For a long time, the unofficial credo attributed to New Yorkers had been “I don’t want to get involved.” This was all thanks to a well-publicized murder from the 1960’s. Most of us like to think that when shit is going down, we’ll react in a way that would make our mothers proud. In reality, oftentimes putting one’s fingers in one’s ears and going “la la la” is the easier course. The thing is, occasionally it’s the wiser one as well.
Sadly, much like the elven battlemage I play at my weekly D&D game, I wasn’t known for my wisdom.
I’d gone a few blocks at most, the empty streets zipping by in the darkness as I put my speed to good use, when I heard the cry.
It had been faint, easy to miss even in a slumbering city, but my hearing was several times sharper than a normal person’s. Despite my intent to get home and kick my roommates awake so as to brainstorm a solution to my problems, I stopped and listened. The cry came again, followed by the sharp bark of what sounded like a small dog. Had someone’s Pomeranian gotten loose and was, even now, rampaging through the streets while its hapless owner chased after it?
Oh well, that wasn’t my problem. Stupid fucking rat dogs. I was about to ignore it and continue on my way when my overly sensitive ears picked up another voice – this one low, barely audible even to me.
“Scream all you want, bitch.”
That stopped me dead in my tracks. A smart person would have dialed 911. Hell, a smart vampire would too, right before getting the fuck out of there. Not that I believed in playing to stereotypes, but I probably didn’t look like the type who’d be wandering these streets alone at this time. The last thing I needed was a suspicious cop thinking I was a meth-head out looking to score.
It was the small part of me enamored with being a vampire that ultimately decided to pursue what was surely an insane course of action. That’s the thing about waking up one day with super powers. It tends to dull our logic circuits while automatically making us believe in our own invincibility. Of course, it’s that kind of bullshit reasoning that makes people sew up a homemade Batman costume only to end up in the morgue by day’s end.
Damn my sense of social responsibility! Despite knowing the monumental stupidity of what I was about to do, I homed in on the direction of the voices and took off at full speed – hoping to not become yet another sad statistic in a city with far too many.
♦ ♦ ♦
I glanced around the corner and saw them. Two men, both of average height, stood over their victim an old woman, her brown skin covered in wrinkles, easily seventy, maybe more. She was sitting with her back against the alley wall, holding her little dog protectively. The mutt looked small enough to fit inside a hamster cage. As far as protection went, one would’ve been hard pressed to pick a more useless theft deterrent. The little rodent let out a warning bark every few seconds, but even it seemed to sense how idle its threats were.
This was all happening between two rundown apartment complexes. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had transpired. Apparently granny there had decided to take Fido for a walk, lest the little beast piss her rug again. Sadly, she’d picked a night when there were predators about.
A small part of me wondered where the cops were. The old woman’s cries had fallen silent, no doubt under threat from the two goons accosting her, but the dog’s shrill yips were plenty loud in the narrow confines of the space.
Almost as if in answer to my unasked question, a voice came from above. “Shut the fuck up!” The sound of a window slamming shut followed a moment later.
Such a wonderful neighborhood.
“You heard the man, bitch,” one of the assailants said, his voice betraying a slight Latino lilt. He picked up a discarded flashlight, probably the old lady’s, and threw it against the wall where it shattered. “Shut your fucking dog up. Or better yet, we will.”
The woman shrank back even further, cradling the dog to her like it was a child. Hell, the little rodent probably was to her. When she spoke, her voice was low and pleading. “Please don’t hurt Mr. Piddles. I gave you my purse, that’s all I have.”
Mr. Piddles?
The two men chuckled and then the other answered, “We don’t want your purse, you old bag. We want you.”
Oh, crap. So much for this being a simple mugging. What is it with the sick fucks in this world? Had this merely been an altercation over a few dollars, I might still have minded my own business. Now, though, shit was about to get serious. It was time to show these assholes that there were darker things afoot this night.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
♦ ♦ ♦
I took a moment to pull the hood of my light jacket up over my head, taking a cue from Bruce Willis in Unbreakable. Too bad for these fuckheads that they were both about to audition for the role of Mr. Glass.
That done, I let loose with all my speed – racing to their position before they could make good on their threats. I put my head down and shoulder-tackled the first, sending him flying into his friend. It was a hit that would have gotten me a first round draft pick as an NFL linebacker had any scouts been present. Sadly, such a career change seemed unlikely, so I had to take satisfaction at seeing the two dickwads go tumbling head over heels to land in a heap.
Taking a moment to enjoy my handiwork, I turned toward the old lady – her eyes now wide circles of white in the dark alleyway. I’d probably appeared so fast that she didn’t have a clue what was happening.
“It’s okay.” I held out a hand to her. “You’re safe...”
“Well, well, seems we got ourselves a fucking hero here.”
Guess I spoke too soon. I glanced over, wondering if maybe the assholes had backup. Instead, I saw them both up on their feet. What the fuck? I’d hit them hard enough to easily crack bone. The only way these guys should have been standing was after a long stay in the hospital followed by weeks of physical therapy. Yet they appeared unhurt. Either these guys were really good actors, I was a lot less tough than I thought, or...
That “or” part was confirmed when the first one smiled in my direction. The expression held no mirth to it. It was the look of someone who knew something the other didn’t. A moment later I was clued in as I watched his canines elongate. Fuck me. What were the chances I’d run into a couple of HBC vamps?
Actually, considering they were right in front of me, probably one-hundred percent.
Just wonderful. I’d been paddling down shit’s creek all night and now I’d just turned a bend and spotted rapids ahead.
♦ ♦ ♦
Thankfully it was too dark for the old lady to see much – aside from maybe her attackers not being out of the fight yet. That in of itself was bad enough. Had she possessed night vision like me and seen that she was now in the presence of monsters, I can’t help but think that might have sent her off the deep end.
“Don’t you fucking move,” the second attacker, an ugly guy with pockmarked skin and a shaved head, told the old woman. Much to my annoyance, she shrank back and obeyed. Hell, I couldn’t even get my former college girlfriend to do that when she was shitfaced drunk.
“It’ll be all right,” I whispered to her, although I had to imagine how lame that sounded. Hell, I was having a hard time convincing myself. Ending up the meat in a beat-down sandwich didn’t seem like a particularly wonderful way to end my evening.
“So, hero,” the first one said mockingly, “you want to put on your cape and fly now? No? Maybe you want to try running then? Go ahead. Try it.”
Hmm, obviously these guys thought I was just some random Good Samaritan. Still, I seriously considered doing as he said. As young as I was, I had little doubt putting on a burst of vampire speed would surprise them long enough for me to get my ass to safety.
But then I glanced over and saw the old lady, still cowering with her pet squirrel. I knew now this wasn’t a simple robbery. These were vampires and they were out hunting. It was a fair bet they weren’t here to recruit either. They’d drain her dry and then leave her for the rats. Fuck me and my sense of decency, but I couldn’t allow that.
Instead of doing the smart thing, I said, “I don’t run from asses. I kick them.”
I faced them down and bared my fangs, hoping maybe the presence of another vamp might cause them to back off. How and why that would work – I had no idea, but hope was a fool’s errand anyway and I was apparently quite the fool.
At the very least, it caused them to hesitate for a second, just long enough for me to realize it was time to put up or shut up. During my first few weeks as a vamp, Sally had imparted upon me the necessity of appearance in the world of the undead. I’d taken it to heart then, but I’ll be the first to admit I’d let it lapse in the months since I’d taken the top spot. It was time to relearn that lesson all over again.
I took a step forward, feigning confidence I didn’t feel, trying to psych myself out by remembering that these two might be vampires, but they were still big enough pussies that they felt the need to gang up on a feeble old woman. The thought – asshole predators singling out the old and weak – pissed me off and I used that anger as an anchor to keep myself from doing the smart thing and turning tail.
“Who the fuck are you?” the first guy asked. “This is our territory. The HBC don’t like no...”
“You know damn well who I am, shithead,” I snarled. “Some of your friends met me a few months back. They didn’t really enjoy that. I don’t think you will either.”
“Oh, shit, man,” Baldy said. “No fucking way. You’re that Freewill freak.”
I gave a mock bow. “I see my reputation precedes me.” Thank God for a semester of drama club at NJIT.
“You killed Big Mike,” the first one said. “He was my friend, motherfucker.”
I’d done nothing of the sort. The Howard Beach Coven had been caught recruiting above their quota and James had culled their excess numbers as a lesson to them. Unfortunately, I’d somehow gotten stuck with the tab. Sadly, placing the blame on someone who wasn’t there probably wasn’t my ticket to getting out of this mess. “Maybe you need to make better friends.”
“Or maybe we need to bring your ass back to Samuel. Bet he’d reward us real good.”
Oh fuck. Samuel was the HBC’s master. From what I’d heard, he was two hundred years old, tough as nails, and had a major chip on his shoulder. That he also blamed me for the deaths of his coven members made it a fair bet that any meeting between us wouldn’t involve hugs, pats on the back, or even a friendly reach around.
That sealed it. I either had to win this fight or hope for a really quick and preferably painless death.