Blood Crimes Book One

Chapter 6

It was a quarter past three in the morning when Metcalf eased a stolen Chrysler LeBaron into Dr. Ravi Panjubar’s driveway. At that hour it wasn’t pitch-black, more of a murky grayness, but not enough sunlight to cause any discomfort. Metcalf waited in the car while Bronson cut the electricity to the house, then he got out and stretched before meeting the other vampire by the front door. It had been a six-hour drive to Palo Alto and his muscles had tightened up. He glanced at the other vampire and then at the window panes on the door. When he lifted a fist to punch out one of the panes, Bronson stopped him.

“There are kids’ bikes in the garage,” Bronson said.

Metcalf turned a dead-eyed stare on the vampire. “So?”

“Why make this a slaughter? Give me five minutes. I’ll go in first and tie everyone up.”

“You got to be fucking kidding me.”

“All I’m asking for is five minutes. What’s the big deal?”

“Christ. All that is is cattle in there.”

“Five minutes. Please.”

Metcalf’s eyes dimmed. “Two minutes,” he said.

The vampire nodded, then started scaling the outside of the house to the roof, moving quickly and in a manner that made Metcalf think of a squirrel. Metcalf set a timer on his watch, then looked up and watched as Bronson pried open a skylight and slipped inside. Within seconds he heard the anguished high-pitch wail of a dog. Before the timer on his watch went off, Bronson opened the front door and let him in.

“They have a dog,” Bronson said.

“No shit.”

“No shit. A German Shepherd. What a beautiful animal. I left it cowering in the bedroom. I hate seeing them like that. Anyway, here’s the good doctor.”

He stepped aside to show Dr. Ravi Panjubar lying on his stomach, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey with his feet and ankles bound behind him with a strip torn from a bed sheet. Bronson had also stuffed more of the bed sheet into the scientist’s mouth. The scientist’s eyes grew wide as he took in Metcalf. He tried to scream but the sound was muffled by his gag. Metcalf watched as the man’s face turned purple, then moved to him before Panjubar could choke to death. He removed the strip of bed sheet from his mouth. Only a hoarse rasping noise was left of the man’s voice, not enough to attract any attention from anyone passing by outside. Metcalf put a hand over Panjubar’s mouth anyway.

“I was right,” Bronson said. “He has two little girls. The oldest couldn’t be more than ten. I tied both of them up before they knew what was happening. His wife also. None of them saw me.”

Metcalf ignored his rambling. What difference would it have made if they did see him? There was nobody who had a clue about the compound, let alone any knowledge of who resided there, and besides, with the physical changes Bronson had undergone, no one would be able to identify him from any mug shot books he might still be in. Bronson had been a petty thief when Metcalf infected him, and had proven useful over the years. He was good at stealing cars and breaking into buildings, but he had grown soft, and besides, penny-ante crooks like him were a dime a dozen. Some time soon Metcalf would trade him in for someone more of his own mindset. Bronson was as thin as a pole, and if you ignored his white hair and oddly shaped head, he could’ve been any other mall rat. With his arms and legs cut off, he wouldn’t take up much space in Metcalf’s private lab, and when the time was right, Metcalf would find a good use for him. He was sick of all the damn bleeding hearts he had surrounded himself with. Thank God for Vanessa. At times he even found himself missing Serena. At least she was one ruthless cold-hearted bitch.

Sighing, he located a good spot on Panjubar’s neck and bit into it. Blood leaked out of the wound, and Metcalf sucked on the fluid and felt the warmth of it against his tongue. This was what was needed to secrete the virus. He bit down harder until the blood was gushing into his mouth.

A clattering of nails sounded on hardwood floors, then a German Shepherd raced into the room, its fangs bared, angry guttural noises coming from it. Almost as if it hit an invisible wall, the dog stopped, then tried to crawl towards Metcalf before turning and scampering away. From another room the dog whined in full agony, letting the world know that it would never forgive itself for its betrayal. Metcalf stopped his feeding. The blood had finished gushing, which meant the virus had spread.

Panjubar lay shivering below him, sweating profusely as if he had a bad case of the flu. Metcalf lifted the scientist onto his shoulder and carried him to the car, then lowered him into the trunk. Bronson had followed Metcalf outside and handed him manacles to secure the scientist’s wrists and feet. After that, they drove to where they’d earlier left their van. After Panjubar was transported to the back of the van, Bronson drove the Chrysler LeBaron away to get rid of it. Metcalf sat in the back of the van with Panjubar. The man was already delirious with fever and it would be pointless for Metcalf to explain anything to him.

Metcalf sat for a moment, then took a pint bag of blood from a cooler and squeezed it into his mouth. That was the problem with infecting someone, the quick taste of blood left you wanting much more. Maybe it was an effect of the virus secretion. Whatever it was, Metcalf could’ve gone through a dozen pints without being satisfied. He fought back the urge and had just the one pint. He watched Panjubar squirm for a while, then took another pint bag from the cooler and forced the opening into the scientist’s mouth. Once Panjubar tasted the blood, he blindly sucked down the full pint, making Metcalf think of a newly-born piglet. The feeding eased Panjubar’s spasms. Metcalf left him to go up front.

Metcalf drove to a prearranged location. Bronson emerged from a thicket of shrubs where he’d been hiding, and jumped quickly into the passenger seat. They continued from there to a parking garage in downtown San Jose, then both vampires joined Dr. Ravi Panjubar in the back of the van. Another two hours and the sun would be coming up, and it would be brutal to try to head back towards Los Angeles then, even with dark shades and wide brimmed cowboy hats. Later, when it was dusk again, Metcalf would drive back to the compound.

The two vampires sat in silence, the only noise being the soft moaning from their newly infected brethren-or a newbie as Bronson liked to call them.

“It’s going to get hot back here,” Bronson said, breaking the silence. His face looked strained as he stared at Panjubar squirming on the floor. “Stuffy too. How about us cracking open a window?”

Metcalf didn’t bother answering him. If he opened a window someone passing by would be able to hear Panjubar’s moaning. Bad enough Bronson was as soft as a sponge, but he didn’t have the fucking brains to figure something like that out? He focused his stare on a spot across from him on the van’s wall and tried to remain perfectly still, trying hard not to think about how the other vampire’s voice was affecting him like nails on a chalkboard. Bronson must’ve given up waiting for an answer. Outside of the soft moaning coming from Panjubar, for the next ten minutes there was mostly silence. Bronson interrupted it by fidgeting. He took a pint of blood from the cooler and made a face to exaggerate his disgust.

“If you can believe it,” he said, “before you infected me I was a vegetarian. Big cosmic joke on me, huh?”

Metcalf didn’t say anything. If Bronson had looked carefully enough, he would’ve noticed a muscle twitching along Metcalf’s left eye. He would have also seen that Metcalf’s hands were clenched at his side. Bronson’s display of disgust grew more exaggerated as he emptied the pint bag into his mouth. Metcalf kept his stare frozen straight ahead. After some more minutes of blessed silence, Bronson had to comment about how watching what a newbie went through was the part he hated most about these trips.

“Damn, you can already see his head changing shape. That’s gotta hurt. It gives me the willies thinking about it. Kind of like I can feel it in my balls.”

Metcalf turned his dead eyes to Bronson. The other vampire wilted under his glare.

“Not another word,” Metcalf breathed softly, holding up a finger for emphasis.

Bronson nodded and looked away, his knees bouncing up and down nervously. Metcalf closed his eyes, waiting for dusk, but also half-hoping Bronson would say one more word.

Hayes rested his forehead against the tile wall in the shower and found himself grimacing every time the hot water hit his dick. Damn, it hurt. Either Chelsea bit him down there or she scratched him up something fierce with the silver stud that she had stuck through her tongue. Aside from his dick, he felt like shit. Every square inch of him. He wished he were still in bed, but he had too much he needed to do to allow himself to sleep late. After leaving Chelsea’s apartment, he went back to his motel room and set the alarm for eight in the morning, which gave him less than three hours of sleep. Groggy, his head throbbing and his throat feeling like he swallowed a mouthful of sawdust, all he wanted to do was crawl back under the covers, but such was the life of a dedicated PI. He was too close to Jim to let himself slack. And, as he always liked to tell himself, things could be worse. At least she didn’t give him crabs. There was no chance of that with her being as clean as a whistle down there. He had never been with a woman with a shaved pussy before, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. It seemed kind of creepy, almost like he was a pedophile, and would’ve much preferred if she had had a nice soft red bush, but fuck it, even though he had twenty years on her, she was still several years past legal-and kinkier than any woman he had ever hooked up with. She completely wore him out. Of course, all the rum and cokes and ecstasy they mixed probably contributed more to the way he was feeling than his lack of sleep and the marathon session she put him through. With the ecstasy still cruising through his system, he had a tough time focusing his thoughts, almost as if his brain was wrapped in a wool sock. At his age, what the fuck was he thinking?

He stepped out of the shower, moving slowly, gingerly, like an old man trying hard to keep his balance. He dried off quickly and wrapped a towel around his waist. The coffee had finished brewing. Complimentary coffee makers were a necessity these days for any motel he stayed at. He poured a cup and sipped it slowly. When he was done he refilled the mug and brought it over to a desk. He held his head in his hands for a minute until the room stopped swaying, then used his cell phone to call his office. Annie answered and asked him if he checked his email yet.

“Why, what did you send me?”

“Jesus, Don, you sound like shit. A late night?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled between sips of coffee. “I was staking out a location for witnesses. Come on, what is it?”

“Just check your email. I’ll wait.”

From the coyness in her voice, he knew she sent him something interesting. The motel offered high-speed Internet access. He plugged in his laptop and brought up his email. It took a minute or so before his eyes could focus and he could read the report Annie sent him about a guy found dead in a Cleveland alleyway, the corpse drained of most of its blood. Annie was able to talk to one of the detectives on the case, and he had leaked to her that it looked like a sledgehammer had been used to cave in the victim’s mouth and jaw. According to the cop there was nothing left of the lower part of the dead man’s face. Some more digging by Annie found that the victim, Duane Posey, was a known drug dealer and had been suspected of half a dozen sexual assaults, but never convicted. The fact that she got all this together before seven AM New York time impressed the hell of out of Hayes.

“It looks like Jim is in Cleveland,” Annie said.

“Maybe. Maybe it’s just someone with a grudge. Could be a boyfriend of one of the women he assaulted. Taking a sledgehammer to someone’s face?”

“The blood, Don, the blood. And the body left in an alley. Remember, the throat was cut also.”

“Yeah I know, you’re right, it sounds like his signature.” Hayes stopped to try to get his brain working. Jesus, he was having trouble concentrating on the smallest things. “Here’s what I want you to do. Fax or overnight our drawing of Jim’s gal pal to every low-priced fleabag motel in Cleveland and the outlying areas. Offer a reward of ten grand to anyone who helps us find her.”

“Okay, but you realize you’re going to end up with dozens of false leads?”

“As long as it generates one good one. How about booking me the next flight you can to Cleveland, along with a rental car and motel room?”

“You got it, Chief. I’ll call you back.”

Annie hung up.

Whatever rum and ecstasy hangover Hayes had been suffering was gone. It happened so quickly, but all at once his mind felt cool, clear, the wool sock gone from his brain. He found himself tapping his foot anxiously while waiting for Annie’s return call. The more he thought about it the murder did sound like one of Jim’s, and it happened just last night. From the sound of it it was a fluke that the body was found so quickly-the cops were running a prostitution sweep and were checking out alleyways known for activity. More likely than not, Jim and that girl were still in Cleveland, and would be for the next few days. Fuck. This was the break he’d been waiting for.

Annie called back with his flight and rental car information. The first flight she was able to book him on wasn’t leaving for several hours. She told him she’d have a hotel reservation for him later, and would get right on sending out the mystery girl’s drawing. After she hung up, Hayes debated whether to call Serena. He’d been hoping that he would have to rush to the airport and not have any time to make the call. He just did not want to talk to her. He thought of a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t call her, but it came down to she was the client. As much as he wanted to find Jim, he couldn’t make it a personal matter, it had to stay business. He had to do what was right. Reluctantly he dialed Serena’s number. His hearted was thumping when she picked up.

“I apologize for calling so early,” he told her, “but it seems likely that Jim is in Cleveland.”

“Donald, darling, that is wonderful news. I don’t understand, though. You sent out that girl’s drawing so quickly? And somebody has already recognized her?”

“Not exactly.” Hayes wiped a hand across his forehead and realized once again Serena was making him sweat. He told Serena about the dead man found in a Cleveland back alley, his voice sounding distant in his head, almost as if it were coming from an echo chamber. There was a long silence from Serena, then she coolly asked him to email her the report on the dead man and that she would call him back after she had had a chance to read it. After she hung up, Hayes forwarded Annie’s email to her, then sat dreading Serena’s return call. When she called back, she told him in the same cool voice from earlier that he should go to Cleveland. There were no longer any mention about coincidences or misunderstanding on his part.

“I’ve already booked my flight,” he said. “I should be there in three hours.”

“Good… And how do you plan to find Jim?”

“Old fashioned shoe leather,” he said. “I’ll be checking out every fleabag motel and motor lodge in the city.”

Serena asked him to call her later with any news. She reminded him that she still hadn’t received a fax showing a drawing of Jim’s girlfriend, and hung up. Hayes sat frozen for a long moment, holding the cell phone, an uneasiness working its way into the pit of his stomach. He was overwhelmed with the impulse to just say the hell with this. A little voice whispered in his brain that he should get as far away from Serena and Cleveland as he could, but fuck it, he was too damn close to Jim to give up. He convinced himself that his nerves being shot were just a side effect of the ecstasy. Yeah, Serena might not be happy that he confirmed his suspicions about the killings, or at least that he suspected Jim of being involved in them, but so what? As long as he did his job, and kept it confidential-which he would do with the absence of any solid evidence, what the fuck was she going to complain about? And even if she did, so what? He was only doing his job.

He got up, dressed and packed his suitcase. He planned to head straight to the airport and pick up some doughnuts and more coffee once he got there. His next stop, the ‘mistake on the lake’.

For some reason the word “mistake” stuck in his mind.

Serena was thoroughly annoyed. She had already called Metcalf back two other times.

“How come our connection is so shitty?” she asked.

“I already told you, dear, I’m in the back of a van parked in a San Jose garage.”

“Metcalf, darling, please watch this little snitty tone of yours. It doesn’t become you. If I heard you say that before do you think I’d be asking again? And why are you in San Jose?”

There was some soft static which Serena realized was Metcalf sighing, which exasperated the hell out of her. Condescending prick. He told her it didn’t matter.

“I think it does matter, darling, especially if you’re there to enlist a new recruit, which would be terribly sanctimonious of you given the way you make me grovel for your permission every time I’d like to add someone to my little family. Someone far less tolerant than me on hearing that would understandably do something justifiably spiteful, like cutting off all of your funding.”

“Look, Serena, what I do is for the common good. It’s not like I’m acting like you and infecting every hot looking girl because I like the way her pussy tastes.”

Serena’s face had colored to a pale pink. Her body shook slightly as she held the cell phone to her ear. Wilfred moved behind her to massage her shoulders, but she jerked herself free and elbowed him hard in the jaw. The blow would’ve been enough to knock a normal person’s head off. Wilfred backed away, massaging the area where he’d been hit. Gregory started to laugh, caught Wilfred’s angry glare, and zipped it. Zach mouthed to Serena that Metcalf was a dick and that she shouldn’t let him get to her. She was oblivious, a small inferno raging in her eyes.

“Explain to me how this is for the common good.”

Metcalf sighed again. “He’s a scientist. We need him to help us with the cure.”

“I’ve got news for you, Metcalf, darling, not everyone gives a shit about your cure. Some of us are quite happy with the way we are…Hello?…Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here. Serena, you’re right. I should’ve run it by you. I’m sorry. We’re getting off topic. Let’s get back to that dead guy in Cleveland. To me, it doesn’t sound like Jim’s work.”

“Oh, it’s Jim alright.”

“I don’t think so. He doesn’t smash in his victims’ faces like that. That’s an act of rage and hate. With Jim, it’s almost an act of sadness and melancholy. I bet the bleeding heart even sheds a few tears over each of his victims.”

“You think you fucking know everything? I’ve got news for you, darling, you’re not all-knowing and all-powerful. Jim’s in Cleveland right now, and we have a deal!”

“Calm down. I know we have a deal, but you don’t know Jim killed that guy.”

“Oh, I think I do.”

There was another long pause. Then, “This isn’t worth arguing over. Your PI is heading to Cleveland, right?”

“That’s what I told you.”

“Fine. Let’s wait and see if he finds him.”

“And when he does?”

“If he does then I’ll go to Cleveland as promised. In the meantime get yourself under control. The odds are that someone else did this killing. And for God’s sake, don’t do something stupid.”

“Like what, darling?”

Another soft, static-like sigh. “You know full well what I mean.”

“No, darling, I’m afraid I don’t. I’m too stupid to know what you mean. We’re not all as brilliant and razor-sharp as you.”

“Cut the shit, okay, Serena? You know exactly what I mean. Don’t go to Cleveland. We don’t need the attention. Just stay put until you hear from your PI. If Jim’s there, I’ll keep my word.”

“We don’t need the attention? But it’s okay for you to snatch famous scientists.”

“Jesus Christ. We’ve been over this…”

Serena swallowed back what she was going to say. Instead, her voice fell back to its normal sing-songish lilt, the crackling glass quality from a few seconds earlier gone.

“Don’t worry, darling,” she said, laughing. “I won’t be doing anything to get us in trouble. I’ll stay put in Manhattan. There’s a new club opening tonight that I desperately want to go to, so don’t worry.”

“Good. Have fun with your opening.”

“Oh, you know I always do.”

Serena made sure to hang up before him, not wanting to give Metcalf the opportunity to get the last word in. She stood frozen, her eyes hard angry slits.

“Who the fuck does he think he is?” she said, her crackling glass voice back. “The bastard thinks his word is God?”

Zach gave her a sympathetic smile. “Metcalf’s been on this God-complex bullshit for years, but the guy’s nothing but an asshole. Let’s just be thankful he’s long gone from New York. So what’s next?”

Serena’s face scrunched up as she considered that. She caught Wilfred sullenly rubbing his jaw and her face relaxed into an apologetic smile.

“Oh, darling, I did that, didn’t I? I wasn’t even aware.”

“That’s okay,” Wilfred mumbled, still pouting.

Serena moved over to him and touched his injured cheek, then her fingertips moved lightly down his chest before sliding into his pants. While she was showing Wilfred how apologetic she was, she stopped for a moment to tell Zach that they were going to Cleveland.

“Sure, I’ll book us a flight for tonight,” Zach said.

“No need to wait, darling. Arrange for a limo pickup. That way we can bring everything we need with us.”

“We could do the same with a private flight.”

“I know but there’s no reason to wait. Would you be a dear and arrange a pickup? Oh, and Gregory, I’m going to need you to stay behind so our little inmates here don’t run wild.”

Gregory made a bitter face at that. “Why me?” he asked.

“I need someone I trust to watch over our little hive, but Gregory, darling, it wasn’t nice of you to take pleasure out of poor Wilfred’s discomfort. Families don’t do that.”

Gregory nodded, his eyes lowered in shame. Serena turned back to Wilfred to finish making things up to him.

An hour later a Lincoln Continental limousine with darkened windows and shades drawn parked in front of Serena’s converted hotel. Zach, decked out in the hot hazy August New York morning in a head to toe leather outfit, dark wraparound shades, and a NY Mets baseball cap, loaded the limo with luggage, several coolers, and a duffel bag packed with five antique Samurai swords that were bought through auction and made by the famous sword maker, Hizen Tadahiro. Once the limo was loaded, Serena dashed from the hotel to the Lincoln, along with two martial arts experts that Serena had infected two years earlier in preparation for Jim being found. Wilfred and Zach joined them. Gregory stood in a darkened doorway brooding. The limo pulled away from the curb and Gregory waved half-heartedly at it before heading back into the building.