Calabrese. Shit.
I scuttled down the length of parked cars ahead of me, being careful to keep below the line of sight from across the street. It would be pretty ironic to get myself killed by the Vampfather after everything I’d just gone through to keep the bastard alive.
When I was directly across from the Lincoln, I stopped, took in a big breath, and yelled, “Calabrese!”
Nothing. Not a sound. I hoped they hadn’t managed to nail him after all.
“Calabrese!” I yelled again. “It’s Markowski. Detective Sergeant Stanley Markowski. Do you recognize my voice?”
Far too many seconds passed – maybe three – before somebody from across the street came back with, “Maybe I do. What do you want?”
“The three vampires who were shooting at you are dead. You got one, and I nailed the other two.” I hadn’t killed the third vampire, but this was no time for complicated explanations.
“Say that’s true,” the voice from behind the Connie yelled. “What do you want – flowers?”
Snide bastard. “Conversation. The face-to-face kind.”
No response.
“Calabrese, I’m gonna stand up now. Then I’m gonna cross the street toward you, my hands empty and in the air. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t shoot me, especially since I just saved your life!”
Another few seconds of silence gave way to, “OK, but be quick about it! I don’t got a lot of time!”
That was for damn sure. Not only was the sky getting brighter by the second, but I could finally hear sirens in the distance. Sounded like SWAT was on the way, but too fucking late to do any good.
I stood up, sidled between two parked cars, and walked slowly across the street, hands in the air. I won’t say that my gut didn’t tighten some as I walked slowly toward an armed criminal who had probably killed more people in his time than I’ve had meals. It was in Calabrese’s best interest not to shoot me, and I was pretty sure he knew it, too. But still, my gut was tight as I crossed that street, and it stayed that way until I saw Calabrese stand up slowly and put his gun away.
He’d been fifty-two when the cancer had driven him to choose the world of the bloodsucking undead, and now he’d look that age forever – or until somebody put a silver bullet in his brain or a wooden stake through his heart. He had salt-and-pepper hair, wide-set brown eyes, and a thin mustache in the middle of a face that was no harder than your average concrete wall.
When I was within twenty feet or so, he said, “What?”
That was the Mafia version of a cordial greeting.
“I wanna talk. Not now – tonight. Tell me where and when, and I’ll be there.”
“Talk about what?” He wasn’t stupid – dumb guys didn’t get to be where he was – but I guess suspicion was second nature to him.
“You know what,” I said. “Everything that’s been going on, and what you’re planning to do about it.”
“And I should tell you all that shit, because…”
“Because I just saved your ass, that’s why.”
“Yeah? And you’d have been in such a big hurry to save my ass, like you put it, if I didn’t have information you wanted?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “You’re alive, aren’t you? Or, at least, still among the undead. And if I hadn’t come along, you probably wouldn’t be.”
He stared at me with eyes that had probably looked dead even before he became a vampire. After a second or two he said, “Yeah, OK. Maybe.”
He glanced toward the horizon and immediately turned away, since the first rays of sunlight were just becoming visible.
“Look,” he said, “I gotta get the fuck outta here – now.”
“I know,” I said. Like a lot of vampires with money, Calabrese had a car with ultra-dark tinted windows, including the windshield. He could probably drive the Connie even in broad daylight – for a while, anyway.
“Tonight,” I said. “Name a place and a time. If you’re not gonna be there, have somebody waiting who’ll take me to where you are.”
He seemed to like that idea. “Alright – Ricardo’s, around 10.”
“Fine with me,” I said. Ricardo’s was one of the best Italian restaurants in town. I hadn’t known that the Vampfather owned it, but I can’t say I was surprised. And he must have owned it – no way was he going to meet me someplace he didn’t control.
Calabrese hurried over to the other side of the Connie, stepping over the body of his driver in the process. He yanked open the door and said, over his shoulder, “See ya.” Then he surprised me a little by adding, “And thanks.”
Then he slid behind the wheel, slammed the door, and started the engine. I stepped back a few paces to give him room, but even so he only missed me by a few feet as the Connie pulled away from the curb, tires screeching, and took off down the street.
The sirens were very close now. I looked around, counting the corpses. The vampire gang had gunned down Calabrese’s driver, who lay at my feet. Calabrese himself could take credit, if that’s the word, for another of the stiffs. A third guy was mine, and the last one came courtesy of – who? My guardian angel? In grade school, the nuns used to tell us that everybody had a guardian angel, but none of them ever mentioned that mine might be packing heat.
The black SWAT van was up the street and heading my way fast, siren screaming and lights flashing like a meth junkie’s nightmare. I stepped into the middle of the street and started waving my arm back and forth to flag them down. It was almost time to start the long process of explaining what had happened here. Some of it would even be the truth.
I had the feeling that I wasn’t going to get home for quite a while. I was right, too.
The story that I concocted was pretty good, if I say so, myself. At least, it was good enough to convince Dooley, the SWAT team commander, along with Captain Fisk, my boss Lieutenant McGuire, and a couple of clowns from Internal Affairs.
In my version of events, I’d followed Captain Fisk’s orders to the letter – or tried to. I’d gone back to the gun battle with the intention of observing and reporting, nothing more. But then one of the vampires had spotted me, despite my best efforts to be discreet. He’d loosed off some shots in my direction, and I’d had no choice but to defend myself by returning fire.
One of the other attackers had been dispatched by whoever had taken cover behind the big car across the street – a Cadillac, I thought it was, or maybe an Oldsmobile. No, I hadn’t been able to get a look at the license number or the shooter, who had taken off while I was trying to avoid being shot by the third vampire. That individual had been shot by person or persons unknown. Then the sun came up, SWAT arrived, and order was restored to the universe.
I got pretty good at answering the questions that always followed my little tale – maybe because I got so much practice in the six hours that followed.
How did the vampire you shot manage to spot you, since you were observing from cover?
Hard to say, for sure. But in order to see what was going on – as I’d been ordered to do – I had to expose myself, at least a little. And don’t forget that vampires have damn good night vision. They also hear pretty well, too – maybe he caught the sound from the night-vision binoculars when I turned the device on.
Why is it you can’t tell us anything about the driver of the car, who left just before SWAT arrived?
He was using the car for cover, don’t forget. And I wasn’t at a good angle to see him when he popped for a second or two in order to get a shot off at his attackers. And by the time he left the shelter of the car’s body to get behind the wheel, I was too busy trying to get a fix on the third attacker before he got a fix on me.
So, you killed one of the vampires in self-defense, and you saw the mysterious shooter behind the big car drop another one of them. That leaves two dead vampires unaccounted for.