Читать книгу Sins of the Undead Patriot - a.c. Mason - Страница 8

Chapter 3

The white business card lay flush on Rowley McKie’s desk, facing him, next to the closed folder.

Dr. Barton DeGruis, PhD

Homeland Security

Federal Coordinator of Civil Defense

Devin shifted in his seat behind the Fed, hand under his suit jacket on his gun. Agents were a hassle to dispose of.

“It’s a perfect setup.” Mr. DeGruis wrapped his hands around the arms of his chair.

Aside from the fact that Rowley didn’t trust any Fed, he was especially wary of one waltzing into his office offering him a golden egg. He didn’t like people who insisted on having academic notations accompanying their name. Weren’t feds born with a PhD in politician ass kissing?

“If I’ve got your plan correct, Mr. DeGruis, you’re going help us assassinate the president. But who says I want to kill the president?”

“I do. You’re running out of time. Ten years of political maneuvering is coming to an end and the first Bill of Undead Rights will pass. The tentative date is February fourteenth on the thirtieth anniversary of the American government opening the doors to the undead, so to speak, which is only four months and change from now.”

“Back to the details of this plan of yours, which is to make it look like Vaihan Louchian is framing the leader of the Army of the Living. Meaning me, as everyone has the misguided notion it is moi. All the while, we have it go down for the actual deed.” Rowley got the advantage the feds saw in having numerous scapegoats to pin the crime on, but that still didn’t make sense. “My question is why?” Since he would know the truth about what actually happened.

“To put it bluntly, the current administration is failing the living citizens of this great nation and sheltering the undead minority. Other than The Unabomber, who else has been able to evade the authorities this long? I have it on good authority that the CIA is planning a takedown of your outfit. If we don’t put something in motion now, frankly, there will be no one with the resources to pull this off. Homeland Security doesn’t believe it’s in the best interest of this country to give the undead the same rights and privileges that the living enjoy. I can’t imagine an undead president. Who’s to say they won’t decide that cloned humans isn’t good enough? I don’t want to be sent off to the slaughter.” Mr. DeGruis leaned back in the seat. “They could overturn the law that doesn’t permit them to create more of their kind. It’s hard to know what their motives are. Nor do we feel we should take the risk and find out.”

Green eyes razor sharp, Devin watched Mr. DeGruis. A closed folder on his desk contained the details of the plan. There were three possible venues for the hit to go down. One he and his man were considering as well.

If Mr. DeGruis couldn’t pull off “the frame,” the Military of the Living wouldn’t be their scapegoat to fall back on. When the current president was killed, zombies would be blamed. The vice president would assume command and round up all the undead.

“How does the CIA plan on taking us down?” Rowley placed his hands on the cherry wood desk, palms up.

“If I tell you how the CIA plans to pick the Army of the Living apart, what reason will you have to help me?” Mr. DeGruis tilted his shiny bald head.

He did have a point. The Army of the Living already planned on killing the president, but if they could then use Homeland Security to instill fear in Americans about the government involvement in the conspiracy, all the better. The country might clean sweep high levels of the civil service at the same time. Just because Vice President Jose Torrez’s beliefs prevented him from fully embracing the undead didn’t mean political maneuvering wouldn’t when push came to shove. Politicians were all the same, looking out for the next election.

“The information would be a gesture of good faith.” Something feds knew little about. “You’ve come to me, not the other way around.”

“Have a new up-and-comer within the ranks of your men?” The man’s lips parted, and his gold-capped tooth shone.

Ah, he saw where he was going with this. A fucking snitch in their midst.

“A man with just the right mix of personal tragedy related to zombies with a record of hate crimes against the undead.”

Rowley nodded to his right hand man Devin. “Bring the rat bastard to the back room.” Neil. He was the snitch.

Devin’s lips turned up on one side, his green gaze gleamed with agreement.

If he didn’t need to test Barton’s commitment level to seeing this through, Rowley would shoot the mole himself.

Devin vanished down the hall.

Anger worked a storm of fury inside Rowley’s chest. “Do you know how we deal with infiltrators, Mr. DeGruis?”

“I doubt you house them in a jail and feed them three square meals a day like the current administration does for the undead criminals.”

Nor did the Army of the Living give a snitch an easy death. “It doesn’t bother you that a young man’s life is going to end? A man who’s been led down this path by loyalty to God and country?”

Mr. DeGruis shrugged. “Many more will die if we don’t clean up the nation’s infestation of undead.”

“Let’s just say, I may agree to help you but before I decide, I want to know how far you are willing to take this.”

“To the end.”

Typical. Always focused on the end result and forgetting the steps in between. “And what of the beginning. How are you going to prove to me I can trust you?”

“I told you about the informant, didn’t I?” A blank gaze met his.

Did Mr. DeGruis think him too stupid to figure out he needed the mole dead? The rat would report that he saw the agent there. “You did, but the truth is I already suspected the weasel. So here is how we are going to play this. You’re going to take him out, here, in front of me and Devin.” Rowley rose, hand on the holster of his nine millimeter. “If you do that, we have a deal. Don’t, and we never had this conversation. You go on your way.”

Barton stood level with him, six-two in a dark suit.

“I’m not much for talk. I’m a man who respects persons of action and of their word. We need to know everything he’s told them, so don’t get too trigger-happy. We start with the fun stuff, torture.”

Rowley led Mr. DeGruis down the hall to the rear room, where Devin sat smoking with Neil. Meat hooks hung on rows of tracks. The converted meat-packing warehouse made for a great locale. Decades later and the building still reeked, which masked scents.

The young man darted his gaze to him. “What’s this about?”

Rowley pulled out his gun and slammed the butt against Neil’s cheekbone. Blood ran from an open gash on the side of his face. “You’re worse than they could ever be. Betraying your own kind. You think you could get the goods on me?”

“What are you talking about? I would never.” He backed away, stumbling.

“Is this the snitch?” Snot-nosed, arrogant little prick thought he could take him and his men down.

Mr. DeGruis stood next to him. “He is the one.”

Devin grabbed the struggling man, shoved him to the ground and tackled him.

“Mr. DeGruis, help the man string him up.” The little bastard didn’t have a chance.

Devin held Neil down with a knee to his shoulder and neck. Neil thrashed beneath him, spit flying from his mouth as he screamed, “McKie, I would never betray you!”

Devin picked up a hook and skewered Neil’s back with the metal tip. A screech rose from the man on the floor. Barton impaled him on the spike point, scraping against the bone. The yell was one of agony. The two men lifted Neil, latching him to a track, feet dangling. Blood ran, pooling on the floor.

“Please begin, Mr. DeGruis.” Rowley sat back in a chair pushed up next to the wall by the door. A chill wafted through the dim room.

Devin rolled in a table adorned with crude instruments next to him. Mr. DeGruis’s dark gaze traveled over the assortment of bloody tools. Was he losing the courage of his convictions? If he waited too long, Neil would bleed out. Maybe that was exactly what he intended. He reached with his long fingers for wire cutters. Good choice. For his betrayal, his death should be painful.

Gunari, an undead, stepped into the room and extended its teacup beneath the stream of blood. “I thought I smelled fresh eats.” It inhaled.

Mr. DeGruis clamped the wire cutters over a finger. “I’m going to go one at a time until you tell me everything.” Bone crunched beneath metal. Red fluid trailed in a stream off the dangling flesh. He tugged off the bit.

“Don’t waste.” Gunari tsked, saucer extended. Mr. DeGruis placed the removed pinky finger on the dish. “Make sure to put the leftovers on the table.” It picked up the removed finger and popped the morsel into its mouth. “The sweet yet disappointing taste of naivete.” Drops of red stained the pale white flesh with a hint of blue.

In the purest form of their depravity, Gunari wore but one face, that of a predator. It lifted the rim of the cup to its lips, tipped up the bottom. Lust pooled in its eyes. This was the true face of their kind. It didn’t want a place in society. No, it wanted dark alleys and live flesh. Exactly the reason Rowley elicited its help.

“It helps to ask questions.” Rowley enjoyed the horror. It always conjured the only memory he had of his mother. A pool of blood. Her contorted face. Vacant eyes. The creature had launched at her. It had white eyes with tiny dots, and had latched onto her neck. A gasp had escaped her lips and her body had slumped to the floor. Other than that day, he had no recollection of the woman who’d been raped and devoured before him. Left on a soiled floor with a partially consumed corpse, he had cried himself to sleep lying against her.

“Your coffee, sir.” Ming, his assistant, set a white cup and saucer on the side table next to him. The smell of the light roast beckoned him. Bittersweet heat washed over his tongue as he sipped. Leera. Another visit was in order, but first, a shower. He wouldn’t bring this filth into her home.

* * * *

Rowley knocked on the bright red door of the brick bungalow. Through the sheer curtains of the bay window, light bathed the lawn. A figure sauntered over. His heartbeat accelerated. Her effect on him was as strong as ever.

The door opened and Leera stood there in a thin satin peach gown, which accented her warm rum skin tone. Was she headed out on a date? He exhaled deeply.

“Rowley.” She smiled and gestured. “Come in.”

His name rolled off her tongue like an invitation. “I was just in the neighborhood. Hope I’m not interrupting you?” Between work and staying locked up at home, she didn’t have much contact with others since her husband’s death.

“No, why?” She closed the door.

Peach and Ivory soap tangled in the air. “Unless you always wear an evening gown around the house, I’d think you were heading out.” With whom, was the question.

She nodded. “Peter and Meg are taking me to the orchestra. It’s the only way I can get the two of them off my case for staying in all the time.”

Good. Better he go then, before her big brother showed. “Classic pop. I’m not a fan.” Disposing of another partner of hers might arouse suspicions. Her husband had snooped too much. “You look very beautiful.”

Her gaze darted away. Still too soon for his open compliments.

A lone plate at the table held food with crisscrossed utensils. At least she made the effort. He ate at his desk.

“Thank you.” Her heeled footsteps tapped the hardwood as she walked toward the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”

Coming home to her would be pleasant, especially after a shitty day like today. “I don’t want you to go to any trouble for me.”

“Oh, do you need to go?” she asked, stopping to turn to him. “Meg and Peter won’t be here for a while.” Was that a hint of loneliness in her voice?

The tardiness of his weekly visit along with brushing off the offer of a drink had given her the wrong impression. “Not yet. A glass of water would be great.” He followed her into the kitchen and leaned back on the counter. Bottles of prescription medication next to the sink contained big, colored pills. Over the past few months the amount of bottles grew weekly. What were this week’s additions?

She filled a glass with water and held it toward him.

A hand over hers, he leaned in. Leera stepped back, rested her elbows on the counter behind her, breasts pressed forward. Through the thin material, the peaks of her breasts were visible. Was she aroused or cold? The outline of her hip bones showed. He reached for the prescriptions. Effexor XR, Valium and Prozac.

“Are you sick?” Heat from her drew his body closer, her hip bones pressed into him.

With widening eyes, she shook her head. “Depression, anxiety, sleeplessness, the list goes on. So far nothing’s worked.”

As he suspected, recovery from Jean’s passing crawled along. “If you need someone to talk to about anything, I’m only ten digits away, or one, if you program me into speed dial.” Chemicals wouldn’t mend her broken heart, just as his had never recovered from the loss of her. He cupped her face in his hand.

She leaned into his caress. “I appreciate the offer, Rowley, really I do. I’m just not ready to talk about him.” Her lips parted.

How he wanted to kiss her, take her. Stiff need pressed to his pants.

Her once-lush body had withered. “You’ve lost more weight.” He brushed a curl from her face.

She shifted her feet, which forced him to step back. She stood upright and crossed her arms.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious. I’m concerned.” The house was meticulously immaculate. Nearly unlived in. Did she spend her nights shining the shine?

“I know. I exercise to clear my mind. The meds weaken my appetite. The doctor is monitoring me closely.”

So was he. Best for him to leave the subject alone. “Any suggestions on a birthday gift? It’s less than a month away.”

“You don’t need help coming up with great gifts. I was hoping I could skip this one.” She brushed his forearm with warm fingers then stepped back. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I enjoy your touch.” How would he break through the walls she’d built up around her? “I should get going. I hope you have fun tonight.” He set the glass on the counter.

“Thanks for stopping by.”

“It’s always a pleasure.” If things went his way, it would be even more pleasurable soon.

“Liar.” She smiled.

“I’m serious. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t keep coming.”

She leaned in, arms open.

Hands around her, he scooped her to his chest and whispered, “God, I miss you Lee-lee.”

Stiffening in his arms, she pulled back. “I do appreciate the effort and the company.” The hint of loneliness was present once more.

She’d ignored his comment. His insinuation. The name he’d used when she’d been his, once upon a time. All he wanted was to be the one who filled the void. Nearly everyone she’d known had faded out of her life but him. Demonstrating the depth of his attachment. Despite her withdrawn state, he could weather the storm.

He released her. “I’ll be by in a few.”

“And I’ll be here as always. Good night.”

“Good night.” Maybe he’d been seeing this all wrong. With the snitch gone and a new ally, he’d soon turn the tide in his favor. No more zombies. At least not in America.