Blood Work

BLOOD WORK

  Night Call: Book One

  L.J. Hayward

  ***

  Copyright 2014 L.J. Hayward

  ***

  ISBN 978-0-9925026-1-4

  Table Of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Sneak Peak

  Chapter 1

  My name’s Matt Hawkins and I kill monsters for a living. Slay and pay.

  Werewolves, trolls, the occasional ghoul that gets a bit too big for its grave; but basically, whatever nasty critter crosses my path. Mostly, I kill vampires. While I’d made something of a living out of it, I don’t even need the promise of cash to take down a vampire. Sure, it’s a nice bonus, but vampires are my personal crusade.

  So when I get a call about a mob of silent, violence-inclined teenagers harassing a place of business, I know it’s not just a bunch of emo kids acting out.

  “They’re back,” Barry all but shouted as I answered my mobile.

  A sting of excitement mingled with a touch of fear stabbed through my guts. Perfect timing. Though I did have to wonder why Mercy hadn’t contacted me first.

  “What are they doing?” I asked, splitting my attention between the call and the doors of the main entrance to Jupiter’s Hotel and Casino.

  “What are they doing?” Barry repeated, his voice rising several octaves. “They’re ruining my business, Hawkins! That’s what they’re doing. Third time in the last week they’ve come around and terrorised my customers.”

  “Ruining is a bit extreme, isn’t it?” I snuck another glance at the doors.

  The front wall was glass from floor to high ceiling. Bright lights flooded the area both inside and out, dazzling the punters before they even set eyes on the rows of pokies and clusters of green velvet-lined tables. Cars, taxis and limos came and went, ferrying people to and from. There were those coming to visit the bars and buffet or the casino, and hotel guests leaving to explore the Gold Coast nightlife.

  Then there was me. Neither coming nor going, not dressed for either a night on the sleaze in a bar or losing my cash at the tables. I just... lingered. Loitered. Hung around. Of course the security guys were going to think I was up to No Good.

  Damn Roberts. If only he would appear so I could grab my stuff and get the hell out of here.

  The bouncers of Jupiter’s had a bit of a reputation, but what bouncers don’t? Sure, they take their Zero Tolerance policy very seriously, and sure, they’ve been known to come down hard on folks who take their fun just a little bit too far, but I couldn’t really blame them for eyeing me with suspicion. I knew I was out of place, but in my defence, it was a place I didn’t exactly want to be in. I don’t do well in crowds, especially in crowds like those at the casino. A lot of people don’t. At least, that’s what my therapist keeps telling me. No matter how Doc Campbell justified it, my dislike of rowdy, close groups was what kept me outside and waiting, instead of going in and hunting.

  “No, it’s not,” Barry snapped in my ear. “These mongrels have already scared off half my customers tonight, and they’ve only been here two minutes. You promised me you’d take care of this the next time they showed up.”

  The security guys were busy watching two girls in tight minis and absurdly high heels totter past, so I took a chance and emerged from my half-concealed position behind a palm tree across the driveway. I tried for a casual saunter along the side of the drive, attempting to look like I was waiting impatiently for someone, which I was, but conveying an impression of honesty is hard when you know someone is looking at you with doubt.

  One of the bouncers looked in my direction. I laughed and turned, making sure he saw the phone against my ear.

  “It’s not a laughing matter, Hawkins!” Barry was getting frantic. “I’m paying you good money to clean these freaks out of my place.”

  “Look, don’t worry. My partner’s at your place already.” The bouncer narrowed his eyes at me, hand reaching for the earpiece of his radio. My time was up. “I gotta go, Barry. I promise I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “Wait, wait! You have a partner? Where is he?”

  I smiled grimly. “Yes, I do and she’s there, don’t worry. She’ll keep them under surveillance.”

  “Surveillance isn’t what I’m paying you for.” There was the distinct sound of Barry’s teeth grinding. “Where are you? Why aren’t you here? You said you would deal with this!”

  Closing my eyes, I counted silently to ten. When I took the job with Barry I knew he’d be a pain. Whiny little arse—

  I cut off that train of thought. It wasn’t Barry’s fault. He was the innocent bystander in this mess and it was my job to make sure he—and his customers—didn’t get hurt.

  “I will be there very shortly. I’m just picking up some equipment. Don’t—”

  Panic. But I was too late. Barry’s squeak of surprise and terror cut me off.

  “Now they’ve gone upstairs! Oh my God, oh my God. I’m going to get sued and lose everything. All because of—”

  “Barry! Stop it. Listen to me, Barry!”

  My sharp, commanding words caught the other bouncer’s attention as well. The two big, fit men exchanged meaningful looks, then started across the drive toward me.

  “Wh... what?” Barry stammered in shock.

  “Let them go up there. Trust me. It’ll keep them contained until I get there. See you soon.” I hung up before he could splutter more objections. Slipping the phone into the back pocket of my cargo pants, I turned to meet the bouncers, mind furiously going through all sorts of excuses I could come up with for my behaviour. Yeah, none exactly sprang out at me.

  “Matt! So sorry to keep you waiting.”

  The loud greeting stopped the bouncers half way across the drive. They turned and saw a guy hurrying toward us.

  In my black cargo pants, T-shirt and camo jacket, I didn’t look the part of Jupiter’s preferred custom, but thankfully Roberts did. He was the perfect image of upwardly mobile, successful business-ness—meticulously styled dark hair that suited both the boardroom and a nightclub, smart grey suit, silk shirt, a tie that looked nothing special to me but apparently was and a black briefcase that probably had a snazzy name like attaché case or something.

  “I was about to leave,” I said pointedly.

  Passing the bouncers, Roberts ignored them as if they were beneath his notice. “Yeah, thanks for waiting. I got caught up with some clients. Come on, let’s blow this snake pit, hit somewhere classy, eh?”

  Lips curling in displeasure, the bouncers glared at Roberts, suddenly not liking the look of him at all. I hid a smirk and fell into step beside my friend. We headed down
the drive toward the bridge that linked the casino island with the rest of Broadbeach.

  “Do you have it?” I asked when we were out of earshot.

  Dodging a group of young guys heading up to the casino, Roberts patted his briefcase. “Right here. What’s the rush, anyway?”

  “Barry called,” I said in my deadly serious voice.

  “Ooh. I understand. A bit on the dramatic side, was he?”

  “With good reason. They’re back. I really need to sort this out tonight. If I leave them much longer, they’ll only get harder to track and kill.”

  We hit the bridge and just on the far side, parked highly illegally, was my black, late model Holden Monaro. I let out a little sigh of relief that it hadn’t been towed.

  “Great,” Roberts said as we reached my car. “I’ll stay in the car while you clean up Bazza’s mess.”

  I stopped and stared at him. “What?”

  Flashing the cheeky grin that got him so much female interest, Roberts said, “Didn’t I tell you? My car’s in having a new stereo installed. I need a lift home.”

  Sighing, I opened the boot. Hand out for the briefcase, I said, “A lift will cost you. You’re not waiting in the car. You can come in and deal with Barry for me.”

  Roberts didn’t let the case go. “Really? Don’t I already do enough for you? It’s your business, mate, shouldn’t you be in charge of client care?”

  “Do enough for me?” I tugged on the case. “Come on, man. You, what? Hand out a few cards for me.”

  “Okay, yeah, I hand out your business cards, but when that’s the entirety of your advertising plan, it’s a pretty big favour I’m doing you.” He didn’t let go.

  “If you had it your way, I’d have a full page ad in the Yellow Pages. How great would that look? Having troll trouble? Is Granddad’s corpse being desecrated by a ghoul? Had your blood sucked? Night Call, for things that go bump in the dark. Yeah, that won’t get me laughed out of the city. Now, let go. Barry’s waiting.” And because I knew it would spur Roberts into some sort of action, I added, “Mercy’s already there, waiting for me.”

  Roberts let the case go as if it were a snake. “She’s there alone?”

  “Not alone,” I said, heartlessly. “I’m sure the place is jumping. All those kids having a great time, she’ll love it.”

  While Roberts gaped at me in silent horror, I laid the case in the boot and popped it open. Lying on a rumpled mess of papers and loose pens advertising Roberts Technical Solutions, was my Desert Eagle. I picked it up and felt much better with the gun’s familiar, reassuring shape in my hand. Turning it over, I checked the slide and the laser-sight attached to the underside of the barrel and ejected the magazine. Tossing the spent mag into a corner of the boot, I then pulled over my box of spares. Filled with customised ammunition, I slapped one home, chambered the first round, ejected the mag, replaced the round and put it all back together with a satisfying clack. Weapon ready, I tucked it into the back of my pants, under my jacket. Then I filled the pockets of my pants with spare mags.

  Roberts finally found his voice. “You let her go there on her own?” There was a tight, strangled quality to his voice I’d become familiar with during our friendship. I heard it quite a lot. As cocky as he could be at times, Roberts wasn’t really cut out for my sort of business.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “She’s ready for it.”

  Backing up, Roberts shook his head. “If you say so. It might not be your funeral, but it’ll be someone’s...” With that comment, he went around to the passenger door and got in.

  I closed the boot and stood for a moment, contemplating his words. He was just being overly reactive. Sure, it was Mercy’s first outing without me constantly looking over her shoulder, and she was being awfully silent, but she was ready for it. It was beyond time, honestly. I’d coddled her long enough. If my plan was ever going to work, I needed to step back, let Mercy have her space and see if she could fly on her own.

  If she couldn’t, then the consequences just didn’t bear thinking about. I’d burn that bridge when I crossed it. Time permitting I would have contacted her then and there, but it was probably best I just double-timed it to Barry’s at this stage.

  Slinging myself in behind the wheel the big Desert Eagle jammed into the small of my back, but I wouldn’t have to put up with it for long. Barry’s establishment was only a couple of minutes away. Pulling out onto the road, I swung the car around the round-about and slipped into the thick traffic on the Gold Coast highway, heading north.

  “Thanks for the loan of the Eagle,” Roberts said as we left Broadbeach and moved into Surfers Paradise.

  I used the tall, green spire of the Q1 building as my guide and turned off the highway and into the network of side streets. “No problem. How did it go?”

  Roberts laughed. “Killed ‘em. The looks of pure fright on their faces was brilliant.”

  “And that is why I will never understand business.”

  “It’s not that hard, really. Just gotta know your market and tailor your pitch.” He mimed holding a gun and aimed through the windscreen. “Works every time.”

  “So you got the contract?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Won’t this interfere with your real job?” The base of the Q1 went by my open window. A burst of laughter from an Indian restaurant on the opposite corner reminded me not everyone drove around with a big gun stuffed down the back of their pants.

  “Shouldn’t do. I can work the contract during the day and still party at night.” He jabbed me in the ribs. “Your pitiful needs aren’t enough to keep me in the lifestyle I want to get accustomed to, you know.”

  I snorted a laugh. “If only we all had your problems, my friend.”

  While Roberts was something of a technical wunderkind, he didn’t want to set up security systems or network computers for a living. No, he much preferred his real job, but sadly, being a professional barfly didn’t pay enough to cover the costs of his personal needs—technical, social and grooming-wise. While he got to go out just about every night and had free entry into nearly every club, bar and hotspot in the greater Brisbane area, repping for booze companies just didn’t earn the big bucks, so he had to supplement.

  A couple of blocks up from the Q1 was Barry’s place. It was an old office building he’d converted into a games arcade. The front was decorated in a garish display of laser images and fluorescent paint work that jarred my senses but was probably considered tame by the mid-teen crowd Barry catered to. It probably barely registered on minds more attuned to the glare of smart phones and tablets and whatever gadgetry they all couldn’t possibly live without these days. Usually, even on school nights, there was a steady stream of kids pouring across the footpath and a tangle of cars battling for the few parking spaces out front, but tonight, I had no trouble. Driving right into a park, I studied the mostly vacant entrance.

  “This isn’t good,” I muttered.

  “Isn’t it to be expected? I mean, this mob’s been making trouble for a while now.”

  “Yeah, but this is Surfers, remember. A bit of trouble never keeps anyone away for long.” Checking my spare mags, I opened the door. About to get out, I stopped. “You can stay here, if you want. I won’t mind.”

  Roberts stared at the few kids loitering outside Barry’s. They were all in their mid-teens, boys, dressed in T-shirts and baggy, long shorts, skateboards under their arms as they slouched in attempted coolness against the wall. Two of them eyed my car appreciatively. A few girls came out of the building, tanned legs shown off by short shorts. They pranced by the boys, not slowing, but making sure they were watched all the same.

  “Nah,” Roberts said, opening his door. “I’ll come in. Gotta make sure you don’t completely arse this up.”

  It was a big move and I appreciated the effort it cost him. “Thanks.” I laid the sarcasm on thick. “You’ll be perfect bait.”

  He gave me a pained smirk and we went into the building.

>   The front room was filled with ranks of games, none of which I recognised. Not one Pac Man, Donkey Kong or Street Fighter, but despite the names I didn’t recognise, the noise and glaring lights were the same, as was the smell of spilled soft-drinks, popcorn and chocolate, with an undertone of sweaty body and a hint of salt and sand. The last time I’d been here, to scope out the place for when I had to come back and deal with the trouble-makers, it had been packed with young people. Now, barely half the games were occupied and there wasn’t a line up for the laser-tag on the second floor.

  “Thank God you’re here!”

  Barry, owner/operator of Surf Wars, hurried over from the back of the room. He was average height with a large gut that was more flabby muscle than fat hanging over the top of his faded jeans. A light sheen of worried sweat glistened on his bald head. He stopped short of running us over and stared at Roberts.

  “Is this your partner? I thought you said she was a woman!”

  He was close to panicking, about to flip out at the mere sight of Roberts.

  “My partner is a girl,” I assured him calmly. “This is Roberts, a business associate of mine. He’s going to be our liaison.” Having dealt out the one and only business-like term I knew, I backed off. “Now, you said they were upstairs?”

  Barry nodded vaguely, the thought he was in over his head clear in his glazed eyes. “There’s a session in progress. With, with normal people in there. Do you... Do you want me to stop it?”

  Air froze in my lungs. What if my delay at the casino had cost lives? I shook away the thought. I couldn’t afford it at the moment. My only consolation was this mob hadn’t done more than toss a few people about so far, break an arm or two. Nothing life threatening. But I knew they wouldn’t stay tame for much longer. It was only a matter of time before someone died. I just hoped that time hadn’t come and gone.

  “No. It’ll just let them know we’re on to them.” I leaned in close to Roberts and whispered, “Don’t let him call the cops. And see if you can get these kids out of here.”

  “Anything else I can do for you? Maybe go confront the baddies as well?”

  “Don’t be silly. You couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn from the inside.” Before he could thump me, I was off and jogging for the stairs leading up.

  The stairwell was narrow but well lit, and empty. I hurried up them two at a time, reaching for the Desert Eagle as I neared the top. The red rope that barred the entrance to the landing was slung across the opening, the attendant that counted off players missing. Back pressed to the wall, I peered into the room at the top of the stairs.

  It was dark, lit only by a spill of light from the stairwell, and a flickering montage of fluorescent streaks coming in through a window on the front of the building. Shadows danced across the floor and walls, making focusing difficult. I’d done a walk through previously, though, and knew roughly where everything was. To the left, in front of the window, was the register, where you signed up for teams and hired equipment. Opposite was the outfitting area, where you donned your vest and guards and picked up your weapon. Ranks of laser guns and rifles lined one wall. In the shifting light, I saw six empty places.

  Eagle at the ready, I stepped over the rope, left knee twinging a little as I bent it back. Hoping the blasted leg would hold up, I sidled over to the desk, taking a quick look behind it. No nasties waiting to ambush me there. They were all in the main room. With a bunch of victims. Awesome.

  The doors to the main room were closed, a push-bar shining dully in the dimness. I eased up to it, leaned my ear against the door. It vibrated to the beat-heavy music playing inside. A small fringe of smoke curled around the gap at the base of the doors, flashes of different coloured lasers lighting it up sporadically.

  Desert Eagle in my right hand, the left on the push-bar, I took a deep breath and calmed my racing pulse. The stray thought I should have asked Barry how many there were crossed my mind, but I ignored it and pushed down.

  The door swung in, letting out a rush of purple tinged smoke, a blast of ear-busting music designed to wake Satan himself and a high-pitched scream.

  Doubts forgotten in a surge of adrenaline, I rushed in, stopping only long enough to kick the door closed behind me. It was designed to only open from the outside. I’d effectively trapped myself in a locked room with an unknown number of vampires.

  It wasn’t the stupidest thing I’d ever done, but it was, you know, up there.

  Taking a deep breath, I faced the room and in my best John McClane, muttered, “Yippie-kai-yay.”