironhead, glancing quickly up at Marcus, then turning to glance at his partners who both nodded their heads. “I think we could talk in the back, if you wanted your information right now.”

  Both the partners smiled as Marcus nodded his head. Chainsaw got to his feet and gestured toward a door at the back of the bar and started to walk toward it. Hammer and Ironhead picked up their beers and fell in behind Marcus as he followed the most dangerous of the bikers to the private area, a back room. Chainsaw walked across the room and opened the far door and swaggered into the alley behind the bar, as the other two crowded close to Marcus to keep him from changing his mind.

  It was still twilight outside, though the sun had left the sky and Marcus could feel the strength that lived in his dead muscles. Ironhead walked around him and turned, putting his back against the concrete block wall of another building. Hammer and Chainsaw both took up positions slightly to the rear of Marcus, one to his left and one to his right.

  Boxed in, thought the vampire. Trapped by men used to using violence to get what they want. But they had no idea what they had trapped.

  “Let’s see that money, pops,” Ironhead growled, thrusting his beer breathe face into Marcus’.

  “I have some questions to ask first,” said Marcus, again backing the man up with his stare.

  “What you want to know, little man?” asked Hammer over his shoulder. Marcus could feel the man’s foul breathe on his cheek.

  “I want to know who are the movers and shakers in the criminal world here?” said Marcus. “I want to know where they work, and where they live?”

  “You ain't asking for much,” said Chainsaw with a laugh. “We give you those names, what you gonna do with them?”

  “That is for me to know,” said Marcus, letting the veiled anger show in his voice. “But let me assure you,” he continued, allowing his voice to switch to calming mode, “I mean them no harm.”

  “Let me assure you,” said Hammer in a mocking voice, breaking out into a laugh. “What the hell are you?”

  “I think he’s a Narc,” said Chainsaw, putting a hand on Marcus’ shoulder and gripping tight. He pulled a switchblade from his pocket and clicked it open, holding menacingly behind the vampire.

  “You will release me this instant,” growled Marcus, tiring of the game.

  “Or what, you faggot,” grunted Chainsaw, putting the tip of the knife against the small of Marcus’ back.

  Marcus reached his right hand up casually, placing his fingers over Chainsaw’s. He heard the man grunt as he applied a bit of pressure, then felt the cold blade slide painlessly into his back. A second grunt, this one filled with pain, followed, as Marcus felt the bones of the hand crack under the pressure he now applied.

  “What the fuck,” yelled Hammer, swinging a fist into the side of Marcus’ head. The heavy fist smacked into Marcus’ temple, and rocked the vampire a bit on his feet.

  Marcus twisted the hand he gripped in his, hearing the cracking sounds of wrist bones breaking and the tearing of cartilage. Chainsaw screamed as he brought his knife back and stabbed into the back of his tormentor. With a swing of his arm Marcus twisted Chainsaw to the side and away, to smack into the concrete block wall. Chainsaw slid down the wall, his good hand gripping the other after dropping the knife.

  Hammer grabbed Marcus by his jacket and tried to lift and push him at the same time. Ironhead came off the wall swinging a combination of blows toward the vampire’s head, landing them without effect. Marcus grabbed the wrists of Hammer as he fell back, stopping the fall as he dug his sharp fingernails into the human flesh. The smell of blood hit his nostrils as he bared his fangs and felt the hunger begin to war with his rational mind. But he had been around long enough to always be in control.

  Marcus pushed back, throwing Hammer into the air, the man flailing his arms as he fell onto his back with a huff of expelled air. Ironhead had stooped down and come up with a section of iron pipe. He raised it over his right shoulder and brought it down with all of his might. To Marcus it was as if the man moved in slow motion. He reached up his right hand as he twisted toward Ironhead, grabbing the pipe and pulling it from Ironhead’s hand. Marcus brought the pipe back swiftly and struck at Ironhead’s skull. He bared his fangs in satisfaction as he felt the bone of the man’s forehead crack under the pipe, followed by spurting blood that sprayed over the alleyway.

  Ironhead fell to the ground, his wide-open eyes blank as his frontal lobes were destroyed. Marcus threw the iron pipe at the quivering body, propelling the cylinder through the man’s biker vest, blasting through ribs and into his chest. Grunting in satisfaction Marcus turned to the rising Hammer.

  Hammer took one look at Marcus, another at the body of Ironhead lying on the ground with blood pouring from his head and chest, and turned to run. Marcus watched him run, feeling a smile creep across his face. A huge black man appeared then at that end of the alley, standing calmly in the way of the fleeing biker.

  “Out of my way, nigger,” yelled Hammer as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a short barreled revolver. The black man stood there, not a bit of emotion showing on his face. Hammer pulled the trigger, firing point blank into the body of the obstacle before him. He stopped and fired again, as the black man stood there as if nothing was happening.

  “You may feed, Tashawn,” said Marcus, as he caught Chainsaw out of the corner of his eye as the man struggled to get back to his feet.

  Tashawn reached forward and slapped the pistol from Hammer’s hand. He then reached and grabbed Hammer’s shirt with the speed of a striking viper, jerking the man toward him. Hammer stared at Tashawn like a bird caught in the gaze of a serpent as Tashawn pulled him close. The giant opened his mouth, his jaws hinging wider than humanly possible. With a thrust of his head Tashawn pushed his sharp canines through the skin of the biker he was holding close.

  Marcus could hear the slurping from Tashawn’s feeding as he turned his attention to Chainsaw, who was now on his feet and stumbling toward the other exit from the alley, holding his shattered wrist and hand close to his body. Marcus could hear the sobs of the fleeing man, could feel the fear radiating from him.

  With a rush of speed Marcus was past the man and in front of him. He turned to face the running Chainsaw, to his heightened speed looking as if he were creeping down the alley. Marcus slowed down his time acceleration and stood in front of the frightened biker, seeming to have just appeared there to the human’s perception.

  “What the fuck are you?” screamed Chainsaw as he skidded to a halt and almost fell to the ground.

  “I would think that would be obvious by now,” said Marcus, allowing his long canines to show, reaching toward the man.

  “That’s impossible,” yelled Chainsaw, trying to turn and run, stopping as he saw the huge black man at the other end of the alley still bent over the standing form of Hammer.

  Marcus grabbed the man by the shoulder and spun the biker back to face him. Marcus then grabbed the front o
f his shirt and lifted the bigger man into the air.

  “Now,” said Marcus, his fiery gaze boring into the man’s eyes. “How about we talk about that information I wanted.”

  Ten minutes later Marcus was sure that he had drained all the information the man had. Minutes after he was sure he had drained all of the blood the man had. He dropped the body to the ground, looking down on the man as he decided what was to come next. He felt Tashawn over his shoulder, and turned to face the huge vampire.

  “I don’t want these rising, Tashawn,” said Marcus, looking at the three bodies scattered around the alley. “Not that they wouldn’t make useful minions. But I have no need for this area to become crowded with our kind.”

  “What’s the deal with that,” said Tashawn, a frown on his face. “Why do you care if they rise or not. What can the puny humans do to us?”

  “Ah,” said Marcus, laying a hand on the giant’s shoulder as he looked up into his face. “The exuberance of youth. That is why so many of our kind meet their ends before they develop the wisdom to survive.”

  “Yeah, man,” said Tashawn, towering over his master. “Why ain't the cops here yet? Someone had to hear the commotion. At least the gun shots?”

  “I have a feeling that this is their home turf,” said Marcus, nodding at the body of Chainsaw. “Things like this must happen often around here, and people are used to staying out of things and minding their own business.

  “Or maybe things not quite like this,” laughed Marcus. “I’m sure they had no idea what was to transpire tonight.”

  Marcus reached down and picked up the body of Chainsaw, holding him like he would a small woman. He walked the corpse to the center of the alley and laid him against the foot of the door. He turned to Tashawn as he stood over the dead man.

  “Go and get the gas can from the car,” he ordered his minion. “Bring it back here and we will take care of this trash.”

  He watched the back of the enormous man as Tashawn walked from the alley. What I could do with such strength, he thought. Unfortunately that strength was attached to a youth with no wisdom. But if he survives he will become formidable. I wonder if she knows what she has unleashed upon the world.