The Vampires Of Livix Twin Pack (Volumes #2 & #3) Page 5

  Garin sprinted from his car. He didn’t see any swords about the SUV. Only handguns lying askew in the dirt, as they are more easily concealed than long swords meant to decapitate a vampire. But he needed something sharp.

  Garin remembered his metallurgy. He reached behind the wheel of the SUV laying upside down and yanked one of the longest leaf spring leaves out of the broken rear suspension that hung loose of the battered body. A knife edge gleamed along the jagged tip of the high carbon steel in his hand. He knew under a microscope what the cut edge characterized, why the metal fractured at the angle it did, how the softer core provided toughness while the much harder outer surface gave it strength and sharpness. He knew the methods used to impart these product features into the steel from heating them up in a furnace and dropping them in an oil quench before pushing them through a secondary annealing furnace treatment. But now only the sharpness of the edge mattered. Garin used this blade to take the heads off the dazed guards before returning to the pinned executive Sandro.

  Sandro said as Garin approached him, “There’s more than you think going on.”

  “Of course.” Garin knew what they both understood.

  “I can help you.” Sandro’s crushed body already furiously knitted itself back to health under the heavy iron pressing him into the hard dirt. Sandro talked to snatch time from their conversation so he could get the strength necessary to escape.

  “Not the kind of help I need.” Garin stroked the spring down through Sandro’s neck. He turned and threw the bloody spring like a helicopter blade. The jagged strip of metal spun over the arch of the hill and deep into the forest beyond. Anger or pain. He did not know what made his killing so mechanical. The vampire blood flowing stronger in his veins, the continued threats from these radical vampires, or what Anna did in leaving him? He couldn’t reason them individually but whether singly or combined the result remained – he felt more like a vampire now than ever before.

  Turning his car around on the crunching gravel he saw his fuel gage indicated a need for gasoline.

  -:- Six -:-

  “Really nice car.”

  Garin looked around the gas pump to see the owner of the voice until he saw her. “Thanks.”

  “Did you make the tribal design and the color choice? Or do you have a number I can call to detail my pickup?”

  Garin stepped around the pump hose so he could see her better. Long black hair and the unmistakable thin brown irises pushed tight against their outer rim. A pretty vampire made when young, athletic, and vibrant. A curve of a teasing smile on her face. Garin’s pump handle clicked that his tank had filled so he dragged it out of his car and rammed it into the fuel pump stand. “I chose the colors and the style. I asked a friend of mine to actually paint it. We did some computer drawings first until it looked right.”

  “I like the tribal pattern. It seems like fun if I got a tramp stamp across the tailgate.”

  “Fun indeed.” The fuel pump beeped at Garin. He glanced at the buttons and selected the six questions including car wash and other inane queries; he wanted it to end the transaction. “What color did you want to lay over the black paint you have?”

  A breeze blew her dark hair strands across her face and she hooked them aside with her pinkie and licked her reddened lip, “I like how subtle you made the two colors, perfect for your car, but I thought I might use neon something.”

  “That’s a good style too.” He also liked how her black tank-tops hugged her torso and revealed her athletic arms and shoulders, her delicate collarbones, and caressed her tight breasts.

  “Do you have a business card? Then I can call you to arrange something … or look at my truck.”

  He dug a card out of his wallet and handed it to her.

  “Garin of Draydon Bank, nice to meet you,” she shook his hand with a smile and gave him her card.

  “Claire Iyer, International Hostess. I can see how you might cause trouble.”

  “Always fun trouble. Give me a call sometime, if you want.” An easy smile on her face.

  Garin watched her get back in her truck. She gave a little wave as she drove out.

  He put her card in his wallet and sat in his car. Then a twist of his key and the engine growled. He might give her a call in spite of their history together.

  -:- Seven -:-

  I sat on the steps of my apartment building wearing a scalloped skirt and a lightly woven sweater. More of a knit shirt cut with tan and pink and yellow color bands. My fingers fiddled with a costume pewter and tiger stone collar necklace I purchased a few months back. I checked the time on my matching tan watch. I waited too early.

  On time an older blue Mustang approached. An ugly gash of red paint amid a painful crumpled fender marred the car. It rolled to a stop at the curb in front of me. The passenger door seemed rumpled and violated but not like the mess of the fender.

  Brett came across the sidewalk to me, “Sorry about the car.”

  “What happened?”

  “This afternoon an SUV chasing a car off the freeway – and my bad luck – the SUV hit a red car that spun around and hit mine. They never caught the SUV. I got stuck with police reports this morning and had to call in to miss work. But the car still runs and I’m all right so the car did its job.”

  “That’s bad. Some kind of racing?”

  “No the guys in the SUV shot pistols at the guy in the first car.”

  “Did the police give you any clues?”

  “They didn’t know other than driver calls reporting reckless driving on the freeway. I ducked down when I saw these guys wearing black military armor and firing semi-autos. You’ve got to either be involved with military or have serious cash backing to afford that kind of gear and drive like they did.”

  “You know about guns?”

  “Well, my Dad wasn’t in the service but since he always wanted to he turned into a hobby gun owner. We get a lot of firearm magazines. He even rents time at a few firing ranges on the weekends.” Brett put his hand out to help me down, “Hope that’s ok.”

  “Sure,” A little concerned but I’d wait and see more.

  “Hey, this is a great old building. You can see where they did a lot of maintenance and changes over the years but I’ll bet it’s as old as the founding of Livix.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I studied art history and a little architecture, since they are often equated with art or at least provide the scenery around sculptures and paintings. They treated this building over the years as a production plant hardly retaining any of the original features. But some charm remains. The Victorian gables up there and the trim around the windows. Though that one looks like they recently replaced it.”

  “Yeah, that’s my apartment. A storm or something smashed the window throwing glass and water inside. Big repair and I still find pieces of glass wedged in the drywall.” I still remembered too much from that night but nothing to share. “It’s nice. A lot of layers of paint.”

  “I bet you find a lot of paint layers. The place is probably twice its original weight. But solid. They kept up general repairs so the brickwork is tight and railings are kept in order. Original gable carvings either repaired or replaced. Not a bad place overall.”

  “Yes. It’s been fine,” I didn’t think about those things before. An inexpensive place near campus and town.

  Brett pulled on the car door handle and the door creaked open against the torn fender. I eased myself into the seat being careful with my skirt. He kept his car interior clean and it didn’t show any last minute spit and polish jobs to cover over dried and still sticky pop splashes. Brett closed the door and drove us off.

  “Anything in particular you’d like to do?”

  “No. Maybe a little hungry but I’m always a little hungry. If we see a movie I can get some popcorn.”

  “I thought dancing,” Brett took his hands off the wheel and swung them around and around in a little dance like churning butter.

  I laughed, “You
better put your hands back on the wheel – we don’t want to smash up the other side of your car. I haven’t been dancing in a long time.”

  “Good. Should we stop and get something to eat?”

  “I’ve been craving burritos at Rogerio’s.”

  “Been a long time for me. Not sure why. They are great. I thought you might want something fancier?”

  “I’m good.”

  Brett touched the turn signal as we came to a red light. It beat three times the normal pace. Like the car panted.

  “Why is the turn signal so fast?”

  “I don’t know. After the accident, it’s been like that. Probably the lamp and wiring are smashed in the front. Another thing I’ll have to get fixed.”

  “Do you do your own work on your car?”

  “Me? No. Gas and go and stop at the oil change place. I’m hoping the insurance comes in to cover the repairs.”

  “Does your Dad work on cars?”

  “Nope. He showed me how to fix cars – with a credit card!”

  “That gets expensive.”

  “That’s what insurance is for.”

  As we cruised passed the retail businesses and the big plate glass windows I saw Brett’s broken car flash by in glass pane after glass pane like an old elementary school film strip. My mind wandered back to Garin’s garage stuffed with metal and plastic parts as he lowered the bare engine into the gaping engine compartment of his second car. And our dalliances on the garage couch. I turned to Brett and asked, “Are you taking any classes or are you graduated from college?”

  Brett said, “I’m one of those unemployed art history majors you hear about. I’ve been working at the coffee shop since I graduated at the start of this recession.”

  “Not as much freely funded philanthropy for expensive gallery art?”

  “You know it. The owner can cover the demand acting as their own sales associate rather than ten years ago they needed half a dozen supporting the museums and wealthy dot com moguls.”

  “All a timing thing.”

  “It’s not too bad at the coffee shop though. I get a regular salary with health benefits and the owner is considering opening a second store in Elyeria Township so he’s asked me to start managing the Livix store while he’s over there.”

  We entered the busy Mexican restaurant of Rogerio’s. My shoes clicked on the rustic red tiles as we came to the smiling hostess station. Brett leaned toward the hostess and asked for a table. We waited in the foyer with the other families and date couples that didn’t make reservations and eventually found the end of a bench to perch on.

  Brett asked, “How is the patent business these days?”

  “We’ve been busy. You remember the Victorian Festival speeches? The economy is improving. Businesses in Livix are investing in plants and hiring engineers and scientists.”

  “Which means you’re seeing more inventions to patent?”

  “Yes. Electric vehicles, battery technologies, chemical formulations, biological organisms, and software. A lot of companies are busy.”

  “Have you been involved in any court cases? Like on television?”

  I laughed, “No. Nothing like Perry Mason or evening television shows. It’s not that dramatic. Mostly toiling the hours away with opinion pieces and prior art searches.”

  “Prior art! That’s pretty much my college major,” Brett tipped back on the bench.

  I laughed, “Could be, I’ve found prior art in patents from the early patents filed in the eighteen hundreds that invalidated claims on some battery nuances one company worked on.”

  Brett laughed and checked his black plastic watch, scuffed in a spot from roller blading, “A couple of minutes before we’re out of their estimated time.”

  – The intercom announced, “Arkena and date …”

  Brett stood and reached for my hand, “There we are.”

  “You used my name?”

  “I thought you might like hearing it shouted around the restaurant.”

  I could see that but I let it go, “Good timing.”

  The hostess seated us near the sweeping windows. The wooden shades hung half asleep blocking the sunlight from our eyes. She took our drink orders that fell to iced tea.

  “Since you’ve been here before,” Brett looked up from the menu, “I usually order ‘five peppers spicy’. How about you?”

  “Are you making a competition out of it?”

  “Now that seems fun. Sure.”

  I stared into his eyes. Dark green like deep corners of the living woods. I hadn’t noticed that before. “I’ve had a side rated as six peppers before.” Rogerio’s kept a chart on the wall for really brave customers. In the fall they’d make a big marketing program and give away dinners to those that topped the list. Contestants had to bring notes from their doctor to participate. Some said the sensation approached eating military grade pepper spray. Rogerio’s head chef suggested that’s what they used for the middle rounds. His secret sauce on the final round always declared no winners – only one less of a loss than the others.

  The waitress returned, “Have you decided on what great fare to sample tonight?”

  I said, “Regular burritos for us and spiced to seven.”

  Brett looked surprised but a wolfish snicker curled his lips.

  “Are you two sure? I usually recommend starting with twos and put hotter on the side.”

  “Sevens. And pour it on,” said Brett. The waitress jotted a note and swung about her circuit back to the kitchen.

  “A competitive streak Brett?”

  “That’s right Anna. I lived in New Mexico for my eighth and ninth grades.”

  “Why did you live out there?”

  “My Dad had a temporary job transfer.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He breaks things in a lab.”

  “Like what?”

  “Truck trailers lately.”

  “Like semi-tractor trailers?”

  “Yeah. Out there he did some testing for a military tank or something. A special piece of equipment that only a few people knew how to set up correctly and he did it for the trucking industry guys. So they sent us out there to run their test rig.”

  I sipped my tea.

  “He loved it being around the soldiers. Some of those guys took him with them when they went out on the weekends. Shooting cans off a stump with a fifty caliber sniper rifle from half a mile away makes an impression.”

  “That could be exciting.” But I had no clue how big a fifty caliber bullet might be.

  “He really got started with his firearm hobby out there. We transferred back and he kept in touch with those guys. They suggested he finds a local hunt club and ended up joining the Brighton club. So he keeps at it.”

  “How about you?”

  “Other than shop talk when I visit him and helping in the Victorian Festival parade I don’t really do too much. It’s his thing. A few in the group are pretty radical survivalists and even a few freakishly paranoid about home invasion.”

  “About burglaries? I thought Livix remained fairly safe. Or are they in Brighton?” More farmers with guns out there I guessed. But then the lines of police caution tapes raked across memories of my best friend Bethany’s murder and Garin’s mother’s house after her bizarre murder. Livix might not be so safe, even if you didn’t know about the vampires. Paranoia could be good.

  “No.” He leaned close to me pretending to move the rolls of napkins and silverware for us, whispering, “… mosquitoes.” he poked two fingers discretely against the side of his neck as he pulled back. He looked around and his other hand idly spun his damp iced tea around on its paper square.

  “Here you go kids. The sour cream can take the heat down so I put some on the side.” She set a large pitcher of ice water on the table. “In case you get thirsty.”

  “Cheers,” said Brett raising his fork, a knight saluting a lady before battle.

  We dug into the hot burritos.

  “Ow.” I said, �
��These peppers creep up on you.”

  Brett poked his fork into his dash of sour cream and sucked on it, “Umm hmm.”

  “You want some water?”

  “No. The heat in hot peppers is oil so water only spreads it around.”

  “That’s why I suggested it,” my smile widening. The tingle of the peppers painted my lips like fiery lip gloss.

  “You’ve got a mean streak.”

  I tilted my head, “Just testing.”

  “– My resolve?”

  “No. If you lived in the Southwest.”

  “I see you’re using it too.”

  “My mom hardly cooked when I grew up so we ate out a lot.”

  “Too busy working?”

  “No. She didn’t cook well.”

  “How about you?”

  I had to dab my napkin in my watering eyes. “Macaroni and cheese.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Rice. I make a mean pot of rice.”

  “Is mean in that context good or bad?”

  “Yes.” I giggled. My skin flushed, unsure if the hot peppers or Brett caused it. Quite possibly both smeared on their share.

  The air chilled my moist skin as we walked out of the restaurant as if I had finished running around the parking lot. “Do you feel clear too?”

  Brett breathed in, “Yes.” He unlocked the car and opened the door for me, “I find the hottest peppers at the supermarket whenever I have a sinus infection.”

  “I hadn’t tried that but a good idea.” I retrieved my compact mirror and made sure my makeup wasn’t smeared and everything else seemed in place.

  Brett pulled into an unfamiliar parking deck downtown or maybe a different entrance ramp than I knew of. We walked around the corner of an office building and I saw the line of people already waiting to get in the door under the blazing neon sign for The Vacuna Club. Burly bouncers in black shirts, jeans, and thick boots flanked the entrance, sorting people like gods for entry into nirvana – or hell.