Chapter 2
Rahab and Vincent
The owl looked down the bookshelves for some sort of prey. Something was moving down there. Maybe it wasn't prey. Maybe it was. It swooped down, passing endless shelves and saw its master. It screeched to get his attention, its hunger now forgotten. The man looked up, his eyes reflecting the moonlight.
Landing, it proceeded to tell the man everything it knew. There was a party going on in his house, there were very few mice in the area, and the big man in the twenty-fifth room on the fifth story was still showering.
Rahab let the owl go out the aviary dome of his library. Although he had this structure built back in 1643, he never stopped marveling at it. This three-and-a-half story behemoth of knowledge, filled wall-to-wall with books. Everything, ranging from newer works by Koontz and King, back to L'Amoure, Shakespeare and even one of the few original translations of the Holy Bible lined these shelves. In here, it was silent. In here, he was free.
He walked thoughtfully over to his desk that he had drudged up from the Dead Sea and sat down. Lighting a cigarette, he started to form a plan in his mind.
A few minutes later, he hit a buzzer on his desk. Instantly, two men walked through the door and began ambling around the oblong pillar of bookshelves that stood in the center of the circular library.
The first, looking like he just came out of a punk concert, wore tight, plaid jeans with combat boots and a dirty white Anarchy shirt with a nametag that said "Hello, I am the Captain"
Looking past the exceedingly tall pink Mohawk of the first, he saw the second. This man was dressed as he normally dressed: tight leather jeans, long-chain wallet and walking like he just got done riding a horse.
Rahab shook his head. They get the job done. That's all that matters.
"Ah, Steveoh. Sixty. Do please come in. I have a job for you."
With that, he got up and walked to the wall behind his desk, selecting a silver short-sword from the medieval armory that lined the library baseboards.
"Steveoh, I want you to sell this." Steveoh grinned. "No, not to just anyone, although I'm sure your friends would very much like a blade forged by a Werewolf. It's to be sold only to the Mafia runner, Tony Fingers. He'll pay anything you ask. He'll give it to his boss as some sort of arcane weapon. Keep the money. I have no need of it."
The Mohawk barely missed Rahab as the punk bowed graciously while accepting the sword, piercings jangling in the process.
"Sixty, I need your security and computer expertise. The one brought in last night, Vincent, will be in need of his personal effects. I need you to acquire them."
"Security is never an issue with Sixty." Sixty said, holding up a plain box in his hand and smiling like he just stole something.
"Yes, yes. That's why I asked you. Now please go. I have work to get done. Oh, and Sixty, stop eating the mice. The owls are getting hungry."
Sixty bowed, his long, red hair covering his face, and they exited, momentarily bringing in the smoke and noise of the rave that seemed to be constantly happening on his lower, ground-level, then slammed the door behind them, leaving the library in silence.
Rahab pulled out his chair, sat down, flung his feet on top of his desk, lit a cigarette and took a long, thoughtful drag.
"This should prove to be most interesting." He said, to no one in particular.
†-†-†
Vincent stood in the shower that Rahab had supplied him, watching his own blood run down the drain, much like how he had watched his wife's so long ago.
The horrible memory came to him as though it had all happened yesterday.
Waiting in the groom's chambers for the happiest moment in his life to happen, there came a knock on the door.
"My love, you're not supposed to see me until the actual ceremony." He said with a smile, opening the door.
The smile died on his lips. It was not his bride, but three men, dressed in fine Italian suits.
"May I help you?"
"Are you the one called Vincent Techoncy?"
His face darkened.
"Who wants to know?"
"We were sent here by your father. He wishes to give you his blessing on your wedding day."
"I want nothing to do with my father. He is an evil man. I want nothing to do with talking to him, and less to do with him talking to me. Go tell him that, and leave me alone."
That's when they grabbed him.
He shut off the water. Life isn't fair. What did he do to deserve this? He was a mostly good person. Hell; he was about to get married. What more could be asked? He saved a woman's life by breaching a contract, had a daughter with her, and just when he had decided to give up contracting and marry his love, they had to abduct him.
They would all pay, one by one; if only he knew where they were.
Someday, he thought, I will find out, and when I do, they will all pay.
Vincent looked around for a towel, hoping that Rahab had left one for him large enough. He detested using standard bath towels. Too small; he normally went through four or five of those.
Luckily, there was a pair of oversized beach towels there. After drying himself off, he walked into his provided bedroom and discovered, to his dismay, a perfectly fitted set of clothes set out for him. He made a mental note to discard these clothes at the first opportunity, as there was probably some sort of tracking system sewn into the threads.
While brushing his long, dark blue hair, someone knocked at the door. Vincent started, throwing his brush and going reflexively for his gun, which, he remembered, was not there.
Memories came back to him in a flood. Being taken, bound, gagged...not again.
No, he said to himself, this is not then. When, he thought, when will I wake up from this nightmare?
He composed himself, remembering that, although he was relatively safe here, he was in the house of the enemy.
He opened the door to find the stunning form of Ashley, dressed in her standard desert garb, most of her sensuous, dark body showing through, pushing a cart with chrome food covers.
"I'm not hungry. Go away."
"I'm not room service, and I'm not here to turn down your blankets either, asshole. This is the shit from your 'precious' bike." With that, she pushed the cart into the room, nearly knocking it over, turned and stalked off.
Vincent's hair turned dark purple, his eyes filled with sudden rage.
"BITCH! You do everything as you're told! I'm telling you to DIE!" With that, he opened up one of the serving trays, pulled out a knife and threw it at her. She quickly whipped around, snatched the knife by the handle, plucking it out of the air, flipped it to the blade side and threw it back. Vincent caught it in kind.
"Listen here, you arrogant asshole: I don't like you, and I would just as soon take that knife of yours and plunge it pommel-deep into your heart, but it seems that I have to put up with you for at least a bit longer. Rahab sees something in you that no one else does. I don't see what, but he never uses any contractor for very long before he has them eradicated. I'm looking forward to the day you are rendered useless, because it's my turn to send the lowlife into oblivion, and I am going to relish in doing it to you."
"Fuck you."
"If only I were ten minutes younger." and she stalked away.
Vincent noisily, but carefully, moved the serving tray into the room and slammed the door harder than he had intended, shaking the hinges. He sat down on the bed and put his face in his hands. Why, he thought, why can't I just let it all go? If only Brandon were here…
Brandon.
His bike.
The bastards! How did they get past the security system of his bike? It was custom made for and by him. Nothing can get past it. How did they get the saddlebags? For that matter, how in the hell did they get into the warehouse? ADT couldn't think up the security there. This was disturbing.
He walked over to the saddlebags and pulled out his laptop. At least THAT wasn't damaged, he thought. With that, he disconnected and threw the computer off the desk in his room, replacing it with his. He pulled out a little black box and connected the Internet through that, then to his computer.
"No one can hack through that. Not even Mr. Alexia." He chuckled.
After firing up the laptop and connecting the wireless headband monitor and microphone, he opened the HNIM system, praying that "Forgetful" was going to be on.
Thank God. At least he knew that Brandon was safe.
"You there?"
"Yeah. You're messaging me." Was the reply.
"Good. We need to talk. Get to the HN ASAP."
The Hunter Net: Something that he wished he had thought up. An organization of humans intent on hunting down and destroying vampires until they are all dust. That's a pretty big goal, so they concentrated on the main leaders for the moment, swapping information on their secure network so other Hunters have a better chance.
This is where he was now, in the exceedingly secure looking for an empty chat room.
"You there, Brandon?"
"Yeah. What the hell is so important? Where are you?"
"I haven't got the foggiest idea. Are you and Phelis OK?"
"Um, yeah…why wouldn't we be?"
"I'm not the one who came and got my bike."
Silence.
"So who did come and get your bike?"
"Someone working for a Mr. Rahab Alexia, I'd imagine. He's apparently an Assamite, and a pompous one at that. He seems to have more money than he knows what to do with, and enjoys flaunting it while in his endless mansion. He also seems to have a more than passing interest in me. He knew my clothes size and where my bike was and how to get to it. Hell. He knew who my first vampiric kill was. Who knows what else he has gleaned about us and our operation?"
"I agree. It seems to me that we have to tighten our shit down good. Sounds like this Rahab character is pretty resourceful. By the way, you aren't on Hunter Net through a connection at his mansion, are you?"
"Yeah, but I'm using the Black Box. No one can get through that."
†-†-†
"Well, then. That was certainly educational." Rahab said, pushing in the main keyboard and turning away from the array of plasma-screen monitors, facing Ashley, "I always suspected he didn't work alone."
"I thought that would have been obvious. No one acquires that kind of hit list by himself." She moved behind him, caressing his shoulders, "Not even you, the great Rahab Alexia."
As she went to nuzzle into his neck, Rahab got up and paced, much to her dismay.
"What luck is this, that I not only get him, who just happens to be the son of the head of the Technocracy and recent bane of Kindred society, but also temporary access to the Hunter Net." He lit a cigarette and took a thought-filled drag. "Those damned Elders. They think they have it all figured out. 'Humans can't organize like that' they told me. 'The "Hunter Net" doesn't exist.' Yeah, well, I have seen it now. At least now I know whether or not I can expect any Hunters at my door."
"But your access was temporary," Ashley said, moving close to him again, "and don't you think that it was a little too easy, his logging on while on your network?"
"You read what he said.'I'm using the Black Box. No one can get through that.' He obviously didn't learn through his bike and warehouse that Sixty can get through anything."
A knock came from the door. Rahab shrugged Ashley off again and assumed the most calmly commanding pose he could.
"Enter."
Steveoh walked through the secret door that lead to the wall behind Rahab's desk in the library, a devilish grin plastered on his face.
"Job done. That idiot runner bought it up like a coke fiend. He probably gave it to that fat fuck Thromboni by now, and it's most likely halfway to the mother country on a jet."
Rahab grinned.
"Good. Take the rest of the night off. You have done very well.
"Ashley," he turned to her, her disappointment gone, replaced with new hope that he might say what she wanted so desperately to hear, "go down and check all of Vincent's weapons and whatnot into the Weapons Locker. Standard procedure."
She turned to go. That was definitely not what she wanted to hear.
"Oh, and Ashley, take the rest of the night off as well. You've earned it. Now go." He waved them both away, and soon the door slammed shut, the sound of books hitting the ground filled the room.
Rahab didn't hear it, however. He was too wrapped in thought. He sat back down in his chair, propped his feet up on top of his gargantuan desk and proceeded to finish his cigarette, strands and wisps of smoke dancing in the air.
"Let the games begin."