Six Times Deadly: A Lawson Vampire Story Collection (The Lawson Vampire Series) Read online

  Contents

  The Lawson Vampire Series

  Copyright

  Price of a Good Drink

  Interlude

  Red Tide

  Enemy Mine

  Rudolf The Red Nosed Rogue

  Oathbreaker

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus: My Soul To Keep (part 1 of graphic novel script)

  Special Bonus 2: Codename: Belladonna Excerpt

  Special Bonus 2: Codename: Belladonna Excerpt

  Author's Note

  The Lawson Vampire Series

  (as of January 2012)

  Kindle US: http://amzn.to/lawsonbks Kindle UK: http://amzn.to/lawsonuk

  THE FIXER

  THE INVOKER

  THE DESTRUCTOR

  THE SYNDICATE

  THE PRICE OF A GOOD DRINK

  THE COURIER

  THE KENSEI

  ENEMY MINE

  THE RIPPER

  THE SHEPHERD

  INTERLUDE

  RED TIDE

  OATHBREAKER

  A FOG OF FURY

  RUDOLF THE RED NOSED ROGUE

  FROSTY THE HITMAN

  DEAD DROP

  SIX TIMES DEADLY

  The following adventures take place before the events in THE FIXER, although they were written afterward.

  THE ENCHANTER

  THE INFILTRATOR

  SIX TIMES DEADLY: A Lawson Vampire Story Collection

  © 2012 by Jon F. Merz All rights reserved

  The Price of a Good Drink © 2005

  Interlude © 2009

  Red Tide © 2009

  Enemy Mine © 2010

  Rudolf The Red Nosed Rogue © 2010

  Oathbreaker © 2011

  http://jonfmerz.net

  The Price of a Good Drink

  “Used to be,” said the man behind the bar drying off shot glasses, “you could tell the man by the type of drink he ordered.” He slapped the towel he’d been using over his shoulder. It must have been a sharp white once, like the snow before it touches the filth in the city. But years of use had worn it down to a dull ecru color. I could see tattered threads squiggling their way out of the stitch patterns, hanging loose in the air, waiting to be unraveled even more.

  In front of me, the glass of Bombay Sapphire and tonic sat untouched. I watched the wedge of lime loll midway between the surface and the bottom of the glass. Every now and again, I’d use the stirrer to send it flying through the liquid and ice like it was in a zero-gravity environment. It would bounce off one side and then head back the way it had come.

  Sometimes I’m really easy to entertain.

  Off in the distance, the Beatles crooned about Strawberry Fields. I thought about how much I used to dig the Beatles. Before they got lost in their hallucinogenic drug phase and became preachers for a kinder gentler world. In my book, the world’s already got plenty of people who preach. What we need is a few more deeds.

  I glanced up at the bartender. He was eyeing me. Waiting for me to come back at him with some response. I wasn’t really feeling talkative, but the day was dark with rain clouds pissing down the kind of drizzle that seems to seep into everywhere, even if you’ve got yourself a raincoat or an umbrella. My mood felt about the same.

  “Not anymore?” Two words wouldn’t kill me.

  He leaned against the barback and shook his head. “Nah. Got too many fancy drinks these days. Damned things crop up faster than zits on a teenager. I can’t even remember all the names.”

  “I know some of them. They sound like vacation getaways.”

  “Exactly.” He shook his head. “Back when I was first learning how to pour, it was simple stuff. Whiskey, bourbon, scotch, gin. Draft beers. Maybe a glass of wine for the ladies. That was it.”

  “You been around that long?”

  He tried to grin around the burden of memories he looked like he was carrying. “Days like this, it feels like forever.”

  I knew the feeling. Lately my own life had felt like a record that kept skipping in place over a refrain I didn’t want to sing anymore. “Maybe you should open your own place.”

  “No chance. I’ve never had a head for business. But I’m a damned good barkeep. I know my trade. And yeah, even those silly fruity drinks the kids want. I can pour with the best of them.”

  “But you long for the old days.”

  He came off the rail and nodded. “How’s that drink?”

  I sipped it, tasting the way the licorice and juniper came together to form what I thought was the world’s greatest gin. The flavors rolled over my tongue. I caught some of the lime – tart and welcoming amid the thicker liquor.

  “Damned good,” I said after the swallow.

  He nodded like I just told him he was savior of mankind. “I figured you for one of the old guys.”

  “Old guys?”

  “Yeah. A man who knows how to drink a drink. Hell, a man who knows how to order one. You don’t try to impress. It’s the same with the drink. A good drink never tries to impress anyone. It just is. You know that the moment you sip it for the first time. It’s got its own confidence. Its own demeanor.”

  The place was almost empty. A booth in the back held two guys who were huddled together, probably discussing the next Internet revolution. I noticed the expensive Burberry coats they wore. The briefcases on the floor. Their shoes.

  Another guy lounged down near the end of the bar nursing a draft beer that looked more like a urine sample than anything else. I figured it for one of those stupid new low-carb light beers that supposedly satisfies the craving without ever really doing so.

  I grinned at the barkeep. “Now don’t go making me out to be something I’m not.”

  “I don’t have to. You already are.”

  If he’d only known. The list of friends I’d been burying lately. The list of enemies that seemed to grow longer with each passing minute. The weight of a personal destiny that I sometimes couldn’t stand to shoulder.

  “I just want a quick drink.”

  “Nothing quick about a drink like that. You’re doing some thinking. I know it. I can see it in your eyes.”

  He was right. Sitting in the airport bar waiting for my flight to leave for Japan, I figured the booze would help ease my mind some. Maybe even take the edge off. Fourteen-hour plane rides aren’t my usual bag. But a trip to Japan was precisely what I needed right now. Especially if I had any hope of continuing my work as a Fixer.

  “A bartender’s wisdom?”

  “I’ve seen everything, man. You know what I mean?”

  “Guess so.”

  “Most people, you know they wouldn’t believe working a joint like this would grant them those all-seeing eyes. But it does. Somethings, well they’re easy to make out. You can spot the guy who’s just gotten dumped. You can spot the jilted lover or the lady who walks in on her man screwing the bejeezuz out of some take-out club slut.”

  “Colorful.”

  He ignored me. “But the other things? Sometimes they’re tougher to notice. But they’re there anyway. Just because the vast majority of people can’t notice the end of their nose to save their lives doesn’t mean those things don’t exist. People who come in here – they’ve got blinders on bad. Real bad.”

  “Cellphones are the bane of society.”

  “Not just them. It’s other stuff. Computers, advertisements, TV, movies, music. It’s this rush world we live in that makes people unable to see the things that are right in front of them.”

  “A
nyone ever tell you you sound a little like that Unabomber fellow?”

  He grinned but it came out…sad almost. “I don’t want to blow anything up. I’ve got no desire to see anyone get killed.”

  “Probably a good thing. Mankind doesn’t seem to need any more help in that regard.”

  I sipped the drink and waited for him to say something. He didn’t. I glanced up and found him eyeballing me again.

  I hefted the glass. “Drink’s good.”

  He blinked and walked away from me. Good old Lawson the conversation killer. Chalk another one up on the list of people who think I suck in a royal way. I took another sip of gin and listened as the Beatles mercifully finished whining and Rush took over the lead with “Red Alert.” The bartender must have had it tuned to WZLX, which was Boston’s classic rock station and the only one that would have paired two unlikely bands like that. I didn’t mind much, though since I happened to dig Rush. They were one of the bands I’d only recently started appreciating.

  My foot started tapping in time to the beat. I took another sip, listened to a clap of thunder break out somewhere above my head, and saw the windows melt under a fresh assault of withering rain.

  Great day for a flight.

  My timing had sucked lately and it just didn’t seem to be getting any better. Getting back from New York, I’d found myself in the dumps. I’m not usually much on self-pity, but I could tell I was worn out. Fighting the Syndicate and trying to figure out who was still out there pulling the strings to some of the most insidious corruption I’d ever stumbled across, had exhausted me beyond what a couple of beers and a Patriots football game could cure.

  I thought about Teresa and how I’d left her in that old resort up in Mohunk. How her eyes had gone so deep black as her pupils had finally dilated as she died. I could remember feeling how cold she’d gone when the evil midget Cho had stuck her with a couple of hypodermics full of his new designer drug Saber.

  Teresa’d been a casualty of war. My war. She’d been an innocent that I’d gotten caught up in the affairs of the vampire world. She was someplace no human should have ever been. And it was my fault she was dead.

  I was supposed to be out there protecting people and here I was getting them killed. No one would ever shed much of a tear over Teresa. None of my superiors would care as long as her death didn’t threaten the Balance. They could live with her death no problem.

  I wondered if I could.

  “Still deep in thought?”

  I glanced up and found the bartender back in front of me. “I thought I killed any trace of conversation.”

  “I’ve got other customers.”

  I looked around. The two Internet geniuses were still huddled in the back booth. They must have been discussing something really absorbing because neither of their glasses looked like they’d been touched. The guy at the end of the bar stared into the foamy depths of his beer stein and took a hefty pull on it before thunking it down again.

  The place was dead.

  “Don’t let me keep you from anything.”

  He frowned and moved off to the other end of the bar to fill the guy’s mug with a fresh draft. All the while, he kept staring at me. Frankly, I was getting a little tired of it.

  I sipped my drink some more. Alcohol wasn’t exactly a prescription for lifting my spirits. Damned stuff made you even more depressed. Truth was, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted my spirits elevated. Sometimes, a good funk is just the kick in the ass you need to get moving again.

  Or maybe I was changing. Maybe I was becoming one of those folks who needs the dozen or so prescription tablets I saw advertised ad nauseam on the evening news every night while I was trying to enjoy my dinner without thinking about heartburn, allergies, erectile dysfunction or my toe nails falling off.

  Jesus Christ.

  If things kept looking as dim as that, I’d save a bullet for myself and just be done with it. Easier than dragging it out. I think that was big problem with smokers in general. In my eyes, it was suicide. Sure, they’re dragging it out for years, but they’re killing themselves anyway. Wouldn’t it be better to just do it fast and get it over with? Cripes, at least I could muster some respect for them then. A little courage of conviction goes a long way with me.

  Cynical bastard.

  Behind the bar, my own eyes stared back at me in the mirrored glass. Someone had told me that once. That I was too cynical. I told them I was cynical because of all the hopeless and pathetic shit I’d seen traipsing around this damned planet in pursuit of some higher ideal that I wasn’t so sure I wanted to be a part of.

  Then I kicked him in the balls.

  Merry Christmas, sunshine. Don’t want me to be cynical? How about showing me why? I could use a little proof of why I should give a shit if my mood pissed someone off. I could stand seeing just a speck of brightness in this dreary-ass world where everyone was out for themselves and no one seemed to give a rat’s ass if you got screwed in the process.

  Terrorism? Wars? Religious extremism? It all boiled down to someone manipulating other people so they could line their own pockets. It came down to greed, plain and simple. People could scream all they wanted that they were doing things in the interest of their fellow man, but it was all bullshit. All it took was a set of eyes unbiased enough to see through the fog. Look deep enough and everyone boiled down to the least common denominator of ‘selfish prick.’

  “Need a refill?”

  I sighed. “I’m not done yet.”

  “Figured maybe those ice cubes were starting to water down the drink.”

  I nodded at the glasses behind the bar. “You’re looking for something to do, some of those puppies back there look a bit smudged.”

  “Grumpy bastard, aren’t you?”

  I grinned. “You’re bowling me over with that cry-on-my-shoulder-bartender routine.”

  “You should see me when I get annoyed.”

  “I’m not in the mood.”

  He shrugged. “Funny thing about being annoyed. It doesn’t always let you choose the time and place, you know?”

  “I know a lot of things like that.”

  “I’ll bet you do.” He slapped his towel down on the bar. “Where you off to, anyway?”

  “Japan.”

  “No shit?”

  “Not that I can see.”

  He smirked. “Why would you go over there?”

  I swirled some more of the drink around my mouth. He might have been right about the ice cubes. “The simplest answer of all.”

  “Yeah?”

  “There ain’t here.”

  “You running from something?”

  I nudged the glass toward him. “A watery drink right now.”

  He poured me a fresh one and slid it back. “Anything else?”

  “You don’t have enough Bombay Sapphire back there to last how long it would take me to go down the list.”

  “That long?” He mopped the bar with the towel and slung it over his shoulder.

  I shrugged. “We’re not talking about a thirty-second news bite.”

  “So you came in here to lose yourself?”

  I looked at him again. Harder this time. “I came in here for a drink. Nothing more.”

  The towel came down on the bar again. “I wonder how many people would ever ask a bartender if his life was all a bed of roses.”

  “Probably not many.”

  “They don’t care, that’s what it is.” He leaned back and sighed. “I’ve heard so many goddamned sob stories from the whiniest bunch of losers on the planet. Sometimes it makes me sick.”

  I was considering being offended at the whiny bunch of losers comment, but let it pass. The drink was good, after all. “Only sometimes?”

  “Sometimes you enjoy it. It gives you a different perspective on your own life. Makes you appreciate all the good things you have.”

  “I guess.”

  “Like only recently. This guy comes in sits down about where you’re sitting right now and lays down the worst story I ever heard. I mean really bust-your-balls shit. Like it was either something good happened in the next few minutes or people were going to die.”

  “That bad?”

  “Yep.”

  I glanced down the bar again to see if the bartender’s story had piqued the curiosity of any of the other guys. None of them showed any interest. The guy down the bar seemed to be having trouble staying awake.