Nocturnal Read online

  He would suffer no pain, just an astonishing impact, like getting slammed with a sledgehammer. The bullet would drill through his chest cavity, pulverizing bone upon entry and exit, rupturing the aorta, the vena cava, possibly one or more chambers of the heart, and collapsing at least one lung.

  The transferred kinetic energy would throw him forward hard into the door now in front of him. He would slide down the door to the ground, leaving greasy red stains on the metal. He would die gasping, wondering what the hell had happened, why he was suddenly so fatigued, struggling so hard to breathe...

  But none of that happened.

  Rudy reached out and grabbed the hook–style door handle. His fingers curled around it, and he pushed down. The handle moved at his command, and he pulled the door open. He stepped inside, into the dark hallway. He stood there a moment, getting his bearings.

  His eyes adjusted, ciliary muscles relaxing, pupils expanding, twin apertures on creation’s most miraculous cameras. All was quiet. No sound, except for his own breathing, and the pounding pulse from his own beating heart. The hallway in front of him remained black as midnight. Beyond that, at the end of the hall, he detected a faint pool, a paleness of the gloom, seen through the glass top half of the door at the end of the hall.

  He moved forward, methodically, one foot in front of the other. His shooting hand never wavered far from his handgun underneath his coat. He could almost imagine invisible cobwebs hanging down from the ceiling, dancing across his face as he passed underneath all but the lowest hanging threads, gossamer tendrils. He practically half-expected for a zombie or a vampire to jump out at him, its rotting face screaming and moaning, milky eyes bulging, arms outstretched, fingers clutching for the soft flesh on his own throat. Mouth open, lips pulled back, long fangs ready to sink into his neck...

  Rudy shivered, shook his head, angry with himself. Too many damn horror movies, he told himself. Maybe I should start watching comedies – or love stories, he thought.

  He managed to get to the far end of the hall without being eaten alive by rotting bloated zombies, or being drained of his life-giving blood by some Euro trash wannabe Dracula. The heavy metal industrial type door sported a large window taking up almost half the upper portion of the riveted frame. Even in the pale light, he could see the tiny chicken wire embedded between the two layers of glass, reinforcing the pane.

  Through the glass, he could see the expansive floor of the main warehouse. He remembered both the delightful and horrible events that had taken place here. His paranoia returned. He wondered whether this next experience would be delightful or terrible

  He hesitated a moment. His hand drifted upwards from beside his thigh, reaching for the door handle. He noted it too was a hooked lever. A simple pull up or push down would be enough to open the lock and push through the doorway. His hand hovered for a moment longer, tension knotting up in his neck, between his shoulders.

  Face it like a man, he told himself. Everybody dies.

  Don’t be a pussy.

  His fingers curled around the door handle, tightened around it in a firm grip. He pushed downward without much thought. He heard the tumblers in the doorframe click open. He turned his shoulder towards the door and pushed, putting his weight behind it to move the heavy door. The door gave, pushing open without any noticeable sound, and Rudy stepped through the frame and into the huge, high-ceilinged room.

  Rudy paused, allowing the door, on its own hydraulic piston, to close behind him. To his left, nothing but gloom. Within the gloom, he could make out row upon row of boxes and wooden crates, arranged neatly to create wide lanes in between them, wide enough for forklifts to maneuver. These boxes and crates, which contained legitimate manufactured goods, were stacked atop each other over twelve feet high. Mr. Vargas’s import and export business was a legitimate enterprise that laundered his gains from his more shady endeavors.

  “Ah, Rudy!” A voice, familiar, cracking the silence far off to his left.

  Rudy’s head turned in that direction. Down at the end of a wide lane, under a shaded industrial lamp that shone its yellow light directly downward, a misshapen, bent, grey metal desk of questionable age and origin squatted low to the ground. Behind this desk, sitting in an equally antiquated Government – surplus swivel chair covered in a matching grey fake leather material, was Mr. Vargas himself, smiling, like he was welcoming a guest into his home. He motioned with his hand for Rudy to join him.

  Real friendly.

  Rudy spun on his heel, began walking down the long lane towards his boss. He now noticed Rick Oakley standing beside Vargas, slightly behind him and to his right. A few other trusted confidants stood in the shadows to Vargas’s left. Everyone seemed to be at ease, smiling. No tension.

  Everyone’s eyes were on him. His right hand never ventured far from the handgun just beneath his jacket. Since everyone seemed to be smiling at him as he approached, he smiled back. Smiling would not cause him to hesitate –not even for a millisecond - if he suddenly felt the need to kill them.

  When he was about twenty feet away, he saw Mr. Vargas slowly rise from his chair behind the desk. Oakley grabbed the back of the chair, pulling it back and out of the boss’s way. Vargas smiled warmly, made his way around the desk and stood in front, directly in front of Rudy as he approached. Vargas opened his arms wide.

  “Rudy,” he greeted.

  Rudy was less than ten feet away. “Mr. Vargas.”

  Vargas enveloped Rudy in a huge, affectionate embrace. More than a bit surprised, Rudy finally patted Vargas on the back, perfunctorily returning the hug.

  Vargas grabbed him by the shoulders. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “It wouldn’t be right to get started without you. Not after everything you’ve given in service to me, and the organization. And certainly not after what you’ve been through the past couple of days.”

  Vargas motioned to a chair facing the desk. “Please. Have a seat.”

  Rudy glanced around. He knew all the men here were dangerous, trained and experienced killers. Yet none of them gave off a threatening vibe. So Rudy sat down.

  Vargas waked back around the desk. Oakley grabbed the back of the boss’s chair as Vargas positioned himself in front of the cushion. As he bent his legs to sit, Oakley moved the chair towards him, seating him, and helping move the chair forward until it was a comfortable distance from the desk itself.

  “You said something about getting started, sir,” Rudy stated. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re handling some business tonight,” Vargas replied. “Business that will affect the organization. And since you are an integral part of our organization, it affects you, too, in a very real way.”

  “I don’t understand, sir.”

  Vargas smiled indulgently. “Look. I know you thought we were going to snuff you,” he said. “Nothing could be further from the truth. I never had any doubt you’d keep your mouth shut to the cops. Sanctioning a hit on you never crossed my mind.”

  Rudy shifted a bit in his chair. He wanted to believe this was true.

  Vargas bent to one side, reached down behind the desk. Rudy stiffened, his hand drifting across the front of his unzipped jacket, his eyes glued to Vargas’s every move, every nuance. But when Vargas sat back up, he held a thick envelope, tannish brown in color, almost like a paper bag. He sat the package down on the desktop. Then he pushed it forward, towards Rudy.

  The room was silent for a moment. Rudy did not move to take possession of the curious package.

  “What is this?” Rudy asked.

  “Four hundred fifty thousand dollars. U.S. currency. Cash, of course.”

  “What for?”

  “ Consider it your Golden Parachute. A reward for services above and beyond the call of duty,” Vargas responded.

  “Are you retiring me, sir?”

  “I am giving you the choice. Continue serving, or you can opt out. You can retire now if you want. You’ve earned that option.”

  Rudy slowly reached out acro
ss the desk and took possession of the moneybag. “This is a very generous offer. Can I think about it?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.”

  Vargas looked around the area. “Now,” he said, with an air of formality, “on to new business.”

  Suddenly, the air seemed filled with static electricity. The men in the area tensed a bit, anticipating their boss’s next words.

  “I have run this organization for a long time,” Vargas began. “We have prospered. All of us.” The men in the room nodded in agreement. “But as we all know, nothing lasts forever,” he added. “I myself have had a good, long run. I have risen, and I have no desire to fall. So as of tonight, effective immediately, I shall retire – both from this organization, and the business it serves.”

  Absolute silence in the room. The air seemed heavy with confusion, doubts about the future.

  “Every great organization grows until one day it becomes self-sustaining. It takes on a life of its own, and becomes bigger, more powerful than any one man,” he instructed.

  “Our organization is no different,” he concluded. “The important thing is to appoint a new leader who has the knowledge, skills, and moxie to continue the company along its current path with a minimum of upheaval. Someone who will take the reins and continue down the path we have already set.” He sat back in his chair.

  “I have selected Rick Oakley to be my successor,” he announced. “I am confident all of you will give him the same duty, honor, service, and loyalty you gave me.”

  Now Rudy understood it all.

  Vargas stood up, motioned to the chair. “Mr. Oakley, the chair, with its inherent headaches and heartaches, is yours.”

  Oakley stepped forward without hesitation. He sat down in the chair, easing himself into it. He used his legs to force the chair closer to the desk as Vargas took a step back into the shadows.

  “Thank you, Mr. Vargas, for your faith in me to take the helm of our organization.” He looked over his shoulder at Vargas. “I can assure you of one thing, sir. You will not be disappointed.”

  Vargas nodded.

  Oakley turned to look at Rudy, paused his gaze there for a beat, then glanced around at the rest of the assembled men. “Now. On to new business,” he announced. “We still have a problem with this undercover cop, this Reginald Downing.”

  A murmur of agreement rippled among the men. Oakley noticed even Rudy nodded his head in agreement. He saw the anger and sense of betrayal in Rudy’s eyes. That’s Rudy, he thought. Loyal to the end.

  “The cold, hard fact is, this organization is under threat of imminent danger.” Oakley paused for the dramatic effect. “Make no mistake about it, gentlemen. We are in harm’s way.

  “As you know, I am ex-military. Quite a few of you are, as well. So let us speak as military men.”

  Oakley paused, giving them a few seconds of realize they were witnessing not only a change in leadership, but also in leadership style. Oakley planned to run the organization like a military unit -- small, elite, highly trained, highly skilled, highly disciplined. Highly motivated men, all operating as part of a larger team, a well-oiled machine. Oakley was expecting - no he was demanding - military efficiency.

  No words spoken; no questions raised. None were needed. Everyone knew the score.

  “I’ve pondered this. I believe in order to safeguard the organization, Reginald Downing must die.”

  Another murmur of approval rippled amongst the men. Oakley noticed them looking amongst themselves, nodding, responding in a positive manner.

  “Gentlemen, let me be clear,” Oakley continued. “I am not a fan of killing cops. Bad for business. If anyone has a better idea, now’s the time to speak up.”

  Silence in the room.

  “I’m serious. If anyone has an idea that resolves this without killing a cop, I’m all ears.”

  Continued silence.

  “Very well. This is the hand we’ve been dealt, gentlemen. So let’s handle our business. Otherwise, this business will handle us.”

  Oakley stood up, the meeting officially over. Several of the men began to move towards the door, talking amongst themselves. Oakley looked at Rudy, who sat still and silent in his chair.

  “If I were you, Rudy I’d play it smart. Take the money and run. You’ve got other resources, cash stashes, investment portfolios.”

  Rudy said nothing.

  “Get in your car, man. Drive off. Go somewhere nice and quiet, live off your investments.”

  Rudy glanced away, thinking things over. Then he looked back at Oakley. “I can’t turn tail and run when my friends are in danger.”

  Oakley, nodded, truly impressed. “Okay then. Help me finish this. Then you’re officially retired. And I’ll double the money Vargas gave you.”

  Rudy stood up. “Agreed.”

  The two men shook hands, each with firm grips. Then Rudy turned and walked back the way he came, melting into the gloom.

  “A natural warrior, that one,” Vargas commented.

  “That he is.”

  “You knew he’d stay?”

  Oakley nodded.

  “What if he had opted out?”

  “He didn’t”. Oakley turned to Vargas. “You should be getting out of here. A whole shitstorm is about to come raining down.”

  Vargas knew Oakley was right. They shook hands, then hugged, patting each other on the back.

  “Vaya con dios, amigo,” Oakley said.

  Vargas smiled, nodded. Almost overcome with conflicting emotion, he turned and walked away, away from his friends, from his colleagues, from the business he had built. But he was also walking away from double-crosses and turncoats. Undercover policemen. Assassination attempts.

  He was walking towards more money than he could ever spend, towards a modern, modest house on a white sandy beach, just feet away from clear, azure blue waters teeming with fish. Vargas had taken up skin diving and snorkeling on his visits down South, and the reef about one hundred yards out from the shore provided an abundance of marine life – fish, crustaceans, and more.

  Oakley sat back down at his desk. Heavy weighs the crown that sits upon a troubled brow, he reminded himself. He pulled out his cell phone, dialed a number. It picked up on the second ring.

  “Good evening, Mr. Police Man,” he greeted. “Do you have the home address on that cop of yours?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The vampire maneuvered his Lexus through the street traffic with practiced ease. Even with the sunglasses back on, he saw everything with perfectly clarity and definition. His peripheral vision was unencumbered, as his peripheral vision had expanded when he became born to the night. A result of his altered and increased predatory DNA, the vampire had a full one hundred eighty degree active field of vision.

  Reggie, beside him, appeared to be at ease, casual. He glanced out the window at the passing city streets, the people walking by, living their lives. But he also noticed everything. The fine detail of the car’s interior, the hand stitched leather. The smooth, unhurried motions of the vampire driving the car. The pale bony hands and long, slender fingers curved around the padded steering wheel.

  “So,” Reggie said, “do you have a name, or should I simply call you ‘Vampire’?”

  The vampire smiled. “I have a name,” he answered. “I do not identify with it much. I use one for business purposes.”

  “You have a job?” The vampire nodded. “What do you do?”

  “I am a stockbroker,” the vampire replied.

  Reggie stared at him, mouth agape, assuming this was a joke.

  “I specialize in the Asian markets. I work at night from home.”

  “Man this is too much,” Reggie said. “First I find out vampires exist, then I find out I have a vampire guardian angel, and he’s a fucking stockbroker?”

  “We all must make a living.”

  “What about client meetings?”

  “My clients prefer anonymity, as do I.”

  “Convenie
nt.”

  “It is the nature of many business dealings these days,” the vampire opined. “We insulate ourselves away from others. Anonymity equals safety.”

  “Safe from what?”

  “From whatever people are afraid of. Young people these days seem afraid of real human interaction.”

  “Human interaction can be risky.”

  “No excuse,” the vampire countered. “Human relationships have been risky since the beginning of time.”

  “Maybe things are worse now. More complicated.”

  “Poppycock,” the vampire responded dismissively. “There lies nothing new under the sun, my dear boy. It seems to me that people now possess fewer skills and less patience when dealing with difficulties that inevitably crop up in all human interactions.”

  “Maybe people simply don’t want to get hurt when a relationship goes bad.”

  “That is a cowardice, and you know it,” the vampire spat. “Without being brave enough to take the risks, you may never get hurt. But you also deny yourself the reaping of big rewards.”

  “No guts, no glory, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Precisely.”

  They drove in silence for a bit. They crossed through a green light where Park intersected with University.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You prefer diners.”

  “How did you know that?”

  The vampire pulled his shades down on his nose, glanced over the top of them at his passenger.

  “Of course,” Reggie said, answering his own question. “You’re a vampire.”

  The vampire, smiled, pushed his glasses back up on his nose, covering his eyes.

  The Lexus slowed. The vampire put on his blinker, got into the far right lane. Traffic ebbed and flowed at the next intersection, allowing the vampire to turn right onto El Cajon Boulevard. They headed east, moving down a hill, bottoming out quickly at Florida Avenue, then climbing up the other side. The vampire put his blinker on again, dutifully checked his driver’s side rear view mirror, then seamlessly changed lanes to the left.