Ravenous (12 page)

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Authors: V.K. Forrest

BOOK: Ravenous
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“I’m good at organizing.” Mai opened and closed her arms. “What can I say?”
“So, you need anything? Groceries or anything?” Kaleigh wound her way through the stacks of boxes toward the back wall where Mai had been arranging the books.
“Nope. We’re good. We went to the grocery store yesterday. Liam and I.”
“Cool.” She stopped at the bookshelf and dropped her backpack to the floor. “Now I’m doubly impressed. He never has any food in the house except for Rice Krispies. Not that I don’t like Rice Krispies, you understand.” She gave Mai a look and grabbed a book. “Is this a first-edition Kipling? You’ve got to be kidding me.” She glanced back. “But Liam’s, like, thirty-five years old. It’s really time he got past the college-boy thing and had some dishes and some food in his refrigerator.”
“He’s got an autographed Samuel Clemens, and a first-edition Henry James.” Mai pointed. “Well, he’s got food now. And dishes. I took a box upstairs yesterday. He’s got the coolest stuff lying around here. I don’t think he knows half of what’s here.”
“Sounds like Liam.” Kaleigh flipped through the pages of
The Jungle Book
. “So, he tells me you’re in a little trouble?”
Mai wasn’t sure what to say. Surely Liam hadn’t told this kid what was going on with her and her father.
“That why you’re here?” Kaleigh asked.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea that we talk about this. Frankly, it could be . . . dangerous.”
“Hey, that’s cool. I wasn’t trying to get in your business or anything.” She returned the book to the shelf and reached for another. “I was just kind of surprised when Liam told me you were staying here.” She flipped pages again. “It’s just not like him.” She glanced over the book cover. “He must really like you.”
Mai felt her cheeks burn. “He’s a good guy.”
“A super-good guy,” Kaleigh agreed. “Always coming to people’s rescue and such.”
“You mean he’s done this before?”
“I really can’t say.” Kaleigh returned the book to the shelf. “I don’t suppose there are any Rice Krispies left? I’m starving and if I go home, my mom’s going to make me clean my bedroom.”
Mai hesitated. The smart thing to do was to show Kaleigh the door. She didn’t need to be making friends in Clare Point. Not friends with Liam’s friends, for sure. But she already liked Kaleigh. There was something about her that made her seem wise beyond her years. “I can do better than Rice Krispies. Come on.” She waved her toward the steps.
“No such thing as better than Rice Krispies,” Kaleigh argued, grabbing her backpack off the floor.
“No?” Mai asked, leading the teen up the stairs to Liam’s apartment. “How about Rice Krispie treats?”
The Weasel’s old stomping grounds in Brooklyn had been fairly quiet Sunday night. Monday, Liam spent the day poking around, first at the courthouse, then the best place for info in town, the post office, where he talked to an old woman who had known DeCava and Machhione. She’d gone on a blind date to the homecoming dance freshman year with Machhione. Said he was a lying, sly bastard back then.
Mrs. Ditonio, pretty lively for her age, had then invited Liam back to her house for dinner. And something else, he suspected. He passed on both.
Liam gleaned a few tidbits at a diner at lunch and then hit pay dirt that night at an Italian restaurant two blocks from where DeCava and later Machhione had operated their antiques store and other assorted businesses.
What he learned wasn’t good news for Mai and her father. Apparently, Uncle Donato knew Machhione from high school and had been the Weasel’s consigliere for years. He had been demoted when he made a business deal in Machhione’s name, without Machhione’s knowledge. The only reason the Weasel hadn’t offed Ricci was that the deal was successful and made a bucket of money. There had been serious trouble between Machhione and Ricci just before the boss went to jail. Liam’s informant, a seventy-odd-years-old bookie named Anthony Pallota, didn’t know what the rift was about, but he said word on the street had been that Ricci had taken something from Machhione.
Bingo.
Had the Weasel gotten out of jail and decided to collect on old debts?
Liam was pouring the old man his fourth glass of Chianti when the door to the street opened. Liam’s danger radar immediately went off. He and Anthony were the only patrons left in the little trattoria. A bartender was putting glasses away behind the bar. Liam hadn’t seen the waiter in at least half an hour.
“Nope. Nope. Never heard what it was he was supposed to have stolen.” Anthony sipped his wine. “Some said he never took nuthin’. It just pissed off the Weasel that Ricci was a better businessman than he was.” He gave a snort. “That and the fact that the missus had an ongoing thing with Ricci for years.”
Liam watched over Anthony’s right shoulder as two men in their thirties wearing leather jackets walked into the restaurant. They looked like they were trying out to be extras on
The Sopranos.
One had a tattoo on his neck. Something idiotic like a panther, its claws bared.
They walked up to the bar and muttered something. They weren’t from around here. Sounded like New Orleans to Liam’s ear.
Liam flexed his hands beneath the checkered tablecloth. Panther Neck glanced around. He spotted Anthony’s hunched back. Maybe recognized that the old man was drunk.
Liam ducked his head, blocking the thugs’ direct line of vision with Anthony’s torso. The bartender served the guys each a shot of Jägermeister, with a beer chaser.
Anthony rambled on. He didn’t know where Liam could find the Weasel, but he was around, all right. Retired. Out of the business. Enjoying his freedom.
The two at the bar flew off their barstools straight at Liam without any warning. Vampires were like that.
Chapter 12
B
old bastards,
Liam thought as he leaped onto the bench in the booth he’d been sitting at and reached across the cannoli to shove Anthony under the table. The bigger of the two, the one with the panther tattoo, was temporarily taken-aback, midair, when Liam stepped onto the table, fangs bared.
“I’m calling the police!” the bartender yelled from where he had taken refuge on the floor behind the bar.
“
Mon dieu!
” the vampire exclaimed, coming to light on the back of Anthony’s bench seat.
Fortunately, the old Italian had the sense to stay under the table. From there, he couldn’t see anything. With any luck, he had no idea he’d almost been bitten by a vampire.
Liam half-smiled. He
knew
he knew these bastards! “Levi Rousseau,” he muttered. The Rousseau brothers were a nasty nest of Cajun vampires out of New Orleans. They dealt in drug trafficking, which was probably why they were in Brooklyn. “Nice tattoo.”
Levi ran his hand over his neck. “
Merci beaucoup
. It’s new.” He remained perched two feet from Liam. “You know my brother, Dan.”
Liam leaned right to meet the other vampire’s gaze. “Didn’t recognize you, Dan, without your cape.”
Dan didn’t smile. He had no sense of humor. He and his brothers ran around New Orleans at night wearing black capes and scaring the crap out of tourists on Bourbon Street and feeding on the idiots passed out in the alleys. Still, they weren’t vampires to mess around with; Liam wouldn’t trust one of the Rousseau brothers any farther than he could throw him.
Levi retracted his fangs and jumped down off the back of the bench. In the distance, they could hear the wail of a police siren. There was no sign of the bartender or anyone from the kitchen.
Liam stepped onto the bench, then down to the tiled floor. He was slower to retract his fangs. He’d need to feed sometime in the next couple of days. The sept’s rule was no feeding except on other willing vampires, or the wildlife they cared for and protected on the game preserve in Clare Point. When members of the sept were out of town, the rules were a little less strict. Of course, neither Rousseau would be
willing,
but Liam wasn’t above bending the rules. He was in a crappy mood tonight and had half a mind to pick a fight with these jerks just so he could get a taste of their nasty-ass bayou blood.
“So, what are you boys up to?” Liam asked, glancing toward the street. The sound of the siren was getting louder. If they were going to do this, it would have to be elsewhere. Vampires, the good guys or the bad ones, didn’t like tangling with human law enforcement. The cover-up afterward was always complicated.
“You know, in town on business,” Levi said. “You?”
Liam crossed his arms over his chest. “The same.”
“We only came at you because we wanted the scrawny one. He yours?” Levi pointed under the table.
“Afraid so.”
“Up to sharing?”
Liam stared at him with a cool, dangerous gaze. Vampires were very territorial, with land and victims. “Afraid not.”
Levi put up both hands and took a step back. “No offense intended.”
“None taken.” Liam glanced in the direction of the street again. “We should probably take the back door.”
“Probably.”
Liam drew his hand back grandly. “After you, gentlemen.”
“Thank you.” Levi walked past Liam, followed by his brother.
“You going to leave him here?” Levi asked as they ducked behind a curtain leading to the rear of the restaurant.
“I don’t need any trouble with cops,” Liam muttered. He had the bookie’s number. If he had more questions for Anthony about the Weasel, he could probably call him. With any luck, Anthony hadn’t really seen anything but a pair of showboating thugs in leather jackets.
They found the rear door and stepped out into the chilly night air. The two brothers turned one way, Liam the other. The cops were arriving out front.
“So, you in the States long?” Levi asked, walking backward behind his brother as if he had all the time in the world before Brooklyn’s finest crashed into the alley.
Liam made the decision he wasn’t up for a fight tonight. He could probably take these boys, but it would be messy. Bloody. He had more important matters to attend to. “A few weeks.”
“Maybe we’ll stop by Clare Point on our way home, after we’ve got things squared away here. Let you buy me a beer at The Hill.”
“You bet.” Liam turned away and jogged down the alley, into the darkness.
Liam killed Tuesday reading newspaper articles on mob activity in the area in the sixties, seventies, and eighties on a computer at the public library. It beat the hell out of the microfiche years. He learned enough about the Weasel to guess that even in his old age, he might be a formidable enemy, not physically, but strategically. There wasn’t much about Donato; he’d apparently been smart enough to keep his name out of the paper for all those years.
Liam called Anthony that afternoon. The old man had been so drunk the night before that he barely remembered the incident at the bar with the Rousseaus, only the police driving him home. He promised to look into where the Weasel was living these days, and Liam said he’d get back to him. Before Liam hung up, he wagered a hundred dollars on the next Eagles game, in Fia’s honor.
Back in Clare Point on Wednesday, he went for a long walk on the beach and stepped into his apartment at dinnertime. He could smell marinara all the way up the staircase. The Prince of Dogs barked wildly as Liam unlocked the door and walked in.
“It’s okay, boy,” he said, soothing the dog.
Corrato looked up from his dinner plate. A pristine white napkin was tucked into the collar of his shirt. “About time you got back,” he muttered and returned to his plate of linguine. “I got enough to worry about without having to worry if you’re all right. There’s killers out there. You ought to know that better than any of us,” he chastised gruffly.
Liam glanced questioningly at Mai. She just shrugged, suggesting she didn’t have any idea what he was talking about either.
“Hungry?” Mai asked. She got up from the dinette table and pulled a Noritake plate from the cupboard. In the time Liam had been gone, an Italian espresso machine and a stainless-steel KitchenAid toaster had been added to his countertop. And an olive wood cutting board. Between the new appliances, the dishes, the cloth napkins, and the smell of tomato sauce, the place almost seemed homey.
“If you have enough. Sure.”
“Prince is almost out of dog food,” Corrato announced. He looked straight at Liam, fork poised over his plate. “I have to go get dog food. And I need clothes. I need my brown corduroy shirt. This apartment is drafty.”
“
Babbo,
” Mai admonished softly, “Liam’s been kind enough to welcome us into his home. You shouldn’t speak to him that way.” She slid a plate of pasta in front of Liam.
“It’s okay. I . . . had to go out of town, Corrato,” Liam explained, almost feeling guilty he had left them. It had never occurred to him that Corrato might be afraid. Or worried about him. “But I’m back now. We can go to your place tomorrow and find your brown shirt and we’ll get Prince some dog food.”
Mai smiled down at Liam.
Thank you,
she mouthed, handing him a fork, a knife, and a neatly folded napkin. She slipped back into her chair.
Liam expected her to ask him where he’d been. She didn’t. Instead, she sliced a piece of baguette and handed it to him.
Liam took a bite of pasta, coated in marinara. It was heavenly. “Can I ask you a question, Corrato? About your brother?”
“You can
ask
.” The old man continued to eat, but he would no longer make eye contact with Liam.
“What kind of work did Donato do?”
“I don’t know. This and that.”
Liam eyed Mai across the table. “Was he involved in anything illegal?”
The old man harrumphed. “Think I’d tell you if he was?”
“
Babbo!
”
Liam smiled. “He worked for Salvador Machhione, didn’t he? He worked for the Weasel?”
Corrato slurped noisily.
“
Babbo,
did Uncle Donato work for a man named Machhione?”
“What four-letter word beginning with D means ‘to pound’?” Corrato asked.
Mai cut her eyes at Liam, with concern, then back at her father. “
Babbo,
can you answer Liam’s question? Do you know anything about the Weasel?” She said it as if it was a ridiculous name. Which, of course, it was.
“It’s okay. Your father doesn’t want to talk about it now. Maybe later.” Liam took another bite. “
Drub.
The four-letter word meaning ‘to pound’ is
drub.
”
They finished the meal, mostly in silence, but the whole time, Liam could feel Corrato watching him. Something told him that the old man wasn’t as confused or disjointed as he wanted people to think. The term
crazy like a fox
came to mind. Corrato knew his brother had worked for the Weasel, all right. What Liam wanted to know was if Corrato knew anything about missing pink diamonds.
That night, Mai came to him in his dreams. Liam was in the dungeon, leaving the children behind, moving deeper into the shadows, when she appeared before him.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he told her, half-awake, but still half-asleep. “It’s not safe.”
She pressed her lips to his, tearing him from that terrible place, back to the present and the warmth of his bed.
“Right now, this is the only place I feel safe,” she whispered against his mouth, slipping naked beneath his blanket.
Liam opened his eyes to gaze into hers. Cold air had seeped in under the blanket when she climbed into his bed, but her body was warm and yielding.
He wrapped his arm around her hip and pulled her close. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he whispered with more emotion in his voice than he would have liked.
There was a silly half-smile on her face. “I had to wait until he was asleep.”
“Who? Your dad or the dog?”
She giggled, snuggling closer. “Both.”
He bit down lightly on her earlobe. “If you hadn’t come . . .”
“What?” she whispered. “What would you have done? You would have come into the bedroom for me, would you? You wouldn’t dare.”
“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. “I just know that I missed you while I was gone. I thought about you.”
“Shhhh,” she soothed, pressing her finger to his lips. “Let’s not do this. You and I both know this is only . . . temporary. Let’s not talk about it. Let’s not . . . make it uncomfortable.”
For a moment they were quiet and still, left alone with their private thoughts. With Mai wrapped in his arms against his chest, he could feel her heart beating, feel her rhythmic pulse. Despite what some believed, vampires had a heart, but it was somehow different from a human heart. Not so vital, not so . . .
alive
.
Wanting to feel as alive as Mai, Liam rolled over and pushed her into the mattress, covering her body with his. He took her mouth hard, thrusting his tongue, squeezing her breasts. Their movements were quick and purposeful. There was very little foreplay; she seemed to want that even less than he did tonight. At once, she was parting her legs, lifting her hips up to meet his.
As he pushed into her, his lips found the pulse of her throat and, for a second, he had to cease his rhythmic thrusts.
“What is it?” she panted, digging her nails into the flesh of his back. “Did you hear something?”
Her pulse beat so hard beneath Liam’s lips that he felt that familiar vibration in his fangs. He groaned aloud, tensing every muscle in his body, fighting the urge that came from so deep inside him that for an instant, he feared he could not stop himself.
He would have her blood. He had to have it. It was the way of the world. Of his world.
“Liam?” Mai whispered. Her voice was so soft, so gentle.

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