Vampires (12 page)

“Sometimes the fires go out,” offered Jack by way of explanation.

After that they didn't talk for several minutes. They just sat there and watched the flames that burned so brightly and so angrily, flames that never would have appeared over normal corpses.

Only here, thought Jack, and he sneaked a look at his companion. He couldn't see much in the uncertain light. but.., there! There was the glimmer of tears! And only after he had seen Felix's could Jack bear to lift a hand and wipe away his own.

How can this sicken me so much, he thought as he always thought, and still break my heart at the same time?

And then he stood up to retrieve a blazing skull that had rolled away from the flames. He eased it gently back into the fire with the head of his ax.

Eventually the flames did their work and Jack was able to get up and spread the ashes and then the two of them walked back up the stairwell that seemed not frightening at all now, only sad and lonely and forever and ever empty.

Outside in the sunshine, Madame Mayor had already begun the celebration. She had a table set upon the sidewalk in front of the courthouse. On it was a white tablecloth and a large silver ice bucket holding a magnum of champagne. All the city father types stood around her as shE began some little speech about the gallantry and bravery of Team Crow.

Jack's inclination was to insert that bottle of champagne, cork and all, into a certain place in her body. But he was smart enough to control his anger. Even smart enough to signal to his troops to play along. And so they all stood there on that sidewalk while somebody began to pour and they all drank and they all smiled and they all pretended not to notice that too-strident cheery tone the mayor was pumping out.

That's a terrified woman, Jack thought behind his grin. What if we win? Or, hell, what if we lose? Either way she's had it.

But he just kept smiling until he had a chance to interrupt graciously and inform the audience of Team Crow's desire to rest and get cleaned up and change clothes and all that before the dinner in their honor.

Fine they all said. That's just fine! Good idea! 'Cause ya'll are gonna need your rest for the shebang we're hitting ya with tonight! And we got just the place for ya!

And with that they escorted Team Crow the two blocks through the early afternoon sun to the William Willis Inn, the finest hotel in town. Through the lobby door and past the desk to an ancient elevator that required three trips to accommodate all the hangers-on to the top floor and the presidential suite, where food and drink and a cashier's check were waiting.

It took another fifteen minutes before Cat could usher out the last of the instantly drunk partyers, and then only by -promising they'd be down soon.

Then he locked the door behind them.

Then he went to the window and joined the rest of the Team.

And then they went out the window and down the fire escape and into Deputy Thompson's patrol car waiting in the alley. They hunkered down in the back seat until they were outside the city limits. Twenty minutes later they made their, rendezvous with Annabelle and Davette at a trailer court thirty miles away.

Then they sat down and ate the food the women had ready while Jack Crow curled their hair with his plan to enter the police station, subdue whatever cops were on duty there, go downstairs into the basement where the cells were, and, without a trace of sunlight to aid them, slay however many master vampires were down there waiting for the night to come.

“It's three thirty,” he announced. “Five more hours of, daylight. We gotta do it right. And we gotta do it now. Questions?”

There were one or two.

But Jack didn't seem to care. He leaned back in the room's faded and moth-eaten easy chair and smoked cigarettes and let them rant for some time.

Then he grinned, leaned forward, and said, “Relax. I've got a Plan.”

Cat eyed him sourly, disgusted. “Think you can give us a hint, 0 Great Leader?”

Jack laughed. “Sure. Remember the flare Felix bounced on that woman?”

Cat was still suspicious. “Yes...” he replied cautiously. “It didn't hurt her a bit.”

“Didn't harm her maybe. But it did hurt her.”

“So,” replied Jack easily, turning to the deputy, you know where we can get some thermite?"

Somehow, in all the comings and goings through the three rooms the team had rented in the trailer court, Davette ended up alone in the same room with Felix.

And she didn't think she was up to it.

It was Only the third time she'd seen the man. The first she remembered quite well. He had called her a “siren,” while boring shivering holes in her with his angry eyes. The second time was again at his saloon office. By the time she had arrived accompanying Annabelle and Adam, Felix was sitting behind his desk examining Jack's check for $50,000 and studiously ignoring her. And that had been as bad, somehow, as being stared at.

But this time was the worst of all. Because this time she knew what he'd just done. She had sat there beside Annabelle while Cat patiently related the events of the day. There was no time to do a hypnotic total recall-the Team was on again in two more hours-but Cat was a natural storyteller, wise in his use of detail. Besides listening raptly, Davette noticed, Annabelle kept a small tape recorder going as he spoke.

And that had gotten to her, reminding her of just how incredibly dangerous their line of work was. They had to make records now because it was entirely possible that every single man on the Team could be dead by sunset and someone had to be able to pass on what they had learned so far.

But what had really gotten to her was the story itself. The Felix part of the story. The lightning-fast, deadly accurate, cold-calm-killer part of the story.

“He saved our lives, Annie,” Cat had said with quiet sincerity, carefully looking her in the eye. “We'd all be dead without him, sure as hell.”

And Annabelle had smiled that knowing smile she had and asked him gently, “Then you're happy with him, Cherry?”

He had smiled back and softly replied, “Got to be.”

Davette hadn't been at all sure what that had meant. But she was sure of one thing: Felix was not happy.

He hadn't actually said so. He hadn't actually said much of anything, now that she thought about it. But she could read it. And so could everyone else. He moved slowly about the edges of their chaotic planning. He did answer when asked a specific question or even when asked for an opinion on some aspect of Jack's Plan. And his answers were concise and to the point. But he wasn't really with them.

“Are you all right?” people kept asking him and he kept saying he was. But he didn't look it. He looked stunned. Almost dazed.

But no one pursued this, because Jack Crow did not.

And now he sat there in the dusty easy chair in the corner of that musty room cleaning his weapons. He had newspaper spread out on a lumpy ottoman and the parts of his pistols spread out on that and the only sounds were the rustle of the newsprint and the precision snicks and clicks of well-oiled firearms.

At the far corner of the room, Davette stood in the little kitchenette where they'd cooked the Team's lunch. She had offered to tidy up but that had been awhile back when the room was filled with people and now she didn't know if she was still there because she wanted td stay or was just frightened to walk past Felix to get out.

So she stayed there in the corner, cleaning and recleaning like some rabid housewife on speed, sneaking constant glances at him and feeling like a complete idiot until she couldn't stand it anymore and just made herself stop, just stop and stand there with her hands on the edge of the sink and stare out that grimy window and catch her breath.

She said things like: What's the matter with me? and

Get yourself together, and it worked a bit. She was almost calm when she felt the silence and turned around and he was just sitting there staring into space.

Then he looked up, caught her watching him, and smiled.

It made her fumble a bit. But she managed a: “Can I get you something?”

He glanced at his empty glass, reached for it. “Some more ice water?” he asked.

“No!” she almost shrieked. And then, more calmly, “I'll get it.”

And as she walked toward him she cursed herself for the way she was acting and wondered if anything in the world could make her stop behaving like such a fool and then she reached for his glass and saw his face and it all went away.

My God! she thought, seeing those tired, tired eyes, he looks terrible!

He did. He looked beaten, blasted, worn down, worn out. He looked like a man who had just decided to commit suicide.

It wasn't until she had taken his glass and walked back to refill it that she realized that that was exactly what had happened when he had decided to join Team Crow and she knew suddenly what he was thinking about and why he looked the way he did and her butterflies went away and something else, warmer, more solid, replaced them.

But she didn't speak. She just gave him his full glass and sat down at the tiny little built-in breakfast table and sipped her cold coffee and for several moments that's all that happened in the room-the two of them sitting and sipping in silence.

And there's nothing I can say to change it, she kept thinking.

Adam, wearing full priestly regalia, appeared at the connecting door to the next room.

He always looks ten years older dressed like that, she thought.

“Felix?” he called quietly. “Would you like to take confession?”

The gunman looked up, a quizzical expression on his face, and replied, to the others' total surprise, “Yeah. I would.”

Felix put his cigarette out in the ashtray and stood up. “How does it work?”

Adam smiled, held out a beckoning, robed arm. “It's easy.”

Less than five minutes later, Felix came strolling briskly back into the room alone. He stopped, looked around the room, at Davette, at his chair, at his guns. Then he walked over and picked up his glass of ice water and drained it down.

Adam appeared behind him in the doorway looking mournful.

“I'm sorry, Adam,” said Felix when he saw him.

- But Adam just shook his head to say it was all right. And when Felix turned away from him to light a cigarette, the young priest made the sign of the cross to his back. Then, with a sad smile for Davette, Adam left.

Felix surprised her by sitting across from her at the tiny breakfast table. He seemed to feel the need to explain to her and she could see him start to speak several times before he finally shrugged, laughed a rueful silent laugh, and said, “I wasn't having any fun.”

She smiled at him and blushed to the roots of her light-blond hair. And so they sat there for several more moments, she feeling foolish and excited and infinitely sad and he feeling. . . what? Numb, she supposed. He certainly looked numb the few times she braved a glance.

After the dozenth dry sip, she realized she must look pretty odd drinking from an empty cup. She got up and went over to the kitchenette for another refill. When she turned back around, he was gone.

Two hours and forty minutes later, they hit the Johnson County Jail.

Jack's Plan was based on Felix's flares. Or rather, what they had done to that woman wearing the ZZ Top sweatshirt.

“Of course it didn't kill her,” he explained patiently to a doubtful Cat. “But it sure as hell got her attention. And remember, while she was frantically brushing those sparks off, she wasn't attacking anyone.”

Carl had frowned. “So?”

Jack smiled slyly. “So what else-for just a few seconds, mind you-takes their minds off feeding?”

Of course, no one knew. Not for sure. But everyone- even Felix-had an idea or three. But it was Carl Joplin who really brought it home.

“I read somewhere,” he offered calmly, “that a pig's blood is a lot like a man's.”

Thirty minutes later, they had a serious list of goodies.

But Jack wanted something else; he wanted some form of official sanction. He was willing to go without it-the job had to be done and done right now-but he wanted the effort made.

He and the deputy went to the telephone and started tracing down the sheriff. It took several minutes, several calls, and some patching through by radio before the deputy put his hand over the mouthpiece to whisper, “I've got him”

Jack reached for the phone. Deputy Thompson pulled it out of his reach.

“Mr. Crow, I don't wanna insult you. But I think you'd better let me handle this.”

Jack thought a moment, nodded. “I'll be right outside when he wants to talk to me.”

The deputy barely smiled. “I'll keep that in mind.”

Fifteen anxious minutes later the deputy came out of the room smiling. He'd gotten everything the Team needed for the job-except the sheriff.

“Sorry, Mr. Crow,” offered Deputy Thompson. “But there's just no way he can get there before four P.M.”

Crow lit a cigarette. “It'll have to do.” He turned to the rest of the Team, gathered in chairs around the crowded sitting room. “Okay, sports fans, we're on. Rock and roll.”

“Rock and roil!” echoed back at him.

And then everybody went shopping.

Cat, ever bold, directed the driver of the limo to down town Cleburne, only four blocks off the main square, to Prather's Feed & Seed. He escorted Annabelle and Davette inside and commenced to buy poison for rats, mice, fleas, ticks, fire ants, and coyotes-all together some five pounds of the stuff. Then he chose, from an impressive display of pet supplies, a thirty-gallon aquarium. He declined the offers of gravel, plants, starter guppies, and angelfish. He did buy, for reasons only another Cat would understand, an aerator in the form of a happy-faced salvage diver with bright red boots.

“I always wanted one,” was his only response to the women's puzzled looks.

Kirk drove Jack and Felix to Wal-mart. There they bought two five-gallon gasoline cans and two funnels, three of the largest fire extinguishers available, and two packets of ballons in various colors.

They filled up both gas cans at the next-door Exxon station.

Carl and Adam drove the Blazer to a local slaughterhouse that specialized in preparing game meats but agreed to the killing and draining of the six pigs in the back pen. When the owner found out they weren't interested in the carcasses-just the blood-he assumed they were Satan worshippers. A devout Baptist, he then doubled the price as a matter of principle. The technician and the Catholic priest exchanged tired looks between them. Then they paid up without a word and drove away with the blood.

The three groups met, an hour and a half later, in the empty driveway of the sheriff's empty home, where Jack lost no time cutting the women loose.

“Get out of here, Annie,” Jack told her firmly. “Get out of this county. You still have your gun?”

Annabelle nodded nervously and clutched her purse more tightly.

“Okay,” said Crow. He looked over at the uniformed limo driver, looking out-of-place and worried.

“Fire that guy,” Jack ordered her. “Have him take you to a car-rental place.. . Or better, have him take you to the airport. Then take a taxi to the car-rental place. Make him think you're leaving town.”

Annabelle frowned. “I don't think he knows anything that's going on. Or cares, for that matter.”

Jack smiled grimly. “I don't either. But do it, anyway. Right?”

She nodded. “Right.”

“Okay. Move.”

She started to go, stopped. She put a band to his cheek.

“Be careful, dear,” she said softly.

Jack stared a second. Annabelle had never done that before.

But then he shook it off and the smile be chose was wry and he replied, “First chance I get.”

And Annabelle smiled back and herded in the silent Davette with a look and then, without another word, the ladies and the limo drove away.

There was a moment-not a long one-when the men simply stood there and watched the car drive off.

“Okay, people,” said Jack quietly, “let's saddle up.”

And he walked over to the Blazer and pulled out his own chain mad and started putting it on. The other inside warriors-Cat, Adam, and Felix-did the same. Carl and Deputy Thompson stood and watched them. No one spoke.

Jack did a quick check to see that the four were buttoned up fight, then nodded to Deputy Thompson, who produced a key from a hiding place deep in his holster. Then he went over to what looked to the others like a garden storage shed beside the sheriffs garage.

Except that it took two dead bolts and a combination to open its four-inch-thick fire door. From inside, the deputy produced one case, twenty-count, CS (Military) Type tear-gas grenades and seven gas masks. Carl, Jack, and the deputy showed Cat and Felix how to adjust the masks and how to pull the pins on the grenades. When everybody seemed to have a mask strapped to fit, they got in the vehicles, with the patrol car in the lead, and headed back for downtown Clebume, Texas.

When they got to the Johnson County Jail, there were three police cars and six uniformed officers, complete with shotguns, flak jackets, and riot gear, waiting for them.

“Dammit!” hissed Jack Crow when he saw them. “How the hell did they know?”

“They didn't,” offered the deputy from beside him. “I had to tell them.”

At first Crow couldn't speak. When at last be tried, the deputy wouldn't let him.

“Hold it, Mr. Crow!” Kirk snapped. And then, more calmly: “Before you say anything, let me talk. There's nothing wrong with the Cleburne Police. They aren't corrupt. They aren't cowards. And they aren't stupid. People being killed by monsters in their town square and they can't do anything to stop it-and then the mayor hires somebody who can and then their chief tells them not to help out. Don't you think they know there's something strange going on?”

He paused a moment, took a breath. Crow sat silent. Waiting.

“Now,” the deputy continued, “I know these six men well. And they know me and...”

“Are you saying they're on our side?” piped Cat from the back seat.

“Nossir!” hissed the deputy, eyeing Jack Crow. “They don't know you. As far as they could tell, you might be the cause of all this!”

“Then whose side,” asked Jack quietly, “are they on?”

The deputy smiled. “Mine.”

Jack grinned. “Good enough. They'll watch our backs while we go inside?”

“They will.”

“Do they know what we're about to try?”