Drew D'Amato:Bloodlines:02 (20 page)

“Mr. Wellington, thank you for this gift.  But know that, I am making this decision for the sake of the parishioners of Divine Saviour.  We can do a lot of good for them with ten million dollars.  I cannot deny that, so I cannot deny this request.  I will perform his services on Sunday.  But Father Pacami I’d like a souvenir.”

“I’ll get you a Big Ben clock,” Pacami said.

6

V
lad made it back home a little after nine.  Pacami was at the rectory packing.  As Vlad got out of his car he noticed something in the console of the driver’s door.  It was Jasmine’s sunglasses, the big oversized pair.  He held them in his hands. 
How did they get in here? 
Then he remembered she drove to the hospital.  She put them there when they got out, and on the way back from the hospital, he drove. 

Vlad got inside and went to his computer to order two tickets from LAX to Heathrow tomorrow night.  The price was extravegant, but he had expected that.  His nerves had relaxed a bit, and felt what he hadn’t felt for a while as a human.  He was tired.  He decided though he had to do one last thing before his head hit the pillow.

7

“J
asmine,” he said into his cell phone.

“Vlad how are you doing, are you all right?”

“Not really.  I claimed my dead cousin’s body a few hours ago.  I had to identify it.  It was horrible, he didn’t even look…”

On the other end of the phone Jasmine’s eyes started to water up.  “What are you going to do for services?” she asked.

“I have to go back to Europe.  He wanted his ashes to be sprinkled over a hill we used to play on when we were kids.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“You have class.”

“This is more important, I can miss classes for bereavement.”

“Jas, as much as I want you to be by my side, I cannot risk your life,” Vlad hadn’t lied, but he wished he hadn’t said it that way.

“Because of those people hunting your cousin?”

“Yes, that’s it.” 
That’s the ticket. 
“I will be back within a week.  I’m sorry but I have to leave tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to come to your place now?  I’m wide awake.”

“No, I am better at handling mourning alone.  I just want to be alone right now.  I can’t handle that he is gone, I never thought it would…”  Vlad had broken off into tears.  He held his head in his hands.  He noticed this and composed himself.  He stopped but then he heard crying.

“Jasmine, why are you crying?”

“I’m crying because you’re crying.”

That stung Vlad’s heart and then gripped around it.  He loved her so much, and he knew she loved him too.

“Don’t… I don’t ever want you to cry on my behalf.”

“I feel so bad for you.  I can’t help it.”

“It will be okay Jas, it will be okay.”

“All right Vlad, I’ll let you be alone.”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“By the way, babe, did you see my sunglasses in your car?”

“No,” Vlad said as he clenched the glasses in his fist.

FIVE

1

T
he next morning Vlad was woken up to the sound of a knock on his door.  He grew nervous as he made his way down the stairs. 
This was either Jasmine, or Radu has found this place. 
To be safe he grabbed his gold .50 caliber magnum from his nightstand loaded with silver bullets.  As he got downstairs, the sun shining outside struck him that it couldn’t be Radu, so he opened a closet and put the gun in there.  It had to be Jasmine, and he didn’t think he could come up with a good reason as to why he answered the door with a loaded gun.

He opened the door and standing there were two plainclothed policemen—one black, one white—presenting their badges. 
Good thing I didn’t take the gun.

“Mr. Wellington,” the white cop said.  “May we come in?”

“Of course.”

2

“M
r. Wellington, we got your address on your death certificate application.  We were waiting for someone to identify the body.  We really didn’t have many leads,” Detective Lindell, the white one said.

“Do you know anyone who might have wanted to hurt your cousins?” Detective Cordy, the black officer asked.

Vlad felt obligated to let them in.  He was not about to get them any drinks and make them comfortable.  He was busy today and did not have the time for this.  They sat on the couch in the parlor with the sun shining on them.

“No, we had no enemies.  This was why I didn’t have too much concern to go to the police.  I don’t have much to offer for your investigation,” Vlad said.  He didn’t want them here.

“Well don’t you want to help in the apprehension of your cousin’s killer?”  Officer Cordy asked.  He had the role of bad cop.

“I
want
my cousin still alive.”

“Your cousin was found with silver bullets in his body.  Recently there was an attack on a house in Santa Barbara were similar silver bullets were found,” said Lindell, the good cop.

“I read about that, wasn’t that the mob?”

“We can’t find any truth to that story.  The reporter won’t disclose his source.  But then one of your cousins was found with silver bullets in his body and the one who lived was struck with such force, we can’t explain it.  We found no markings on him as a sign of what type of weapon could have caused that kind of damage.  It doesn’t look like it was a bat, pipe, wood, or steel.  We have found nothing on his body to give us a clue.”

That’s because it was a vampire.

“So you think the attack on my cousins was somehow related to the attack on that house in Santa Barbara?”

“How could we not?” Cordy said.  “Silver painted bullets are not that common.”

“The coroner felt it was some type of copy-cat after what happened in Europe.”

“That would make sense, except the attack in Santa Barbara happened before the attack in Geneva.”

“Well I’m just as puzzled as you, and on top of that I have to bury a cousin.  I have no idea what happened.  I thought this was just some kind of mugging.”

“But no money was taken out of their wallets,” Lindell said.  Both their cop instincts told them this Raoul Wellington was hiding something.  “What your cousin told us at the hospital was that two men in black masks attacked him first.  He put up some kind of fight, and then he was attacked by some weapon he couldn’t describe that crushed his leg.  Your other cousin—Jack Bearfield—fought them off and that was why he was shot.  We think the sound of the gunshots scared the two muggers and they ran off, which explains why there was no money stolen.”

“So there you go.”

“Yes, and that would make sense if it wasn’t for the connection with the silver bullets.”

“Look I don’t know what you two want from me?  I’m the fucking victim here.  I just saw my cousin lying on a slab, and now I feel like you think I am some kind of suspect.  I have no answers for you.”

Vlad knew that wasn’t smooth, but he was tired of coming up with bullshit.  This new world was too stressful, it required too many answers.

“No one is saying you are a suspect,” Lindell said moving in like a shark who smelled blood.

“They both bought some last minute tickets to a Lakers game, courtside.  That costs a pretty penny,” Cordy said.

“Can’t you tell we are well off?” Vlad opened his arms to his house.

“And how did you acquire your wealth?”

“I came from it.  I have papers in an office upstairs which document the land and stocks I own, but I’m not going to bother getting them for you, because it is irrelevant to finding my cousin’s killer.”

“Let us decide what is relevant.  Why didn’t you go to the game?”

“I don’t like basketball.  I like contact sports, not ones where you get penalized for slapping someone.  Too many primadonnas,” he stared right at Cordy as he said it.  He didn’t care if he took it as a racist comment.  Part of him wanted Cordy to.  He wanted him upset, hell even for him to strike him, just to do something that cops can’t do, and hopefully that would get them to leave.  Vlad had to get ready for his trip.

“Do you have an alibi?” Cordy retorted calmly.

“Why would I need one?  Did you suspect the owner of that house in Santa Barbara for attacking his own home?”

“We can’t find him,” Lindell said.  “It was a Dave Reynolds.”

“I have no idea who that is.”

Vlad wasn’t giving these men anything.  They wanted something.  Lindell decided to stop being so nice himself. 

“Mr. Wellington, your cousins were attacked by some force our foresnics cannot really explain.  We found these strange silver bullets on the scene, and then another cousin comes forth to claim the body and makes no funeral arrangements, except only to travel to Europe with the cremains.  You don’t see why this all sounds funny?  Why it appears you want to get out of town quick like you are running from someone?”

“No, I think it sounds exactly like my story dictates.  I am in a rush because my family,
my dead cousin’s family,
would like to have the service for him, and then keep to his wishes of sprinkling his ashes.  The longer I delay, the longer they have to wait to put his body to rest.  What this sounds like is both of your egoes getting in the way of finding who really killed my cousin.”

“Our egoes?” they both said confused.

“It doesn’t look good for LA, if people who can afford courtside seats at the Staples Center are still vulnerable to an attack from some random thugs who the cops have no clues about and have a method of attack that they don’t quite understand.  It would scare the rich, when it appears that you cannot keep the streets safe at night.  And you don’t want the rich thinking lesser of you.  So if you can prove these attacks weren’t random, that they were planned somehow by an evil relative, then you can tell the rest of the city—especially the rich—that they have nothing to worry about.  You rather have this be a premeditated attack on a specific target, than that fact that there is some force out there terrorizing the people of the streets.”

Cordy and Lindell did not know how to respond.  He had made a point, and now the two of them questioned their own instincts.

“I know nothing about what happened to them, we have no enemies.  That is the fact you must face.  There is some force out there attacking random people.  Do your job, and find them.”

The cops looked at each other.  They both sensed something, but they also knew they had nothing.  This man was rich, and rich people had power.  Breaking this guy’s balls could come back to bite them in the ass.

“Thank you, Mr. Wellington, we will see ourselves out,” Detective Cordy said.  He handed Vlad his card.  “Please give us a call when you get back into town.”

“Sure, I want to see if you find his killer.”

Cordy and Lindell walked toward their unmarked car.

“What do you think?” Lindell asked.

“He’s not guilty of it.  You could see the hurt in his eyes.  But I still think he knows something.”

“Yeah, he knows something.  Do you think he will come back to town?”

“Well if he doesn’t.”  Cordy opened his car door.  “I think we won’t have to worry anymore about these silver bullets.  Part of me wants to get the bastards behind this.  But part of me never wants to see a silver bullet again.”

Detective Cordy would get his wish.  He would never hear about another silver bullet shell found on a crime scene again.

3

I
t was six o’clock in the afternoon and Vlad had everything ready for his trip.  The flight was at nine, non-stop, first class, and he expected to be at Heathrow by four in the afternoon the next day.  He had talked to Warburton, and Warburton told him Henderson was in fact alive and well, and still running his shop.  The plan was still on.  Vlad had some loose ends to tie up before his trip.  He had to swing by the crematory to get Jericho’s cremains, next over to the rectory to get Pacami and then they were off.  Before he made his way to the crematory, he decided to tie up the hardest loose end—saying goodbye to Jasmine.

He drove to her house to say good-bye.  She offered to drive him to the airport, but she could’t know Pacami was leaving with him.  That would not make any sense at all.  He told her his taxi would soon be in his driveway and he had to get going.  Jasmine couldn’t understand why he still didn’t want her to come. 
What kind of people where hunting his cousin? 
Were they that thorough that there really was a risk of catching Vlad if he was in Europe for just a few days?  Jasmine figured there might be a threat of people hunting them, but she thought it was more that he was just not ready for her to meet his family.  That was a big sign coming all the way to Europe with him.  She also felt maybe he just wanted to be alone.  It was a traumatic event, and who could really be judged when going through something like that.  She was not mad at him, and didn’t give him any attitude for the way he appeared to be avoiding her, but she just wanted to be with him.  He could have anything from her.  But he wanted to be away from her.  That hurt a little, but she understood.  These feelings were selfish.  She really should just be concerned with him getting through this, and what he needed.  If he needed some time away, so be it. 

He told her he loved her, and that he would call when he landed.  He placed a long kiss on her before he made his way back to his car.  In that kiss, he felt his soul escape him and enter into her.

As he got back into his Bentley Mulsanne, he took one long look at her standing on the steps of her house.  Her printed shorts, pink tank top, and her hair pulled back—she had being doing errands all day—she didn’t look like she was trying to impress anyone; but she still looked beautiful to him.  As he backed out he felt a pain like a punch to his gut.  A sense of forboding came over him, telling him that after this, nothing will be the same.  A crossroads has been reached, and it did not allow U-turns.

When he had turned off her street he opened the glove box and took out her sunglasses.  She had asked him again if he had found them, and again he lied to her.  He was going to bring them with him on his trip.  They still smelled of her.

He put them back in the glove box and then his cell phone rang. 
Did she some how see me grab them out of the glove compartment? 
He checked the phone.  It was from a 212 area code.  It definitely wasn’t Jasmine, but who could it be?

“Brother,” said the voice on the line.

“You bastard,
you have taken everything.
”

“Oh, I’m sure I can do a lot worse.” 
He could. 
“So I take it, you know what happened to Jericho and
Malachi
?
”

“
Of course I do
”

“Oh, and I also know about your girl.”

“How?”

“How long do you think it took Michael after he learned of your new address to tell us?  Why do you think he was late coming to your house that night?  We debated going right over there and finishing you off.  Michael cautioned against it.  He argued the risk of not much nighttime left by the time we got there, and that it would blow his cover.  I agreed and told him to scope it out for us.  Then I heard nothing from him the next night.  He was trying to delay it.  You know he would have never sold you out if you let him stay a vampire?  Shit, you could have at least lied to him.”

Those words cut Vlad deep because he knew it was true.  He could have told Michael what he wanted to hear, kill Radu, and then afterward destroy the blood.  He trusted his men, he didn’t manipulate them—another mistake. 
The road to hell is paved with good intentions. 

“The next night I told Ash to scope it out.  He caught wind of this Jasmine O’Reilly, as she left your place.  She’s pretty hot, Ash said.  Michael told us, this was the new woman in your life.  I know you love beautiful things, women, homes, people being disemboweled.  He wanted to take her out right there as she left.  Lucky for her, moments before Gabriel informed me of your plan to go to Europe.  I chose not to break our cover and left for Romania as soon as possible.  We were there a full day before you.  I told Ash to wait behind and keep an eye on her.  Does this bother you?  Knowing one of my men was so close to your woman while you were away thinking you killed me.  How he asked to have his fun with her.  To make her one of ours, but I had mercy Vlad.  I told him no.”