Into the Shadows

  Into the Shadows

  By Gavin Green

  Copyright 2015 Gavin Green

  Smashwords Edition

  Also by the author:

  Eire of Intrigue (book one of the Eire series)

  Eire of Mystery (book two of the Eire series)

  Eire of Hostility (book three of the Eire series)

  Eire of Aggression (book four of the Eire series)

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events are purely imagined. Any resemblance to real people or situations is completely ridiculous, and you should get professional help if you think otherwise.

  Dedication

  This one is for my friend Brian - a sounding board, a font of ideas, and a talent with any endeavor. Many thanks.

  "The beginnings and ends of shadow lie between the light and darkness and may be infinitely diminished and infinitely increased. Shadow is the means by which bodies display their form. The forms of bodies could not be understood in detail but for shadow." -- Leonardo da Vinci

  "My dark side, my shadow, my lower companion is now in the back room blowing up balloons for kids' parties." -- Gary Busey

  Into the Shadows

  STOP

  Wait one damn second. I need to point out a few things before this goes any further . . .

  If you're expecting some stupid-ass adolescent love story with a troupe of angst-ridden supernatural douchebags, you better check the teen fantasy section at the library, okay? There's none of that shit here. No fated romance. No heart-throb drama. No soft porn with optional fangs. And definitely no fruity sparkling bloodsuckers that look perpetually constipated.

  And don't get me started on calling them 'vampires'. That title lost its credibility when companies started putting it on lunchboxes - sensationalized, commercialized, and romanticized. You've never seen one of 'em rip some dude's throat open, or drain a mangy dog dry in three seconds, have you? Still think it all sounds sexy? Yeah, didn't think so, because it's not. To me, the word 'vampire' now sounds soft, especially compared to what they really are.

  Hemoholics (one of the words I use for 'em - usually just 'hemos') are not what you might think. Some of 'em can do some pretty wild shit, and some others are truly fucked in the head. Sometimes both, which is scary as hell. The main thing is, they're at the top of the food chain, and they are all predators. If you still cling to the fantasy that some lonely hemo will fall for a human, you can kiss my shrapnel-scarred ass. You're one of three things to them: ignored, or a tool, or a late supper. Shoot for ignored.

  While we're at it, let me clear up some of the rumors and myths. Garlic - really? I guess garlic breath might mess up a sensual attempt for a snack, but otherwise . . . come on. Crosses: effective, if it's big enough for you to use as a weapon. Holy water actually can do some damage, but only if you add acid to it. Wooden stakes do work, but only to immobilize; after that, set 'em on fire or chop their heads off. Coffins: certainly not mandatory. If you like the idea, though, knock yourself out. Now, I've seen the crappy shows where bloodsuckers go traipsing around during the day; how convenient . . . and stupid. Sorry, sunlight cooks 'em like bacon. If they had it that easy, they'd have taken over by now.

  This is reality - or a hidden layer of it, anyway - and half the time, it's not pretty. But, hey, it's your choice: believe, don't believe, or laugh it off and then get that shiver of fear when you're alone in the dark. I don't give a shit; your opinion is way down my list of things to lose sleep over. Chances are you'll never find out anyway . . . unless one of 'em wants you to. Trust me, you don't want 'em to. The point is there's a lot more going on out there that you never knew about. I wish I didn't.

  Alright, I think I made my point. Let's get on with it.

  LOUDMOUTH

  "Leo, you better get out here," Sherrie yelled loud enough for me to hear. I secured the tap on a keg and hurried out of the cooler. I came through the open door from the back rooms and scanned the seating areas beyond the bar. Okay, I took a peek at Sherrie's ass, too. She was already pointing, but there wasn't any need; Keegan's wasn't that big of a place and it was obvious where the trouble was.

  There were three losers I'd noticed earlier in the night making a mess of their table, like spilling beer and completely missing the ashtray was an achievement. They were now on their feet. Two of them were standing at a different table, facing whoever was sitting there. One of the two was yelling, a little drunk and a lot pissed off. The last scumbag stood a few paces away.

  It was near the end of a long Friday night; the music was low, the overheads getting brighter, and most of the customers had already left. That made it easier to get their attention. I walked out from behind the bar and over to that table, reluctantly prepared to deal with whatever level of stupid they had to offer. I planned on ending the dispute quickly; I wanted to finish up, have a couple after-hours drinks, and see if I could get Tanya to give me another hummer in the supply room before I went home.

  From my angle going over to the table, I saw who the loud loser was yelling at. Sitting alone was a girl. I say girl because she didn't look of age to be in the place. She was in earlier that night, but then she'd disappeared for a while. I carded her the first time she came in; I guessed 18 tops, but it showed 22. I remembered her because she was a fucking hottie with the kind of body that made me glad I wasn't wearing sweatpants. She was a short, curvy brunette with cleavage, a dirty smile, and was underdressed for a cold January night . . . not that I minded the view.

  I didn't quite understand what the guy was yelling at her about - something about drinks and teasing and she was a slut and I didn't care what else. To her credit, the girl didn't look scared; it was more like she was plotting, sizing up the losers. I'd seen that same expression on the faces of a few ragheads who thought they could send me and my unit into an ambush - dumbasses. I'm not sure what the hottie's plan was; she looked too soft and feminine to deal with one of those guys, let alone three. But who knew? Maybe she was insane. Maybe she had a weapon. Maybe she had a penis.

  I stepped close enough to the loudmouth's left side that he couldn't ignore me. He was around six foot, so I had a couple inches on him. I wasn't a gym rat like Mac, who collected at the door on band nights, but my equipment at home never got dusty. And my scars - the ones not covered by clothing - proved to be sort of intimidating. I was insecure as hell of 'em when I first got back to civilian life, but I learned to accept the occasional stare of rude bastards and stupid kids.

  It's not like I was a freak or anything; what showed were only two gash lines on my left jaw and cheek, a bigger one on the side of my neck, and the top quarter inch of my left ear was gone. All thanks to one IED (improvised explosive device) that one of my men tripped when I was less than ten feet away.

  The loudmouth looked at me, noticed the combat scars right off, and stopped yelling. His eyes were bloodshot, and he smelled like beer and cigarettes - maybe urine, too. He had a nearly-empty Coors bottle in his left hand. The guy next to him was a shorter and skinnier, face in a laughable scowl, and gave off the same air of bitter stupidity as the first guy. The last shithead, fifteen feet behind them, looked uncomfortable. He just wanted to leave. Hell, I did too.

  "Hey, man," I said to the loudmouth, "we're done here tonight. Take your last swig and head on out."

  "I ain't goin' anywhere 'til this bitch pays me back," he barked. His breath hit me like a brick. "She ain't even touched the drinks we bought her!"

  There were three full cocktails sitting in front of her. Oh, and hello again, cleavage. I looked back to the loudmouth. "You're not gonna get what you want, buddy. Set your drink down and move on."

  "Fuck that! She's -"

  My right thumb found the nerve cluster just above the loudmouth's collarbon
e. Good thing he wasn't wearing his coat or the move would have been tougher to do. He winced with a short grunt of pain. His shoulder dipped as his arm flinched, and I grabbed the bottle out of his loose grip before he dropped it. I set the bottle on the table and let go of him at the same time. I'd practiced that move a fair bit in CQC (close quarters combat) training and at the dojo, so it was quick enough that three half-drunk morons didn't have time to react.

  The second guy - the one with the scowl that couldn't scare an infant - tensed up, but did nothing. The loudmouth gripped his own tingling shoulder while he glared at me and took a step back. Just about then, a couple of the bar regulars stepped up next to me, both of them eyeballing all three losers. Out of respect for Keeg and Deb, I bet half the remaining patrons would have gotten involved if needed.

  "Have a good night," I said dismissively to the trio as I stared at them. They backed up, grabbed their coats and walked out without a word. I turned to the girl and said, "Sorry about that. I'll let you have ten minutes or so to make sure they moved on, okay? Then I have to lock up."

  "I understand," she said in a velvety voice, "and thanks. I wasn't sure how I was going to get those guys to leave me alone. I thought maybe they slipped a mickey in one of these drinks, so I wasn't going to touch them."

  "That's probably a safe bet. We hardly ever get assholes like that in here, so don't let that stop you from coming back, okay?" I rationalized that a girl with her looks might bring more business in, but the truth was that I was a sucker for tits. Pun intended.

  She nodded and smiled, showing perfect white teeth and dimples cuter than a basket full of puppies. "I won't, Mister . . .?"

  "Just call me Leo."

  "Well, thanks again, Leo. I'm Macie, by the way."

  She was out of my league, or, depending on her profession, out of my price range. Chit-chatting with Macie wasn't going to get me anywhere but home alone later on, looking for hand lotion. I simply nodded and turned away to thank the two regulars for having my back.

  I helped Tanya clean tables for a few minutes, and then stepped out the front doors into the cold, snowy night. Other than the last customers walking off, no one else was in sight. I let Macie out and locked up behind her, trying not to make it obvious I was staring at her legs in that short dress.

  Sherrie had a shot of Jack waiting for me at the bar, like usual. I sat down for a minute, letting her pour me another before I finished up for the night. Keegan came out from his office in the back to make sure everything was calm. It wasn't like he'd be any help in a fight, but I guess the belated concern was there.

  KEEGAN'S

  I felt at home in Keegan's Corner Lounge. Keegan himself was a cool guy, and his wife Debbie was nice, too. The couple spent a lot of their time there. They set a good atmosphere for the place; mixed décor, tables and booths, and soothing colors. Good music was piped through the wall speakers - rock, classic, oldies, and some modern country. Never any of the rowdy shit; no rap, no heavy metal, no riot-inducing bubble gum music.

  The usually mellow crowds were normally a mix of cultures. Keegan's sat just south of downtown Kansas City, and was close to high-end commercial firms and the nearby art college. It was in a neighborhood of old houses and small businesses; the area was a little worn, but not crime-ridden. Because of its location, Keegan's had businessmen and secretaries that came in for martinis and pub grub during lunch hours. In the evenings, it was yuppies, bohemians, middle-age couples and regular Joes.

  I was offered the bar-back/bouncer job a couple years ago. I'd been in the place a few times because it had a nice vibe, the servers were cute, they poured a mean Jack and Coke, and it wasn't far from my little house. Keegan needed an extra hand and a mutual friend pointed me out. I needed the extra cash anyway. I swore Keegan and Debbie to silence after they did a background check on me and saw my full name, Leopold Beck. They could call me Leo, or even Beck, but never my full first name. Not many people knew it, and I planned to keep it that way. Could you blame me?

  The evening hours required for the nightclub didn't bother me; my other job's erratic hours were mostly afternoon and night shifts anyway. Three years out of the military and I turned into a night owl. I only worked for Keeg and Deb part-time, and they were pretty flexible with my schedule if my other job called me in for a gig. See, I also worked for a private security company providing personal security service. K.C. is a good-sized city, but not exactly a mecca for rich fucks that needed security all the time. Between the two jobs and my military savings, I got by.

  Sherrie was done giving me free drinks, and I got the feeling that Tanya wasn't in the mood for any supply room grunting. She and I weren't an item at all. Our few quickies were simply a matter mutual attraction, and if she'd broken up with yet another boyfriend. I finally got off my ass and gathered some trash to bring to the dumpster in the alley out back. Oh, the glamour of nightclubs.

  WALLET

  When I opened the back door, I immediately saw a group of people huddled together in the alley, close to the side street. It looked like three guys were surrounding a smaller figure pressed up against the wall. Fuck, it was the losers and that girl, Macie. The sound of the door and the light pouring out gave me away, damn it. From the diffused glow of a streetlight behind them, I saw a glint off the blade that the loudmouth had in his hand. Well, shit.

  I let the back door close behind me, making me less of a target in the dark. I stepped out into the alley and set my feet in the slush just as the loudmouth started coming my way. He was waving his little knife and was saying something, but I didn't pay attention to the words. I was focused on his movement, which was like a monkey with a concussion. When he got within ten feet, he came at me faster. Footing wasn't good out there and he slipped, bringing him to me off-balance.

  It was easy to block the loudmouth's awkward swing with my forearm. I wanted to make quick work of him in case his buddies came to help. I brought my knee up into his solar plexus, making him fold with a grunt. As he bent over, I grabbed him by his coat and hair and rammed him headfirst into the brick wall next to me. He crumpled with a moan and I stepped over him.

  The other two were still standing close to the girl. One of them still had a hand on her shoulder or maybe her neck. I wanted them to just run off, but I guess they still had some liquid courage in their systems. Because of the soft light behind them I couldn't make out their expressions, but I could see the frosty plumes of their quick breathing. They were nervous. Good.

  I marched forward with purpose. One of the two - the scowling guy, I think - stepped away from the girl and started to say something. I ignored it. Before he could decide what I was going to do or how to react, I swung out with a size-13 boot and caught him right in the nuts - fair fight, my ass. It took a second for his pain to register. The last guy ran into me from the side. He was thin, and his charge was weak. I used his momentum, planted a foot, and hip-tossed him. There was only an inch or so of wet snow, not nearly enough to soften the impact when he landed hard on the flat of his back.

  The guy I racked was against the far wall, bent over and holding his crotch with both hands. My training to neutralize and secure kicked in; force recon habits die hard. I stepped over and brought a knee up, catching the guy in the forehead. He reeled back a couple wobbly steps and then dropped. I turned back to the skinny guy I'd flipped. He was just getting back to his feet, groaning with one hand on his back. One quick punch to where his jaw met his ear and he went down like a sack of shit. I looked back; loudmouth was still down and out. It was suddenly very quiet.

  The girl was still standing against the wall. Rather than being frozen with fear, or maybe even sobbing from it, she was leaning casually against the brick wall and looking at something in her hands. "Are you alright?" I asked as I stepped over to her.

  She didn't answer right away, continuing to study the object in her hands. It was an unfolded wallet. There was hardly any light to see, so I didn't know what she found so interesting.

&n
bsp; "You should be more careful," she said, still looking down at it.

  "What the hell are you talking ab - Hey, is that mine?" I patted my back pocket. Empty. "That is mine!" I snatched it out of her small hands.

  "Sorry," she replied nonchalantly. "It fell out while you were thrashing my assailants. You should put that in a safer location."

  "Thrashing your assailants?" I asked while I made sure nothing was missing out of my wallet. "Who the hell talks like that?" And I seriously doubted my wallet just fell out of my back pocket.

  Macie shrugged. "I do, sometimes. I like how people used to talk a long time ago."

  "Yeah . . . okay, whatever; are you sure you're alright?" I put my wallet into a front pocket of my jeans.

  She opened her jacket and looked down at herself. With the minimal light, I could just make out her cleavage. "No, not a scratch," she answered. "I suppose I should thank you yet again . . . Mr. Beck."

  She somehow saw my name on my driver's license. Invasions of privacy kind of piss me off. "Unless you wanna stick around for the cops," I said through nearly gritted teeth, "maybe you should leave."

  "Maybe you're right," Macie said lightly. She strolled a few paces out to the sidewalk. Just before she passed out of sight beyond the next building, she wiggled her fingers at me in a lazy farewell gesture. "Have a good night, Leo Beck. Perhaps we'll meet again soon." And then she was gone.

  I believed I had another complimentary drink coming my way.

  HOME

  I left it up to Keeg, who decided to call the cops anonymously just to get the scumbags out of the alley. We doubted those three were going to press charges and have to admit that they got thumped by one guy. I had another quick drink to mellow out before I went home. I drove my Jeep (mine wasn't a lemon) the five blocks back to my house, hoping that I didn't hurt those guys too bad. I mean, yeah, they deserved an ass-kicking, but maybe they had kids waiting at home for them. I think I got that worry gene and a streak of conscience from my mom. Or maybe it was in spite of my dad, who knows.