Demon Driven (4 page)

Mr. Tall, Dark and Smarmy across the room
would likely think me a pushover. Anyone watching my sparring match
with Tanya might be excused for thinking that, at least until they
had a round with her, themselves. Hand-to-hand matches with my
vampire princess usually ended for most vamps in under two
seconds.

“There, ya see? You got nothing, I repeat
NOTHING to worry about,” Lydia said.

“I guess, but I don’t like him. You never did
tell me his name.”

“Desiderio Reyes. He is representing one of
the Central American covens. So you can’t blast him into atoms, got
it?” she said.

Lydia knew me well and had as firm an
understanding of my capabilities as anyone.

I nodded and headed to the shower.

Chapter 4

The Demidova household has a massive
commercial grade kitchen which would seem unlikely in a vampire
household, but understandable, as the daytime security was human
and the Coven employment policy for all persons was to reward
loyalty handsomely and punish treachery harshly. So it was not
coincidence that one of the coven was a former master French chef
named Remy, who still retained his love of cooking, if not his
appetite for human food.

Dinner that night was escargot in garlic and
butter, Romaine salad with Roquefort, walnuts and apples; and veal
scallopini with Madeira shitake sauce. Pretty normal.

“In my opinion? The FN SCAR-L is bad ass.
Clean, piston-driven, so it’s reliable as hell and handles great! ”
Benson said, in between bites of veal.

“Where the fuck did you handle a SCAR?”
Hedges asked.

“I gotta buddy at Bragg who’s been part of
the test team. He got me in the last time I was down visiting,” the
beefy Benson replied.

“Listen up ladies! The L version is 5.56
millimeter. Our upgrade WILL be a 7.62. We can’t afford a lack of
power, ‘specially if we’re facing weres,” Deckert said.

Responsible for security during the daytime
hours when vampires were sleeping, tranquilized by the ultraviolet
rays of our sun, the humans had to be prepared for anything.
Potential problems included weres, human vampire hunters (nicknamed
Jackmans), organized crime, and other types of supernaturals.

Weres often fill the role of assassins, and
Jackmans (named after Hugh Jackman, who played the lead role in the
movie
Van Helsing
) were fanatical, quasi-religious types on
self appointed missions from God. Darkkin society runs at the
fringes of the human world, right next to the mob, gangs and other
organized crime. The two interact enough to result in potential
conflict from time to time.

But the single largest threat faced by the
security team was the paparazzi and other celebrity seekers. The
more private and reclusive a wealthy person is, the higher the
price for photos and stories. The Demidovas were super wealthy and
super private. The bids for a photo of Galina would start at a cool
million. Shots of Tanya – one to two mill.

The current conversation centered on
upgrading the teams urban rifle model, which was currently the
venerable Fabrique Nationale FAL in hard-hitting 7.62 mm (
essentially the same as the commercial .308 Winchester round that
was popular with big game hunters across the nation). Some of the
team were not fans of the FAL and kept up a steady petition for a
change.

“What do you think, Gordon?” Benson
asked.

Everyone paused to listen to my reply,
although they all have far more practical experience with modern
weapons than I do. What I do have, is direct knowledge of facing
weres and vamps in close quarters.

“I am familiar with FAL’s, and M-16 variants,
but I’ve never handled any of the new high tech stuff. The
Department uses Mini-14’s and M-4s,” I answered with a shrug.

“What would you pick?” Deckert asked.

“Well, I was raised on the Springfield M1A,
so I’m pretty comfortable with those. My personal rifle at home, is
a SOCOM 16, the 16 inch barreled version. But…..I wouldn’t go with
any of those for supes.”

I took a bite of my veal, then looked up to
find them all watching me expectantly.

“So, what, are ya going to make us beg? What
would you use?” Deckert asked.

I gulped my food and answered.

“I like shotguns. And I’d really like to get
my hands on an Auto Assault-12.”

“We have shotguns – Benellis,” Deckert said,
a frown on his face.

“Yeah, well I don’t like rifles for the city.
Rifles are good at a distance or maybe in the woods, and, of
course, in regular urban combat they’re great,” I said. “But here
in the city against weres and vamps, the ranges are gonna be short
‘cause supes are too fast. Spraying highpowered rifle bullets won’t
get much done, but heavy loads of silver buckshot are great
stoppers. We’ve started looking at silver flechettes – make ‘em
from extruded wire.”

“So you think we should get rid of our FALs?”
Benson asked.

I shook my head. “No, why would you get rid
of them? There are lots of reasons to have them handy. But I just
think if you’re gonna look at new weapons, a full auto shotgun with
silver buck or flechettes would kick ass. Did you know they make a
high explosive round for the 12 gauge now? Youtube has some videos
up showing them. Really cool!”

They all froze and looked at me warily.

“Chris, full auto is illegal in New York,
even with a class 3 license.” Deckert said.

“Hey, you asked what I would use and I told
you,” I said.

Of course they already had full automatic
weapons, but they were very careful to keep them hidden from my
sight, so as to avoid any conflict with my law enforcement career.
I, frankly, wasn’t gonna rat them out. They protected my lady; as
far as I was concerned they should have rocket propelled grenade
launchers.

My cell chose that moment to play my ringtone
– Rhianna’s
Disturbia
.

“
Hi Chris, it’s Olivia. The Inspector has
called a meeting for tomorrow at 8AM. Conference room.
Mandatory.”

“Okay, ‘Liv. I’ll see you there.”

“
Night, Chris.”
She hung up. I looked
up to see the whole table of hard-ass ex-special operators looking
at me.

“What?” I asked.

“Rhianna? Really?” Benson asked for all of
them.

“Hey, you have to admit that song fits my
wacked life.” I replied

I got a few nods at that. Deckert shook his
head, then steered the conversation back to the original topic.
“Gordon, you’re not gonna sit there and tell me you believe any
crap about not having to aim a shotgun, shot patterns that cover a
room or any of that shit are you?” he asked.

At close range, shot patterns don’t spread
out much. Across a room, say under ten yards, a typical load of
buck will still be in a clump.

“Of course not. But weres and vamps are
really tough. Even a direct hit won’t likely stop one. Shotguns
pack lots of power. I’d be just as happy with slugs as buckshot,
but silver is hard to work with. I’ve thought of using modern fifty
caliber muzzleloader bullets, melting the lead out of the copper
jacket and repacking them with powdered silver sealed with resin.
But if I’m gonna do that, I might as well go with the same bullet
in a .50 Beowulf round and use a M4.”

Thompkins, an ex-SEAL, asked: “A fifty
what?”

Deckert answered before I could.

“Alexander Arms in Virginia created a .500
caliber round that fits in the magazine of an M4. The upper
replaces the standard 5.56 and you’ve got a modern self loader with
the ballistics of a .45-70 buffalo gun. Mags hold seven to ten
rounds.”

“That’s not many!” someone interjected.

Again, the human leader spoke before I could
(which gave me the opportunity to get fourths of the
scallopeni).

“You don’t need thirty .22’s when you’re
shooting bullets the same weight as shotgun slugs with the power to
crack an engine block or destroy cinderblocks. Makes body armor
pointless.”

My Tanya sense flared and I automatically
looked toward the door. The others noticed and having witnessed me
do it enough to guess the reason, they all quieted and looked in
the same direction. A moment later, she ghosted through the
doorway, wearing a black dress, her night-black hair brushed out
and gleaming, white gold and sapphire pendant at the hollow of her
throat. I could hear the intake of breath and the change in
heartbeats around the table. My own heart beat faster as well. She
smiled at me, then took a moment to greet the men. She knew all
their names and frequently sat with me when I shared their table.
Those
meals were notable for the politeness of the
conversation.

“Chris, I have to play hostess tonight to the
Central American delegation. Knowing your lack of enthusiasm for
these things, I didn’t think you’d want to be there. Was I
right?”

I paused before answering. On the one hand,
she was exactly right. Having a bunch of strange vampires stare at
you, while they try to figure out if you’re a meal or not, is
disconcerting, to say the least. It doesn’t help that my AB
positive blood makes me smell delicious to them. I normally avoid
these things unless my presence is warranted. Some vampires have
heard of the gifted (or cursed, depends on your viewpoint) human
who believes vampires have souls. They generally want to meet me.
Some have heard of the death of Elder Fedor and then my presence
lends weight to Tanya’s authority.

But I wasn’t real happy about Desiderio and
thinking that maybe I should stay.

The decision was made for me, quite suddenly,
by the vision. My sight went black and a graphic, horror show of a
video played across my mind’s eye. A demon-influenced father,
terrified mother and children, a large chef’s knife.

I snapped out of it, already knowing roughly
where it would happen. Tanya understood, from experience as well as
her intimate connection to me, what was happening.

“How bad?” she asked.

“If I go immediately, not bad. If I delay?
Bad!”

“Mr. Deckert, Chris will need a good
driver.”

“No problem Young Queen. Stevens here was a
Secret Service driver,” he said, pointing Stevens toward the door.
“Benson and I will go with him.”

I was already drawing the vision on the back
of a piece of paper that Remy had food orders listed on. Kind of a
cross between psychic drawing and cartoon art, the snapshot drawn
usually provides important information. Since my introduction to
the vampire virus and my own unique transformation, my visions have
become more useful. This one was blocked into three parts. The
first showed a street sign (Eleventh Street) and an apartment
building. The second showed a door, number 3B. The third showed the
father threatening his wife and two small boys with a big kitchen
knife. Above his head, in the left corner of the doorway behind
him, a demonic face was just visible, floating in the darkness.

I had everything I needed. I gave Deckert the
address, 11
^th
Street, Brooklyn, in the 600’s. As we
headed out, I called Gina Velasquez and gave her the details: a
father, pushed to tragic murder by a demon. She assured me she
would meet me there with the some of the Squad. A quick kiss for
Tanya and we were on our way.

Chapter 5

Stevens drove the Mercedes sedan like he had
stolen it, weaving through traffic without regard for the integrity
of the seventy-five thousand dollar vehicle or any known traffic
laws. We were on scene at least as fast as a squad car would have
been, but with much less noise.

The building was a three-story brownstone in
a decent part of the city. My problem was on the third floor, and
once I was out of the car and after checking carefully for
witnesses, I
moved
, clearing the stairs with inhuman speed.
The father’s angry voice carried through the walls, telling me that
he hadn’t been driven to slaughter his loved ones quite yet. I
moved up to door 3B and listened, my eyes closed to concentrate on
forming a mental picture of the scene within. He had them cornered
in the living room, their rapid little hearts pounding out the
rhythm of their fear. His larger, thundering blood pump pinpointed
his location exactly, his voice rising in a wave of rage that would
crest with his rapid, violent action and end as their lives
did.

The door was locked, but I was through it in
a sharp snap of splintering wood, and his knife hand held firmly in
my own before the sound registered in his ears. Big, six-three,
well over two hundred pounds, fired by his unnatural anger, he was
temporarily as strong as two men. I’m a lot stronger than that, but
it made subduing him without injury difficult. So I broke his wrist
(along with several hand bones..oops) and choked him out with a
front carotid hold that he couldn’t break. The fact that I was
holding his entire weight several inches off the ground with my
choking hand didn’t go unnoticed by his wife. Gently, I set the
unconscious man down and gave the small, terrified woman a finger
over the lips motion for silence. I winked at the two tousled brown
heads that peaked from under her arms and turned to the doorway
behind the prone form of the father. Holding my left hand up, I
pulled
with my unique power and a noxious, greasy black lump
of floating hell sputum flew from the darkened doorway and to my
hand as if yanked by a giant rubber band.

It writhed and screamed its anger as I held
it captive, its cries turning to fear as the black shadow hawk form
of Kirby winged through the apartment walls, answering my unspoken
call. I tossed, Kirby caught and it was over. The entity that I
alternately think of as God’s Hawk or Satan’s Raptor, depending on
my mood, popped out of our existence and back to its own, dragging
its bundle of squirming excrescence with it, leaving only the foul
smell of brimstone and sulfer.