Bloodthirst in Babylon Read online

  The third one showed off unwashed, blond hair that hung to his shoulders. He was both younger and taller than the first two, his face paler. His green eyes were everywhere, searching for a fight.

  There were no takers.

  The fourth in line to the bar—

  Todd’s stomach lurched. “No,” he whispered, his eyes unable to leave that last figure.

  “Jeez, what’s with you, Todd?” D.B. asked.

  The last one through the door was the tallest, the broadest-shouldered of the four. It was his laughter, strong and low and dangerous, that had preceded the four into the Dog. “Beer, Lattimer, lots of beers,” had been his greeting. Now he absently slapped palms with the skinny guy in the coke bottle glasses who’d hassled Todd for the basket-shooting game, the skinny guy going, “Alright, man. Good to see you back in the saddle.”

  “Back in the saddle,” the fourth man repeated, trying it out. “Back in the saddle,” he said again. He sucked the life out of a cigarette and dropped it to the floor.

  “Ah, shit, it’s good to be alive,” he said as he climbed onto a stool, four of which had quickly become available, a few of the locals having decided to make bathroom breaks as soon as the newcomers came through the door. “Jason, gimme another,” this fourth one bellowed to his buddy with the stringy blond hair, green eyes and insolent voice.

  Jason tossed a fresh cigarette at him and drawled, “Watch it, man. Those things’ll kill you.”

  The four erupted in loud laughter.

  “Looking good, Zeebe,” one of the dart players said to the fourth man, between jukebox tunes.

  “Damn right,” Jim Zeebe howled.

  The compliment was a partial lie. Zeebe looked sick, though a hell of a lot healthier than he’d looked earlier in the day. While his eyes were bright and his voice strong, his greasy work clothes hung loose on his emaciated frame.

  He twirled once on his stool and clapped his hands sharply. “I feel so good I could kill a half dozen of you just for the practice,” he shouted.

  Nervous laughter.

  “It’s Zeebe,” Todd said so quietly he wasn’t sure his remark would even be picked up.

  D.B. said, “The guy in the garage? I thought you said he was dying.”

  “He was.” Todd laid both palms flat against the top of the bar so they wouldn’t shake so much. “We’ve gotta leave. Now.”

  “Bullshit,” Judd cried out. “I’m playing darts. We ain’t leaving on account of them pussies.”

  Christ. They’d draw too much attention if they tried dragging the little bastard out, and Todd knew D.B. would never leave without him. He scanned the room for familiar faces but found what he’d already suspected: The three of them were the last of the Sundowners.

  In fact, they were among the last of the bar’s customers of any kind. With his attention riveted on the four who’d just entered, Todd hadn’t noticed all of those who’d just as suddenly exited the premises. Four dart players remained, along with the skinny guy with the glasses and motorcycle gear, and an unattractive couple that seemed oddly fascinated with one another. That and four or five others in T-shirts and shorts, everyone besides the swaggering four.

  “How ‘bout something from the grill?” Zeebe shouted, cupping his hands and aiming his demand through a pair of swinging doors near one end of the bar.

  “Make it bloody,” added the one apparently known as Jason, to which Purcell added a low rumble of a comment that Todd couldn’t hear. His mates laughed appreciably.

  “Let’s go,” Todd said.

  For some reason, there was no more argument from Judd. The three left the table and glided toward the door, the state of inebriation seeming to have been drained from all of them.

  Too late. The door burst open before they got to it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The door to the Winking Dog Saloon suddenly opened and sucked in more shadows from the night. More flickering eyes, a teenage girl and a younger boy. Too young to drink, but it didn’t look like that was going to stop him.

  Four heads at the bar turned, catching Todd, D.B. and Judd in a crossfire of white, glittery eyes.

  Todd’s gaze strayed to Zeebe even though he’d told himself to avoid such contact.

  A smile of recognition played on the lips of the sickly mechanic. “Sorry, boss. Still need more time on that Eighty-Eight. Seems to be a problem with the battery, but please don’t get mad at me again.”

  Zeebe let his head loll so Todd could see the purple bruise at his jugular. He let go a laugh, a deep, throaty growl that sent the Sundowners a step closer to the two newly arrived strangers panting noisily behind them.

  Purcell climbed off his stool and took two steps forward, to an area of the bar where the light was weakest and shadows had been allowed to gather.

  The dominant of the two jukeboxes was spinning “My Generation” by the Who, the lower-volumed one trying to keep up with something gloomy from a forgotten Seattle grunge trio.

  “How ‘bout this,” Purcell said in a bassy rumble that could somehow be heard over the music. “How ‘bout we give you boys a five-minute head start?”

  “Here’s another idea,” said Judd before Todd or D.B. could stop him. “How ‘bout y’all grease up real good and go fuck yourselves?”

  It couldn’t truthfully be said that the room fell silent. Not with the two jukeboxes vying for attention, but it seemed that way. Purcell’s eyelids shut, then popped open again a slow second later, like a cat blinking. Zeebe’s mouth puckered into a shape that could erupt with laughter or rage. Blond Jason leaned back in his stool to plant both elbows on the bar while the wiry one remained in movement, limbs and lips twitching soundlessly. Behind Todd and the other two, the panting grew harsher, so that the room reeked of meaty, male breath—apparently even from the lone female.

  Purcell’s eyelids clenched and unclenched again, and now Todd could see that this was the way the man blinked. In slow, tight movements of contained fury that pulled at his cheek muscles. Purcell said nothing, but his eyes glimmered with white-hot fire.

  Off to one side, the long-haired bartender on the late shift wore a white-toothed grin, his eyes reflecting as much light as the jewel in his ear.

  Todd took hold of D.B. and Judd and steered them carefully around the panting girl and underage boy. Without turning their backs on the four at the bar, they pressed against the closed door and spilled out of the Winking Dog Saloon.

  “What’s that?” Todd cried in reaction to the sharp, scratching sounds he heard as soon as they stepped outside.

  “Rats,” Judd said. He sounded beyond fear.

  Red, glowing eyes followed them into the parking lot, tiny rodent claws working to gain traction on the loose white pebbles. As a set of teeth grabbed hold of Todd’s work boot, he flicked the thing into the night.

  “Where’s your keys?” he demanded, and watched in horror as D.B. rummaged through his jeans pockets with a bad look on his face.

  He couldn’t go back in in there, Todd knew. Please, God, let him not have left them at the bar.

  “Got ‘em,” D.B. finally gasped, holding the shiny metal ring into the light of the three-quarters moon peeking through cloud cover.

  They walked fast—very fast—to the Ford pickup parked close to the door. Five minutes, Purcell had told them, but that was before Judd’s ill-chosen comment.

  “You think they’ll really come after us?” D.B. wanted to know as he struggled with the key in the lock.

  “Let ‘em come,” Judd said while looking over his shoulders. Said it not loud enough to be overheard by anyone but the other two.

  The driver’s door squealed open and they all piled in, Larry, Curly and Moe style. They punched the lock buttons as D.B. stabbed the ignition with his key.

  Todd caught flickering movement from the corner of an eye. Men entering the bar, not exiting. A wash of relief swept over him until he spied the men’s eyes: bright dots of white light winking in the night.

  The en
gine didn’t even try to turn over.

  “No battery,” D.B. said pointlessly.

  “Zeebe took it. Took it so we’d know it was him.” Todd couldn’t believe how calm he felt, sitting there hopelessly between the passenger door and an uncommonly quiet Judd Maxwell, and smelling the sharp odor of desperate men.

  Something scratched against a door panel.

  “Okay,” Todd said, voice flat. “We walk.”

  But the truck cab was hard to leave. It seemed so safe, so high off the ground, enclosed and tightly sealed against the night’s multiple threats.

  “What are they?” D.B. asked. Maybe a stall tactic.

  Todd didn’t answer. Had it been five minutes yet? He unlocked the passenger door and heaved himself from the pickup. Something fat and awkward and slung low to the ground waddled out of his way. With their safehouse breeched, the other two quickly poured out and joined Todd in the night.

  They kept the truck between them and the saloon door, and began to walk. Todd, stiff with panic, wobbled in the loose parking lot gravel, barely keeping his footing. They stayed in motion, the short-legged and slightly more drunk Judd grunting to keep up.

  The parking lot ended in a cracked cement sidewalk.

  “Where to now?” D.B. wanted to know.

  They all took turns with backward glances toward the bar door.

  It seemed, to Todd’s annoyance, that all questions had been directed at him for the last several minutes. As if he knew any better than them what to do about whatever was back there. “How the hell do I know? Anyone got a cell phone?”

  He already knew the answer. Cell phones cost money and even those Sundowners who’d been there long enough to put a little cash together had found spotty tower coverage at best.

  “What street is this?” he said.

  “Middle View Road.”

  Todd closed his eyes and tried converting the town into a map. He’d had little opportunity or desire to explore the place, but he recognized Middle View as a major street running parallel to Main View. “What’s around here? Is there a police station?”

  “Yeah,” Judd said doubtfully.

  “Part of the big municipal building, maybe three blocks down and a block over,” said D.B., sounding no more anxious than Judd to involve the law.

  They could have debated the matter further, but dueling jukeboxes suddenly rocked the night as saloon doors were flung open.

  “They’re coming.”

  “That way,” said D.B., pointing to the right.

  Chapter Twenty

  The sidewalk’s main objective was to trip them up. The squat, unlit buildings on either side of the road sat far enough back to be only shadow witnesses to whatever was about to happen. The three quickly passed a shuttered community playhouse and a junior high school still abandoned for the dying summer.

  A block later, Todd heard a car drifting toward them on whispering tires. “Other side,” he ordered, and the three dashed across the street.

  On this side were a succession of buildings positioned closer to the street. The farther they ran, the safer Todd felt. They moved single-file and orderly, wending their way through lit parking lots and small strip shopping centers. They dodged traffic cruising the side streets, weaved through clusters of the slow-moving elderly, broke through a line waiting at an ice cream stand and skipped past strolling lovers walking snarly little dogs.

  Despite a town full of witnesses, Todd could still hear the distinctive purring engine just behind them. At least if he could hear them, he knew where they were.

  Though breathing hard and sweating beer, it felt good to take action, to pit his strong legs and only slightly abused lungs against tires and pistons.

  Metal doors banged shut in the distance, and D.B. said, “Jesus, they left the car,” and Todd didn’t feel a fraction as safe as he had moments before.

  “How far to the police station?” he gasped.

  “Next block this way, I think.”

  “Wait up,” Judd said, and they slowed to give his stubby legs a chance.

  They’d be alright. They had to be. The streets and sidewalks were packed with people. Even on the side street they cut down to link up with Main View. Houses and buildings blazed with light, shadowy figures moving in the windows. There were townspeople out eating, drinking, shopping, chatting. He wasn’t used to seeing this much nighttime activity even in much larger cities.

  “Up ahead,” D.B. said.

  White lighting bathed the massive municipal building. The three flew across yet another side street, their feet slapping like small caliber gunshots against the asphalt pavement that made a black ocean around a long post office building. No lights here, none in the lot, only the three-quarters moon showing the way.

  They ducked around parked postal vehicles and cut to the rear of the sandstone building. Todd slowed his pace to a jog, picking his way as carefully as possible in the dim light.

  Something slammed into the sandstone wall and Judd uttered a low oath. “Wait up, you guys. I can’t see shit.”

  When they ran out of buildings to hide behind, they turned on the speed, dashed across another intersection and streaked to the next lawn. They were on the grounds of the incredibly well lit Drake Municipal Complex—according to the sign out front. Its circular drive shone white in the night and was full of cars and a long bus whose side panel bore the words, “Babylon Blood Services.” Todd saw people walking stiff with age up the sidewalk, and ran to join them. Safety in numbers.

  “Wait up,” Judd shouted, and Todd was surprised to hear it coming from the vicinity of the post office.

  Todd and D.B. paused on the moist, rich lawn in front of the impressive structure. They clenched their knees and gasped for breath while they waited for him to catch up.

  Invisible footlights splashed a warm glow at the face of the building so that every brick gleamed. Pedestrians cast huge shadows against the face of the building as they exited into the night, each carrying and sipping from large plastic containers.

  Turning toward their slow companion lost somewhere behind them, D.B. shouted, “C’mon, Judd. They’re right behind you.”

  Todd giggled. What he was going to do, he decided, was get between the building and one white spotlight and wave his arms like the frigging Queen to catch the attention of the police and everyone else out in the night. No, even better: he’d dance a shuffle step while slowly extending his middle fin—

  “Jesus, noooo…”

  Todd wheeled, his feet gouging divots in the wet grass. He and D.B. locked eyes.

  It didn’t even sound human, but it was Judd, his high-pitched scream tearing a hole in the night. The shrill cry of pain mingled with the low growl of predatory beasts. The scream rose higher, and ended abruptly, in a sharp sob.

  And then just the growls.

  When Todd finally jerked his eyes from D.B.’s, it was because he was distracted by movement against the face of the Drake Municipal Complex. They looked like giants, the huge, spotlit shadow images of men and women, most of them elderly, pouring oversize plastic containers into their two-story faces. Against his will, Todd followed the shadow movement to its source, a dozen people with cups upturned, thick red liquid dripping down withered chins.

  Something slithered underfoot to break the spell. Todd danced out of the way of thick-bottomed rats racing in two directions. Some made their way to the feet of the elderly drinkers, necks craned to catch stray red droplets. The others headed toward the screams that now only echoed in Todd’s mind.

  Two uniformed police officers raced from the Drake building and shouldered their way past the old people with their plastic cups.

  “Over there,” Todd croaked, motioning toward the post office building across the intersection.

  The older and heavier of the two cops lurched into the lead, his holstered gun jammed tight against his side. “Keep the crowds back,” he grunted to his partner.

  Todd and D.B. followed from a safe distance. Up ahead of them,
a police radio squawked.

  Good, Todd thought. Bring in the cavalry.

  Todd and D.B. pressed up tight against the front of the post office. The screams, and the low growls that had followed up until a few seconds ago, had come from the back. They slid across the face of the building and turned a cautious corner.

  From the street they heard voices filled with confusion and concern as crowds gathered and exchanged information. None of the townspeople had ventured as far as the two of them.

  He couldn’t do this, Todd thought, locked against the wall in muscle-paralyzing fear. Then, remembering the presence of the police officers, and not hearing gunfire, shouting or any more screams, he motioned D.B. to follow him and proceeded toward the rear of the building.

  What he saw back there, at first, was shadows in movement. When his eyes grew accustomed, the shadows turned into four blood-spattered men and the girl and underage boy, all ripping the flesh from Judd Maxwell’s spasmodically twitching body.

  They looked up at the sharp sounds of the cops’ approaching footsteps and wiped Judd’s red blood from their eyes for a clearer view.

  “Oh, Jesus,” D.B. wailed, which pulled the attention of everyone in the tableau from the dying man to the two surviving Sundowners.

  Todd had already started to glow from the comforting warmth of shock when the overweight cop slammed him against the sandstone building and put the cold steel gun barrel to the back of his head.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  In the next instant plenty happened, but Todd couldn’t later be sure of any of it. He foggily recalled the older cop kneeing him in the spine so that his shocked body flexed and an electric current of pain shot through him. He remembered being dragged to the side of the building, thankfully out of sight of the carnage, his arms being twisted almost out of their sockets so that murderously cold cuffs could be clamped tightly around his wrists.