Into the Shadows (15 page)

The place was really busy that night. At one
point, I offered to change a dry keg in the cooler since everyone
else had their hands full. I had just unhooked the empty keg and
tensed up to pull a full one out of the corner. I yanked hard, and
the fucking thing came off the ground. I was barely able to control
the 160 lb. keg of Bud as it swung in my grip. It clattered on some
other kegs before I stopped it. I took a calming breath before I
carefully pulled another Bud keg over and tapped it, knowing the
one I nearly threw into a wall would be nothing but foam for a
while.

I know I was told that I would be stronger
because of Viggo's blood, but . . . fuck.

Keeg insisted I stay after the place closed
up. With good company and free drinks, I wasn't about to refuse.
When he asked where the hell I'd been, I gave a simple lie. I told
Keeg and the employees a story about me needing to get away for a
while, and renting a lakeside cabin out in the middle of Missouri
from a guy I knew. Keeg and most of the others knew about my string
of losses, so the vague lie was an easy sell. I didn't like lying
to them, but it wasn't like I had a choice.

That simple lie almost got complicated when
Tanya whispered suggestively that she wanted me to show her that
cabin sometime. I would have just taken her back to my place
instead, but I was afraid of my newfound strength getting away from
me again. Tanya was kinky and liked a little pain, but I doubted
she would have gotten off from me slamming her through a wall.

When I got home and fell asleep that night, I
had a vivid-ass dream. It was a moonless night. I stood on a path
at the base of a low hill. Up on top of it stood a fortification; a
thick, square tower with a small, walled courtyard connected to it.
A brilliant night sky was the background for the imposing structure
- I'd never seen so many stars. There were iron double doors set
into the tower; they opened, and a tall figure stepped out. Even
though he wore a helmet with a full faceguard, I knew it was Viggo.
A crew of shadowy warriors stood behind him. From there, images
blurred: a dark battle, swords and axes swinging, screaming and
blood. I woke up panting, feeling both scared and invigorated.

DUDE

The following morning I did some catching up.
I was on the phone a lot, getting back in touch with Gwen, Diego
and Cordell. Since the weather was nice enough, I invited each of
them over for a cook-out in my front yard. I did the same for my
neighbors Miss Loretta, and Hector and his family. During all of
those chats, I cleaned my guns, got the house smelling like Pledge,
and rehung Al's photo. For the planned lunch and to restock my
empty fridge, I spent a shit-load at the grocery store. I was going
to have to get some fresh income rolling in pretty soon.

My guests started showing up around noon. It
was good to see everyone again. I made introductions between
neighbors and co-workers. Diego had a limp but was doing well. His
and Hector's kids provided loud entertainment. Everyone brought a
simple side dish, even Cord. There were stories and laughter, beer
and steaks. It was a damn good day.

That evening, I was in the basement testing
my strength on the weight bench when I got a call. It was the
ShadoWorks number. My heart jumped. It was Viggo on the line; he
told me to expect another of his minions to show up within an hour
for "a consultation". He also told me to keep a couple days open
later in the week. I wanted to talk with Viggo some more - I didn't
care about what - but he got off the phone pretty quick. I told
myself to be patient, cleaned up, and waited for my unknown
visitor.

A little while later, I looked out front and
saw headlights creeping up my street; it was either my new tutor
looking for my address, or someone planning a drive-by. A few
seconds later, a late 80s Camaro turned into my driveway behind my
Wrangler. With my porch light on, I got a good look at him when he
got out of his car. Snakeskin boots, torn jeans, Steel Panther
t-shirt under a scuffed leather jacket, long blonde hair and clean
shaven - he looked like a Mötley Crüe wannabe.

I opened the front door when he stepped up on
my porch. He was a bit of a pretty boy, maybe a little skinny, and
wore lots of rings and wristbands. "Hey, dude," he said with a
smile, "I'm guessin' you're Leo, right? Big V sent me." He offered
his hand. "I'm Shawn Riordan, dude. What's up?"

I hesitated before I shook his hand - I
didn't want to catch an STD. But since Viggo sent him, I figured it
was safe. And since he wasn't wearing glitter or lipstick, I let
the glam poser into my house. "I'm glad you're here, Shawn," I said
half-heartedly. "I've got a lot of questions."

"That's what I'm here for, dude," he said as
he plunked into my recliner. "Got a brew?"

I poured us some drinks and grabbed my list
of subjects to ask about. "Alright, dude, breakin' out the hard
stuff," Shawn commented when I handed him a glass. "You got style,
bro. So, like, you gotta bear with me," he said after a sip. "Me
bein' a teacher is a radical concept, ya know? Let's ease into
it."

Well shit, I might've been better off with
Sarah . . . wherever she was. My first mistake was telling Shawn he
had a nice car. He went on and on about his '88 IROC-Z, and how
"gnarly" it was. I interrupted him to ask if he was in a band,
which was my second mistake. He was the lead singer and guitarist
for a retro hair band called
'Glazefinger'
. I didn't mention
it, but I think Keeg had them play in his bar once or twice until
the band asked for more money. Shawn went on to tell me he used to
be in the popular
'Pregnant Nuns'
until the other guys in
the band started showing their age while he didn't.

At one point, he even sang a few bars of one
of his songs, as if I'd know it. Some people probably would have
liked his voice. I hated it. I couldn't say that I was too fond of
Shawn in general. I mean, okay, he was a nice enough guy, but I
couldn't understand why in hell Viggo chose that jackass to be a
minion. I truly doubted it was for Shawn's entertainment value.
Seriously, what good was he?

"Okay, dude," Shawn said once he stopped
rambling and bragging, "I'm gonna stick more to our minion side
than talk about the big-leaguers. I'll tell ya what I know about
'em when we need to, but, like, you gotta know your own place in
all this, right?"

"Yeah, I guess that's a good place to start."
I had a small but growing urge to punch him in the neck.

"So, like, that whole bad scene that went
down at that mansion," Shawn said before I could actually ask a
question. "I gotta be sure about something, dude. One of the
hitters out in the snow, he was beat to shit and had two grody
holes in his forehead . . . Was that your work?"

That caught me way off-guard. "How the hell
do you know anything about that?" I asked.

Shawn leaned the recliner back. "There's this
dude named Ben I know. He's a minion of another Deviant. Me and
Benny are, like, cool - big Van Halen fans, right? Anyhow, he works
at the county medical examiner's office. Now here's the thing,
dude," Shawn said while pointing his drink at me and smiling. "That
hitter you plugged? By the time Ben looked at him, that dude looked
like some sixty year old geezer. I bet he didn't look like that
when you went, like, all Chuck Norris on his ass, right?"

"What? No, that guy wasn't anywhere near
sixty. I doubt he was half that. And I don't mind saying, I had
trouble putting him down."

"Dude," Shawn replied with a chuckle, "that's
'cuz he was a fuckin' minion! By the way the clock turned on him,
that hitter had been around for a while. As soon as one dies, all
the age that they - we - ignore comes roaring back. That hitter
probably had thirty minion years under his belt, so like, no
offense, but I would've bet against you on that one, bro. You
must've gone totally righteous on his ass." Shawn raised his glass
to me. "Choice moves, dude; I think you impressed big V with
that."

I felt a swell of pride, hoping those words
were true. And, damn it, Shawn had to be a pretty nice guy to
casually pass along a compliment. When he first started talking, I
figured I didn't like the glam boy because he struck me as cocky.
Then I quickly realized that wasn't the reason for my immediate
dislike of him. I can admit it; I was bothered by the fact that
Shawn had years of hanging out with Viggo. I was jealous. It wasn't
Shawn's fault, so I tried to stop thinking like a petty little
shit. I also consoled myself with the fact that Viggo had been
keeping an eye on me my whole life. Shawn couldn't top that.

KNOWLEDGE

Shawn stayed really late, but the info he
shared was worth staying up for. I learned a bit about the retro
rocker himself first. No big surprise there. While he was with the
Pregnant Nuns
in the 80s, they got to be fairly popular in
the Midwest rock bar scene. The band was hitting its peak about the
time I was born. Anyway, that's about when Viggo made Shawn an
offer. Music attracted crowds, and crowds attracted some hemos;
Viggo wanted eyes and ears in those settings. It was a bonus that
the band sometimes got gigs all over the Midwest, where Shawn could
report on those places, too.

Once Shawn finished with his own story, we
got down to basics of being a minion. First of all, the body of a
new minion gets a sort of tune-up. All of the senses get a tiny bit
stronger. The immune system is more resistant to natural
sicknesses; Shawn never heard of a minion having a cold. Aging
pretty much stops as long as you get a hemo blood fix once in a
while. Potency of blood affected that; from some thin-blooded hemo,
you might need a drink every ten days, but from Viggo it was about
five weeks.

There was a nice little kicker that went
along with a minion's unnatural age. If I was within my normal
lifespan and Viggo got killed, I had a short amount of time to find
another hemo donor or else all those years would catch up with me.
That part I could've figured out from the sixty year old hitter
example. Wait, it gets better. If I'm beyond my normal lifespan and
A) my hemo donor dies, or B) I don't get another drink of his blood
within a certain timeframe, then I immediately turn into a pile of
dust. That is some major fucking incentive to keep your boss alive
and nearby. Shawn said he knew about a local Outsider minion who
was in the civil war . . . Holy shit.

Despite all that, I mainly tried to get it
through my head that I could conceivably live healthy and strong
for decades or centuries. Initially, I thought it was awesome, but
then I thought of the long-term effects. All my friends would grow
old and die. What if I met a woman I wanted to marry? What if we
had kids? I guess I'd have to stick to skanks, stock up on rubbers,
and find someone who made fake IDs.

I asked about my newfound strength, and the
answer took me a minute to get my head around. I was told that it
didn't matter who the hemo was - their minion became a little
stronger. Whatever else the minion gained in ability was a matter
of basically who they were, modified by whatever Gifts their hemo
had and how potent their blood was. Yeah, I was confused, too.

Shawn gave the example of some hemo with weak
blood; the minion would likely just get a bit stronger, and that
was it. On the other hand, Shawn said he was stronger than he
looked, could take a haymaker punch, and could shred on the guitar.
He explained that he had those abilities because Viggo was super
strong - like, flip a car strong, probably tough enough to take a
crowbar to the head without flinching, and had lightning reflexes.
Shawn told me it might be different for each minion, and he wasn't
sure what other Gifts Viggo had that I might've gotten a touch of.
I wondered how I could find out.

There was no club or community for minions;
their boss was their world. I could understand that. I mean, why
would I go hang out with other minions when I could be hanging out
with my commander? It'd most likely turn into a brawl anyway, after
arguments started about who had the best hemo boss. That Shawn knew
of, Viggo had five human minions, although there might've been
more. He said I'd get to know a few of them after a while. I hoped
I didn't have to. Shawn wasn't exactly my cup of tea, and Natalie
was pleasant but boring, so, uh, thanks but no thanks.

Then I caught that word, human - human
minions. I needed a little detail on that. It seemed that Viggo had
other minions, but they were animals. Wait; let me clarify what I
was told. Rats - Viggo had a swarm of rat minions, and apparently
some of them became grotesque or huge or both. Shawn also told me
of a Deviant that a lot of people called the dog-woman, and an
Outsider gal named Kalasa who always had birds around her. That
last one made me think of the old Hitchcock movie,
'The
Birds'
- super creepy.

One last thing Shawn mentioned about minion
lifestyles really bothered me. He said we were lucky to have a hemo
as humane as Viggo, who let us make our own choices and treated us
well. He told me stories about minions who were treated like
slaves; abused, tortured, humiliated, and sometimes slaughtered by
cruel masters or mistresses. Those hemos were like powerful
sociopaths, creatures that lost whatever humanity they used to have
as normal people. The thought made me sick.

Shawn finally got around to telling me about
another, more mundane perk - a possible job offer. I could keep
doing my own thing, and also do chores for Viggo when he said to. I
was fine with that idea if I still had a job at Silas - I was told
at my cook-out that I'd have to talk to Crane about that. Another
option was if Viggo offered me a job at ShadoWorks. Shawn said he
worked for the company part-time, and still got some perks: decent
salary and his own small shop. Places like those were really fronts
for holding faction supplies, or as places to meet. Shawn used his
shop for band practices.