Blood Crimes Book One

Chapter 7

Duane Posey’s murder was a big story in Cleveland. Partly it was because of the grisly nature of it; his jaw and mouth completely obliterated and most of his blood gone, but the interest was also because of his long history of violence and suspected sexual assaults. When Carol was out getting breakfast, Jim turned on one of the local news channels and caught the story. According to the reporter at the murder scene-an attractive twenty-something blond whose wavy shoulder-length hair appeared shellacked, and who looked even downright diminutive compared to Carol-made sure to keep a dour frown frozen on her face as she reported how Posey had been arrested for over a half-dozen rapes during the past five years, but that the charges were dropped in each case. She didn’t spell it out, but it was clear that the victims had been intimidated to where they were afraid to cooperate with the DA. A police spokesman interviewed talked about how this was a bad guy and even though the streets might be safer without him, no one had the right to take the law into their own hands and that the Cleveland police were going to aggressively pursue his murderer. He hinted that given Posey’s violent past, this was more likely a revenge or drug killing than something ghoulish, but he had no explanation about what had happened to the dead man’s blood. There was no mention of the bar Carol had met Posey at, and thank God, nothing about Carol. But shit, what could they have, anyway? Maybe Posey had accosted Carol in that bar, but he accosted another woman there also. Still, Jim couldn’t help feeling like he had a dodged a bullet. He and Carol had been getting careless. Most of the bodies he fed off of were disposed of afterwards, the ones that were left behind he made sure wouldn’t be found for days, and that there would be at least a plausible explanation for what had happened to the missing blood-such as it washing down a sewer grate.

The story ended and the next story up was about the local baseball team’s recent six-game losing streak. Jim turned off the set. He sure as fuck did dodge a bullet. The police found Posey’s body only an hour after the killing thanks to a prostitution sweep. Forget about how they could’ve been entering that alley while Jim was feeding; with them there so quickly after the killing all they would’ve had to find was one homeless person hidden in a doorway who had spotted Posey grabbing Carol and that could’ve led them to finding out about Carol and Posey meeting in that bar, and then a police drawing of Carol being splashed across the news. The thought of that made him wince. While there was never any risk of these predators hurting Carol-he was never more than a heartbeat away from her-he had been in denial over the police somehow tying her any of his killings. He made a decision then. He wasn’t going to use Carol as bait anymore.

He had quit smoking when he joined the Army, but right then he could’ve used a cigarette. Or more accurately, he could’ve chain smoked through a carton. The thought of how close he came to putting Carol in jeopardy left him jittery as hell. Over the last three years he had selfishly rationalized that she wanted to be part of what he did. It wasn’t anything they ever talked about, but he knew that this was tied to her being attacked in Newark; that being involved with killing these predators gave her a release from the anger that she carried. Because of that, he went along with it, but it still wasn’t right for him to include her. Fuck. A shiver went down his spine. Never again. Never fucking again. He knew she was going to fight him tooth and nail over it, but he was never going to subject her to that type of risk again. He would just have to suck it up and stop tormenting himself over what he needed to do. He knew what these people were, he could smell it off of them, fuck his conscience. He would just do what he had to, and be satisfied with knowing that in his own way he was making the world a better place. That police spokesman was full of shit.

Another shiver ran through him.

What the fuck did he almost do to Carol?

He shook his head as if by doing so he could shake those images of what could’ve happened out of his brain. Never again. Yeah, Carol was going to put up a stink about it, but never fucking again.

He breathed in deeply, held it, and tried to calm the noise buzzing through his mind. It was over. They dodged the bullet. Carol was safe. Time to move on.

He picked up the money roll from where he had tossed it the other night and peeled off several hundred dollars from it. The roll was still thick enough to choke a bull. He got off the bed, lifted it and stashed the roll underneath the wooden frame. Unless someone was going to drain the mattress, the bed weighed a good five hundred pounds, and no one was going to look under it for any money.

He couldn’t shake this his restlessness. He walked over to the window, pushed the curtains away so he could peek outside. The sky was gray, overcast, as if it were going to start raining later that afternoon. With the sun mostly hidden, he could probably go outside without getting sick, or at least not as sick as the sunlight usually made him. He didn’t feel like staying cooped up in this dingy motel room, but he also didn’t want to miss Carol when she got back. He closed his eyes and tried to decide what to do. Finally, he came to a decision and headed to the shower. The water was lukewarm and came out in a drip, but he cleaned up as best he could, although he couldn’t help feeling that no amount of scrubbing would ever remove the smell of death from his skin; that even if he scoured himself with steel wool, traces of his killings would still be left behind. While he dried off, Carol came back, found him in the bathroom, and got on her toes so she could kiss him hard on the mouth.

“That was really nice last night,” she said. “You had my head pounding. I thought I was going to pass out.”

It was always like that after a killing. She’d get so turned on, so excited, so much stuff pent up that needed to be released. All that rage inside needing an outlet. And here he was, using her as bait for predators so she would be perpetually feeding her anger and never able to move past it. What the fuck was wrong with him? What the fuck could he possibly have been thinking?

“I can’t take all the credit for last night,” he said, a tentative smile moving across his face as he tried hard to keep his self-loathing hidden from her. “The waterbed helped a lot.”

“No, Hon, it wasn’t the waterbed.”

She moved her hands from behind his neck and rested them on his hairless chest. Before becoming infected, he had a small forest growing there. He smiled sickly to himself thinking how if the infection spread it would put all the laser hair removal outfits out of business.

“You feel good, Hon,” Carol breathed lightly. “So cool and so good. I’m burning up right now. Why don’t we go back to bed so you can cool me off.”

Jim gave her a quick kiss on her lips, his smile weakening as he slipped past her so he could get to his clothes.

“We’ve got nine grand burning a hole in my pocket,” he said. “I was thinking you deserve a shopping spree. It’s been a while. We could save the other activity for later.”

Her eyes turned guarded. “I don’t feel like being away from you right now,” she said.

He slipped on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, both of which he had washed in the sink the night before and left hung up to dry. They were both damp, and with his body temperature at around seventy degrees, they were going to stay that way.

“I was thinking we’d make this a date. Do some shopping, catch a movie, you know, typical couple stuff.”

“I don’t want you to have to go outside. It was tough enough seeing you suffer yesterday.”

“It’s overcast. I’ll be fine. What do you say we go out and spend some money and have some fun?”

She didn’t say anything.

“Come on.”

She nodded without much enthusiasm. “Sure, okay.”

“Great, let’s go find us a mall.”

Jim squeezed her hand and felt a moist heat from her skin. He was always amazed at how much heat she produced. It was like a furnace working overtime inside her. They continued to hold hands as they left their motel room. Even with a gray and murky sky there was enough sunlight filtering through the clouds to make him nauseous. He pulled his baseball cap down further over his head and tried to keep his discomfort from Carol. It didn’t take long for them to find a mall, and once they were inside among the artificial fluorescent lighting he was fine. Carol quickly loosened up and got into her shopping. Most of her purchases were really for Jim; black stiletto pumps, sheer negligee, a perfume that she had him pick out, but he also convinced her to buy a few things for herself, CDs from bands he had never heard of, bath salts, lotions and a few other small luxury items. The mall had a California Pizza, and after they had gotten seated, Carol was absolutely buoyant, maybe happier than Jim had ever seen her. It was like all the hard years together had been stripped away from her, and it made him realize the type of life he was stealing from her when a day like this was an unusual extravagance for them.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Jim shook his head, forcing a smile. “Nothing, it’s just nice to see you so happy.”

She grinned at that, her brown eyes gleaming. “It’s been a fun day. I’m glad you suggested it. And look at all my loot!”

She lifted her shopping bags in triumph. Jim nodded, still forcing the same rigid smile, all the while feeling sick to his stomach realizing this couldn’t go on much longer. She deserved a normal life, at least far more normal than what he was dragging her through. It was about time he quit being such a fucking selfish prick. Yeah, right, she wouldn’t be able to survive without him. Who the fuck was he kidding? Over time she’d get over him and move onto something closer to normalcy. He was the one who wouldn’t be able to survive a separation, but that was the way it was going to have to be. At least he’d be leaving her with close to nine thousand dollars. At least she’d have that to help her get started. He felt both relief and an unbelievable emptiness welling inside once he accepted that he would be leaving her. He would do it later that day. Make it like a Band-Aid that needed to be ripped off. Afterwards he would head to New York to finally finish old business. Finally do his last mission. Whatever heartache he was going to suffer wasn’t going to last long.

Carol’s pizza came. An olive and garlic combo. She wolfed down a slice and was making good progress on a second when she stopped to tilt her head and give him an odd look.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

Jim reached over to wipe a smudge of tomato sauce from her chin. “I’m doing good, babe, nothing to worry about.”

She smiled good-naturedly at the half-eaten slice she was holding. “It’s a good thing that stuff about garlic and vampires is only a myth,” she said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be able to kiss me later.”

“That would never happen. Even if you were wearing a cross dipped in holy water I’d still be all over you.”

She laughed at that. “So what movie do you want to see?”

“What?”

“You mentioned a movie before. Any idea what you’d like to see?”

He’d forgotten about that, but that would be good. It would give them one day to live out as a real couple. At least it would be a pleasant memory for her. Later, after he took her back to their motel room, he’d get the money out from under the waterbed, then disappear after leaving her a long note. But that would be later. For now, he sat and drank her in, soaking in as much of her as he could, trying desperately to fill a suddenly vast cavernous hole within him.

“Whatever you want is good with me,” he said.

“I don’t even know what’s playing,” she said, a wistful smile showing. “It’s been so long since we’ve done something like see a movie. But I think I’d like to see something romantic. Maybe a tearjerker. I hope we can find something like that.”

After she finished her pizza, they got a newspaper and found what looked like a typical Hollywood tearjerker playing at a Cineplex a few miles away. The skies had cleared somewhat by the time they left the mall. Carol gave Jim a worried look and suggested that they skip the movie. He shook his head, told her he’d be fine. “Once we get there we’ll be in a nice dark room. As good a place as any for me to hangout.”

As always when they went out during the day, Carol drove while Jim sat slumped in the passenger seat, trying hard to shrink his body and avoid as much sunlight as possible. He only half-heard the engines rumbling next to him as two bikers pulled up alongside their car. If he wasn’t so deep in his thoughts he probably would’ve noticed how familiar their tattoos looked and that one of them had a welt the size of a grapefruit bulging from his forehead. And he definitely would’ve noticed that the biker with the ugly welt was staring at him as if he knew him. But he was too wrapped up thinking about Carol to pay them any attention, and he didn’t notice them as they pulled back behind the car and kept their distance, following him and Carol into the Cineplex’s parking lot.

The movie theatre was nearly empty with only a few people scattered about. Jim and Carol sat in one of the back rows, with Carol’s head resting against his shoulder and both her hands lightly touching his arm. He sat trying to commit everything about her that he could to memory; her scent, the sound of her heart beating, her breathing, the feel of her fingers on his skin. He needed to absorb as much of her as possible. If he could get enough of her in his system, he’d be able to leave her to do what he needed to in New York.

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

“You realize this is the first movie we ever went to,” she said.

He felt a lump forming deep in his throat. Clearing it so he could get some words out, he said how it was about time they had a movie date. “The rate we’re going in another three years I’ll be taking you to the malt shop for an ice cream soda,” he said.

She nestled in closer to him. Her hair tickled his nose, but he wasn’t going to move. He breathed in as deeply as he could to fill his lungs up with her fragrance.

“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” she asked.

“No, nothing. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered softly in his ear. “You’ve been acting more like a zombie today than a vampire.”

“Yeah, I guess I have. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” Then very low so only she could hear, “The police already found that last guy’s body. It was a big story on the news this morning, I guess because of what I did to his face, also because they couldn’t figure out why he was missing so much blood.”

Her body stiffened. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, her whisper turning harsh. “No one saw anything. No one’s going to connect us to that piece of shit. But at least I know what you’ve been so preoccupied about.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s a stupid thing to worry about. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“You should be.”

She straightened up in her seat. Jim reached over to hold her hand, which she reluctantly let him do. He could feel the tenseness in her, and he wanted to kick himself for bringing up the subject. It was stupid and pointless. Even if someone in that bar spoke to the police and gave them Carol’s description, there would be no way for them to connect her to the murder. Worst case, they might want to question her, but they’d still end up hitting a dead end. From out of the corner of his eye, he could see her fidgeting in her seat, and he felt sick to his stomach over it.

“Let’s just get back to where we were, okay?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said in a voice that let him know that wasn’t going to happen, at least not anytime soon. After some more fidgeting she got up. “I’m going to get some Milk Duds and other junk,” she told him. She started to walk away, relented, and bent over him to kiss him on the mouth. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I’ll be back. All is forgiven.”

Jim watched her leave. He took a deep breath and tried to get his mind off of what was going to be happening later. He needed to relax so that the two of them could have one last good day together. He tried focusing on the movie screen. The commercials had ended and the coming attractions were starting up. When the fuck did they start running commercials in movie theatres? It didn’t seem right to him-to pay money to sit through commercials, especially given what the prices had become. Six bucks for an afternoon matinee. Christ, the world had changed on him. There would probably be a good ten minutes of previews, so Carol would have time to buy her candy and soft drinks before she’d miss any of the movie. From her tone he could tell that she had already put the subject behind her and wasn’t going to let it ruin her day. He was relieved about that. If he hadn’t mentioned it, later when she turned on the TV or radio, she’d have found out about that guy’s body being discovered, but that was still no reason for him to have brought it up now. Maybe it was his subconscious at work-maybe he was trying to sabotage their date so he’d have to spend the evening making it up to her, and by that time would’ve weakened enough so he wouldn’t be able to leave her. Yeah, it was probably something like that. A stony resolve hardened him. He wasn’t going to let that happen. No matter how much it was going to kill him to leave her, he was going to do right by Carol.

His thoughts were interrupted by someone taking the free seat next to him and jostling him. He glanced over. The guy was big with a thick body and a shaved head. He wore a familiar looking black leather jacket. Even in the darkness of the movie theatre Jim noticed that the tattoos on the man’s skull and neck also looked familiar. For a few seconds he sat confused, wondering first why the guy seemed familiar, then what the fuck the guy was doing taking a seat next to him in a nearly empty theatre. All of a sudden he realized the movie had already started minutes ago and Carol hadn’t come back yet. An icy panic hit him. He started to get up but another man took Carol’s seat and put out a thick arm to block him. Like the first guy, he was large, wore the same style leather jacket and had those same familiar tattoos. They were both bikers, both members of the same gang. The first guy who had sat down shoved a gun barrel into Jim’s side. He made a crack referring to the other biker as Pearce, and how Pearce must be going soft if he were going to let a skinny fuck like this knock him around. Jim looked harder at the second biker, Pearce, and saw that his forehead was badly bruised and swollen. Pearce didn’t say anything, but the hard lines that creased his face showed he didn’t appreciate the crack from his buddy. Jim recognized him from the night before as one of the bodyguards he knocked out while ripping off that drug dealer.

“Where’s Carol?” he asked.

The gun barrel was pushed harder into his ribs. “First off,” the biker said, “keep your voice low. We don’t want to disturb all these other nice moviegoers. They paid good money for their seats just like you, dipwad. They deserve to watch the movie in peace. And about that sweet piece of ass you were with, we’ve got her.”

“If you hurt her-”

“Oh, we’re going to hurt her plenty,” he said, grinning and showing off cracked and badly stained teeth that made Jim think of busted boards on a picket fence that had been splashed with mud. “We’re going to pass her around and have us a lot of fun. She’ll be taking it up the ass so much that cum will be dripping out of her ears by the time we’re done with her. That’s the price you pay for putting us through this hassle. But as long as you give us back our money, we’ll let her go when we’re done with her. It could take days, so a word of advice, don’t hold your breath.”

“If I were you I’d make a call right now and tell your friends they better not lay a hand on her.”

“What a fucking inconsiderate dipwad you are,” he said, his grin widening and showing off more of his badly formed and ruined teeth. “Didn’t you see the announcement they showed? You ain’t supposed to use cell phones in the theatre, dummy. It disturbs other people.”

A middle-aged man sitting half a dozen rows in front of them turned around to stare angrily at them.

“See,” the biker said.

“You better call your friends,” Jim said. “If any of them hurt her, you’re all dead.”

The biker got a chuckle out of that. “Big talk out of this one,” he said to Pearce. “I still don’t understand how a skinny little fuck like this got the better of you and Sid. I’m fucking embarrassed for you two just thinking about it.”

Jim moved quickly and ripped the biker’s gun arm out of its socket. Blood spurted from the opening and, from the reaction of the moviegoer half a dozen rows up who had stared at them seconds earlier, it must’ve sprayed him because he turned around to give them the evil eye again, probably thinking they had tossed some soda at him. Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned back to the movie. The biker was bleeding out fast, his lips moving as if he wanted to scream. Jim didn’t give him a chance to. He grabbed him by the throat and crushed his trachea. The hand attached to the torn-off arm was still gripping the handgun. Jim pried it loose, noted that it was a big piece of iron, probably a. 45. He turned to Pearce, who had been watching it all in disbelief. The whole thing had taken less than a few seconds and the biker was having trouble fully processing it and making sense of what he witnessed. Once he did, he stumbled out of his seat. He tried to run but his legs had turned to rubber and he collapsed onto the floor. He moved awkwardly, his legs still rubbery as he pulled himself to his feet, and had gotten only a few feet away when Jim grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and half carried him as he hustled the biker out the side exit. The few people scattered about the theatre applauded them leaving.

“Here’s the deal,” Jim said once they were outside and alone. “You call your buddies now and warn them what happens if they hurt Carol. You don’t, I fucking tear you apart.”

“Let go of me! You fucking freak-”

Jim slapped him hard enough to rattle his teeth. Pearce looked stunned, his eyes dazed. Jim brought his hand back to slap him again, and some life flickered in the biker’s eyes. Pearce’s knees buckled and his hands moved up defensively to protect his face.

“I’ll call them, Jesus Fucking Christ, I’ll call them!”

Jim let go of his jacket collar, and the biker stumbled backwards before regaining his balance. His legs shaky, he took out a cell phone and made a call. All color had drained from his face and his hands shook.

“Come on, come on, answer,” he pleaded to no one in particular. Then, his voice frantic, “Raze, it’s me, Pearce. Zeke’s dead. This guy’s a fucking freak. I swear to God he pulled Zeke’s arm right off… no, I’m not kidding…listen to me, don’t touch his girl. I’m dead if you do…what? No man, I’m serious, don’t fuck me like this.”

“Give me the phone,” Jim said.

“He wants to talk to you,” Pearce told Raze.

Pearce handed the phone to Jim.

“I want my girlfriend back safely. Now.”

There was no response, but Jim heard guys talking in the background.

“Hey, Raze, you hear what I said? I want her returned back to me.”

“Fuck you.”

The voice was soft and oily, like someone who thought he was dangerous and wanted to make sure everyone else knew that also.

“You bring her back now or I’m going to start hurting Pearce far worse than I hurt Zeke. He’ll tell me where you are.”

Some more silence, then, “You got fucking balls. You sucker punch me and my bros, rip me off, and then you think you got the right to call the shots?”

“I want her back.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you. I want my money back.”

“You can have it.”

There was another long stretch of silence. Then, “Yeah? Just like that, huh?”

“That’s right. As long as you bring her back to me safe. Otherwise it’s going to be a bloodbath.”

The guy on the other end started laughing in that same soft, threatening tone. “You really do got a set of fuckin’ watermelons hanging off you.”

“You think Pearce made that up about me ripping Zeke’s arm off?”

“Yeah, I do. You expect me to buy that bullshit?”

“Send one of your bros to the Cineplex on Orchard Drive. Theatre eight. He’ll find Zeke in the back row. His arm’s lying on the floor next to him.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Send someone.”

“If you really killed Zeke-”

“I did.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ask Pearce again.”

“I don’t care what the fuck he says. You got a piece on him, right? He’ll say whatever the fuck you want.”

“You want your money back. That’s what this is about. Let’s just do it.”

“I want more than just my money back. I want interest for what you’ve put me through.”

“That’s not going to happen. You can get your money back. Otherwise, you’ll lose Pearce, then you’ll lose a lot more after I find you.”

More silence, then, “Let me talk to Pearce.”

Jim handed the phone back to the biker who listened intently, his eyes large and scared.

“This is no shit…I know, I know, it sounds like bullshit but I saw it…on my mother’s grave, I swear to God…he ripped his arm right off like it was nothin’…this guy’s a fucking freak…yeah, okay.”

Pearce handed the phone back to Jim. Raze told him he still didn’t buy this bullshit about Zeke, but he was willing to let Jim give the money to Pearce and that the girl would be returned afterwards.

“That’s not going to happen. It needs to be an exchange.”

“What do you suggest, smart guy?”

“I’ll get the money. Carol doesn’t know where it is so it’s not worth hurting her to try and find out. It’s also hidden well enough that you’re not going to find it. Once I have the money, Pearce calls you back and we have an exchange somewhere public. Then we forget we ever ran into each other, and you can spend your energies arranging Zeke’s funeral.”

“You’re such a fucking smart guy. What if I tell you to fuck off and keep the money? From what I hear your girlfriend is a sweet-looking thing. I could put her to work and double my nine grand in a week.”

“You do that and more of your bros are going to die.”

“Fuck, you’re a cocky sonofabitch.”

“Just telling you what’s going to happen.”

Raze laughed a soft, rumbling laugh. “What the fuck, we’ll do it your way. Have Pearce call back within a half hour or your girl’s being put to work.”

“Let me talk to her.”

“Can’t. She’s in transit. You got a half hour.”

Raze hung up. Jim steeled himself, handed the phone back to Pearce. The sun was hitting him hard and it hurt like hell, but he couldn’t afford to show Pearce any weakness. He told Pearce to leave his bike where it was, that he could pick it up later, then led him to his beat up Chevy Nova. Pearce made a face looking at it.

“This ain’t nothin’ but a tin can on wheels,” he complained.

“Shut up and get in.”

Pearce squeezed his way in and barely fit in the passenger seat, his knees pressed against the dashboard and his head crammed at an awkward angle. He watched with a smirk as Jim put on a pair of driving gloves.

“You take driving this tin can seriously?” Pearce asked.

Jim ignored him. He tried to sink low into his seat to avoid the sunlight, but it still found unprotected areas of his face and parts of his wrists where there was a gap between his jacket and gloves. Wherever the sunlight hit him it was like his flesh was boiling. Nausea welled up inside. He wanted to vomit, but the last thing he could afford to do was to start retching in front of Pearce. He fought back the urge. The biker seemed to sense his distress, his smirk hardening as he watched Jim.

“You don’t look too good,” Pearce said.

“Shut up.”

“This is inhumane making me ride in this tin can. Probably against the Geneva convention.”

“I said shut up.”

“And I heard you. How’d you do that to Zeke?”

“If you want I’ll give you a demonstration. What do you want pulled off, a finger or thumb? Or maybe your whole hand?”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to demonstrate nothin’. But how’d you learn to do that?”

Jim showed a grim smile. “Special forces training,” he said.

Pearce appeared to digest that. He chewed on his bottom lip for a minute, then asked if Jim was the guy who did the meth dealer that was all over the news. “The asshole with half his face gone and his blood missing. You’re the guy who did him, didn’t you?”

Jim didn’t answer him.

“What did you do with his blood?”

“Last time. Shut up.”

Jim pulled into the motor lodge’s parking lot. There were no bikes in sight. Of course if they had gotten Carol to tell them where she and Jim were staying, their bikes would be hidden, but he doubted there was anything they could’ve done to make Carol tell them that or anything else. He braced himself for the blast of sunlight that was coming, then left the car. The damn sun made it feel like his bones and joints were welded together and it made it hard for him to move normally. Using his thumb, he signaled for Pearce to get out of the car. The way the biker looked at him, it was clear that he knew something was wrong, but he left the car and followed Jim into his motel room without incident. Once inside the darkened room, Jim felt better, his nausea mostly gone and his strength back. The biker was still eyeing him, and Jim knew he was trying to decide whether to jump him, trying to decide how much of a weakened state Jim had fallen into. He didn’t give Pearce the chance to act. Instead he lifted the waterbed with one hand and took the money roll that was stashed underneath it. Pearce’s eyes dimmed watching that, realizing whatever chance he had was gone. Jim tossed him the money roll.

“Count the money and call Raze,” he said.

Pearce did exactly that.

Hayes had been in Cleveland for two hours and had already talked to the detectives investigating Duane Posey’s murder, and realized quickly they had nothing. They wanted to know why he was interested in the murder, and he fed them his standard bullshit story about researching it for a novelist. The lead investigator was a Detective Joe Colvin, and he appeared skeptical about that and wanted a name. That took Hayes aback. He knew he was sweating when he stumbled out with an excuse why he couldn’t give them that. He knew the guy thought he was full of shit, and all he could think was, fuck, if they arrest me and make me take a drug test I’m probably still loaded with ecstasy, fuck! His brain just wasn’t working right, still fuzzy from the three hours of sleep he had managed the night before, along with the booze and drugs. Colvin was a big bruising guy who from his scarred face and flattened off-centered nose must’ve been an amateur boxer when he was younger. He asked for Hayes’ PI license, then spent a good few minutes studying it. After that he wanted Hayes’ flight information and an alibi of where he was the night before. It occurred to Hayes that Colvin considered him a suspect for the murder-maybe thought he was some psycho who got off on talking to the cops after a killing, and the thought of that made him start sweating more. He found himself holding his breath until Colvin dismissed him. That was a half hour ago, and the incident mostly sobered Hayes up. Since then he had been making his way to bars that were within walking distance of the murder site. He had hit three of them without any luck, and the one he had just entered was more divey than any of the others. The smell in the place was a mix of stale beer, urine and perspiration. The only customers were hardcore alkies, all staring bleary-eyed and seeing nothing as they nursed their drinks. Several of them with their stained pants were probably the source of the urine stench. Hayes approached the bartender and showed him a picture he had gotten from one of the newspapers of Duane Posey.

“You know him?” Hayes asked.

The bartender glanced at the picture, nodded. “Yeah, good old Duane,” he said.

“So you do know him?”

“Unfortunately.”

“You don’t like him much?”

“Nobody who knew Duane liked him much. The guy was an animal.”

“You know he was murdered last night.”

“Yeah, saw it on the news. Because of that I was able to come to work this morning with a smile on my face.” The bartender scratched his jaw, his lips pulled back to show his teeth. “Someone out there deserves a medal. Or at least a lot of free drinks.”

“Was he here last night?”

The bartender’s eyes faded for a moment, then he shook his head. “He could’ve been. I can’t remember. Whenever Duane came here, I tried not to pay attention.”

“He had his share of enemies then?”

“Yeah, I’d say so. You could probably count anyone he ever met in that category.”

Hayes showed him a picture of Jim’s girlfriend.

“How about her? Ever see her?”

The bartender looked at the drawing and slowly shook his head. From his eyes and the way his mouth tightened, Hayes knew he had seen her recently.

“Nope,” the bartender said. “Sure would like to, though. That’s one beautiful girl. Not the type of customer I tend to get in here.”

Hayes collected the drawing and thanked the bartender for his time. “If she does come in here, call me on my cell.”

He handed the bartender a business card, who stood frowning severely as he stared at it.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “What’s the connection between this girl and a scumbag like Duane?”

Hayes smiled thinly. “None. The police told me he was seen hassling her. She’s the one I care about, I couldn’t care less about Duane. Her mom just died and her family hired me to find her so I could bring her back home for the funeral.”

The bartender almost bit. Almost. He started to open his mouth before closing it firmly, deciding that Hayes was bullshitting him. It didn’t matter. Hayes had what he needed, and when he left the bar an adrenaline rush was surging through him. He called Serena on her cell and told her that Jim’s in Cleveland. “Or at least he was last night,” he added.

“Donald, you never cease to amaze me. Have you found where he’s staying yet?”

“Not yet. But I did find someone who saw Jim’s girlfriend. Can I talk frankly?”

“Of course,” she said, but with that crackling glass quality edging into her voice. The sound of it made Hayes’ heart beat just that much faster, and once again he found himself sweating. He knew he was making a mistake, but he told her his theory on how the girlfriend was used as bait to lure the victim into a dark alley. “I think he uses her with all these killings,” he said.

More glass crackling as she asked whether he had shared this speculation of his with anyone else.

“No, and I’m not going to.”

“Go on.”

Hayes wiped his brow, felt his heart skip in his chest. “I think Jim is killing people and drinking their blood.”

No response from Serena. Just dead silence. Hayes wiped a handkerchief along the back of his neck, continued, “These people being killed are all missing a lot of blood. Another thing they have in common is they’re all lowlifes, dregs of society. In Kansas City the word on the street was a vampire did the killing. Police are discounting that as nonsense, but I have a gut feeling someone saw the killing, and saw Jim drinking the victim’s blood.”

“Donald, my advice is spend your energies finding which motel Jim is staying at and to quit wasting them on this kind of speculation. It is not anything you would ever be able to prove, and would not be beneficial for you if you could.”

Hayes’ heart was racing. Her tone had changed to something artificially friendly, but there was an underlying threat to it.

“Understood,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Good. And drink some water. Your voice sounds a bit froggy. Call me as soon as you find him.”

She hung up, and Hayes stood for a long moment feeling shaky inside, especially his heart which was fluttering like a butterfly. Why the fuck did he have to bring that up? What the fuck was the matter with him? He gritted his teeth as if he were in pain, then went back to his car where he cracked open a Cleveland yellow pages that he had picked up earlier and found its motel section. There were a lot of divey low-cost motels listed, especially around the airport. This was going to take a while. He called his office and spoke with Annie. She had faxed the drawing to all the motel’s that had fax machines and was overnighting copies to the rest. She had already called half of them and out of those fifteen of the desk clerks claimed the girl was staying with them. “That’s what a ten grand reward’s going to get you,” she added. “I was surprised I actually talked to people who were willing to admit they hadn’t seen her.”

“Restores your faith in humanity, don’t it?”

“You bet’cha.”

Annie gave him the list of leads, and told him she’d keep on it. Using a city map, Hayes located where the motels were and started with the ones closest to the airport. He had crossed six of the motels off his list when he heard the news report over the radio about a man found dead in a movie theatre, his body savagely mutilated. The newscaster didn’t specify how the body was mutilated, but did state that the police were considering it “one of the most vicious and depraved murders in recent Cleveland history”. As far as Hayes was concerned that said something.

One of the most vicious and depraved murders in recent Cleveland history.

All he could think of was Jim, and a vivid image of Jim’s drawing crystallized in his mind. A large part of the murder didn’t fit-the fact that it took place so soon after the other murder and that it happened in the middle of the day and in public. In the past the bodies would be left hidden so they wouldn’t be discovered for days, and Hayes was sure that there were plenty of corpses that still hadn’t been found. As much as this murder didn’t fit, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was Jim’s work, and more than that, that something very wrong had happened to cause it and that more killings were on the way. He looked up the address for the Cineplex and put down his list of third-rate fleabag motels.