A Vampyre's Sunrise, Jeff Schanz [best summer books .txt] 📗

And I don’t think I’m gonna strike out tonight.” She waggled fingers at the busboy who had been staring at her while he loaded plates into his tray.

Marge said, “Don’t mind her. Is your husband gone a lot?”

“Sometimes,” said Lia. “He will be gone this afternoon. I was very used to being lonely before I met him, but – not so much anymore.”

“Oh, dear lord, sweetie. What happened to you when you were young?”

Lia shrunk into her chair.

“Never mind,” said Marge. “If you think you’d like to try one, you just say the word, and ol’ Marge will get you hooked up. A sweet little thing like you shouldn’t go into an adult store by herself.”

Lia looked at Marge hopefully. “You would get one for me?”

“Sure, honey. What size and color would you like?”

Lia kneaded her hands in her lap. “I don’t – know.”

Celia stopped staring at the busboy and turned toward the conversation. “Jesus, Marge, you’re embarrassing her worse than I do.”

Marge held her hands out. “What?”

Celia shook her head. “She’ll want pink for Christ’s sake.” She leaned toward Lia. “Sweetie, I like mine large, but not all women do. Unless, of course, you’re used to something that size?”

Marge exploded. “Oh, good lord, you drunk ho. You’re asking the girl how damned big her man’s dick is?”

“You just asked her what color cock she liked, ya hypocritical ho cake,” sniped Celia.

Lia was lost for any kind of response. First of all, she had no idea how large men’s penises were supposed to be, and what variety they came in, much less how Brandt’s organ matched up. She had read technical statistics in medical books, plus many fictional descriptions from romance books, but there were no reasonable measuring indexes to judge such things. She honestly had never even considered the issue. Men’s penises changed so vastly in size and shape depending on the man’s mood anyway. She had nothing on her body that came close to doing that. Well, perhaps her fangs, but those were another matter. Brandt was a tall man, so maybe…?

Marge was still going on. “Lord, she’ll think we’re both horrible people, asking her…”

“Large?” said Lia in a mousy voice.

Celia grinned wickedly. “There ya go. One electric pink Kong Dong for the lady it is,” she said.

CHAPTER 7

 

 

 

 

The man watched the white Ford Explorer pull into the parking lot of a small chain of concrete block buildings along the side of a busy road. The neighborhood was not somewhere people who owned nice new cars like the Explorer would normally linger. Besides the Explorer, two other cars turned into the parking lot. One was a late model Honda Accord and the other was a new convertible Mustang. All three cars bunched together as they parked. The driver of the Honda, a full-figured black woman, and the driver of the Mustang, an athletic-figured white woman, got out of their cars. Neither of them was the man’s target.

His target was in the Explorer. She wasn’t alone in the car. The driver was an armed man, young-looking, red hair, ex-military, and wiry. The watcher briefly tracked the two other ladies as they walked into a store, then he re-focused on the Explorer. The target remained in the back seat of her car. Within minutes, the two other ladies came back out with a package. They gave the package to the target, then the larger woman reached into the Explorer and hugged the target. Eventually, they got back into their own cars. At that point, all three cars cranked up and left in separate directions.

The watcher knew where the target lived. His job was to find daily routines outside the target’s home. But so far he had found no discernable routine. The target rarely left the house, and when she did, it wasn’t to consistent places like grocery stores. On the occasion when she did go grocery shopping, she had a larger than normal armed detail probably to help carry the immense amount of food she bought. Everywhere else she went, she had at least one armed escort. He let the cars all disappear down the road.

He packed up his binoculars and started his own vehicle. His master would not like his report. The desired situation was to avoid penetrating the target’s home complex since it had high walls, security cameras, and numerous armed men. That would cause a much too noticeable scene. However, it may be the only way. Perhaps he would wait to report. Do more reconnaissance. The man pulled onto the road and sped off.

 

 

* * * *

 

 

“There it is,” said Brandt.

Tom nodded and slowed the car. The house was tiny with a driveway barely long enough for a car’s rear bumper to stay out of traffic. Not that there was any traffic here. The narrow residential street looked like it was the neighborhood defacto playground and dumpster combined. Two young Hispanic boys played in the street, beating trash with sticks. A middle-aged black man stood in his yard watering something, glaring at Brandt and his partner.

Brandt got out of the car and looked around. He was acutely aware that in this neighborhood, two white men in suits, driving a government-issue Crown Victoria, was probably a sign that somebody was in trouble. He tried not to look menacing and waved at the little boys. The boys stared at him for one moment, then resumed their game a little further away. The man watering his lawn simply stood still and watched Tom and Brandt.

Tom put his hands on his hips as he looked at the house. “Doesn’t look like anyone lives here,” he said.

The house was run-down to be sure, but so were most of the houses along that street. However, one of the front windows had been broken, and there didn’t seem to be an attempt to cover it or tape it up. It may not have mattered since the tip said that Jamir Davis was hiding out here, not necessarily a long term resident. Brandt slowly walked a little further to the side of the driveway as Tom approached the broken window near the front door. Within Brandt’s view, there was a small exterior structure in the back yard that might be a storage shed. It was unlikely to be a garage since only a narrow walkway led up to it. There were no windows and the wide door was padlocked. Brandt saw no movement or anything else on the side of the house to be concerned with. He relaxed the hand resting on his pistol holster. The holster was normally kept in his truck because he didn’t like Lia seeing him carrying a gun, and he only pulled it out when Tom took him on leads. It was the same holster and pistol he had liberated from one of the assassins who had attacked him on Lia’s island. Perhaps a morbid thing to do, but it was an expensive gun, and it reminded Brandt to remain vigilant.

“I think we’re clear over here,” said Brandt.

“Yeah, I don’t see anyone inside,” said Tom. “Just to be thorough, I’ll knock.”

That didn’t sound like a good idea, but Brandt said nothing. If someone was hiding from you, and was a suspected vicious murderer, standing in front of the door was giving them an easy target. Tom at least leaned to the side of the door as he rapped his knuckles on it.

“Hello?” called Tom. “Anybody home?”

No sound, no movement. Brandt took a step to his left to see the back corner of the house better, in case someone tried to escape around the rear. There was a rusty schoolyard fence back there that an escapee would have to jump to get completely away.

“Hello?” continued Tom. “Jamir? I’m Colonel Tom Hart from the U.S. Army. I just want to talk with you.”

Brandt thought he saw something. It was probably a trick of his peripheral vision, so he moved a few steps closer to a side window and looked in.

“Jamir?” called Tom. “We just want to talk with you, if you’re in there.”

Something definitely moved in the house. It was a dark shape moving quickly left to right.

“Tom!” said Brandt in a loud whisper.

Tom turned. “What?” he asked in the same loud whisper.

Brandt wasn’t able to reply. The front door exploded in a flurry of splinters and smoke. Wood shards pelted the porch and ground. Tom tucked his head into his jacket and covered with his arms. The hole created in the door was the size of a volleyball and was speckled with other tiny holes. A shotgun blast. Tom had been leaning away from the door and received no direct hit.

“Shit!” growled Brandt, ducking.

He unsnapped his holster and removed his pistol as an immediate reaction, chambering a round as Brandt considered which direction he should move.

“You ok?” barked Brandt. The door’s explosion had temporarily made his ears ring.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” said Tom. “Check the back. I’ll stay in the front.”

Brandt didn’t acknowledge, he just took off. He moved smoothly, kept low, and circled to the back of the house. A quick peek around the corner showed no one in the back yard.

The rear of the house had another door and two more windows. Brandt was going to call out, “clear” but didn’t. He would wait a few seconds and see if anyone tried to exit the back. If the gunman knew he was there, the guy may try something else violent. As it was, the gunman may not know there was more than one man outside. Brandt waited. He thought he heard running feet thumping the floorboards inside. Assuming the guy would probably come out the back door, Brandt trained his gun on it.

The noises inside ceased. Brandt crept a stride closer to the door, then went still. He was under one of the windows, low enough to not be visible through the window. He held his breath expecting the gunman to burst through the door any moment.

“Be careful,” Lia had said. “It’s no big deal,” Brandt had replied, not wanting to worry her. He certainly hadn’t expected a gunfight, but he had been in a number of them, he was experienced and smart, and had come out of all of them alive. But he had usually been hell-bent on a mission. Right now, he had no idea what he was facing, or why it was important. All he knew was that a man was inside this house who would prefer to shoot anyone who came a-callin’. Brandt wasn’t even sure it was their man Jamir. His usual cucumber cool wasn’t what it used to be. When he was in the Army, all he could think about was backing up his Army brothers. He could accept his death if it saved them. But now? He had Lia to think about. What would happen to her if he was killed? What would happen to their marriage if he was maimed? He had been a one-man army when he cut down two dozen soldiers on Lia’s island, and then half a dozen more on his enemy’s yacht because his mission was to save Lia or die trying. Now, he just didn’t want to die. Lia wasn’t in danger here. His mind was swarming with distractions and he didn’t hear the extra footstep inside the house.

The window above him shattered. Glass and wood flew over him like a swarm of angry insects. Brandt’s first reaction was to hit the ground and cover. The sound of a near point-blank shotgun blast combined with the sudden burst of glass, metal, and wood would be frightening to even the bravest warriors, and Brandt was no exception. He tucked his head into his chest and braced his arms across them both. He had barely begun to unclench when something landed on top of him.

It was a man. Or something crazed that looked like a man.

The man’s feet hit Brandt mid-back and he was pounded into the hard ground, his pistol tumbling out of his fingers.