Chapter 11 #2
Marvin didn’t look up until I was within five feet, but the moment he noticed my reflection showed in the glass of the tote board. His left shoulder twitched, and his jaw reset into the defiant tilt of a man who already knows the outcome but refuses to leave the table.
I said, quietly, “Marvin. You know why I’m here.”
He turned, all wide-eyed innocence, and said, “I just want to place a bet. Is that illegal now?”
It was the most coherent sentence I’d heard from him yet.
Behind me, Izora’s voice lilted across the room. “Bail enforcement. Sorry for the interruption.”
The words worked like a hand grenade. Three men in the center row immediately slid off their stools and pretended to find something on the floor.
A woman in a pink windbreaker looked from me to Izora, decided she didn’t want the smoke, as the twins would say, and shuffled sideways until she reached the Keno station.
The counter attendant just kept counting bills, without even blinking.
Marvin’s mouth tightened. He weighed the odds, and, in the way of all bad gamblers, decided to up the ante.
He threw his duffel bag at an old man in a golf visor, scattering a flurry of losing tickets, then vaulted over the plastic divider.
A beer went flying, coating the carpet and the shoes of anyone in a four-foot radius.
He careened into the kitchen, ignoring the shouts of a short-order cook who wanted nothing to do with this scene.
He also didn’t want the smoke. I followed, vaulting the divider less gracefully, and nearly lost my footing on the spilled beer.
“Stop and put your hands up!” I shouted. Hey, that’s what they do on TV. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Marvin was already past the fry station, yanking a basket of hot oil from the vat and swinging it at random. The basket missed my face by maybe four inches, but the sizzle of oil caught my sleeve and flash-fried the edge of my jacket. For a second, the air tasted like scorched polyester.
I forced myself to slow down. Vampire speed is a thing, but so is involuntary manslaughter, and nothing tanks a bounty hunter rating like a headline with the wrong name on it.
I ducked behind a rolling cart, waited for Marvin to commit to a direction, then tackled him around the waist as he tried for the back door.
We crashed through together, slamming into a cinderblock wall in the alley. Marvin thrust his elbow back, catching me in the ribs, and I felt the pop of something unpleasant but not immediately catastrophic. Once again, I was thankful for being a vamp.
He pulled away, sprinted for the chain-link fence at the far end, and for a moment, I actually admired his stamina. The guy lived on vape pens and convenience-store hot dogs, but he moved like a rat in a flood.
I chased, but not all-out; I wanted him winded, not broken. He scaled the fence, caught his jeans on the wire, and lost a sneaker in the process. By the time I climbed after him, he was halfway down the next alley, limping but still in the lead.
I saw where this was headed. Two blocks over, the parking structure for the strip mall rose above the strip of abandoned storefronts, its top floor the only place a guy like Marvin could hope to lose a tail.
I jogged, breath steady, letting the distance close in its time.
Izora, who had apparently decided to take the scenic route, met me at the alley’s mouth, her boots spotless and her hat at a jaunty new angle.
Courage was strapped to her chest with one of those cloth baby carrier things.
Where she got it, I had no clue. How she’d had time to get it on I also had no clue.
Then again, I didn’t make it a habit to question the mother of all vampires.
I looked away but did a double-take. Did the dog have a helmet on?
Don’t ask. Why on earth had I gotten stuck with Izora tonight?
“Your boy’s bleeding,” she said, nodding at the footprints on the concrete.
“Not my boy,” I said, but she was already gone, moving up the access stairs like a rumor, Courage barking as she went.
Marvin hit the parking garage and doubled back through the first level, using the pillars as cover.
He was smart enough to know the main elevator would be watched, so he ducked into the stairwell, leaving a trail of sweat and blood.
I followed, keeping one floor below, listening for the shuffle of feet or the clang of the stairwell door.
He wasn’t quiet, none of them ever were, but adrenaline did things to the senses, and mine were currently dialed to “dog with a bone.”
On the third level, I heard the whine of an engine. For a second, I thought it was a delivery truck, but then I caught the echo of Marvin’s voice. “Come on, come on, come on.”
He’d jacked a car. Sure enough. A moment later, a Buick, a primer-grey monstrosity, came barreling up the ramp, fishtailing around the turn with a sound like an asthmatic banshee.
I barely had time to register the move before he aimed it straight at me.
Instinct told me to jump out of the way.
My training said to get the plate, get the direction, and keep him in sight.
I dove between a pair of parked pickups, rolling across the slush-slicked concrete as the Buick clipped a mirror and set off its alarm.
Marvin floored it, but the front right tire was low, and he misjudged the ramp’s angle.
The Buick slammed into a concrete pylon, crumpling the front end and launching Marvin into the dashboard.
The car’s horn stuck, blaring endlessly.
I approached with caution, ready for another volley.
Marvin was dazed, nose bleeding, and mouth working at words that wouldn’t form.
I held my breath so the smell of his blood wouldn’t invite my fangs to the party.
Thankfully, I didn’t technically have to breathe.
Izora had a million years of restraint to help her, but I was still a baby vamp.
We would definitely be stopping off at Catch and Release for a drink on the way home.
Marvin tried to unbuckle, but the seatbelt had locked up. He clawed at it, frantic, then gave up and started kicking the windshield from the inside.
Izora appeared at the passenger window, her smile wide as a crescent moon. She tapped the glass, wagged her finger. “Don’t do that. It’s rude.”
I yanked at the driver’s door. The frame had warped in the crash, but I put my vamp strength behind it and felt the pop as it gave. Marvin shrank away, then, when he met my gaze, he slumped into a pose of exaggerated surrender. Charmed by my weird, rogue powers.
“You’re done,” I said, more tired than triumphant.
He spat a gob of blood onto the floormat. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
I did, actually. The guy ate an entire large cheese steak in one sitting and then faked a heart attack to avoid paying. I cuffed him, checked for weapons, and hauled him out of the car. Now that I was touching him, he fell even further under my charm powers.
“Marvin,” I said, lifting his chin with a finger and putting affection into my voice, “buddy. Stay.”
He blinked and then flopped onto the pavement.
Izora watched the whole thing, arms crossed, then said. “You could have let me break his arm. It would have been faster.”
“I’m supposed to bring him in alive,” I said flatly. “Not mangled.”
She shrugged. “Alive is overrated.”
I waited until Marvin stopped struggling, then dragged him up by the cuffs. He glared at me, face streaked with snot and blood. “My lawyer is going to destroy you,” he said, though I doubted he could spell “lawyer.”
“Your lawyer is a public defender named Kevin,” I said, “and he’s terrified of me. Up.”
We frog-marched him to the SUV, where Izora loaded him into the backseat with the efficiency of a bored bouncer at closing time. I called Jordan Leslie, one hand on the wheel, the other braced against the dash as Marvin whimpered in the back.
“Got your guy,” I said. “He’s a little banged up but mostly intact. ETA thirty minutes, traffic permitting.”
Jordan cackled. “You’re a marvel, Whitfield. I’ll have a check waiting for you.”
We hit the main road and headed to the police station.
Izora stretched, then leaned her head against the glass, already bored.
Courage was asleep, still inside the carrier strapped to Izora’s chest. Marvin sulked in the back, muttering threats to no one in particular.
I just drove, content for once in the peace that follows a job well done.