Dead Roses for a Blue Lady (15 page)

"Damn," I muttered under my breath. "So
that's
how it feels!"

As I stood there scratching my head, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a raven silhouetted against the night sky, although they rarely, if ever, fly after dark.

I didn't see Sadler again for a couple of days.

Bear in mind, I wasn't exactly looking for him. Since I'd determined he wasn't the kind of living dead that required my special attention, my attitude was more "live and let live" so to speak. Still, even in a city of this size, its only natural that we'd eventually cross paths again.

I was doing my rounds of the scummier dives and rougher clubs when I caught up with him again. Vampires tend to prey on those who dwell on the fringes of human society; those who, should they turn up missing or mysteriously dead, no one is likely to go out of their way to solve the crime—or even recognize it as such. Prostitutes, drug dealers, trannie hookers, hustlers, junkies, crackheads, and barflies tend to make up the most reliable prey categories, so it pays for me to keep tabs on the local scene.

I'd just finished checking out The Backstabber Lounge—an after-hours joint popular with Black and Latino drag-queens—when I heard what sounded like screams and gunshots coming from up the street. I smartened my pace and arrived just in time to see an exodus of extremely panicked bar girls fleeing Rackham's, a combination bar and pool hall that was a favorite with the various White Power gangs in the area. A second later a body came flying through the establishment's plate glass window and hit the sidewalk, coming to rest inches from my boots.

Since he was lying face-down, I had a clear view of the Regent Side insignia—a pink triangle with a knife stuck in it—on the back of his jacket, so I didn't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out who was responsible for propelling this human spitball.

Sadler came climbing through what was left of the window as calmly as you please, oblivious to the jagged glass slicing his legs and hands. The first thing I noticed was that he'd acquired both a new wardrobe and substantial armament since we'd last met. His jacket, slacks and turtleneck had been discarded in favor of khaki combat pants, mid-calf combat-boots, and a jungle-issue flak-jacket that bristled with small fire-arms, grenades, knives, and ammo. He carried a semi-auto pump shotgun and there was an AK-47 slung over his shoulder. At first I thought he'd smeared camo-stick across his face, but as he drew closer I realized it wasn't lamp-black I was looking at. Sadler might be a revenant,

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) but his mortal form was still susceptible to decay.

He glowered for a moment, then seemed to recognize me, nodding a curt hello.

"So—You were the one who knocked over the Army-Navy Surplus the night we met," I observed. "I wondered if it wasn't you when I heard the security door was torn off its hinges. And I suppose you're also the one that ventilated that van full of Regent Sides lurking behind the Tosca last night." I pointed to the weapons jutting from every part of his anatomy. "You, uh, know how to use all that stuff, Prof?"

Sadler lifted his left arm in way of an answer, exposing very nasty, very old scar tissue from where shrapnel had torn its way through flesh and muscle. "That's how I got the money to go to college in the first place." I thought his voice sounded strangely thick, then I realized his larynx was rotting along with the rest of him.

Sadler bent over and grabbed the Regent Side by the jacket collar and peeled him off the sidewalk. The basher had the same general "look" favored by his gang—pegged pants, Doc Martens with white shoelaces, a white T-shirt and red suspenders. His extremely short crew-cut made him look even younger than he already was. In any case, the kid wasn't getting any older, judging from the piece of broken glass wedged in his throat.

"Damn!" Sadler spat, letting the dead skinhead drop like a sack of wet laundry. "I was planning on using this one to find out where their leader is hiding!"

"Is that all? Hell, I can tell you that!"

"You know where the Regent Sides are?"

"I make it a point to know where all the scumbags in this part of town go to ground."

The sound of approaching police sirens caused me to step back, casting my gaze skyward.

"I'll take you to their hide-out, if that's what you want. But there's no way we'll be able to approach them from the ground with you tricked out like Rambo."

"What do you suggest we do, then?"

"Follow me."

I ducked down a nearby alley, Sadler at my heels. I motioned to the metal fire-escape a story above our heads. Sadler nodded his understanding, sliding his shotgun into a holster strapped across his back. I jumped up and snagged the railing, boosting myself onto the landing. Sadler was right behind me, showing a great deal of grace for a man I knew had to be feeling the effects of being dead three days.

By the time the police cars fish-tailed to a halt outside Rackham's Sadler and I were three buildings away, headed in the direction of the Regent Side's headquarters. Once I was certain we had not been spotted from the ground, I gestured for a halt. I leaned out over the top of the tenement's Victorian-era facade and looked back up the street at the flashing lights from the assembled squad cars. The cops were standing around scratching their heads, talking to a few shaken pool players and examining the dead Regent Sides. I cast a glance over my shoulder at Sadler, who was standing behind me as silent and solemn as a shadow.

"You realize you've stirred up all different colors of shit, don't you?" I asked. "When you whacked that van full of no-necks, the Regent Sides assumed Los Locos did it. So they hit

'em back. Took out most of the gang while they were hanging out at Taco Mundo. Now there's all kinds of payback going down. And a lot of the other gangs are fighting for the territory opening up."

"My heart bleeds piss for them."

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"Yeah, that's what I figured you'd say. Can't say my attitude's any different. I'm just letting you know what kind of fresh hell's going on." I nodded in the direction of the gang's hide-out. "Just bear in mind, the Regent Sides might not be expecting
you,
but they're gonna be expecting
someone.
A whole
lot
of someone, to be exact. And they're gonna be armed."

Sadler shrugged, his lips pulled into a bitter smile. "What's the worst they can do?
Kill
me?"

I laughed and shook my head. For a dead guy, I had to admit Sadler was okay. I could tell he was studying me in return. After a long moment he asked what they always do.

"Are all vampires like you?"

It was my turn to smile bitterly now. "No. Afraid not. I'm something of a fluke. I don't prey on humans—at least, I try not to. Not the innocent ones, anyway. I hunt vampires."

"Why?"

"Why do you feel compelled to destroy the Regent Sides?"

"They took everything from me: my future, my life, everything and everyone I loved. I can never have or enjoy those things again."

"Bingo."

Sadler met my gaze, hidden behind the sunglasses I wear, and once again I saw the familiar darkness in his eyes looking back at me, only now I knew better than to fear it.

There was a long moment of silence between us which I finally ended by moving away from the front of the building.

"C'mon," I said, clearing my throat. "Let's get going. The Regent Sides' crib is six blocks east of here."

Two blocks from our destination, something caught my eye in the alley below. It was little more than a furtive motion in the shadows, as if a prey animal had caught wind of a predator and quickly taken cover. I paused, scanning the alley below in search of Pretender spoor. Sadler turned to scowl at me.

"What's wrong?"

"Not sure—maybe nothing."

I spotted a flash of pallid flesh amidst the darkness, a look of panicked fear glittering in ruby colored eyes set in a milk-white face. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled and a low growl began to rumble deep in my chest. I could feel the kill-urge coming up, making my body tremble like a junkie needing a fix. I turned to speak to Sadler, all the while keeping my eyes on my prey below.

"Go on ahead without me. I'll catch up with you. The address is 605 Water Street. Corner of Regent. You'll find them there."

Sadler was gone before I finished the sentence, leaving me to my work.

It couldn't have taken more than ten minutes, fifteen tops, for me to finish off the dead boy cowering in the alley then shag it over to Water Street. I could smell the blood from two blocks away, and glimpsed the flames a block later. The bastard sure worked fast.

The decrepit row house where the Regent Sides had their so-called "headquarters" was

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) little more than a squat with plumbing and electricity, full to overflowing with junked furniture and empty pizza boxes, which probably had a lot to do with the speed at which the flames were devouring it.

There were bodies scattered along the sidewalk leading to the burning building that looked like they'd gotten up-close-and-personal with the business end of Sadler's shotgun. I shook my head in silent admiration. Sadler was definitely a class act in the mayhem department. I glanced around, looking for a sign of the walking dead man, but didn't spot him. Then I heard the screams coming from inside 605 Water.

At first all I saw was a beautiful and deadly curtain of orange and yellow flame, then the figure of a man emerged from the inferno's heart. Although the screams were growing louder and closer, the figure moved with an unhurried, purposeful stride. As Sadler exited the burning building and headed down the steps to the street, I saw the source of the screams was the man he was dragging behind him by a pair of blood-red suspenders.

Less than fifteen minutes earlier, the leader of the Regent Sides had been a young, relatively decent-looking white man. Now he looked like 180 pounds of barbecued kielbasa. Except that barbequed kielbasas usually don't scream at the top of their lungs.

Once he'd cleared the fire, it was clear that Sadler was in even worse shape than the pathetic little neo-nazi he was towing behind him like a demented pull-toy. Big chunks of flesh were missing from his face, chest, and arms. What I first mistook as sweat running down his forehead and dripping from his face was actually fat, and his hair was burned right down to his skull. The intense heat had caused his gums to shrivel, exposing the teeth in his mouth all the way to the root and giving him a decided death's head appearance when he smiled in my direction.

"Looks like you've got things in hand here," I observed, nudging one of the Regent Sides splattered across the pavement. "So—is it over?"

"Not yet," he replied, a burp of smoke escaping his lips as he spoke. Sadler hurled the hideously burned skinhead into the gutter. The Regent Side's leader looked like a giant blister in a sooty white T-shirt and red suspenders. He lifted his seared hands, whether to beg forgiveness or block out the sight of his nemesis was unsure. His eyes without lashes or brows, were still startlingly blue, especially in contrast to the lobster-red ruin of what was once his face.

"Help me, lady, " he pleaded. "This nigger's a fucking monster!"

I had to chuckle at that one. The look of horror on the skinhead's face when he saw my teeth made me laugh even harder. He began to shriek again—only this time out of fear, not pain. It was the scream of a man who's finally realized that he's dead, even though he's still breathing.

"You stole our lives, scum." Sadler's voice was almost unrecognizable now. It sounded more like the very pits themselves had been given voice. "And now I'm going to send you to hell for the heartless bastard you are."

Sadler pulled a six-inch serrated combat knife from a sheath strapped to his calf and plunged it into the Regent Side's chest, causing blood to erupt from the skinhead's nose and mouth in a crimson gout.

Despite the gravity of his wounds, it took the punk a good two minutes to die. The last thing he saw was Sadler removing his still-beating heart from its cage of bone.

As the life, if not the horror, in the skinhead's eyes drained away, Sadler blinked and

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) staggered slightly, like a man coming out from under hypnosis. When he saw the bloody hunk of muscle in his hand he gave a short cough of disgust and hurled it into the gutter alongside its owner. He lifted a trembling, crimson hand to his ruined face, grimacing as his fingers encountered exposed bone.

I gently touched him on the shoulder and he jerked like a startled sleepwalker. He stared at me for a long moment before he finally recognized me.

"What next?" I asked.

He frowned as if I'd spoken to him in Mongolian. "Next? There is no next. It's over."

"Uh-huh. I figured as much. So now what?"

Sadler shook his head, pulling a pistol out of his pocket as he straightened up. "It's
over."

He said it as if I should have understood what it meant. And maybe I did, but I didn't want to. I'd come to enjoy his company.

"Sadler—Clarence—"

"Have they found him?"

"Yeah. I called the cops after you disappeared. His body's at the morgue."

Sadler nodded. The information seemed to put him at ease.

"Thank you— I'm sorry—I don't even know your name?"

"Sonja."

"Thank you, Sonja." He smiled, took a giant-step backwards and brought the gun up to his head.

Then he said "Kiko" and pulled the trigger, spraying congealed blood and putrefying brains onto the sidewalk. And his story ended just like that—as suddenly as it had begun.

I stared at his truly lifeless body for a long moment before leaving. As I turned away, I caught sight of a large crow perched atop a nearby street-light, watching me with that same dark, familiar intelligence I'd glimpsed in the dead man's eyes.