Dave Zeltserman - Blood Crimes Book One

“Check’s in the mail as always,” Drum said, smiling stiffly.

The musician accepted that and pushed himself to his feet. The rest of the band followed, grumbling as they headed to the door. The teenage girls with them didn’t seem to mind the change of location, each of them wrapping their arms around a different band member and helping guide them out of the bar. After they left, the rest of the exodus followed until it was just Drum, Pete, Jim and Simon. Drum nodded at Simon and told him he could leave, that he and Pete would lock up. Simon didn’t argue, and he moved fast to get out of there. Once they were alone, Drum asked Jim what he had. Jim unzipped his jacket and took his. 45 out and placed it on the bar.

“Tell me where I can find Raze,” Jim said.

“What is this?” Drum asked, his smile strained. He turned to Pete. “You knew about this?” The bartender looked away, a film falling over his eyes. Drum’s expression changed as he realized what was happening. “You set me up like this?” Drum said to his bartender, his face growing beet red. “You cocksucker. You dirty ungrateful cocksucker. Guess what? You’re fired. I never want to see your pug ugly face here again.” He then turned to face Jim, his thick lips twisted into a sneer. “You’re going to shoot me, is that it, asshole? If you think I’m going to tell you bupkes-”

Jim poked Drum in the chest with his index finger and the blow sent the bar owner tumbling over one of the tables and crashing to the floor.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jim said.

Drum wiped a hand across his mouth. He pushed himself up into a sitting position.

“Where’s Raze?”

“How should I know? And go fuck yourself.”

Jim slid off his barstool. He made a fist and brought it down hard on the bar. The oak surface splintered, and Jim drove his fist nearly a foot through it. Drum watched this with a hard sneer, as if he were trying to figure out the trick. Slowly it dawned on him that there was no trick involved.

“I don’t know where Raze is,” Drum said, sobering up quickly, his tone subdued, his eyes unable to meet Jim’s. “We don’t socialize. We do business, that’s all. All I have for him is a phone number.”

“Call him then. Get him down here.”

“At this hour? There’s nothing I could say.”

“You better think of some deal you can offer him.”

Jim glanced at the shattered bar and then at Drum. He didn’t have to say what was implied. Either Drum think of something, or he was going to end up the same as his bar. Drum nodded and took out his cell phone. He was having trouble dialing, though, shaking too much to press the right keys. He swore bitterly to himself after each mistake.

“Give me the phone,” Jim said. “I’ll dial for you. And don’t fucking die on me with a heart attack. A little while this will all be over for you. But you are going to need to find a new drug dealer after tonight.”

Drum tossed him his cell phone, his face chalk white. “On the news tonight,” he said. “You’re one of them that killed all those cops?”

“Not me. Raze’s number?”

Drum recited it slowly, methodically, as if he were having a tough time saying anything. Pete cleared his throat and asked if he could leave yet.

“Sorry, not until this is over.”

Jim started dialing the number but before he could finish someone was at the front door, rattling it, and Jim stopped what he was doing to look up. The door was kicked open, the wood frame splintering. It was a heavy door, a solid oak number, something that Jim had noted when he entered the place, and it shouldn’t have been able to be kicked in like that.

Zach walked in carrying a samurai sword. For whatever reason it didn’t surprise Jim. Just made him sick to his stomach.

“I spotted a Harley parked down the street,” Zach said to him, his eyes scanning the bar, taking everything in. “That was careless of you, Jim. It warned me that you could be in the area. Otherwise I might not have taken the time to breathe in as deeply as I did.”

“You and that nose,” Jim said. “You’re in the wrong business, Zach. You could be in Provence putting all those truffle-sniffing pigs to shame.”

“Don’t knock it. I was able to smell you out. Because of that I’ve been standing outside listening for the last ten minutes. I’m curious, why do you need to get a hold of this Raze fellow? By any chance does he has something of yours? Your girlfriend, maybe?” Zach showed a crooked smile. “Sorry, Jim, but you won’t be around to get her back. I promise you, though, before we leave this ugly cow town of a city, we’ll find Raze for you, and I’m sure Serena will take extra special care of your girlfriend.”

“You won’t know who she is,” Jim said.

Zach’s lips pulled back revealing blood-stained teeth. “Oh, we will. We have a drawing of her.”

As the vampire talked he edged closer to Jim, moving from side to side like a sand crab before taking each small incremental step forward. He had his sword held over his head. He stopped within a foot of Drum, who lay cowering under a table. Zach addressed the bar owner, telling him for his own edification that it was actually he and his companions who massacred all those cops, that Jim didn’t deserve any credit for it. Then his sword came down, splitting both the table and the bar owner down the middle.

“Oops,” Zach said to Jim, his smile turning naughty. “Silly me. It doesn’t look like there’s any way for you to find this Raze now, even if you were able to walk out of here. Which you won’t be doing.”

Jim took the. 45 from the bar and fired several rounds into Zach’s eyes, then kept shooting at Zach’s sword hand until the vampire dropped his weapon. Zach stumbled backwards, temporarily blinded, his cornea’s scratched by the bullets. Jim moved quickly to the dropped sword, picked it up, and swung at Zach’s neck like he was swinging a baseball bat for the fences. The blow struck solidly and sent Zach’s severed head flying. What was left of the dead vampire tottered for a moment on its feet before dropping like a load of timber. Jim stared at the dead body, wondering why Serena would send Zach alone after him. She’d have to know what the outcome would be. Fuck it, it didn’t matter. He had more pressing matters.

He went back to the bar to retrieve Drum’s cell phone. The number Drum had given was different than the one he had gotten earlier from Ash’s phone. That one must’ve been a disposable, this one had to be Raze’s business line. When he picked up the phone he saw Pete lying on the floor behind the bar with a large hole torn out of his skull. One of the bullets must’ve ricocheted and caught him. There was no question he was dead. Jim regretted that-he had started to like the guy, but there was nothing he could do about it. He used Drum’s cell phone to call Raze. The first call went to voice mail. Jim called again and this time Raze picked up, his voice druggy, out of it, as if he’d just woken up. Trying his best to imitate Drum’s easygoing Midwestern drawl, he told Raze that he was sitting on ten kilos and needed to see him right away at the Broken Drum. He hung up and didn’t bother answering Raze’s return call.

Jim found a set of car keys in Charlie Drum’s pockets for a newer model Chevy Monte Carlo parked out front of the bar. He drove the car further down the street, moving it under a street lamp that he broke so he’d be in the dark, then sunk down in the driver’s seat and waited with Zach’s samurai sword laying on the floor by the back seat. There was no use waiting in the bar or near the entrance; Zach did a good job demolishing the door frame when he broke in, and there was nothing Jim could do to camouflage the damage. The name of the bar was probably more accurate now than it had ever been. The door was broken, the oak bar was broken, tables were broken, the owner, Pete and Zach were all badly broken. When Raze or one of his Blood Dragons saw the busted up doorway they would know something was wrong and would take off. The best Jim could hope for would be to follow them. While he waited he slouched further down in his seat and examined the. 45 automatic. The gun held two magazines, each able to hold nine rounds. There were six bullets left which should be enough, but he still wished he could get his hands on more ammo. It would come in handy if he ran into any more of Serena’s crew. He slid the magazines back in place and kept the gun within reach on the passenger seat next to him.