One Night Burns (The Vampires of Livix, #1) (21 page)

“I’m pulling together the corporate server farm into a huge password cracking bot to compromise the main databases.”

“Here,” he flipped the switch on the second monitor on his desk. A Midori web browser popped up and a page called “The Top500 Supercomputing Sites” loaded. Garin typed and scanned his first screen again.

I looked over the page. The list included the global installations of the largest high performance computing centers. Governments, defense companies, and university research facilities tabulated the size of their installations and their capable sprints in computing processing achieved. Garin clicked on a link on the page and a table flipped up while he worked. Listing installations by the number of CPU cores and max performance in Tera flops and which countries and organizations ran the largest on the planet. The United States represented half the top ten but China and Japan held the top three key positions – held those positions by exponential margins of performance.

“The Bank of Draydon has a system larger than the top six combined – unpublished of course. And I have almost twenty five percent of the bank’s resources cracking its database security.”

“Isn’t someone going to notice that amount of power drag? I can tell when an Internet video is making my computer crawl.”

“I distributed my cycles behind their stock market trades. Stock markets are running non-stop around the globe. So I piggyback the CPU cycles. I’d use more but I don’t want to get greedy.” He looked at his watch, “Should only be a few minutes.”

We waited.

The scrolling stopped in the one panel and the cursor returned to blinking in another. “I’ll run the decoder now.” He typed another line of text and the icon spun while letters and numbers ticked off onto a line. He highlighted the text and copied it to another panel and filled in some prompts. “And this should do it.”

A screen popped up on the monitor near me over top of the web browser. It looked eerily like another map I knew, “I’ve seen this before. Fillian’s Book Store. He has some new gadget to recommend books.”

“Fillian does some contract research work on user interfaces. I think the book store is his hobby as much as anything. Or it could be the other way around. Programming could be his hobby. He gets paid well for it by Draydon.”

I see faces and financial data zip by as Garin works the controls, “Let’s see what our friends are up to.”

Yashar and Sandro came up. “A lot of money in accounts and property.”

“They are executives of a major company.”

“Doing some quick math, knowing about the range for the typical executive, they’ve accumulated more than five careers worth of funds. Their IRS data doesn’t reflect it. We’re pulling in global accounts. And those two are still only first generation vampires.”

“First generation?”

“Still within their first human lifespan. Obviously not aging but also not benefiting from centuries of compounding interest.”

“What about Mr. Branoc?”

“Cops salary – regular in/out expenses. Hardly any accumulation given his age.”

The star-field zoomed around. “Wait a minute. Uncle Tremper’s account is active. He’s apparently alive … or at least his accounts are.” Garin’s brows furrowed. “But we’re looking for some other things. Here,” he dug out the list from Mr. Branoc, “Several bodies found at the warehouse – a lot of ins and outs but nothing sitting. Including our too friendly cowboy.”

“Wait,” I said, “go back to that LLC linked to the cowboy. I recognize it from somewhere. Put me in the web browser and slide me the keyboard.”

Garin pushed the keyboard to me.

“The State of Michigan keeps Limited Liability Company records.” I typed away and clicked through the link trail of data screens. “And look, that LLC is a throwaway company, but it’s tied to Yashar as a named active investor.”

Garin leaned back in his chair, “You’re good.”

“Oh, it’s small stuff you can do without a law degree.”

He leaned over, “You can be so focused and intent. That’s why I’m falling for you,” he kissed my cheek ever so lightly. Like butterflies. And then butterflies blossomed through my stomach. “I like someone who can keep up with me or challenge me.”

“Not many guys like that.”

“It’s my secret,” his voice gravely, “It’s very sexy.” Then of course he wiggled his eyebrows at me like a silent movie comic and took the keyboard away. I wanted to punch him.

“The militia team has several large investor members but most of them are pretty poor. Living from manufacturing plant jobs or farming or a couple of small retail and service businesses. The theme I see is a mostly independent group of members.” Garin looked at his watch. “Ok we need to get out.”

He brought up another panel full of text and he typed in
./run-me
after the little dollar sign prompt. The screen scrolled and the other panels and browser windows collapsed and winked out. He had his hand on the flash drive until the pale LED stopped flashing and he pulled and pocketed it. He reached for my hand so I could stand.

“Hey! What are you doing?” said one of a pair of IT guys.

Garin said, “Checking on results of a study due at the group report tomorrow morning.”

“But she’s not employed here.”

“I’m doing extra work on unpaid hours and we had been downtown together.”

One of the IT guys grabbed at Garin while the other called security on his phone.

In a rapid motion Garin spun and put me on his back while kicking the two IT guys in a flying spin. They bounded back down the long isle and flipped over and over and over. When they finally hit the far wall the drywall and steel wall studs billowed dust and arced electrical cables around them. They growled and ran at us. I saw vampire teeth flash from the growls and sniffing of the air like hell-hounds.

Garin ran for the stairwell. He leaped over the banister and we slipped through the air down passed the floors of the building. I would have fallen off if he hadn’t held me tight with both arms as his legs absorbed the shock of landing. Because of the building construction he had to run up a pair of flights out of the sub-basement to return us to ground level and exit the building. Garin burst through the steel fire exit door igniting alarms throughout the building. The bank’s security guards revealed themselves as vampires when they joined the frantic pace of the IT vampires behind us.

A line of people curled around the corner of a building ahead. Cars stopped dropping off more people scurrying to hold a place in line. “Go in the club,” I yelled through the shredding wind at his ear. A public place with a lot of people – I hoped we could slip through. Garin sped up and bypassed the bouncer intent on ushering in a gaggle of giggling girls under the blazing neon sign for
The Vacuna Club
. They only felt a gust of wind and grabbed for their carefully spritzed hair.

Garin slipped me to my feet as we entered the crowd. I’m sure it looked like we magically appeared out of thin air. The music pulsed and pounded. Lights flashed and spun to the rise and drop of the chorus. The heavy base thumped through our chests like some sort of boxing match.  

The club crammed into an old automotive assembly plant building from nineteen ten or so. Built by a bankrupt company in the shadows cast by the juggernauts of Ford, General Motors, and Chrysler. Once the global headquarters and manufacturing plant for Bobby Boltz’s Fantastical Electrical Carriage. Better at selling investors on the future than in making product or selling it to consumers. However, the sturdily constructed building housed many tenants over the last hundred years. Steel I-beam pillars held up the ceiling while brick and concrete stacked its walls. It reeked of architectural charm and cache. This latest tenant altered the atmosphere with platforms welded around the pillars from which a dozen girls enticed young lads with their smiles and suggestive dancing. A small stage hovered in front with a singer and her band. She sang well and entertained the audience dancing herself in Steam-punk Victorian gear but with a ruffled skirt more like my Anime genre. Her mix of attire very enticing to the handsome young boys dancing before the stage.

Garin yanked me deeper into the crowd packed with dancers on the main floor and revelers with drinks along the sides. I glimpsed the bouncer holding the door for the security guards and the pair of IT guys now following them. I ducked my head and let my hair drape down to obscure my face. Not having a vampire’s reflexes, “I think they saw me.”

“No need. They can probably smell you.” He pulled me close like dancing, “Sometimes easier to smell than see.” He pulled my hand again through the crowd and the pounding music. We came to the labyrinth of back halls. The stink of the restroom Garin pushed into shouldered aside any other odor. Guys peeing against the wall to fall into trench-like trough urinals half plugged with cigarette butts and ineffective scented blue hockey pucks. Maybe the plumbing wasn’t so sophisticated back then or had corroded over the years. “Why did you bring me in the men’s restroom?”

“Guessing it’s stinkier.”

“You’re kind of right.” Though I had seen some nasty women’s restrooms. While still early in the evening a few sinks already floated full of vomit. Their plumber bill must be huge.

“But that’s not why,” he pointed to a window, “the women’s restroom backs to the main street by the line and bouncer. This one goes to the alley.” Garin jumped on top of a sink and pressed the window. It swung freely. “You use this route before?”

“Maybe.” He reached for my hand. “Hang on the ledge of the window until I’m out.”

He lifted me in the air and spun me around to stuff me feet first out the window. I clamped my fingers on the cold damp iron sill. The slime covered brick wall on this side of the building never saw any sunshine. And stank of urine that must have soaked through the walls since the club had been here. Garin dropped to the ground well below me. A putrid ramp of a shipping dock not used in decades filled one end of the alley. A pair of bloated white raccoon carcasses floated hairless in the stagnant water collected at the bottom of the ramp.

“Ok, let go.”

My fingers released from the sharp iron edge of the sill and I fell to Garin. A growl came from inside the window. One of the security guards appeared half hanging out the window held from his belt by another set of vampire hands. A claw-like hand reached for me. It brushed my wrist gouging and gripping at it. I shrieked. But the guard only caught the sleeve of my sweatshirt. The same sharp claw-like nails that sliced into my flesh rent the cloth. The shirt ripped and tore and I fell into Garin’s arms. Garin sprinted away with me before the guards could get themselves through the window.

Several streets over Garin stopped behind a large factory and looked at my bleeding wrist. He became agitated, “We need to get you healed and drop the sweatshirt.” He raised my wrist to his lips and pricked my skin ever so carefully, though I could see his fingers shaking slightly. He twisted us through the streets so effectively I did not know which way to go. But I didn’t care as the ecstasy broadened through the body. My breathing sped up, if possible after our chase, but it felt different from fear. I began wanting him in other ways. For something more to happen.

He stopped and ripped the sweatshirt off me and rubbed at the blood on my wrist and hand now healed. “That will have to do for now.” He balled up the shirt, dabbing the wall to add distraction, and threw it like a baseball up and over onto the roof of the factory. The ripped sleeve dangled lightly over the edge of the roof. A bloody flag to mislead our pursuers.

It seemed as if we had taken too long. Even though I knew barely moments passed. But I heard the whistle of wind and the fast steps of vampire boots on pavement.

Garin spun me on his back and we ran. He jumped over a low chain link fence. No razor wire needed near this particular shipping dock. Rough and abused semi trucks backed trailers of cattle against the dock. Manure squished through the sides of the racks. Drool dripped from large bovine sandpaper tongues licking roughly between wooden slats to taste the air.

An empty trailer pulled away from the dock as we crossed before it. The strong ammonia stench of cattle remained after long transport from auction yards sometimes states away. Or from the miles of feedlots stretching across the Midwest farms and near
out West
ranches. Places that filled the local fast food chain with ninety-nine cent wonders of catchup and pickles. Much different being vaguely aware of a slaughterhouse on the far side of town than actually being inside its gates. The odor of burnt diesel exhaust and scorched antifreeze from the radiator of a rig almost provided a respite. The driver of the injured truck surveyed the front of his grill as cattle handlers eased his load into the maze of racks and chutes and gates that made up the handling floor.

“Yeup!” said the driver, pushing his straw cowboy hat back as he reached between holes in a punctured fascia fractured in long broken arcs. He pulled out a thick white fork of horn with hot green antifreeze dribbling off it and splashing his jacket like the blood of an alien beast. He watched us walk passed. “I knew bad news when those three deer jumped out onto I-94 in front of me. I wasn’t going to make a hundred and twenty piles of hamburger to save a couple of deer. But looks like they got me anyway. I’ll have to check the tires for bone shards and leaks.” He told us, “You two shouldn’t be out here. You’ll get run over.” The tractor belched and steam shot from the fascia holes and radiator grill, “Good thing I carry some water. It’ll get me to the repair shop.”

“Stop them!” demanded one of the guards flying over the fence.

“I’ll be –” said the driver, “You two better skedaddle.” then louder, “You’re not plant security, you better leave.” He spit on the ground and rearranged the chew in his mouth like I later remembered the cows did with their cud.

“Out of our way old cowboy.”

“Tex-arcana-boy,” He popped the snap on the holster of a large bowie knife and drew the blade up a few inches. The wave of Damascus steel forging clearly evident on the custom knife, “I see a lot of weird things driving across this country.” he spit again, “You don’t wanna be one of the tales I tell to a truck stop lot-lizard keeping me company some night.”