just as thin, just as icy as Ruger’s.
“No, Sport, I didn’t say a goddamn thing.”
They looked at each other, two sharks smiling across the sea of eddying shadows, seeing each other with perfect clarity.
After a moment Vic said, “At some point you and I might have to sit down and have a heart-to-heart talk about some shit, you dig? But right now we both have bigger fish to fry.”
Ruger kept giving him the look for another couple of seconds, then his eyes seemed to lose some of their heat. “Okay.”
“The Red Wave launches in two weeks. We’re nowhere near ready.”
“We’re not behind schedule, far as I know.”
“Yeah? Last night we should have cut down the opposition and increased troop strength. Tell me how you figure we’re on schedule?”
Ruger didn’t comment.
“Not one damn thing went as planned. We didn’t kill Val Guthrie, the Man didn’t kill Crow…which is probably a good thing since that pussy Terry Wolfe tried to kill himself.”
“Maybe the Man knew Wolfe was going to take the plunge and laid off of Crow,” Ruger offered. “After all, we got to have one of them alive until the big day.”
“Maybe, but I smell a nigger in the woodpile. I think something went wrong down in the Hollow.”
Ruger said nothing.
“And since I don’t hear Lois up there wailing and gnashing her teeth I can pretty much guess Tow-Truck Eddie didn’t kill Mike. Bottom line, we drew a complete blank last night. Maybe even a setback.”
“You waste too much time on that kid, Vic ol’ buddy. Instead of trying to get that moron Eddie to kill your asshole stepson, why not just do it yourself?”
“I told you already…I can’t. He has to die by a clean hand. That’s why the Man wants Eddie to do it.”
“Eddie’s clean? How the hell do you figure that? He works for the Man just like we do.”
Vic shook his head. “No, he don’t. Eddie thinks he’s hearing the voice of God in his head. Eddie’s this whole-milk-drinking, on-his-knees praying, Bible-thumping child of Jesus, so the Man’s been riffing off that, twisting his faith even more while at the same time making him think he’s the avenging son of Heaven or some shit.”
That nudged an appreciative chuckle out of Ruger. “Sweet.”
“Point is, if one of us—especially one of your bunch—kills Mike, then what he is, his essence will be released to the whole town. Once that happens every stick, stone, and blade of grass will be like a holy weapon. It be like everything was radioactive—none of you could even walk here, and the Man wouldn’t be able to rise. ”
“That’s what being a dhampyr means?”
There was a flicker of hesitation before Vic answered, “It’s part of what it means. It’s in the folklore, in the traditions. I don’t want to get it into right now, either…that’s not part of your end of things except that you just make sure your crowd doesn’t put the chomp on him. We clear on that?” Vic pursed his lips for a moment. “If Eddie can’t get the job done by, say, next week, then I’ll just take a baseball bat to the kid’s knees just so he’s not in the game during the Wave. Been wanting to do that for some time. Kid’s a serious disappointment.”
“Maybe he has too much of his father in him.”
“Watch your mouth—”
“Not him , dumbass, I meant the—whaddya call it?—the biological father. Maybe he picked up the pussy goody-two-shoes gene or something.”
“Yeah,” Vic conceded grudgingly. “Maybe. Genetics and the supernatural make a weird cocktail. You can sure as hell bet no one’s ever studied it, so all of us, even the Man, are making some of this shit up as we go. Sometimes you never know how things’ll turn out.”
“In a pinch you could always handcuff the little punk to the radiator come Halloween morning. Let him just sit the whole thing out. Ever thought of something as simple as that, Einstein?”
“Of course I have.” Vic felt his face flush because it was so
“No, Sport, I didn’t say a goddamn thing.”
They looked at each other, two sharks smiling across the sea of eddying shadows, seeing each other with perfect clarity.
After a moment Vic said, “At some point you and I might have to sit down and have a heart-to-heart talk about some shit, you dig? But right now we both have bigger fish to fry.”
Ruger kept giving him the look for another couple of seconds, then his eyes seemed to lose some of their heat. “Okay.”
“The Red Wave launches in two weeks. We’re nowhere near ready.”
“We’re not behind schedule, far as I know.”
“Yeah? Last night we should have cut down the opposition and increased troop strength. Tell me how you figure we’re on schedule?”
Ruger didn’t comment.
“Not one damn thing went as planned. We didn’t kill Val Guthrie, the Man didn’t kill Crow…which is probably a good thing since that pussy Terry Wolfe tried to kill himself.”
“Maybe the Man knew Wolfe was going to take the plunge and laid off of Crow,” Ruger offered. “After all, we got to have one of them alive until the big day.”
“Maybe, but I smell a nigger in the woodpile. I think something went wrong down in the Hollow.”
Ruger said nothing.
“And since I don’t hear Lois up there wailing and gnashing her teeth I can pretty much guess Tow-Truck Eddie didn’t kill Mike. Bottom line, we drew a complete blank last night. Maybe even a setback.”
“You waste too much time on that kid, Vic ol’ buddy. Instead of trying to get that moron Eddie to kill your asshole stepson, why not just do it yourself?”
“I told you already…I can’t. He has to die by a clean hand. That’s why the Man wants Eddie to do it.”
“Eddie’s clean? How the hell do you figure that? He works for the Man just like we do.”
Vic shook his head. “No, he don’t. Eddie thinks he’s hearing the voice of God in his head. Eddie’s this whole-milk-drinking, on-his-knees praying, Bible-thumping child of Jesus, so the Man’s been riffing off that, twisting his faith even more while at the same time making him think he’s the avenging son of Heaven or some shit.”
That nudged an appreciative chuckle out of Ruger. “Sweet.”
“Point is, if one of us—especially one of your bunch—kills Mike, then what he is, his essence will be released to the whole town. Once that happens every stick, stone, and blade of grass will be like a holy weapon. It be like everything was radioactive—none of you could even walk here, and the Man wouldn’t be able to rise. ”
“That’s what being a dhampyr means?”
There was a flicker of hesitation before Vic answered, “It’s part of what it means. It’s in the folklore, in the traditions. I don’t want to get it into right now, either…that’s not part of your end of things except that you just make sure your crowd doesn’t put the chomp on him. We clear on that?” Vic pursed his lips for a moment. “If Eddie can’t get the job done by, say, next week, then I’ll just take a baseball bat to the kid’s knees just so he’s not in the game during the Wave. Been wanting to do that for some time. Kid’s a serious disappointment.”
“Maybe he has too much of his father in him.”
“Watch your mouth—”
“Not him , dumbass, I meant the—whaddya call it?—the biological father. Maybe he picked up the pussy goody-two-shoes gene or something.”
“Yeah,” Vic conceded grudgingly. “Maybe. Genetics and the supernatural make a weird cocktail. You can sure as hell bet no one’s ever studied it, so all of us, even the Man, are making some of this shit up as we go. Sometimes you never know how things’ll turn out.”
“In a pinch you could always handcuff the little punk to the radiator come Halloween morning. Let him just sit the whole thing out. Ever thought of something as simple as that, Einstein?”
“Of course I have.” Vic felt his face flush because it was so
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