Chapter Theme Song: We Didn't Start The Fire by Billy Joel
It took a couple of passes but eventually Marko zeroed in on a building that seemed suspect. It was dead quiet. Nothing seemed to move in the shadows as he came to land silently behind the building. Caution was his guide as he carefully took stock of the situation. These warehouses were a perfect killing ground for the experienced predator. Marko had to be on his guard least he end up becoming the hunted in this sideways scheme.
Lincoln was hurt. He could track the scent of blood well enough. Was it serious? Was is a trap? Where was Paul?
"Marko…hey…Marko!"
Marko stilled before he sunk into a fighter's crouch. He stayed quiet as he waited for the expected attack. Only it never came.
"Marko…"
It was Paul's voice. He was sure of it. Only it was coming from inside the hollowed out warehouse. Paul must have bet him to the punch and gotten there first.
Marko did not respond right away. He carefully tracked the sadistic cackle that came from within the building. He knew Paul. Knew him well enough to know when he was in his element. By the sound of it Paul was having a grand old time in there.
"Paul?"
"Over here man. I got the son-of-a-bitch cornered. I can't believe David was actually worried about this jag-off. Ha! What a patsy. You gotta see this."
Marko stayed low as he prowled around the building, looking for a way into the place. A man-sized hole in the steel siding was one way in. With some careful maneuvering and fancy footwork, Marko managed to slip through the jagged hole without disturbing the discarded refuse that littered the floor.
He waited, crouched low and out of sight, to see if could spot Paul. Another chuckle drifted through the building's interior and Marko was finally able to track it back to the source.
"Where are you?"
Marko did not like this. It felt off somehow.
"Over here! Dude, you won't believe this."
Paul's voice beckoned off to the left.
Marko stuck to the shadows as he maneuvered his way through the maze of rusted junk that was piled in the corners of the building. Old pieces of heavy machinery and storage containers provided the most cover but when he got to the end of the line he spotted the distinctive outline of the muscle car behind a stack of oil drums.
Paul's laughter echoed throughout the building.
Taking it one silent step at a time Marko carefully approached the Chevelle from the rear. Without a clear source of light it was difficult to make out if Lincoln's form was in the front seat. He knew better than to get too close to that road monster. Not after what it tried to do to him.
"Oh shit man!"
Marko tensed, claws out and fangs bared, as he whirled around to be greeted by nothing but shadows. He fully expected Lincoln to rush him head on but after a full minute of anticipation, nothing happened.
Where the hell were they?
Another bout of laughter bounced off the walls. It was impossible to pinpoint an exact location due to the wide open acoustics of the place. Sounds just bounced back and forth, louder than necessary.
"Paul, cut the shit! Where are you?"
Marko glanced over at the Chevelle to see if there were any tell-tale signs of a struggle. Only then did he realize that the car was empty.
"Dude you gotta look up man!"
Marko did as Paul instructed but saw nothing but darkness and empty shadows. The faint fluttering of a pair of leathery wings was the only tell-tale sign of life as a small brown bat zagged its way toward a hole in the roof.
"Heh, made you look."
Marko frowned.
"Wh-"
A thick coil of an industrial metal cargo chain cut off Marko's words at the source. Rusted steel crushed his windpipe with a sure yank as the pressure of the solid links around his neck took care of the rest. Unable to make sound Marko thrashed against the unbreakable hold as the chain pulled back and hoisted him off his feet. He hooked his claws into the links in an attempt to loosen them but that just made matters worse.
"Hey there sport! Thanks for stoppin' on by. You just made my night that much better. And I thank you for that. I really do."
Blood ran down Lincoln's face in rivulets from the deep gash across his forehead. The pale gleam of bone could be seen right above his left eye.
"I can't believe you fell for that! Oldest trick in the damn book man! What is wrong with you guys? Didn't Max teach you anythin'?"
It was Paul's voice. Identical in tone and pitch. But it was Lincoln who spoke the words with malice on his lips.
Marko wheezed as gravity worked to dig the chain in deeper. The harder he fought to free himself the tighter the chain pulled until there nothing else he could do but hang there and fight to stay conscious.
Lincoln rubbed the knuckles of his right hand with his left as he watched Marko wriggle and twitch like a landed trout. There was so much potential in this. If he had all night he would not be able to get through half of what his mind was spinning. This scene was like a blank canvas, just full of possibilities. It almost hurt to think of all the missed opportunities. But tick tock he was on the clock and there were far bigger fish to fry.
"Pity."
A bead of blood dripped off the tip of his nose as he sucked his teeth and tilted his head. What to do, what to do.
"Hey Mona baby, how's about I have this one? He don't look your type."
Marko tried to lash out at Lincoln when the deranged vampire go to close. All that did was make Lincoln chuckle when he grabbed Marko's foot and gave his leg a vicious twist. Something popped and Marko jerked in pain.
"You keep it up. Do your old man proud. He'd want you to go out this way."
Lincoln patted Marko's leg before he headed toward where the Chevelle was parked. The chain that was twisted around Marko's neck hung from a running track that ran across the ceiling of the warehouse. Lincoln just whistled a jaunty tune, a Billy Joel chart topper by the sound of it, as he pulled Marko along.
"Now, tell me if I'm wrong, but I can't help to think that old Max has no idea of what you boys have been up to tonight. Am I right? Shoo, course I am. So it's not like he knows that any of this is goin' down. Which means, he's not gonna show up at the last second to save your skin. Ain't that a shame. We're just gonna have to figure out a way to let him know. Now don't you worry, I got a few ideas that'll really get his goat. You're gonna love them."
The chain snagged in its tread and the sudden stop jerked Marko out of Lincoln's grasp. The struggling vampire swung back and forth like a colourful pendulum as Lincoln paused and tracked his movements with his eyes.
"Alright then. If that's the way you want it."
Lincoln let Marko swing as he unclasped his Bowie knife from his hip and ran a thumb pad along the honed edge. Satisfied, he moved from side to side in time with Marko's momentum as he swayed in close and forced a halt with the tip of his knife.
"Now, don't take this personal but this is the end of the line for you boy. And it's gonna hurt. Worse than you ever thought a body could stand. But just know something. Whatever happens, it could always be worse. Trust me, I know. Ain't that a comforting thought?"
The big knife flashed as Marko's eyes widened in fear. A stream of blood turned into a free-flowing river as the blade's razor edge slipped along his torso over and over again. Shallow cuts turned deep that danced along his rib cage. When the blood was flowing freely Lincoln pulled Marko in close. He held the captive vampire's gaze as his fangs found a sweet spot just under a floating rib. Ivory spikes slipped through muscle tissue and tore in deep. If Marko could have screamed he would have, long and hard.
In a last ditch effort for survival Marko slashed at Lincoln's head with his broken claws but Lincoln had expected the move. He unhooked his teeth and smiled as the Bowie bit back. In two deft flicks of his arm Marko's wrists were slashed in the proper way. The blood poured out of him and Lincoln went to task.
"God that's some good shit." Lincoln belched up blood once he tipped his limit. He had bled Marko nearly dry and it showed. Those swoon-inducing baby blues were glazed and lifeless while the rest of him resembled a week old corpse that had been left to dry out in the New Mexico desert.
"Not bad for a Cali vintage, I gotta say."
Lincoln ran the back of his hand across his mouth before he wiped his knife clean on the mis-matched patches of Marko's trademark biker jacket. Sheathing the big Bowie, Lincoln sniffed hard and gave his head a hard shake to get this runaway thoughts in order. His fingers grazed his forehead but here was nothing there to make him wince. The wound had healed itself in record time.
Lincoln rocked back on his heels when the blood rushed to his head. His veins were humming from the infusion of immortal blood. It was like injecting nitrous oxide and cocaine into his arms, an epic high that sped up time itself. Intense did not even come close.
A blood rush of this strength would have sent a less experienced vampire into outer space but Lincoln was an old pro when it came to riding out a spiked high. He rode the bull with spurs out until the world stopped spinning like a Tilt-A-Whirl. When he could see straight he was on the floor laughing like a hyena with a head-wound.
"Gotta thank you for that one. It's been years since I've had a buzz that good."
Shaking hands coaxed a fresh Cuban cigar out of a pocket in his jacket lining. It took a few tries before he could get his fingers to work properly, but the lighter eventually gave up its flame. A few deep drags on the Havana special calmed the tremors enough for him to stand.
He exhaled a heavy cloud of fragrant leaves as he studied the withered vampire that rotated slowly on the end of the chain. He was drained to the point of no return but he wasn't dead. Not yet. There was still a little something extra in there had that to be extinguished for good. It was a small mercy that Lincoln had bled him out because the dented can of lighter fluid that he pulled out of the Chevelle's glove compartment could only mean one thing.
There was just enough in the can to give the patched jacket a decent soaking, one that would feed a flame easy. Lincoln blew a stream of smoke into Marko's slack face to see if there would be a reaction. The movement was faint but there most certainly was a twitch. Ah well, his capability for compassion was non-existent right then so tough luck buttercup.
The smouldering end of the cigar set Marko ablaze in seconds. Vampire blood was a great accelerant and in no time at all the smell of burning flesh filled the warehouse.
Lincoln took in a lungful and smiled. Nothing better than the smell of barbecue and a cigar. All he needed now was a nice single-malt whiskey and David's head on a pike and he could die happy.
That would be something, wouldn't it?
Lincoln snapped out of his thoughts when the sound of a motorcycle drew close to the warehouse. That was not a Triumph's engine, so it could only be the pothead himself. Right on time for a change.
"Your turn babes. Delivered fresh and baked for your pleasure. Lucky girl."