Texas Hold 'Em (6 page)

“Not that I can see. Doesn’t say the cops are looking for anyone. Looks like these vamps want you all to themselves. They’re taking things rather personally.”

“Lucky me. Won’t the crime scene guys figure out that’s not what happened?”

“Doubt it. Vamps have gotten smart. Most of them don’t even kill anymore, what with all of the new tech the police have. Cleaning up a crime scene right takes too long. The vampires might not use a lot of new technology, but they’re smart enough to avoid it. Nowadays, when they do kill, they make sure to do a good job covering it up. In your case, they probably used your own guns to shoot up the family. Did you see them when you were there? The family?”

I shook my head.

“They were probably keeping them alive somewhere in the house. My guess is, after the ambush, they killed the family with y’all’s guns. Then shot up your team with any guns the family had, and with a ranch you can bet they had some. Then torched the place.

“After that was done, the vamps would have paid a visit to the forensics guys, the coroner, and maybe even a detective or two to be sure. Used that mind-control crap on them. That way the post mortem would be nice and straightforward. Everyone died from either gunshot wounds or the fire that started during the exchange. A nice open-and-shut case with no witnesses or survivors to screw it up: family and burglars killed each other. Fire started during the shootout. Case closed.”

He swiveled the chair slightly to face me. “Speaking of fire, it burns me up too that this makes your crew out to be a bunch of criminals. Robert was a good man. Shouldn’t have to be remembered like that.”

“They all were.”

“They usually are. I don’t suppose you caught any of the vampires’ names during the fight? Even a description of one or two of the bloodsuckers might help. I have a database here of all known supernatural creatures, dead or alive, that we’ve ever encountered or heard about. Been working on it for years. Might turn something up, let us know who we’re dealing with.”

“That I
can
do,” I said. “The head guy is a tall long-haired dude. Imagine if Fabio, in his prime, was doing a Walker, Texas Ranger impression. He must have been old—really old. He was crazy fast, and he hoisted John up like he was nothing. I’ve never seen anyone that powerful.”

“Of course you haven’t. Y’all had been hunting newborns, not real vampires. The ones you were dealing with weren’t even properly turned. They were left to go feral.”

I nodded. It was true; the ones in Texas had all been new, but not the ones I met out in California. Those weren’t new, and my gut told me Christian was even more powerful than they were. I decided against telling Jacob about them. I wasn’t sure how it would go down, the fact that I had formed a temporary alliance with vampires and werewolves to destroy his urn. I doubted he would buy the whole ends-justify-the-means thing.

“He and Robert knew each other,” I added.

“I figured as much, seeing as he had a hard-on for Robert. Must have been someone we crossed way back when. Don’t suppose you caught this old vamp’s name?”

“I did. It’s Christian.”

“Christian? Are you sure?” Jacob’s face distorted into shock, and I was worried he might have a coronary on the spot. It was the second such look he’d given me tonight. The first was when I told him Robert was dead, and now when I told him Christian was alive.

“I’m positive. Why?”

“He’s supposed to be dead.”

“Well, as they say, word of his passing was greatly exaggerated. Who is he?”

“He’s a total fucking nightmare, pardon my French.”

“Fantastic. So, how and when did he supposedly die?”

“We killed him, about twenty years ago.”

“Oh. Then maybe this is a different Christian?”

“Just how many ancient vampires do you think are running around with a name like Christian? It’s like Chance. Most people don’t go giving their kids those types of names.”

“Thanks. And, before you ask, it involved my mom, a one-night stand, and Vegas. Guess she thought it was funny.” I was used to people giving me a hard time about my name, but it was still annoying.

“Well, be thankful it’s not Sue.” Jacob’s pained look softened a little as he chuckled at his own joke.

I had heard that one before, too. “Let’s focus on Christian right now. What can you tell me about him, Jacob? I don’t suppose he’s part of the whole government conspiracy thing?”

“Are you crazy? Of course not! He’s bad news. Old and powerful. If I’d known he was still alive, I wouldn’t have slept so well all these years.”

With all of his hang-ups, I doubted Robert ever slept well. “All right; so who is he?”

“No time for that now; if Christian’s alive, he won’t stop with Robert—he’ll be out for blood. Our blood. I’ve got to warn them.”

“Your old crew?” I asked I let the obvious joke—about vampires being out for blood—pass.

Jacob nodded, got an old leather address book out of the top drawer of his desk, and started flipping through it.

“So who else did you and Robert hunt with back then? I don’t think it was just anyone who gave him that tip; Richard seemed pretty certain about it after receiving the phone call.”

Jacob looked up from his book to speak to me. “I see where you’re going. I don’t like it, but I see it.” He paused for a moment. “There were seven of us. Jeffrey and Craig died when we went after Christian, Robert’s dead now too, and I’m here with you. That leaves David, Fred, and Paul.”

“So any one of them could have set us up,” I said.

Jacob looked thoughtful then said, “We can kill two birds with one stone. Warn the guys Christian is alive, and find out if any of them told Robert about the ranch. I can’t see how they would betray him like that, seeing as Christian would want the rest of us as dead as Robert.”

“Maybe they had no choice? Christian is a vampire; he could have made them do it.”

“Could be. We’ll go ahead and eliminate the least likely first. That would be David. He was a real estate agent. Married, retired, moved to Florida about ten years ago and now captains a party boat out of the Keys. I don’t think it was him.”

Once Jacob found the page he wanted, he rolled to a different computer, logged on, and executed a program. Once that was done, he picked up the receiver of an old, hard-wired phone that sat next to the machine and dialed a number.

“No longer in service,” he said, frowning as he replaced the receiver. He went back to the first computer and started typing. A couple of internet searches later, he pulled up a newspaper article from seven months ago. David and his wife of forty-five years had gone out fishing and never returned. Their boat was found empty, drifting off the Keys.

“And you hadn’t heard about this?” I asked.

“David and I weren’t exactly close. I hadn’t seen the guy in almost twenty years; hadn’t spoken to him since I found out his wife had cancer a year ago.”

“You think it’s coincidence, David going missing right before all this stuff started happening with Christian?” I asked, before remembering who I was talking to.

“There are no such things as coincidences.” He flipped to another number in his book and dialed it. I could see the relief on his face when someone answered.

“Fred! Boy, am I glad to hear your voice. We got problems. Christian’s alive. …Yes,
that
Christian. He’s the one that killed Richard and wiped out his new crew. Plus, I think he got David.

“How do
you
know he didn’t get all of Robert’s new crew? Yes, I know he missed one; Chance is right here with me. …What do you mean, not Chance? Who? Robert’s niece? No, Fred, they got her. If she’s alive, then she’s one of them. That’s what I’m saying. No, you’ve got to get out fast! Fred? Fred!”

Jacob was trembling when he hung up the phone. His shoulders slumped as he sat back in his chair and talked to the ceiling.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked, but I had a feeling I knew.

“It looks like we found out what happened to your girlfriend’s sister, Chance. Katy called Fred earlier tonight. Told Fred she was Robert’s niece, that she knew who killed her uncle, and was coming to tell him. Then the line went dead. Looks like we were a few minutes too late.” Jacob fought back tears, and I saw his knuckles whiten as he gripped the chair arms.

“Where is Fred now?” I asked.

“That was his home number. He lives north, outside of town, on Pecan Street.”

“Let’s go!” I got up.

“What? Are you nuts? He’s already dead, and if we go, they’ll kill us too. Look, I’m sixty-seven years old, and even back in my prime, I didn’t go out on the jobs. I just found them. Collected the intel. Fighting was never my thing. Odds are Katy won’t be working solo. There will be more of them.”

“Fine; I’ll go myself. What’s the quickest way to get there?” I looked around at the various corridors, unsure of even how to get back to the elevator.

Jacob didn’t want to tell me, but he did anyway. I got the idea that this was a conversation he’d had many times in the distant past. I could imagine Robert and his old buddies razzing him about sitting back in some hideout while everyone else went and did the dangerous stuff.

I didn’t give him shit about it. Instead, I memorized the directions and tried not to think about the last time I rushed into a house full of vampires. The time when I actually had backup.

It was at this point that I realized my car was back at a downtown parking lot. On top of that, all I had on me was my handgun and Robert’s knife. The rest of my gear was sitting on the bed back at the hotel.

“I’ll need some weapons, and a car.”

I thought Jacob might argue. Use my lack of gear as an excuse to try again to dissuade me. But he nodded sadly and got up. He shuffled to an old metal cabinet and opened it. Rather than the racks of neatly laid-out weapons I was expecting, it was piled to the top with junk. Jacob motioned to an old army footlocker at the bottom of the heap. I grabbed one side and we tugged. The heavy chest slid out haltingly as everything on it tumbled down around us.

Jacob kicked aside a canteen and I heaved a couple of sleeping bags out of the way. Then Jacob opened the locker—and I was no longer disappointed. Inside were several black canvas gun cases, a couple of crossbows, and a myriad of stakes, vials, and other tools of the monster-slaying trade. I took a couple of stakes, and Jacob picked out one of the black bags and handed it to me. I unzipped it to find a relic.

“Does this thing even work?”

“’Course it works! Why would I keep it around if it didn’t?” Jacob fished out a large metal cylinder from the bag’s front pocket and handed it to me. “Here’s a hundred rounds to go with it.”

I snapped the drum in place below the Thompson sub-machine gun, then tested the hefty weight. I yearned for a mirror to see how much like a gangster I looked.

“I’ll have to take your word for it. The car?”

An apprehensive Jacob nodded and told me to follow him. We rode down in the elevator and went out a small, reinforced door. Behind the building, a chain-link fence topped by rusty razor wire surrounded a parking lot containing two vehicles: a banged-up delivery van with
Silver Spur Sewing & Vacuum Repair
scrawled on it in faded blue lettering, and an enormous car hidden under an off-white canvas cover.

Jacob nodded at the mountain of canvas, and I pulled off the tarp while Jacob opened the gate. Moments later I cruised out of the lot in a gold ’71 Cadillac convertible.

I was going to be too late. It didn’t matter that there was no traffic at this time of night, or that I was a roaring moving violation, breaking every speed limit on the way. The fact of the matter was I’d known Fred was dead even before Jacob placed the receiver on its cradle twenty minutes ago. Romping on the 500-cubic-inch engine wasn’t going to change that.

The Pecan Street addresses zoomed by as I sped down the rural road outside northern San Antonio. There were no streetlights, and despite the car’s high beams, I almost missed the house. At the last second, I caught the brass numbers fixed to a crumpled old mailbox that had been used for batting practice more than once.

Applying the brakes with authority, I fishtailed onto the dirt driveway of 2112. The back of the monstrously large Caddy slid sideways towards a withered oak. I spun the wheel furiously, sending the tail careening the other way only inches before it would have slammed into the tree. The car bucked furiously as I fought for control, tearing up the uneven drive toward an ancient white farmhouse.

I could see a soft orange glow pulsing from a second-story window. Unlike modern Texas houses, which were built of stone or brick, this one was all wood. If those were flames, they were going to go through that house like, well, like a house on fire. Then they’d spread to the surrounding woods, which would fare little better than tinder thanks to a hot, dry August.

The house was set back about a hundred yards off the road, which was just long enough for me to stop fishtailing and get control of the land yacht before skidding to a stop between an old black Explorer and an even older blue Chevy pickup parked in front of the house.

I hopped out of the car before it had finished coming to a halt, its bumper stopping a breath away from the wooden porch. I spent the next few precious seconds trying to open the trunk before remembering the car had a different key for the locks than the ignition. I fumbled with the loop of keys before finding the right one. I opened the cavernous trunk and retrieved the Thompson, worked the bolt, and flicked off the safety.

I ran to the house, taking the porch stairs in one leap. The front door was open, and I bulled right through it and across a small foyer to the stairs, which I began climbing two at a time. I ignored the first floor entirely. That was my first mistake.

Now that I was in the house, I knew that the glow I had seen in the second-story window was definitely flames. Initially the smoke wasn’t bad, but it got thicker the farther I ascended the steps, and by the time I made it to the second-story landing, it was hovering a few feet below the ceiling in a dark mass. Not bothering to take the time to put a wet cloth over my nose and mouth was mistake number two.