Doomsday Exam [BUREAU 13 Book Two] (20 page)

"And what you offering, Mr. Money?” a bald fat boy asked, snapping a switchblade into life. His cronies chuckled and displayed more lethal ironmongery.

Ho-hum, so much for doing it the nice way. I drew both of the .357 Magnums and let'em have a good look. “I'm offering a half ounce of hot lead apiece. Any takers?"

Their heads shook no, then yes. Then no again. Impatiently, I gestured towards the alley. The question was so complex, it might take them a week to figure an answer.

"Move,” I commanded, and they hustled into the darkness.

Five minutes and six low-grade Sleep spells later, a punk rocker and a hippie strode in the strip joint. Once we were past the front door and photograph lined hallway, the music, laughter, noise, lights, smoke and smell formed a tangible atmosphere that threatened to overload the senses. I pocketed my Bureau sunglasses. They were useless in here.

The place was a standard bump-and-grind establishment. Small tables were clustered around an equally small stage backed by a tremendous mirror greasy with handprints. On the runway was a pair of skinny, semi-clad women dancing listlessly to the hottest rock tunes, the volume loud enough to sterilize camels. A disco ball hanging from the black ceiling scattered light dots in a vain attempt to generate excitement. Hostesses in ripped lingerie loitered near every table, hoping to find a lonely drunk who wished their company. At fifty bucks a drink.

Pitiful. My bachelor party had started in a place like this. I was bored then and I was bored now. None of the women were pretty, could dance and there were probably more diseases floating about in this dump than an illegal military virus factory. I felt itchy just standing here.

Motioning in sign language, I grabbed a vacant stool at the bar, while Raul took a table. We each ordered drinks. That was mandatory in a place such as this, or else the burly bouncer let you sample his tasty homemade knuckle sandwich. Watching our adolescent undead, I noted that the boy seemed much too intense to be reporting a victory to the boss. In the rear of my brain, I was starting to get a terrible suspicion that this was not the end of the line, but merely a pit stop and our quarterback was going to feed.

JESSICA!!

Still silence.

Over in a dark corner, Dracula Jr. was chatting with an almost pretty young hostess in a satin lace teddy, spiked heel shoes and not much else. He smiled. She shook her head no. He grabbed her wrist. She looked him in the eyes, paused and then woodenly nodded yes. Hell and damnation! The bastard was here for blood!

Shuffling through the crowd, the undead high school student escorted her into a back room. We rose to follow, but they promptly reappeared and she was pulling on a coat. Keeping his face towards the wall, Raul sauntered around behind them and rejoined me at the bar.

"What now?” Raul asked tensely.

Buying some time to think, I took a sip of my drink and spit it back into the glass. Yuck! My mother made better tequila than this slop. “Continue to follow. This vampire is our only lead."

Just then, an oily bald man in skin-tight leather walked up to Raul and made the most astonishing suggestion. Completely unperturbed, Raul snorted in disdain, and the man departed pouting. Hey, wearing an earring did not mean you were gay. Just ask any pirate.

"And at what point do we stop him from killing the girl?” Raul demanded, hand tight on his wizard staff.

Sadly, I had known this question was coming, and was braced for the response. Five hours, thirty minutes till the World Mage Spell. If it was successful, humanity would be facing a god. An actual, Grade A, full-fledged god. There was little choice as to what we had to do.

"We don't stop him,” I said honestly, feeling weary to my very soul. “In fact, I hope he kills her as soon as possible. Her death may be our only chance of saving the world."

Raul's jaw sagged.

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The mage recovered in under a heartbeat and stared at me as if I was a door-to-door Betamax salesman.

"What was that?” Raul demanded, through clenched teeth.

"This may be our sole hope of ever finding Mystery man,” I explained coldly, resting my arm on the table to lean closer. “Look, we're not dealing with a pro, but a high school kid. He just won the big game and wants to party. This is his celebration. Afterwards, he'll report to the boss."

Chewing air for a few moments, the mage had trouble speaking. “This is totally unacceptable,” he finally gushed.

"Friend, don't make me pull rank."

He snorted. “Screw you and the regulations you rode in on. The whole purpose of the Bureau is to protect people from just this kind of danger, not put parsley behind their ears and ring a dinner bell!"

Our conversation was starting to draw unwanted attention, so we moved to another corner where we could still keep watch. A hostess came over and we shooed her away by ordering more watery drinks.

Scrutinizing our boy through a curtained window, we saw him and the girl walk across the parking lot, over to the motel section and enter a room. Only minutes remaining in which to act. If we were going to do anything, and we weren't.

"Ed, please!” the mage implored, tears in his eyes.

Slumping in my seat, I sighed, “No."

"But we have to do something!"

"You got any ideas?"

"Damn straight,” Raul growled. “We snatch the boob and wring the information out of him. Better to torture a monster, than let an innocent get killed."

"Wrong,” I said with conviction. “Because anything the slave vampire knows, Rasamor knows. I mean, Mystery Man should know."

"But he may not!"

Lifting a wrist, I displayed my watch. “Can we take that chance?"

Raul's face underwent a wide variety of expressions, none of them pleasant, until at last he accepted the awful truth.

"Come on,” I said standing. “Let's go.” Tossing a few bills onto the table, I started shoving my way through the drunk, leering crowd. The waitress moved in fast to get the cash before a patron did. Before joining me, Raul downed his drink and then mine. For once, I said nothing to stop him. All mages drink. Raul just a bit more than the rest, and for good reasons.

A short talk and surreptitious money exchange with the reception clerk of the motel, Raul and me got the room with our lucky number on it, which by purest coincidence just happened to be right next door to Vampire Boy and his unwilling date. In the room, we dimmed the lights and Raul produced a peeper pen. Sheathed in teflon coated surgical steel, you could easily shove it into almost any wall and the needle tip made only a minuscule hole in the other side. Inside the pen was a prism and lenses assembly that gave a wide-angle view of what was happening in the next room. There wasn't a PI in the civilized world that didn't have one, or would admit that they did.

Braced for what I might see, I took the first look. “Goddamn it, we're behind a picture!"

Moving the peeper a foot to the right, we gauged the location of the picture from the position of the portrait in our room, and managed to get a clear view this time. It wasn't pretty.

Pert breasts sticking up from a ripped lace bra, the girl was spread-eagle on the bed, hand and legs tied to the four corners with torn sheets, panties dangling off an ankle. He was stark naked, his lean body pumping hard. But suddenly he stopped, and she got an expression of raw terror contorting her face. She started to struggle wildly. The boy laughed and buried his mouth onto her neck. The girl went stiff, her fingers clawing at the air.

"Is she dead,” Raul said, his hands twisting on the silver staff. “Yes, I can see it in your face."

An agent's burden, I told myself.

"Want me to take a turn?” the mage hesitantly offered.

"No!” I snapped. But after a moment added, “Thank you."

He accepted that. So I watched, God help me, I watched him kill her. I wanted to shut my eyes, to close my ears to her faint, barely audible screams. Desperately, I wanted to burst in there before it was too late and kill the freaking son of a bitch. Raul was correct, our job was to save lives. Yet 6 billion lives rested upon our inaction. But was the world worth this? Was the life of one useless stripper worth the rest of humanity?

Morally? No.

Tactically? Yes.

So I performed my job and did not glance away. If I was to be responsible for her death, I would watch, to know what she went through, so I could carry the memory to my grave. I would not be a coward. Yet deep down inside my guts, for the very first time, I hated being a Bureau 13 agent.

Almost an hour passed and eventually he finished to rise from the mutilated corpse. As I removed the pen from the wall and handed it to Raul, the mage took hold of my shoulders and forced me to face him.

"Maybe he'll make her an undead also,” Raul offered. “Then the Bureau can recruit her and train the girl to handle the difficulties of being a vampire. But she can still have a full life. A really long one!"

The words were torn from my throat. “He ate her heart."

Letting go of my jacket, Raul slumped. She was dead for keeps. There would be no graveyard resurrection.

Silently, we moved to the window, parted the thin curtains and watched as the young butcher departed the room, carefully closing and locking the door. Hands in pockets, the monster headed for the streets. Showtime.

We followed using a standard two man rotation. We trailed the murderer to the nicer section of town and then over the Covington Bridge into south Cincinnati. Quick as possible, Raul and I modified our disguises as much as possible into something a bit more respectable. Our boy stopped to take a leak on the Tyler David monument at the Fifth Street traffic circle and then moved off into the shadows of a nearby alley.

Waiting a minute just to be careful, Raul and I tagged along. Traffic was sparse and the footsteps of distant pedestrians echoed strangely in the still night air.

Sure enough, from the alley came a trickle of smoke that disappeared down a metal grating by the curb and into a storm drain.

"Follow and don't lose him,” I softly commanded. “I'll call the team."

"How?” Raul demanded in disbelief.

"Go!"

He paused. “Good luck."

"Thanks, buddy. You too."

"Breadcrumbs,” he replied, producing a jar of petroleum jelly. Glumly, I nodded. Then swirling an imaginary cape about himself, Raul vanished.

Anger and hatred fueling my resolve, I headed for a liquor store. Time was of the essence and I needed to get drunk fast, for more reasons then one.

Returning to Saddle Brook, my task of finding a liquor store doing business this late at night was no problem. Using cash, I purchased six bottles of Everclear and a pint of whiskey. Moving a few blocks away from the store, I prepared for my new role in a garbage strewn alley. Holding my nose, I forced myself to drink half of the whiskey and place the rest aside for later.

Next I removed every Bureau issue article and piece of identification I had in my possession. Sunglasses, ID booklet, signet ring, lighter, body armor, false tooth filled with Untruth Serum, wallet, commission booklet, keys, unbreakable pocketcomb, my last fountain pen, shoulder holster, extra ammo, knife, derringer, handkerchief, beltbuckle and wristwatch.

Spreading my flame retardant cloth on the bottom of a metal trashcan, I dumped my possessions on top and then poured in the Everclear. At 99% pure grain alcohol, the liquor was highly flammable. Setting my watch and cigarette lighter for a slow burning self-destruct, I grabbed the whiskey bottle and retreated. I barely made it to the street when the trash can thunderously detonated. The alley was filled with flame and shrapnel, illuminating the whole neighborhood and rattling windows for blocks. Fleetingly, I saw the pocketcomb zoom by, chip a brick wall and zing off into the night. Wow, I guess it really was unbreakable.

Lights came on in a dozen places and I quickly dumped the rest of the whiskey over my clothing then pocketed the bottle.

"Ya-hoo!” I cried, triggering a Magnum and shattering two store windows. Alarms began clanging. “Yippee! I'm on Earth again! Hurrah!” Two more booming rounds punctuated my goofy expressions of joy.

Needless to say, even in Saddle Brook a police car soon rolled by to investigate. I had been rationing my bullets and only three were remaining when they arrived. Parking a half block away, the cops advanced in regulation one-on-one formation with their guns drawn. Good lads. Please, please, consider me dangerous. I shot out another street lamp and pissed in my pants. The things I do for America.

"Now put down the gun, fella,” the officer said, approaching steadily. His voice was low and soothing, calm and even. He was very good at this. Must handle a lot of drunks.

"You can't arrest me,” I snarled and gave a hiccup. “I'm from Mars!"

The officer smiled. “Hey, me too! Buddy! Neighbor!"

Damn, this guy was really good. I thought fast. “You're no buddy of mine,” I slurred, weaving drunkenly on my feet. That part was not altogether an act. The cheap booze mixed with no food in eight hours was hitting me hard. I didn't dare try anymore marksman shooting or I might kill somebody. “You're a thul sucking biggle-fargul!"

"Nyah,” he denied, coming ever closer. “That's my partner. He also smokes and fizzle gorps!"

As much as he was messing up my scheme, I had to admire his total professionalism. “A fizzle gorp!” I drooled, waving the Magnums overhead. “Da Earth loving scum. Let's go shoot him in the spleen!"

"But those guns won't work on Earth folk,” he said nearly within arms reach. “Here use mine.” He held out a revolver that I knew must be empty.

"Look out!” I screamed, firing my last two shots in the air. “He's gonna spur-tune!"

Tossing my weapons away, I dizzily reached for the offered gun. It was immediately withdrawn and somebody tripped me from behind. Down I went flat on my face and the cops piled on top. My arms were yanked behind my back and I heard metallic clicking.

"Shut up, ya loony,” somebody snarled. “Don't give us anymore crap!"